Anger Is a Gift Sneak Peek

by Mark Oshiro

  It only seemed to convince Reg more. “You know if this is safe for me?” He directed his question to the cop behind the metal detector. “I got six pins in my knee. Is this thing gonna aggravate me?”

  “Come on,” said the one who was operating the scanning device. “I don’t got all day.”

  “So you know for sure that this isn’t gonna mess me up, then?”

  The cop raised a hand to his head, running it through his hair. The tough demeanor evaporated in an instant. “Oh man, I don’t know about that,” he said, almost as if to himself. He continued to rub his own head, his face scrunched up in concentration. Moss’s instinct kicked in and his eyes darted down to the cop’s badge: TORRES.

  “Can you wait a second?” Torres said. “I’ll be quick.”

  The man jogged away from them. “Jesus, is this going to be okay?” Njemile said, shifting from one foot to the other, restless.

  “I hope so,” Reg replied. “But I can’t do this, guys. I thought I’d play along for a day or two, but this is ridiculous.”

  “All your other friends have been fine with it,” said the blond cop. “You’re not special. Go through now.”

  But Reg stuck to his decision, backing up into his friends and crossing his arms. “You’re gonna have to force me to,” he said, “because I’m not going through that thing.”

  The cop lunged. It happened so fast that Reg stepped back and missed the step behind him, plunging down and into both Moss and Kaisha. The cop’s hands were on his shoulders, and he lifted and Kaisha cried out as Reg tried to thrash free. “Let go of me!” Reg yelled, and Moss saw Torres running back, his hands in the air, waving at the others, and then he ran a flat hand across his throat in a desperate attempt to signal to his partners, to get them to stop, but no one else was looking.

  Reg reached out and grabbed the edge of the metal detector, but the cop yanked him free. Moss instinctively reached out, and Reg clasped his hand, harder than he’d ever felt someone grab him. His eyes pleaded with Moss, told him not to let go, and then the cop pulled again with a guttural yell, and Reg followed, slamming into the older man, who was nearly twice Reg’s size, so he did not so much as stumble. Instead, the cop put both hands on Reg’s back, and he shoved him through the metal detector.

  The hum deepened right as Moss heard Torres scream, “Don’t! It’s not safe!”

  Reg didn’t make it through. His right knee jerked to the side, and the metal detector seemed to respond to Reg. Thrum! His body hit the frame hard, hard enough that it made a hollow ringing like a steel drum, and Moss saw that Reg’s breath had been knocked out of him. As his hands went to his chest, Njemile and Kaisha shouted, scrambling to reach their friend as he doubled over, his arms shooting out to the ground to catch himself.

  “What’s happening to him?” Njemile shrieked. “Stop it!”

  Torres rushed forward, his hands up in front of him. “No, no, don’t!” He tried to keep people from coming through the metal detector, and so Moss bolted forward and dropped down on his knees. The blond cop had grabbed Bits and hauled them away as they screamed. Moss grabbed Reg under the arms to lift him up and—

  “Turn it off,” Reg wheezed. “I can’t move.”

  Reg’s face was covered in sweat, and he looked up at Moss, eyes wide in terror. Moss pulled upward on Reg, who let out an earsplitting yelp. Moss dropped his friend, who crumpled on the floor, a whimper leaving his lips. He reached over to pull Reg’s leg away from the device and his hands grazed Kaisha’s. She had the same idea. He ran them over Reg’s black jeans and he knew what was wrong as he did so.

  Reg was stuck to the metal detector.

  “What is it doing?” Kaisha screamed, her eyes locked on Reg now. “How can it do that?”

  Moss stood quickly and looked at the confusing screen on the machine. There was a flashing error message, and he tapped it repeatedly to no effect. “How do you turn this off?” he shouted.

  He watched as Kaisha ducked under one of the cop’s arms and burst through the device, leaping over Reg and dropping down on her hands and knees where Moss had been. “Moss, you have to turn this off,” she said. “I don’t understand how, but the internal magnet in this thing is out of control.”

  Reg’s breathing was ragged, staccato. He had slumped over, leaning his weight into the machine. Even if Moss hadn’t known that Reg was in pain, the position he was stuck in was so unnatural that it was bound to hurt. Moss heard footsteps behind him and twisted to see Mr. Jacobs sprinting toward them. He looked back to his friend, whose leg was awkwardly twisted up and behind him, rigid against the side of the metal detector. “Stop it,” Reg begged. “Please.”

  Moss stood up and ran his fingers along the doorjamb, trying to find any indication of how this monster was wired. Mr. Jacobs was now alongside him, watching him for a few seconds before he gasped. “I know what to do! Get away from that machine!” he shouted.

  The assistant principal dashed away and over to the ground near the entrance to the front office and pried a metal compartment in the wall open. