by Gabriel Bump
“Not that Paul,” I said.
“Which Paul?” Janice asked.
“You don’t know him,” I said.
“It’s okay,” Janice said.
“I’m serious,” I said.
“I don’t have any friends either,” Janice said. “People talk about me too.”
I often sat alone, a little on edge; I was used to empty seats on my left and right. Janice, in her blob, pumped warmth into my side, calmed me. Our heads were close, tilted. Adrenaline and blood pounded my eardrums. My brain rattled, flooded with warm memories, recalled love, floating sensations. I closed my eyes. Bubbly. Nugget. Jonah. All those far away people sat inside me, waved, wished me well. Most nights, outside my bedroom window, all that love felt far away, impossible to see and feel.
“Are you okay?” Janice asked.
I opened my eyes.
“No,” I said. “Yes. Yes. Yes. I meant yes.”
Principal Carmichael reminded us that police officers are our friends and informants aren’t snitches.
“Your grandma came to my house yesterday,” Janice said.
“She’s going around the neighborhood,” I said.
“She’s a little wild,” Janice said
“I’m sorry,” I said. “She’s worried about the future.”
“I like it,” Janice said. “She screamed a little.”
“I’m sorry,” I said again.
“They want to organize a march,” Janice said.
“I’m so sorry,” I said.
“They want to take back the streets,” Janice said.
Principal Carmichael invited Officer Baggs onto the stage. Officer Baggs had been indicted on bribery charges the previous summer.
“My cousins want to do it,” Janice said. “They’re talking about getting a shotgun and two pistols for the house.”
“You live with your cousins?” I asked.
“You live with your grandma?” Janice asked.
We both nodded.
Officer Baggs said da gangs are bad and ruin lives. He said da kids dat join da gangs were going to end up in da jail or da cemahtery.
“My parents moved to Missouri,” I said.
“My parents died on vacation,” Janice said.
She looked at me. I looked at the stage. Officer Baggs was setting up a poster board like the assembly was a science fair. He pointed to a picture I couldn’t see. Janice, still, looked at me.
“When you squint,” Janice said, “you look like you’re going to cry.”
“Sorry,” I said.
“You’re still cute,” Janice said.
I choked on nothing, felt my heart trip a few times. Janice had slipped out of her pink blob. I didn’t realize. She was a full person again, leaned back, feet on the ground. I wanted to respond, say she was cute too. I wanted to say that even as a blob, she was cute. I wanted to call her beautiful.
I stammered into her face, spit some, choked on nothing, coughed, and spit some more.
Janice smiled at me, pulled her pink shirt over her nose, muffled her laughter.
Officer Baggs left the stage.
“Be safe,” Principal Carmichael said. “Take control of your future.”
Janice regained composure.
“See you tonight,” Janice said.
“What?” I asked.
She left me choking.
Janice and her aunt and uncle, Jimmy and Annette, came over for dinner. Grandma ordered pizza. She put on a burgundy pantsuit. We brought extra chairs into the living room. Grandma was expecting twenty people. There were five pizzas for the six of us.
“This is it?” Paul came in late with a beer.
“This is Paul,” Grandma said.
“Good to meet you, Paul,” Jimmy said. His arms were longer than what looked natural. His chest looked sunken in.
“It’s a pleasure, Paul and Catherine,” Annette said. Her pigtails were the same as Janice’s—except hers were gray.
“Please,” Grandma said. “Call me Grandma.”
I asked if I could go to my room. Grandma said I should take Janice. Janice smiled at me and we went upstairs. I took a pizza for us.
“So this is your room?” Janice asked as she opened my closet and started fingering my shirts.
“Those are old,” I said. “The new stuff is in my drawers.”
I opened the pizza box. Janice made me dizzy. I realized I’d taken the anchovy. The room stank like fish. I had to eat something.
“The new stuff looks like the old stuff,” Janice said, shuffling through my dresser.
