At the Crossroads

by Travis Hunter

  “Neither one of them are a vegetable. Technically tomatoes are a fruit, and cheese is not even in the equation,” Franky said as he pushed the buttons on the controller to make the little football players move here and there on the small television screen.

  “Leave it up to Einstein to get all deep,” Rico said, fanning his hand to brush away the smell of him passing gas. He wasn’t the least bit embarrassed by his flatulence or his ignorance.

  “Man,” Franky said, “you stink. You smell like something crawled in you and died.”

  Rico laughed and kept talking. “I don’t care about none of that fruit or vegetable crap. I’m ordering a pizza, and we can rob the pizza guy like we always do.”

  “No, you ain’t,” Nigel said. “You always go overboard, Rico. You need to learn to leave well enough alone, boy. You keep on pushing it and you gonna get yourself ten years in prison over some pizza.”

  “Well, what we gonna eat?” Rico said.

  “I’ll run to the grocery store in a minute,” Nigel said as he made a few moves in the game. “Right after I whip up on this chump.”

  Franky tossed the controller on the raggedy sofa after another loss.

  Nigel reached over and rubbed his little cousin on his head. “There is always next time, lil whoadie,” he said, smiling and throwing his hands up in victory.

  Franky leaned back on the sofa. He took a deep breath and blew out about a week’s worth of frustration. He took another breath and screamed at the top of his lungs.

  “Man,” Rico said, looking at his cousin as if he might’ve finally cracked. “You need to use your inside voice, whoadie.”

  Nigel stared at his little cousin. He knew Franky was like a fish out of water with this ghetto living. Hurricane Katrina had done a number on all of them, but he knew that Franky was affected the most. Because before the waters came and changed all of their lives, he was a rich kid living the good life out in Jefferson Parish with his parents.

  “Okay. It’s time to eat,” Nigel said. “Franky, walk with me to the store.”

  “Yeah,” Rico said. “You need to let off a little steam. Outside.”

  2

  Franky and Nigel walked down the sidewalk in their Southwest Atlanta neighborhood and took in the scenery. So many people were outside that it seemed like a street party was going on. Guys were on the corners with their shirts off, talking loudly about whatever was going on in their worlds. Kids were playing on the sidewalks, and girls were walking around in groups, enjoying their days. The old people were out on their porches, shaking their heads at some of the things they heard coming out of the mouths of the kids they had watched grow from babies. Franky spoke to the midget, Shorty, who was always standing out in front of Willy’s, a liquor store, begging for change.

  “Times hard on the boulevard, young buck,” Shorty said. “Let me hold a lil something to take the edge off.”

  “Can’t help you today, Shorty,” Nigel said as they continued on their way.

  “Well, God bless you anyway,” Shorty said, then turned to the next person he saw.

  They passed two check-cashing joints, which stood in the place of banks; a Laundromat that was always packed; and a few more liquor stores. Kenny’s Hot Wings stand had a long line, which meant Kenny was running a sale in order to get rid of the chicken wings before they spoiled.

  Franky and his cousins lived in the heart of the inner city, complete with the drug addicts, young street dealers, and all other less-fortunate folks. Every day was a struggle for the majority of the residents, and it took Franky a while to get adjusted. He learned not only to accept this as his new reality, but also figured out a way to make it work for him. Ghetto folks were some of the most resilient people he had ever seen in his young life. They made a way out of no way and always kept things interesting. Like right now. He looked to his left and saw a boy riding a bicycle full speed with a lawn mower strapped to the back. Franky tapped Nigel and showed him the guy. They both shook their heads.

