Black Buck

by Mateo Askaripour

  Bright orange flames shot out of every window. Walls crumbled, glass shattered, and the black smoke was so heavy, it resembled burnt cotton candy.

  “Is anyone in there?” I asked, watching my house, the house of my mother and father, crumble right before my eyes.

  Brian looked at me, his chest rising and falling, and nodded.

  “Who?” I shouted, panic exploding in my stomach.

  There was a hand on my back. Jason. “Trey, Superman. Li’l nigga wen’ in there to save what he could and never came out.”

  I made a break for the house and jumped the steps two by two, screaming his name. I ran upstairs, but the smoke was so thick, it burned my eyes, blinding me. I kept calling him, but all I got was black smoke barreling down my throat, choking me as it grabbed hold of my lungs.

  I fell to the floor. It felt like hot coals were burning every surface of my body. The heat entered me, and I couldn’t do anything to push it out. But before I took my last breath, I heard something coming from the kitchen. A familiar laugh, one I hadn’t heard in a long time but could never forget.

  “Ma?”

  * * *

  “Dang, he in a coma?”

  “Funny, last time I was the nigga in the hospital. Looks like the tables have turned. Superman is strong, though. He’ll be aight.”

  “C’mon, Buckaroo. Stop playing around and wake up. We need you. I swear to God, if you die on me, I’m bringing you back to life just to kill you myself.”

  “He’ll be fine. Buck’s like me, nothing can stop him.”

  “Ring ring, D. We’re all here for you, habibi. Open your eyes if you can hear us.”

  “COCK! Um, sorry. Stay strong, Buck. I guess fire is your kryptonite.”

  I felt tubes in my nose and tried to pull them out. The beeping, the shuffling feet, and the sensation of burning lungs made me think I was in purgatory. But when I opened my eyes, the Talented Fifth, plus Soraya and Jason, were staring at me.

  “Mornin’, D,” Soraya said, removing my hands from the tubes. I was so weak, all she had to do was pick them up and drop them like lead weights into my lap. “Don’ do that. It’s helpin’ you breathe.”

  “There you are, Buckaroo,” Rose said, placing a cool hand on my forehead.

  “I,” I started, trying to sit up, coughing like I had just chain-smoked a pack of old turds. “I thought I heard you say something about killing me if I died. I couldn’t let that happen.”

  Everyone laughed. One big dysfunctional family. My family. “What day is it?”

  “Friday,” Brian said, as he inserted a straw into my mouth. “Drink this.” Water never tasted so good.

  “What happened?” I searched their smiling faces for answers.

  “You wen’ all supernigga,” Jason said. “Ran into the spot like you was invincible, like that shit wasn’ on fire.”

  “Yeah, Mr. Buck,” Jake said, resting a large hand on my foot. “Firefighters said they found you on the floor right before it collapsed ’n’ that you, uh”—he looked down—“kept yellin’ for your ma.”

  Ma. I remembered hearing her laugh, right in the kitchen, as if she were sitting there before work, making coffee, and waiting to greet me.

  “Where’s Trey?” I asked, extinguishing their smiles.

  “He—” Rose took a breath, squeezing her eyes. “He didn’t make it.”

  “What do you mean ‘He didn’t make it’? Where is he?”

  Soraya grabbed my hand and rubbed it. “The house collapsed, D. And once the firefighters found him, the body was”—she brought the back of her hand to her mouth—“they could only identify it by bits of Trey’s sneakers.”

  No. There was no way. My lungs burned again. I pulled the tubes out of my nose, pulled the taped IV needle out of my hand, and tried to get out of the bed, but Jason restrained me.

  “Don’t,” he said. “Jus’ don’, bro. Can’t do nothin’ ’bout it now except move on.”

  “Move on? How the fuck can we jus’ ‘move on’? What was he even doin’ in there? Why didn’ one of you stop him?”

  “After the fire started,” Brian said, hugging himself, “he was outside, where you saw us. But then he said he had to get something and ran back in. A few seconds later, the whole fire got crazier and they wouldn’t let us inside.”

  “What did he run in to get?”