“How did your parents die?” I asked, and took another bite.
“Hippo attack,” Janice said.
“That’s tragic,” I said.
She moved to my bed and watched me rock in my chair.
“Actually they were kidnapped in Venezuela and sold into sex slavery.” She fell backward and looked at me sideways.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said.
“Seriously, they were both hit on the head with coconuts in Jamaica, at the same time, but under different trees.” She stood up again and walked over to me.
“That’s tragic,” I said.
Then she kissed me.
I remembered Bubbly telling me that my breath stank.
“I’m sorry about the pizza,” I said.
“I like anchovies,” Janice said.
“I’m sorry about your parents,” I said.
“You’ll believe anything, won’t you?” Janice asked.
I nodded and she kissed me again. She pulled away again.
“How did your parents die?” Janice asked.
“They didn’t,” I said. “They’re in Missouri.”
“I thought you were lying,” Janice said.
She kept her lips away from me.
“Why would you think that?” I asked.
“I don’t know how you work,” Janice said.
“They left when I was five,” I said.
“Mine got flattened by a semi driving to Idaho in the rain,” Janice said. “The driver was on methamphetamines.”
“How did they know he was on methamphetamines?” I asked.
“He did the same thing to three other cars,” Janice said. “It was on the news. Don’t you watch the news?”
Then Janice unzipped her pants and unzipped mine. She climbed on top of me. Dawn, chemistry, physics, melding; rush, fire, an eclipse between us. Holding Janice like that—never again would I feel that close to someone. And I knew she wanted me to hold her. Someone wanting me like that—I didn’t know what to think about it. Unlike anything else. I felt Janice through me. Those thirty seconds felt like two lifetimes. She climbed off me.
Something broke downstairs. Jimmy screamed Janice’s name.
“Let’s eat together tomorrow,” Janice said.
She checked herself in the mirror. Jimmy screamed again. Janice looked over her shoulder and puckered her lips at me. She hurried out my door and down the stairs. I looked down at my exposed lap.
I zipped up my pants when I heard Grandma’s heels clicking. She threw open my door. Her eyes were bulging.
“Does no one else get it?” Grandma asked my ceiling.
She stepped into the room. Her body moved in rigid and furious steps.
She took the pizza, took a step back, stopped. She sniffed. She shot me a glance and went to her room.
Downstairs, Paul swept broken glass into a paper plate. Boxes of pizza looked untouched.
I asked what happened. He sat down on the carpet and started picking up tiny shards with his fingers.
“Typical stuff,” Paul said. “Violence against nonviolence.”
He rubbed the carpet and then took a swig from a wine bottle. He swore under his breath when glass stuck to his palm.
“What happened?” I asked again.
“They think they’re better than us,” Paul said. “They don’t think Grandma should lead the march.”
“Here,” I said. “What ha
ppened here?”
“Grandma tried to strangle her,” Paul said.
“Why?” I asked.
“This thing goes back decades,” Paul said.
“What thing?” I asked.
“I’ve lost friendships over this,” Paul said.
“Over what?” I asked.
“You know,” Paul said. “The struggle. The plight. This shit.”
He sat next to me on the couch. We stared at the pizza.
“Janice is cute,” Paul said.
“We had sex,” I said.
“That’s not funny, Claude,” Paul said. “You won’t get any woman talking like that.”
A few months later, Janice invited me over for a Bears game. Grandma’s march didn’t work. She’d wanted to organize a militia. Jimmy and Annette organized a different march for Martin Luther King Jr. Day. Their march would include spirituals and candles.
Each night, Grandma went to sleep angry. The house was filled with stomping and slamming doors. Paul was her only supporter, but Paul spent all his time drinking.
Grandma and Paul were getting ready for church while I was getting ready for Janice. Paul shot his remaining martini down his throat and handed me an empty glass.
“You should come with us,” Grandma said while putting on her heels, her hand on Paul’s shoulder for balance.
“I really love Janice,” I said.