  Nigel was Franky’s biggest blessing, and no matter what, he would always be thankful to him for saving his life. When the storms came, he swam through lots of water to help folks. And once the water gave way enough for them to drive through the streets, he loaded up Franky and Rico and came to Atlanta. It was Nigel who was responsible for them having the house where they could rest their heads, and it was Nigel who put food in their bellies. When they arrived from New Orleans three years ago, they didn’t know a soul in Atlanta. They slept in their car for almost two weeks. It was Nigel who carried the load for them when then-twelve-year-old Franky and fourteen-year-old Rico could only stand by helpless. Nigel had been only sixteen years old at the time, yet he found a way for them all. He contacted a pastor at a local church who rented them a home. He lied about his age, got a fake identification card, and found a job working at a warehouse. The company stored high-end electronics for stores like Best Buy, Circuit City, and others. Everything was fine until Nigel decided to start stealing the televisions, DVD players, and whatever else he could get his hands on. After his supervisor found out about his shady side deals, Nigel was promptly fired. He was lucky the supervisor was from New Orleans and sympathized with his plight, or he would’ve surely done some serious jail time. Once Nigel was out of a legitimate income, he took to the streets. He had to take care of his young brother and little cousin, so he resorted to selling small amounts of marijuana and running other little hustles to keep the lights on and food on the table. After an arrest for possession, he quit selling altogether and started washing cars and doing other little odd jobs to make ends meet.

  “So what’s on your mind, lil cousin?” Nigel asked once they were halfway down the street. “Seems like you need to talk.”

  “Hey!” Franky yelled at Jason, who was out riding his bike in the middle of the street. “Bring your lil butt over here.”

  “Who you yelling at?” Jason said as he rolled up on a bike that was way too big for him.

  “If you run in that street again without looking, I’ma try my best to break my foot off in your lil narrow tail, ya heard,” Franky said.

  “Okay,” Jason said as stood up on the pedals and rode off. “But how you gonna catch me, dummy?”

  “Yeah, okay. Keep on. Don’t let it happen again, Jason,” Franky said.

  “That lil boy is off the chain. I guess he’s the lil brother you never had, huh? With his lil bad butt. Hate to say it but that boy will probably end up in jail or worse. He’s already been caught stealing like five times. The only reason he ain’t in jail right now is because of his age and because Habib has a big heart and won’t press charges on him,” Nigel said.

  “He’s not bad,” Franky said. “Just misunderstood. And his grandmother is too old to put the fear in him.”

  “And from what I see, you ain’t putting no fear in him either,” Nigel said. “But keep at it. He might wise up.”

  “Yeah. I guess I need to step my game up,” Franky said, making a mental note to lay some hands on Jason for his smart mouth the next time he was close to him.

  “You’re like the teenage Martin Luther King. You’re a dreamer, Franky. And on these streets, daydreaming can get you messed up. I’ve seen lil boys younger than Jason straight pop caps in fools.”

  Franky shook his head at the truthfulness and tragedy of his cousin’s words. He walked with his eyes straight ahead, his hands in his pockets, and his heart dragging the ground. He was always on an emotional roller coaster. One minute he could be laughing and joking and then the next be wanting to cry.

  “I’m tired, man,” Franky said. “I can’t get it out of my head that things won’t ever go back to the way they were. I miss my dad, man. Just as I was getting over my mom, my dad had to die. This just isn’t fair, man. How did I get here? How did we get here?”

  “Life put us here, cousin. I know how you feel. I miss my dad, too,” Nigel said, showing a rare sign of vulnerability. “But what can I do about it? Nothing. So we gotta keep g
rinding and make our own way in this world, ya heard.”

  “This whole thing is crazy to me. I mean, we’ve been down here for almost three years, and I haven’t even been to school. I liked school.”

  “Now, you know why you haven’t been to school. We tryna stay together, ya heard. If I take you up to that school, then they gonna start asking questions … and the next thing you know, you’ll be in a group home. We family and families stay together. We get those white folks up in our business and it’s over. Maybe I can get a computer from somewhere, and you can go to school online or something.”

  “Nah,” Franky said. “I need to be around people, Nigel. Doing things people my age do—playing basketball, football, tryna get into some girl’s panties.”

  “You can do that without going to school. Plenty lil girls running round here with hot drawers,” Nigel said.

  “Nah, man. I’m talking about regular girls. Girls who are about something. I need to be a part of something. Beta club, chess club, something. Anything,” Franky said with a hint of desperation.

  “Now, when we first got here, you was all for staying out of school. You said you was tired of it.”

  “So,” Franky said, raising his voice to his older cousin for the first time. He and Rico fought all the time, but he had never considered getting loud with Nigel.

  “What do you mean, ‘so'?” Nigel asked.

  “I mean, what kid likes school at my age? If you let most of us choose whether we go or not, I bet you over half of us wouldn’t step foot in a classroom. I wanna go toschool, cuz, but the thing is, I’m so far behind now that I don’t know where they’re gonna put me. I’m not about to sit in class with a bunch of seventh graders. I’m supposed to be in the ninth grade, and that’s where I wanna be.”

  “Okay,” Nigel said. “So that’s why you’ve been walking around like a zombie?”

  “I mean … I don’t know. Just this whole thing is crazy. We out here living by ourselves, man. Maybe I’ve been in a three-year funk, but it’s just now really hitting me. I’m fifteen years old, man, and I don’t do anything all day but play video games.”

  “And sleep,” Nigel said with a chuckle.

  “Yeah, but when I wake up, I play video games and go back to sleep. I know my mom and my dad are looking down at me crying their eyes out. They didn’t raise me like this.”

  “That’s the truth. Uncle Frank and Auntie had you all nerded up,” Nigel said.

  “I wish I could go back to being nerded up,” Franky said. “At least I knew that I was going to eat every day and that my life was going to be about something. Right now I don’t know. Folks around here shooting at people all day and night. Crack addicts trying to break in the house—man, it’s crazy, and I don’t like it one bit.”

  “Listen to me, boy,” Nigel snapped. “I’m doing the best I can. I stopped selling weed so I wouldn’t get locked up and leave you out here by yourself. So I don’t need you throwing in my face what we don’t have. I’m sorry I can’t provide a big pretty house like the one Uncle and Auntie had you in back in Nawlins, but I’m doing the best I can, ya heard?”

  Franky nodded. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry, cuz. I didn’tmean to knock you. If it wasn’t for you, I don’t know where I’d be or even if’d be living.”

  “Yeah,” Nigel said. “Sorry is right. You think you the only one hurting? I’ll get you back in school, and I’ll get some food in the fridge, but I can’t bring back Auntie and Uncle Frank. If I could, I would, ya heard.”

  “What you gonna do to get the rent money?” Franky asked, trying to change the subject.

  “I’ma do what I always do,” Nigel said with a shrug. “I’ma figure it out.”

  “And what is that?” Franky asked.

  “I’ll figure it out,” Nigel said again. “You just worry about something to tell those white folks up at the school. You’re smart, so use your brain.”

  “I’ll think of something,” Franky said as they walked into the store to get some much-needed groceries.

  3

  Franky was fast asleep in his bed when he was startled by the sound of gunshots. The shots were too close for comfort. He heard them all the time in their neighborhood but never this close. He jumped up and ran out of his room to make sure Nigel and Rico were all right. Nigel was sleeping peacefully, spread-eagle and wearing only his boxer shorts. The gunshots didn’t even make him stir. Franky backed away from his room and raced across the hallway to Rico’s room. He wasn’t there, but that wasn’t really that unusual. Nine out of ten nights, he would be on the streets somewhere doing something he had no business doing. Franky walked back to his room and sat on the bed.

  Pow! Pow! Pow!

  He heard more shots. His heart began to race, and he felt helpless. He slid off of the bed onto the floor, hoping none of the bullets would find their way into his bedroom.

  Pow! Pow!

  He heard more shots but this time from a different type of gun. Suddenly, someone was outside of his window. As if he were watching a low-budget action film, he saw someone leap through his open bedroom window and land on the floor with a thud. Franky jumped up, ready to fight.

  The boy, who was about his age, give or take a year or two, held his hands up to his mouth, signaling for Franky to be quiet.

  “Man, what the …,” Franky said, startled to the point where he felt as if he were on the verge of a heart attack. “What do you think you are doing?”