  The six of them looked at one another. The fire inside of me spread even further. “Someone,” I said, coughing up a storm, “better talk now or I’m kicking you all out.”

  Jason nodded at Rose. She took something, a little burnt piece of paper, out of her jacket and handed it to me. The edges were burnt to a crisp and flaked all over the bed, but part of it was still intact. When I turned it over, I saw what it was. A photograph.

  “He was probably looking for something else, but the firefighters found this in the backyard,” Rose said.

  It was a photo of Trey and me, taken a month after he showed up, on the day I asked him to be my assistant. He was so scared that we were going to kick him out of the Happy Campers because he stuttered too much to ever be on the phones. When I told him I still had a place for him, he hugged me harder than anyone ever had in my life. Later, we took the photo I held in my hands: he was smiling like someone graduating from high school, and I, like a proud big brother, had my arm around him.

  Salty tears singed the burns on my cheeks. All of the anger I had, all of the destruction I wanted to inflict on Clyde, dissipated like steam rising off a cup of coffee.

  “Whatchu tryna do?” Jason asked, revenge already burning in his eyes.

  “There’s only one thing we can do,” Rose replied. “Fight fire with fire.”

  “No,” I said, staring at the photo in my hands. “No more.”

  “But, Buck,” Brian said. “They can’t get away with this. It’s like when—”

  I lifted my head and looked at them. “No more violence. We’ve had enough. And we’ve worried too much about other people instead of focusing on why we started the Happy Campers in the first place.”

  They looked at me as if I was joking, as if Trey’s death could only be met with more death. But we weren’t a gang, and we weren’t killers.

  Reader: A good salesperson knows who they are, but that’s only half of the equation. A great salesperson knows who they are and who they’re not. Corny but true.

  “Jake, how much cash do we have?” I asked, my strength slowly returning.

  “ ’Bout four hundred K.”

  “Good.” I sat up. “Start looking for a new building. And put out a press release saying that the war is over, that we have no plans to find out who did this or retaliate in any way. That we’re focusing on growing our organization and helping as many people as possible.”

  “Done,” he said.

  “Ellen. No more crazy, illegal homework. Think of other ways to teach new recruits. It draws too much heat and we can’t afford any of us going to jail.”

  “Sure, Buck. Understood.”

  “Jason and Rose. If you do anything, or if any of you do anything”—I scanned the room—“you’re out. No questions asked. Do you understand?”

  “Aight,” Jason said, looking at Rose.

  “Fine, Buckaroo. If that’s what you want, that’s what we’ll do.”

  “Thank you. Now can all of you get out? I need to rest.” I laid my head back on the pillow and closed my eyes, trying to understand what happened, what Trey actually went back inside for.

  “Not you,” I said, calling to Soraya. “Can you stay? Please?”

  “Of course.”

  She looked down. “We’re gonna have to call a nurse to put all those tubes back in, D. Can’t have you dyin’ out here.”

  “Okay,” I said. “But not yet. I wanna tell you somethin’.”

  “What?”

  “What Jake said before? About me callin’ out for Ma? It’s because I heard her laughin’ in the kitchen, like she was sittin’ there, forreal, as if it were a normal da
y and she was gettin’ ready for work. You think tha’s crazy?”

  She sat on the bed and took my hand in hers. “No, D. I don’t. Maybe she was there, protectin’ you.”

  I stared into her dark eyes, remembering how she was there for me whenever I thought I couldn’t do it, whenever I didn’t believe in myself, whenever I needed someone to hold me in the right way.

  “I love you, Soraya. And I’m so sorry for everything that happened. For how I took you for granted. For how I was never around when you needed me most. For how I turned into a—”

  “Big asshole?” she said, running her fingers over the cuts on my cheek. I inhaled, and even with burnt lungs, I could taste the cinnamon and cocoa butter on her skin.

  “That,” I replied, laughing.

  “I love you too, D. And even though you lost yourself for a bit, I love who you are now, who you’ve become. Mrs. V would be proud.”

  “Then kiss me,” I said, pain pulsating through my cracked and splintering lips.