“You don’t know anything,” Paul said.
“You think no one matters but yourself,” Grandma said.
“That’s going to be the end of you and mankind,” Paul said.
I left. I got to Janice’s right before kickoff.
“Jimmy,” Annette yelled upstairs. “Claude’s here.”
Annette said Janice was walking the dogs and would be back shortly. She waved me into the living room. Jimmy came running down in a Walter Payton jersey. The three of us squeezed onto the couch and put the game on mute.
“You look like a good kid,” Jimmy said. “How did that happen?”
“Jimmy,” Annette said. “That’s not fair.”
“What?” Jimmy asked. “Isn’t it fair to say Claude could have turned out terrible?”
I sat between them. They were talking over my head. I didn’t realize how tall they were, how small I was.
“Jimmy,” Annette said, “Claude’s had a rough life.”
“He’s impressive,” Jimmy said, without looking at me.
“We knew your parents,” Annette said.
“Your Grandma . . . ,” Jimmy said, trailed off.
“I imagine she’s a lot,” Annette said.
“A lot of what?” I asked, a little sharp.
“You know,” Annette said.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“We knew Paul too,” Jimmy said. “He’s gained weight.”
“Your mother beat me up for fun, once,” Annette said.
“Your dad sold me weed, once,” Jimmy said.
“Jimmy,” Annette said. “Please.”
Jimmy shushed her. The Bears fumbled on the goal line. Jimmy kicked the coffee table and a stack of coasters spilled on the carpet.
“Sometimes,” I said, “I forget what they’re like.”
“That’s not surprising,” Jimmy said.
“I forget them also,” Annette said.
“They’re easy to forget,” Jimmy said.
“I still love them,” I said.
“Oh,” Annette said. “Honey. Sweetie.”
Annette put an arm around my shoulder, pulled me into her pointed ribs. I hated Annette.
“You should let them go,” Jimmy said.
I hated Jimmy.
“They’re my parents,” I said.
“I left my parents,” Annette said. “Years ago.”
“They were horrible,” Jimmy said.
“Just like your parents,” Annette said.
“They were selfish,” Jimmy said.
“Always about them,” Annette said.
“No one else,” Jimmy said.
“Horrible,” Annette said.
“I still love them,” I said.
Jimmy gave me a playful pinch behind my neck. I hated him more than before, more than anyone else. I felt sweat form on my nose and forehead. I wondered what would happen if I threw an elbow into Annette’s porcelain ribs, if I pushed my head into Jimmy’s lower jaw. I imagined a combat sequence that ended in me standing over their bruised and horrible bodies.
Janice came in with two dogs, a black German shepherd and something small resembling a teddy bear. The small one stood between the shepherd’s front legs, looked proud, regal, adorable, ill at ease.
“Claude was just telling us about his family,” Annette said to Janice.
Janice dropped the leashes. She was pale.
“Something bad outside,” Janice said. “Cops everywhere.”
“We didn’t hear any sirens,” Annette said.
“So?” Jimmy asked. “What’s new?”
“Something bad is about to happen,” Janice said.
Janice led us around the corner. The cops had blocked off the street. A crowd was gathering. Officer Baggs had an air horn to his face. He told everybody to respect da crime scene. Dis is a crime scene and we must not obstruct da police’s efforts. I heard sobbing in the distance. Janice held my hand and grabbed my ass. An ambulance honked and the crowd parted. A small child lay motionless on the sidewalk. There wasn’t any blood. I didn’t remember hearing any gunshots.
“Murderers,” someone yelled at Officer Baggs.
“What happened?” Annette asked the person closest to us, a middle-aged man in a Gale Sayers jersey.
“That boy stole something from the house,” Gale Sayers pointed his chin toward a big brick house with a black fence. “The family was at church, or something. A neighbor called the cops. The cops came and the boy ran away, or something like that.”
“Figures,” Jimmy said.
“Jimmy,” Annette said.
