At the Crossroads

by Travis Hunter

  “He looks like a Laffy Taffy,” one of the kids in line said.

  The sixteen-year-old pimp turned around and walked toward the boy as if he wanted to fight but was snatched back into line by the guard.

  “I’ma see you, boi,” Lime Green said, still trying to go after the jokester.

  “Everybody can see you,” the jokester said, laughing. “And trust me, player. This ain’t what you want. Believe that.”

  “Hey,” the guard said. “Y’all are pathetic. This is jail and y’all still up in here acting up. Stand your lil simple-minded self still before I take you in one of those rooms over there and strap you to a wall.”

  Franky looked where the officer was pointing and saw two people strapped into restraint chairs. Their mouths were gagged, and white mesh bags were on their heads.

  Once all of the teens were lined up, they were led to a side door and out of the holding tank. They ended up in a small room with a bunch of desks and computers. Aboutfive or six officers sat behind a large counter. The teens were made to stand on a wall and wait to be fingerprinted and have their mug shots taken.

  “I want you guys to count from first to last. Go,” a corrections officer said.

  When it was Franky’s turn to count, he didn’t say a word.

  “Hey,” the officer said, running at Franky and screaming at the top of his lungs. “Can you hear? I said count.”

  Franky turned toward the man, then calmly turned away, keeping his eyes straight ahead.

  “Okay,” the officer said. “I think we got a deaf one. Keep the count going. The mute here is number twelve.”

  After the count was completed, all twenty-five juveniles, boys and girls, were fingerprinted and had their mug shots taken.

  When Franky stepped up, he looked at the camera with such a menacing face that the lady taking the picture stopped what she was doing and looked at him. “My God, son,” she said with a frown. “You’re too young and handsome to have that much anger inside of you.”

  Franky didn’t respond, nor did he change his facial expression. The lady shook her head and snapped his picture from the front and side of his face.

  The teen prisoners were laughing and joking around as if they were headed off to summer camp, but Franky couldn’t even hear them. After the mug shot and the fingerprints, Franky was asked once again to provide his name and date of birth, and once again he refused. The officer put John Doe down on a paper and moved him along. The juvies were led out of the room and outside into a parking garage. They were handcuffed and loadedonto a white bus with the words georgia department of corrections on the side. Franky sat in the front seat, a good habit that was hard to break. He stared out the window at the city of Atlanta as the bus carried him to a life he always said he wanted no part of. His mind began to wander as he sat there with his hands cuffed on his lap. He looked up at a billboard and saw an advertisement for an Atlanta home builder, and the picture on the sign was of a house that looked exactly like the one he had shared with his parents in Jefferson Parish. He kept his eyes on the sign until it was no longer in his sight and wondered what God was trying to tell him.

  Metro Juvenile Housing Facility was about a thirty-five minute bus ride from downtown Atlanta, and when they arrived at the juvenile prison, Franky was surprised at how big it was. He looked up at the thirty-foot high guard towers and saw a man staring down at them. The guard had a rifle across his body and seemed to be ready to use it at any time. The bus stopped, and the boys and girls were told to get off. The twenty boys were led into one building and the five girls were led into another. Once inside, the boys were told to strip naked. Franky followed the directions that were given to him, and with each new directive, he felt more humiliated. This was a heavy price to pay for some revenge, but he was willing to endure. Looking around at his cocriminals, he could tell that the vast majority of the guys had been incarcerated many times before. Some of them were on cruise control and did things even before they were asked to do them, but Franky was in total disgust with this entire experience which made him even more upset.

  As he stood there, as naked as the day he was born, hisanger grew, and he had trouble keeping himself from lashing out at everyone in the room. He was a time bomb waiting to explode, and he could feel himself slipping fast over to the side where kids didn’t care if they lived or died. Franky was inspected and then sprayed with some kind of insecticide. He was then given a navy blue jumpsuit, orange flip-flops, a T-shirt, and a pair of underwear. All of his clothes were placed in a brown paper bag. He was then led to a meeting room where an older lady sat behind a desk.

  “Have a seat,” she said, peering over the top of her glasses.

  Franky took a seat.

  “Spell your name, first then last,” she said.

  Franky wrote his name.

  “Do you have any allergies, diseases, or thoughts of suicide?”

  “No,” he said.

  “Ever been arrested before?”

  “No.”

  The lady stopped writing and erased what she had assumed would be a yes answer. She looked at Franky for a full thirty seconds without saying anything.

  “Can I go now?”

  “Not yet,” the lady said, turning back to her pad. “Where are you from, Mr. Bourgeois?”

  “Nawlins,” he said, unintentionally using the slang term for his hometown.

  “Me too,” she said. “Which part of the city?”

  “Third Ward, Calliope Projects,” he said, even though he had only visited the place four or five times in his entire life.

  “I don’t think so, but if you say so,” the lady said. “What brings you to Atlanta?”

  “Katrina,” he said.

  The lady nodded. “That storm uprooted a lot of families. Have you notified your parents or guardians of your arrest?”

  “Nope.”

  “Would you like to use the phone to let your mother know where you are?”

  “I can’t,” he said.

  “Why not?”

  “Because.”

  The lady looked at Franky again as if staring at him hard and long enough would get some answers from him.

  “Why not?” she asked again.

  “Because my mother is dead and so is my father.”

  “Who do you live with?”

  “My cousins,” he said.

  “Would you like to call your cousins?”

  “No,” he said.

  The lady turned to her computer and started typing. She looked over at Franky and gave him a fake smile. “Okay,” she said. “It is important for you to know that you have not been convicted of any crime. You are simply being detained until you can see a judge. You will go to court tomorrow or the next, and the judge may decide to send you home, which he probably will, given your lack of history and being that the charge is kind of petty. The officer wrote it up as assault, but I’m sure your attorney will say you just wasted your drink and stepped on his toe by mistake. Whatever the case is, you make sure to keep your nose clean while you’re here. So many times guys come inhere with a nothing charge but decide to get into an altercation and end up with some charge that will give him more time. I’m going to make sure you room with somebody who has a good head on his shoulders—since you refuse to call anyone to pick you up.”

  Franky heard the woman, but he didn’t hear her. His mind was still fixated on Tyrone.

  “You can step out into the hallway. A guard will take you where you need to go,” the woman said.

  Franky stood and walked toward the door.

  “Oh,” the lady said. “I’m really sorry to hear about your parents, Mr. Bourgeois.”

  Franky grabbed the door handle and walked out without so much as a nod to the woman.

  The guard led Franky to a cell that was smaller than his bathroom at home. On the wall was a stainless-steel sink and toilet combo. When he stepped in, he saw the bottom bunk bed was empty but there was a boy sleeping on the top one. Franky walked over and pull
ed the covers off the boy’s head. He looked directly into the boy’s face, and once he realized that this wasn’t his target, he threw the covers back over him. The boy never moved.

  Franky rolled the thin mattress across the steel slab that was bolted to the wall and spread out his sheets. He sat down and slid up until his back was against the wall. He wondered why he wasn’t afraid or even nervous about being incarcerated. This was quite abnormal behavior, he realized, but before he could get too deep into his thoughts, the zee monster came and took him away.

  22

  Nigel woke up and knocked on Franky’s bedroom door. “Getcha head out the bed, whoadie,” he said, and walked into the kitchen. He was in a good mood, so he decided he would send his cousin to school with a hot breakfast.

  “I’m cooking breakfast, ya heard? Cereal is cool, but every now and then the body needs something hot to start its day,” he said to Franky’s door.

  He walked into the kitchen and pulled out a well-used pot and pan. He opened the refrigerator and removed the eggs and bacon.

  “Franky,” he called out. “You want French toast or grits?”

  No answer.

  Nigel shook his head. “For somebody who loves school, you sho don’t like to get up and go there. You been out for a week. Now it’s time to get back in the swing of things, ya heard?”