  She leaned in. I rose to meet her, my entire soul bending in desire. But before our lips touched, she poked me in the chest, laughing like a hyena.

  “Huh?” I opened my eyes.

  She was grinning at me. “Kiss you? You’re crazy, D. I said I love you, but that doesn’ erase everything that happened between us. If you want me, you’re gonna need to earn me, little by little. And even if that does happen, I’m not kissin’ you until you take a test for every STD under the sun so I know you didn’ catch anything from all those girls you were runnin’ around with. Deal?”

  “Damn. Aight,” I said, lying back down, defeated. But then I smiled, remembering that, after everything that had happened, she was still there. “Same team, same dream?” I asked.

  “Always.”

  34

  I got out a few days later, and we held Trey’s funeral at the same church as Ma’s; it was open only to Happy Campers. We looked everywhere for Trey’s people but couldn’t find anyone. Between Facebook and the white pages, there were tens of thousands of people with Trey’s last name, Evans, across the entire country. It was like looking for a shell in the ocean. We announced his death across social media and even took out an ad in the Daily News, but no one followed up or ever claimed his body—it was like he hadn’t existed until he walked into HQ off the streets.

  Rhett knew what had happened, but I assured him I’d be fine for Friday. The plan was still to speak at the conference, then quit Sumwun and go Happy Camper full time. Surprisingly enough, after the media told the world that I was the leader, hundreds of people asked if they could join or set up their own chapters in places like South Africa, Italy, and Brazil. After I told the Talented Fifth about going full-time, they all thought it would make sense to join me, so they planned to quit their jobs at the end of September.

  On top of all of that, I promised to downsize my life. There was no reason I needed a fancy apartment, expensive clothes, and other flashy shit. We were going to be models of how the twenty-first-century salesperson should live—not like monks, rejecting all material possessions, but also not like rock stars who lived only for themselves. We were going to run workshops and travel the world building the foundation for our other chapters. Man, the plan was perfect. It really was. All I had to do was speak at Sumwun’s conference, then I’d be free. Even Barry had texted me after the news broke and said he was proud of me or, in his own words: Luv the blk pnther shit! Keep the SDRs comin and we’re good. Once you go blk, u cant go back!

  “Where to, Buck?” Chauncey said, wearing a light-green linen suit I’d recently bought him as a thank-you for all of his hard work. “I know it is a big night.”

  “That’s right, Chauncey. After tonight, I’ll be a free man. And so will you, if you want.”

  Chauncey cut his eyes at me in the rearview, wrinkling his brow. “What do you mean?”

  I laughed. “I mean that, if you want, you can quit driving me around and come work for the Happy Campers.”

  He looked back to the road and nodded. “What would I do?”

  I rolled down the window and took in a big breath of New York City: trees blowing in the late summer, early fall air; the stench of garbage and cigarettes; the sounds of the subway screeching below.

  “Whatever you want. We can discuss logistics later. You can run security, cook up some of your delicious Senegalese food, or shit, I could even teach you how to sell.”

  He rocked in his seat before breaking into his signature smile. “Ah! Buck. You are too good to me. I will discuss with Fatou tonight. Maybe I would like to sell. When I was a kid, I used to catch fish with my father from the ocean and sell them in the market, so maybe I already have some skills?”

  “Yeah, I bet you already do,” I said, steadying my heartbeat, excited and afraid of really being free to live on my own terms without Rhett or anyone else telling me what to do. “First stop is the conference, Madison Square Garden. Then back to HQ to celebrate.”

  As we arrived, Chauncey looked around, and said, “Well, this does not look like much of an event, Buck.”

  He was right. Madison Square Garden didn’t look any different than on any other day. People rushed in and out of Penn Station; taxis lined up for those old-school enough to take them; sweet and salty smoke billowed from food carts; and, of course, there was classic New York City honking mixed in with “Fuck you!”s.

  Contrary to what I expected, there was no gang of reporters loitering outside ready to attack, not even huge signs bearing Sumwun’s logo. Just Frodo and a few of the newer SDRs pointing people in the right direction.

  I made my way toward Frodo and the other SDRs who, on seeing me, began whispering. They stopped once I was within earshot.

