Ahgottahandleonit

by Donovan Mixon

  Les couldn’t watch him anymore. “No problem, homie. Get up off the floor, man! You even got yourself all wet in shit. You nervous or something?”

  “I’m not all that w-wet, man. It’s cool,” Tim said continuing to mop up the mess. “Sorry about that, y’all,” he yelled across the small space at the Hispanic dudes working behind the bulletproof Plexiglass.

  Tim sat down and inspected his bag as he spoke. “Yeah, it’s been going pretty smooth. I told you it was my uncle who got me started goin’ over to the library, right?”

  “Yeah—that was funny. So…you gonna pass that test or what?” Les asked quietly.

  “I don’t know, man!” Tim slumped in his seat. “Shit’s changing all around so fast. Couple days ago my mom said she got a new job and we’re moving to Chicago. I can’t even think about that right now. I got other shit on my mind like that fucking Fidel at the gym the other day.”

  Les put down his fork. “Oh shit! Yeah, just yesterday I saw that foul dude again. Told me to tell you that he would be in touch with you soon. Better watch your back. I couldn’t believe what I heard about Rasheed’s. Man, what the hell were you doin’ with those fools?” Les said, working hard to hold his voice down. The place had suddenly become crowded with nugget lovers.

  “Aw man. Wasn’t nothin’. They wanted to get some…”

  “Some what? I heard y’all went over there to rob the place!” Les whispered.

  “Well, I don’t know—I was in the car the whole time and…”

  “And what? You was the lookout man? Shit, Tim! Fidel said something about you leaving them when the police showed up.” Les leaned forward with both hands on the table.

  “I-I told them that I was le-leaving!”Tim said, with a wave of his hand.

  Les dialed back his tone a bit. “Now take it easy, man. Let me tell you this. That thug Fido thinks you got something to do with Chucky disappearing. It’s true nobody has seen the dude for a while now.”

  “And so?” Tim said, looking around the room. They were now surrounded by a crowd of chewing teens, hunched over Styrofoam tubs of nuggets and fries.

  “And so? So tell me. Why does Fidel think—?”

  “Man, I don’t know wh-what or why that fo-fool thinks anything. At the gym, he was saying the same shit. I told him to leave me the fuck alone. You know he’s crazy? Right?”

  “Dangerous too. Don’t you forget it. Come on! Try to tell me, man, without gettin’ all wild and shit. That night when I called you at the library, Chucky was hassling you. What went down for real?” Holding onto his last nugget as he spoke, Les looked like a dog with a bone. He wasn’t letting go of this one.

  Tim hesitated. “Ye-yeah like, I told you…”

  Les tossed his bag and napkins in a huge trash receptacle next to them. “Don’t give me that shit, boy! What the fuck happened?”

  “I told you, Les! Damn! They left me at the table laughing and shit.”

  “Who’s they?

  “Chucky was with some dude I never saw before. When I came out, I walked up to him and his boys.”

  “Yeah-yeah, I remember all that now. You punked the dude in the parking lot. Watch your back, homie. You said it yourself, that dude Fidel is crazy.”

  “Hmm, no shit. Yo. I-I’m sorry for going crazy on you that day. L-let me give this back to you.” He slid Les’ knife across the table.

  Les pocketed it real fast. “Oh shit. What are you doing? Numb brains! Why you bringing that in here? Yeah, that was some lame shit you pulled at my house, dawg. If you wasn’t my boy, I would’ve broke your ass right then and there. Like what the fuck is goin’ on, Tim?”

  Tim shook his head, reached in the bag again and pulled out his baseball glove and placed it on the table between them. “Take this too.”

  “What? Na-nah, man. Now I know something is up!” Les said, sliding the glove towards Tim.

  “Just take it, bro. We moving in about a week or so. I don’t use it, and I know you still play sometimes.”

  “Yeah, but didn’t your pops give that to you?”

  “He wanted me to have it. Now I want you to have it. Can you for once just say okay and shut the fuck up?” Tim said. Something buzzed.

  “That must be yours, man, mine is off. You not gonna get it?”

  “Oh, that’s Sheila texting me,” he said. “Oh wow, look who just came in! Now be cool, Les. Alright?”

  Les turned. “What? Oh! Yo, Rene baby, how you be?”