“I’m scared.” Janice let go of my hand and wrapped her arms around me.
“So the cops come,” Gale Sayers continued, “and they tackled the kid, because he isn’t that fast. I think I’ve seen him before. Like running around the park, or something. If I’m thinking of the same kid, if I saw him before, I know he isn’t that fast.”
“That’s the Warrens’ boy,” someone else said. “He wasn’t stealing anything. He was just going in to feed the cats because the family is out of town. The Warrens are good people.”
“So I have seen him before,” Gale Sayers continued. “I knew I had seen him before. So long story short, the cops catch the kid and sit on him because the kid won’t cooperate. They sit on him so the kid can’t run away. But they end up suffocating him. They were choking him too, I think.”
“Murderers!” Jimmy yelled at the cops. The crowd grew. Officer Baggs yelled for order. He said that we must keep da peace at all costs. Someone threw a football at Officer Baggs. He ducked and reached for his gun. Then four SUVs screeched to a stop behind us. The Redbelters jumped out.
“Pigs!” Annette yelled at the cops.
Big Columbus climbed onto the hood of an Escalade.
“Are we going to take this?” Big Columbus asked the crowd. Everyone faced him, even the cops and paramedics.
“Are we going to remain victims?” Big Columbus asked.
“No,” someone yelled back.
“Are we going to let these criminals kill our babies, our little sisters and brothers?” Big Columbus stomped on the hood.
“If we don’t do something about this today,” Big Columbus said, “then we won’t have a tomorrow. We have fallen prey to these evildoers, and they will not stop until they have taken everything we have.”
“We need power,” someone yelled back.
Janice put her face in my armpit and bit me.
“We must destroy them,” Big Columbus said, “before they destroy us.”
Riot
Before us: cops a
nd more cops lined up in combat gear. Everyone not in church was standing in the street, staring down every cop in South Shore. I recognized some cops, even in their helmets, behind their shields. I didn’t know their names, just their faces. When I was seven, I’d seen a patrolman pistol whip a boy in handcuffs right on Sixty-Eighth and Bennett. The boy was breaking into cars. Now, I saw the same patrolman looking anxious and armored, poised to deal blows. He was standing in the vanguard. Was he always brutal? I tried to turn around with Janice. I wanted to run, but I couldn’t seem to. I moved too slowly. Big engines pumped and howled, tires screeched like wounded large birds.
Behind us: Redbelters and more Redbelters pulled up in black trucks.
We, the civilians, were trapped in the middle, about twenty of us sucked into the standoff, squished.
“Look at these pathetic soldiers!” Big Columbus yelled. “They want war!”
The Redbelters formed a line at their cars’ thick front bumpers, mirrored the cops. Big Columbus remained standing on his hood, organized his soldiers. Their numbers were similar. Their demeanors too—anger radiated off their heads. Just like the cops, they were ready. Except the Redbelters didn’t have armor, helmets, shields, and automatic weapons. The Redbelters had handguns tucked, visible, in their waistbands. They carried blunt instruments.
“Move!” Big Columbus yelled.
The Redbelters took two steps.
“Stop!” Big Columbus yelled.
The Redbelters stopped.
I saw familiar faces in the Redbelters camp. Frank Wooten had a baseball bat at his side; Herc, a frying pan; Bobby, from the gas station, a broom; Little Brian, a hockey stick.
“DISPERSE,” a bullhorn said.
The cops inched closer.
“Look at these puppets!” Big Columbus yelled to us civilians. “They want to invade our streets!”
We civilians responded. The Redbelter soldiers remained silent, tapped their weapons on the ground, on their chests, in their palms. They looked different from humans. All that anger and bloodlust turned them animatronic, like the cops.
“He’s right!”
“This is our neighborhood!”
“Our streets!”
“They don’t care about you!” Big Columbus yelled.
“He’s right!”
“They want to kill us!”
“No!”
“Wait!”
“Everybody calm down!”