  “Hey, Frodo,” I said, extending my hand, tense.

  He looked at it, then up at me, and pulled me in for a tight hug. “Oh man, Buck. Oh man.”

  “I know. It’s okay, Frodo. Everything will be okay. I promise.”

  Frodo wouldn’t let go of me, and I felt my shoulder getting wet. “No matter what happens, Buck. I want you to . . .” He squeezed me tighter and bawled like the big baby he was.

  I patted his back, hoping he wouldn’t throw up on me. “It’s okay, man, it’s all okay.”

  “People are saying the worst things about you, Buck. That you, uh, are like the Black Osama bin Laden. And hate white people. And, um, hate America. And a lot of things worse than that. I can’t take it.”

  I freed myself from his grasp and held him in front of me. His eyes were red, his nose runny, and freshly cut pieces of hair covered his face; he had gotten a fade, the same style as mine. Not just that—I also realized that Frodo, however stupid and ridiculous he could be, was a real friend.

  “I want to thank you, Frodo.”

  “For what?” he asked, wiping his eyes with the back of his hairy arm. “It’s you who’s done so much for me, for all of us. The company wouldn’t—wouldn’t be around without you. I wouldn’t be around without you.”

  “Maybe so, but I want to thank you for being a loyal friend. And for always accepting me as I am, not for who you wanted me to be.”

  “I, uh, I appreciate that more than you’ll ever know, Buck. Does this”—he paused—“does this mean I can join the Happy Campers?”

  “No, Frodo, it doesn’t.”

  I stepped inside. There were no lines of people waiting to get in. The place was empty, and I shit you not, I pinched myself to make sure I wasn’t in some weird nightmare where I’d wake up and have to do this all over again.

  “Buck,” Marissa called, skipping down the hall toward me like she was at a hippie festival. “Everyone’s waiting for you. Magic Johnson just finished the keynote speech, and you’ll be up soon! How excited are you?”

  “Magic Johnson?” I asked, stunned.

  “Yeah! Isn’t it crazy?” she said, looking more pumped up than Arnold Schwarzenegger on roids. “He spoke about how Sumwun is the embodiment of him. You know, overcoming life’s crazy and kook
y obstacles, rising to the top, like cream, and making enough money so not even an extremely lethal disease can kill you.”

  “Uh-huh, interesting. So where should I go?”

  “Follow me!”

  We walked down a long empty hallway. She pointed me to the green room behind the stage. “Ten minutes, Buck. Break a leg!” She reached up and kissed my cheek.

  I opened the door and entered an underwhelming room that had a few chairs, standard windows, and a turned-off television hanging from the ceiling. The only shock was that Rhett was sitting there, facing the windows.

  “Hey,” I said, walking over to him.

  He didn’t move. He just kept sitting there with his eyes closed. A minute later, he looked up at me. “Hey, you ready?”

  “If you mean did I prepare something, no, I’m not ready.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t visit you at the hospital. And I’m sorry about your friend.”

  Trey, man. Fuck. Just hearing Rhett’s condolences made it all real again. The life I was entering after this day wouldn’t just be for me, Ma, or the people we’d help. It’d also be for the guy who always had my back and looked at me as if I could do no harm. For Trey.

  “Thanks,” I said, sitting next to him.

  More silence. Then he said, “Are you leaving Sumwun?”

  I nodded without returning his gaze.

  “It’s probably for the best.”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t be who you want me to be, Rhett. I just can’t.”

  “The only thing I’ve ever wanted was for you to be as great as I knew you could be. But now”—he stood up—“you’ve become someone else. Someone I no longer recognize.”

  “So what does this mean for us?” I asked, pain spreading from the pit of my stomach. “Am I no longer your brother?”

  He refused to look at me. “It means that you broke your promise, Buck. You said you’d never lie to me, but you did. So I can’t be there to protect you anymore no matter what happens.”

  “What’s happening?” I asked, standing in front of him, no longer able to prevent myself from crying. I knew that everything I was doing was right, but choosing the Happy Campers over Rhett still hurt.