  “I’m fine, Mr. Les. Tim, what up with you?” she said, touching him on the shoulder.

  “Hey, Boo,” he crooned. “S’up?”

  “Apparently nothing much. Haven’t seen you since uh—the funeral.” She paused, giving him a certain look. “How’s your mother holding up? I’m going over there right now to see them.”

  “She’s alright, making plans and cleaning the house. She’s good. Sheila’s home too. You can—”

  “Yes, Timmy, I know what I can and can’t do. Don’t need your advice, brother,” she teased.

  Les cracked up, “Oooh-wee, Tim, you done stepped in it—”

  “Shut up, Mr. Les,” Rene said, sweetly.

  Tim always wondered about that Mr. Les business. “Ha, Les, I know you heard the lady. Hey, Boo, I know I’ll see you at the music fest tomorrow. Right?”

  “Really? You know it? That’s strange because I don’t even know it. Anyway, check y’all later. MAYBE.” She waved and headed for the door. Tim and Les weren’t the only customers watching her exit.

  “Yo,” Les said almost turning over the table in the process. “I’m goin’ over to the gym. You coming?”

  “Nah, I’ll have to check you later,” Tim said over his shoulder, already up and running out the door after Boo. “Yo, Rene, wait up!” he yelled across the parking lot.

  Like loose bones vibrating in his pocket, Chucky’s phone buzzed again. There were two unknown numbers and two texts:

  Where are you? Call me! Maria

  Charles baby, this your mama! I hope to God you’re okay. Where are you, honey? It’s been too long. Call me tonight or I’m going to the police. Mom

  APOLOGY

  That night at the dinner table Tim kept his head down as he tucked into a plate of green beans, potatoes and ham. His uncle watched him closely from across the table as his mom chattered on about her new job and how much better life would be for them in Chicago. Sheila chewed her food, scanned a magazine and pretended to listen to her, being sure to make the right sounds at the right times.

  “I’ve written everything down and made copies for everybody. Here…” Julia placed a single sheet of paper in front of each of them. “Go ahead, check it out. I’ve listed all the things we’re giving away, what we’ll be shipping to Chicago and what I’m leaving with you, Gentrale. Sheila, Tim—y’all will be coming after the first week of school. All the flight information stuff is at the bottom of the page. The new address in Chicago is at the top. Actually, it’s a suburb north of the city called Skokie.”

  Sheila frowned. “Skokie? Dag, what kind of name is that?”

  “Yeah, it sounds like anotha’ word for crazy, like, ‘That dude is seriously skokie!’” Tim crossed his eyes and moved like a bobblehead doll in his chair. Sheila joined in almost immediately saying, “Hey, we could invent a new dance.”

  “You all gonna make me dizzy if you keep that stuff up,” Gentrale said with a smile.

  Julia managed to frown and laugh at the same time. “Neva-mind about all that, Timmy—Mr. Poet. That’s where we’re going. I’ve already reserved the taxi for tomorrow morning. I’m bringing four suitcases with me—Lord, have mercy! It’s gonna cost a bunch, but it’ll be worth it in the end. You’ll see. Word on that! Like you kids like to say.”

  “Whoa! Check out Mom with the word, yo!” Tim said, fist bumping with his sis.

  Julia came back quick on him. “Yes, you heard right young man. I…”

  Gentrale interrupted her. “Excuse me, Julia, but since you’re leaving in th
e morning, I must ask something right here and now while we’re all together at the table.”

  “Oh! Okay, Gentrale. What is it?” Julia asked real sober-like.

  Gentrale looked at his nephew. “Eh-hem, let me get this straight. Tim, that boy Chucky—did you know him?”

  “Yeah, Unk, I know him—he tries to be a bully.”

  Julia frowned and put her fork down. “Now, Tim, you’re not going to sit here at my table and disparage somebody who may be in trouble, hurt or worse, no matter their faults!”

  Tim rubbed an eye with the back of his hand—the one that held his fork. When he spoke, he yawned and his voice came out in a kind of whine. “Sorry, Mom. I just never liked the dude…”

  “He’s always up in somebody’s face, Mom, and he keeps his silly boys with him for protection,” volunteered Sheila.