  Nigel measured some water, poured it into the pot, andonce it began to boil, he added the grits. The bacon was thin, and it was going to take cooking the entire pack just to satisfy Franky’s teenage hunger. He walked over to the refrigerator and checked to see if Rico had killed all of the orange juice like he normally did. Yep, it was all gone. Speaking of Rico, he had been missing in action for the last two days. Once Stick was flushed out, he started spending a lot of time with that weird-looking geechie woman and hadn’t been coming home or calling. Nigel wasn’t really all that concerned, because the woman proved to be good for him. When Rico was all set to shoot up the entire city after Franky got jumped, the geechie woman put her hand on his shoulders, and he calmed down immediately and never mentioned it again. It was as if the woman had some kind of hold over him. But, after all, she was a geechie woman. Nigel wished he had her around a long time ago. He picked up the house phone and dialed his brother’s cell.

  “What’s cracka lacking?” Rico’s sleepy voice said.

  “That woman must’ve put a root on you, too,” Nigel said.

  “She don’t do no roots, man,” Rico said. “What’s up?”

  “My bad, whoadie. A little touchy there, huh?”

  Rico only exhaled.

  “I guess you forgot that you live here?” Nigel said.

  “Nah,” Rico said. “I’ve just been hanging, ya know. Vibing with Donita. She’s only nineteen years old, man. I thought she was older.”

  “You’re only eighteen,” Nigel said.

  “I know that, but I just thought she was older.”

  “So when is she gonna come around? I only saw her that one time last week when you wanted to shoot up the city.”

  “Man,” Rico said, “gone wit dat. I’m done with all that violence. ‘Bout to go back to school, too. Get my GED.”

  “Did I dial the wrong number? Is this Rico Bourgeois?”

  “Live and direct. I’m just saying. We been talkin', ya know. Talkin’ ‘bout life. The future, ya know.”

  “I ain’t mad atcha,” Nigel said. “First of all, she sets me free, and now she’s about to do the same thing for you.”

  “I’m already free, whoadie.”

  “If you say so,” Nigel said.

  “We went to the movies last night, and I’m telling you this girl got some serious powers for real, man. I had to go sit somewhere else because she kept telling me what was gonna happen. She ain’t even seen the doggone thang before but know everything ‘bout it. That’s crazy.”

  “Yeah, okay,” Nigel said. “Hey, who am I to say any different? I’m home with all the charges dropped, Stick is locked up, and you’re going back to school. The world is a lovely place.”

  “That’s what I’m talking ‘bout,” Rico said. “And you won’t believe where she found this fool at. Some lil small town in south Georgia. Fool was on a farm sleeping in a cow pasture.”

  “How she find him out there? Never mind. She’s the geechie woman. Nuff said,” Nigel said, laughing as he flipped the bacon. “That’s a’ight. Money well spent.”

  “And guess what else?”

  “What?” Nigel said.

  “Guess who I bumped into at the movies last night?”

  “Why do I have to guess? Why can’t you just tell me?”

  “Kelli,” Rico said.

  “Our aunt Kelli?”

  “Yep, mean old Kelli. She came up to me and pinchedme on the ear. I’m waiting in line to get some popcorn and somebody pinched me so hard I almost turned around and stole on her, ya heard?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Nigel said. “And she would’ve stole on you right back.”

  “I know. Soon as I realized it was her, I got scared. That girl used to terrorize me when I was little.”

  “Did you get her number?”

  “Yeah, I got it. You got something to write with?”

  “Yeah,” Nigel said. “Even though she didn’t like us too much when we was growing up, she’s still family.”

  “I know,” Rico said. “She asked about you. But, man, she was going crazy when I told her Franky was with us. She started crying and everything. Said she’d been calling the schools, hospitals, the jails. I told her he ain’t been to none of them,” Rico said with a chuckle as he gave his brother the number.