  “Please, man,” the boy said with tears in his eyes. “These dudes out there tryna kill me.”

  “Kill you?”

  “Yes. Please, man. Please. I beg you to let me stay here for a minute,” the boy pleaded.

  “I don’t know anything about that. You gonna have to get out of here,” Franky said, standing up and walking over to his bedroom door. “You can go back out of that window or use the door, but you need to leave right now.”

  “Please, man. I’m begging you. I didn’t do nothing, man. I’m not a thief or anything like that, man. I work every day,” the boy pleaded through his tears. “I don’t wanna die, man. My momma …,” he said, then dropped his head. “I don’t wanna die.”

  Franky didn’t respond. He stood at the door watching the boy.

  The boy popped his head up and started patting his pockets. “Here, I’ll pay you.” Desperation was oozing out of the boy’s eyes.

  Something told Franky that the boy was okay, yet he was still wary. People played all kinds of games in the hood. This wasn’t some nice suburban area where you could give someone the benefit of the doubt. Franky cursed himself for leaving his window up, but the Georgia heat was making the house a sweatbox.

  The boy must’ve read the hesitation in Franky’s eyes, because he started pulling wads of money from both pockets.

  “Take it. Here, take it. Just let me stay here for a few more minutes. Please,” the boy whispered.

  Franky heard footsteps and people talking in the backyard. They stopped outside of his window.

  “Where that fool go?” one of them said.

  “I don’t know. He gotta be round here somewhere,” the other one replied.

  “That fool got some jets on him. He must be related to Houdini or somebody.”

  The boy looked at Franky and held up his hands as if praying to the god of Franky.

  “Frankyyyy,” a voice called from outside.

  “Yeah,” Franky said, keeping his eye on the boy and walking over to the window. He turned away from the boy and acted as if he had been asleep. “What’s up?”

  “You hear anything back here?” a man with a baritone voice asked him.

  Franky recognized the tone and knew right away who he was talking to: Stick.

  Stick was an older guy from the neighborhood and a complete born loser. He was at least thirty-five years old, and all he did all day, every day was run around the same ten-block radius of Atlanta’s west end with kids who wereyoung enough to be his children. He still lived with his mother and was alway
s running some kind of scam. If you wanted a hot television, DVDs, or even the latest Blu-ray players or bootleg movies, Stick was the guy to see. He even sold chicken and steaks that had been pilfered from the local supermarkets. If a neighbor wanted to have lobster for dinner, he would ask Stick and miraculously the seafood would be on his table at dinnertime.

  “Nah,” Franky said, wiping his eyes. All of a sudden, he felt sorry for the guy who was hiding behind him on the floor, holding his breath for fear that his attackers would hear him breathing. “Is that you out here shooting?”

  “Yeah, came up on a lil lick, but the fool got away. He must be a track star or somebody, ‘cause baby boy was moving. Messed up my night, ‘cause I needed that money.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m sorry I can’t help you, Stick,” Franky said. “And use some silencers next time. I gotta go to school in the morning.”

  “School?” Stick said with a frown. “You going lame on me?”

  “Yeah,” Franky said.

  “A’ight, lil homie,” Stick said. “Take your lame tail back to bed.”

  “You see him?” Rico asked as he jogged up to Stick from the opposite side of the house. “Franky, you hear anybody back here?”

  “Nope,” Franky said, disappointed but not surprised to see that his cousin was involved in this little scheme with the likes of Stick.

  “A’ight, let’s walk up this way, Stick,” Rico said with a big smile on his face as if they were playing a game of hide-and-seek. “I know that fool can’t be too far away, ya heard?”

  Franky closed the window and walked back over to his bed. He sat down and sighed.

  “Thanks, man,” the boy said. “Those dudes are crazy.”

  “You sho right about that,” Franky said.

  “May I use your phone? I must’ve dropped mine when I was running for my life.”

  “We don’t have a phone, whoadie,” Franky said, staring at the frightened boy.