  “Well…when we were kids back on the farm, your daddy and me had a word for that type of nig—”

  “GEN-TRALE!” chided Julia. She balled up a napkin and threw it at him.

  The old man batted it away. “Sorry, Julia, and y’all too,” he said, nodding at Tim and Sheila. Arms folded, Julia rolled her eyes. “I’m not having such language in this house,” she said. She took a deep breath and turned toward her son. “Tim, it looked like you wanted to say something?” Her voice had a renewed calm. She took a sip of water. Sheila picked up the napkin from the floor.

  “Ha! Yeah, Unk, I’m sure y’all did have some funny names for those kinda fools. Oh-oh, like one night at the library that fool Chucky and some other dude was messin’ with me at the table. I tried to ignore him, but—” Tim suddenly stopped talking when his mom, glaring at him, sat up in her chair and folded her arms for the second time in five minutes. Oh shit! he thought.

  “But what, Tim?” asked Julia.

  “Mom, he probably got himself beat up again,” taunted his sister.

  With both elbows on the table, Tim covered his eyes. “You shut up, Tubby. I’ll take you and…”

  “TIMMY! You’ll take her and do WHAT, exactly? What’s wrong with you, boy?” Julia, suddenly breathing hard, visibly shook in her seat and glared at him. “That’s no way for a young man to talk to his sister. No way indeed, Tim…wait, are you crying, Timmy?”

  “Na-nah—I ain’t cryin’.” His voice was husky and wet. “Sorry, I’m sorry, Uncle Gentrale.”

  “And to your sister, young man! What did we talk about just recently?”

  “S-sorry, Sheila,” he stuttered out. He started to get up, but his uncle held onto his forearm and gestured for him to stay where he was.

  After a pause, Gentrale cleared his throat and spoke up. “There must be something heavy going on. Uh—I wasn’t going to say anything, Julia, but on the day of Victor’s wake, some bad dudes stopped us on the street. Since the police were here yesterday asking to talk with your boy here, Mr. Fierce, I think we need to hear from him right about now.” Everyone looked at Tim who sat with his head down, hands in his lap.

  Julia slapped the table and stood up. “TIMMY! Why in heaven’s name would the police want to speak with you? Is it about that boy Chucky?”

  “Mom! I don’t know, I-I don’t think—”

  “Tim, don’t lie to us,” Julia continued. “A minute ago you said that you had something to do with that child. Now spill it! What happened?” Julia had moved to Tim’s side of the table and stood over him.

  “Dag, I don’t like the way y’all lookin’ at me, like I’m a criminal or something. Ok, before running out of there—”

  “From the library?” Sheila asked.

  “Yes, from the library—Chucky was saying stuff—like, he wanted to kick my—you know what—outside in the parking lot.”

  “So, child, you left right away through the front door. Right?” Julia demanded.

  “Mom, I uh…”

  “THROUGH THE FRONT DOOR! RIGHT, TIMMY?” she yelled.

  “Oh—uh, n-nah, I waited the fifteen minutes ’till the library closed—and by then, those dudes had been gone for ten or more. You know what I mean? When the bell rang, I left out the back with everybody else and got out quick. I didn’t see nobody. Later that night, I went to Dad’s place.

  “Uh, Tim,” broke in Gentrale, “so why are the cops coming here asking for you? Your daddy may have had his troubles, but never with the police.” He sat up straight and touched his bowtie. “No Thornton has!”

  “And what are you trying to say, Gentrale?” Julia asked.

  Gentrale realized he had stepped in it again. “Aw darlin’, absolutely nothing in particular.”

  “Yeah, Tim.” Sheila said, clearing off the table. “The police did say specifically that you were the last person seen with Chucky that night.”

  “Way-way-wait a minute, y’all. Maybe I was one of the last people, but not the last one. Like I said, he was with another boy I didn’t know.”

  “Timmy! You’re not going to get your phone? It’s been buzzing for awhile now,” Sheila said.

  “Oh!” He took a quick glance at the screen of Chucky’s cell.”

  Call me, Charles: Mom

  Sheila leaned towards him to see. “Who’s that, big brother?” she said laughing.

  “It-it’s a missed call. It’s no-nothing.”

  “There it goes again, boy. Why you putting it away?” His mom glared at him.

  “I to-told you it’s nothing!”