  “Okay,” Nigel said. “I’ll call her as soon as I get this boy up and at ‘em. You know he’ll sleep his life away if you let him.”

  “He’s pregnant,” Rico said.

  “Must be. And I like how you killed all of the orange juice.”

  “Franky must’ve did that this time ‘cause I ain’t been there.”

  “Yeah. Well, I need to run down to the store and get some.”

  “A’ight, man. I’ll probably be back over there today. I need to talk to you.”

  “About what?” Nigel asked. “What’s wrong?”

  “I swear you’re a worry wart. Nothing is wrong. It’s just I’m thinking ‘bout moving back down to Nawlins.”

  “You moving back to Nawlins or you going out to the swamp with the geechie girl?”

  “Nawlins, man,” Rico said. “I told you I’m going back to school. Ain’t no schools in the swamps.”

  “Yeah, okay. You’re grown now, so it’s whatever you wanna do. We still got our people there. You’ll be okay.”

  “You for real,” Rico said.

  “Yeah, whoadie,” Nigel said. “If that’s whatchu wanna do, then that’s what you need to do. I wanna move back myself, but I don’t think Franky needs to be down there right now, ya heard.”

  “Yeah,” Rico said. “A’ight. I need to get back to cuddling up with my silver-haired stunner.”

  “Peace,” Nigel said, and hung up the phone.

  He turned off his bacon and placed it on a napkin-layered plate. He looked at the clock and realized he had time to drive to the corner store to pick up some orange juice and still get Franky up. He turned off the stove and walked back toward Franky’s room.

  “Franky,” he called again, knocking on the door. “I’ma run to the store right quick. I’ll be back in five minutes. You better be up and at ‘em or I’ma come in there and throw some water on ya.”

  Nigel walked away from the door and out of the house. He jumped in his car and was down at the store in less than two minutes. He jumped out of his car, looked at the police officer who was parked directly out in front of the store, and ignored him.

  “Habib,” Nigel said. “Good morning, homie.”

  “Hey,” Habib said as if he was waiting on Nigel to show up. “What in the goodness is going on with your cousin?”

  “Huh?”

  “He came i
n my store and stole from me. That’s not nice,” Habib said.

  “Stole from you?”

  “Yes,” Habib said. “Did I stutter? Stole from me. Your ears are working just fine.”

  “What do you mean he stole from you? Stole what?”

  “I’ve been very kind to you and your family. I let you have things and pay me later. Do I not?”

  “Yes, and we always pay you for them, too,” Nigel said defensively. “Do we not?”

  “Well, Franky came in here last night and was acting really weird. He didn’t even speak. That’s not like him. That’s what always separated him from these knuckle-heads around here. He’s cultured. But last night, he came in here and walked out with a Pepsi without paying me. Didn’t even say a thing,” Habib said, shaking his head.

  “But Franky don’t steal,” Nigel said.

  “That’s what I thought, but he came in here last night and stole. Surprised me, too,” Habib said.

  “Really,” Nigel said, reaching into his pocket to pay for the stolen good. “How much do I owe you for the Pepsi he took?”

  “Nothing,” Habib said, fanning him off. “You just tell him to come and apologize. And I want him to explain to me what was wrong him. He’s my friend and I’m concerned.”

  “I will,” Nigel said, deep in thought.

  “Then,” Habib said, jumping up as if he just remembered something else, “guess what else he did? He poured the Pepsi on the police officer. Didn’t even drink it. They locked him up.”

  “What?”

  “Yes, I pleaded with the officer but he paid me no mind.”

  “Who locked him up?”

  “The officer who parks here every night. The big-eared white boy. He still may be outside. But they took my friend to jail,” Habib said, shaking his head. “It was almost like he wanted to go. The officer was gonna let him go after I said good things about him, but when the guy seemed like he was gonna let him go, Franky hauled off and kicked him. Kicked him good, too. Strange. I tell you, very strange.”

  Nigel reached into his pocket and slid a five-dollar bill under the bulletproof window that separated Habib from the customers who frequented his store.