  Julia moved back to her chair and sat down. She held her right hand over her heart. “Lord, Tim. What have you done, child?”

  “Nothin’, Mom.” Tim’s voice cracked this time. The tears were on their way. “That’s it. You kn-know the police have to fi-find anybody to put the bl-blame on. What y’all think anyway?”

  “Boy, it ain’t what we think, it’s what the police thinks now!” Gentrale said.

  Julia touched his arm. “Don’t scare him. It’s obvious he hasn’t done anything. Just in the wrong place at the wrong time.” When she turned and spoke to her son, her voice was stern yet laden with concern. “Now, Timmy, I want to leave here tomorrow morning not having to worry. Do I have anything to worry about, son?”

  “Ye-yeah, I mean—no, Mom.”

  Julia punched him in the shoulder. “What? Say it where I can hear you—so we all can hear you!”

  Instead of looking at Julia, Tim stared straight ahead at the wall, rubbed his shoulder and spoke through a pout. “Nooo, Mom, you don’t have to worry about me.”

  Gentrale groaned, like he was nursing an old wound. “What’s obvious is that they don’t have any evidence yet. Otherwise, they’d be on him like white on rice.”

  It was 10:30 at night when the thump of Gentrale’s cane told Tim that the old man had finally shuffled into his bedroom.

  He scooted down the hall to Sheila’s door.

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s me.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I have to talk to you.”

  “This better be good.”

  As soon as he opened the door a heavy scent of nail polish remover combined with peppermint candy hit him in the face. Something silly played on YouTube. Before he could speak, Sheila held up a mighty hand while she finished her text.

  Tim craned his neck to see the screen, “Who-who you texting now? The police? Ha!”

  Sheila pursed her lips and looked at her brother over her glasses. “What are you talking about? Forget that. Did you know that the net is blowing up about that dude Chucky? Seems that he’s been missing more than a week now. Anyway, what do you want? And what’s with the camera. I know you aren’t planning on taking photos! Well, you better not be!”

  Tim stepped over clothes and hair stuff that lay on the floor. He looked his sister in the eyes. “H-hey, I re-really am sorry for calling you tubby at the table.”

  “So, why do you have that little grin on your face? What’s so funny, clown-boy?” she said with a smirk.

  “Hey—uh, it’s not funny. Okay? And I’m sorry, that’s all,” he said,
sans smile.

  “Fine. Apology accepted.” She put down her phone and sat up on the bed. “But what’s so important that you had to come in here to tell me?”

  “I–I want you to have this.” Tim placed the SLR in her lap.

  “What am I going to do with this big ol’ thing? Besides, Daddy gave it to you. Do you remember how jealous I was?” she said, turning it over in her hands.

  “Ye-yeah, but I don’t need it now—thought maybe you’d like it. If you don’t want to take it as a gift, just hold onto it for me.” Tim moved side to side, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

  “What? But why? Are you going somewhere, Timmy?” She slapped her thigh. “You are in trouble! Aren’t you! Now don’t lie! Tell me!” she demanded, trying to give the camera back to him.

  “Shh—chill, Sheila. Keep it for me, okay? And don’t tell Mom. I’m thinking, just thinking about staying here with Uncle Gentrale. You used to be able to ke-keep a secret,” he said, pushing it back into her hands.

  “So, it-it’s like a se-secret? What ki-kind-a—waaaiit, Timmy! Aw man, I was only kidding. I—ugh—wait up.” She jumped off the bed. “Don’t go, don’t close the door!”

  Tim shot his voice over his shoulder as he left. “I’m out. We’re done. Do what you want with the camera.”

  The sudden sharp beep from Chucky’s phone sounded like a smoke alarm in the narrow hallway. Shit! Tim fumbled for the thing in his pocket and bolted to his room.

  As if dazed, he leaned heavily on his door and stared at the backlit words until his hand went limp. The cell hit the floor with a loud crack and bounced out of sight as if even it couldn’t bear the shame. Sweat poured out of him like a broken water main as he reached underneath the bed frame to retrieve it. Dust balls stuck to his skin like furry gauze.

  Got it.

  Lying on the floor, mouthing the words, Tim read the text on the tiny screen several times before dozing off.

  Chucky, call me when you get this.

  Your pop’s been calling every day asking about you. Fidel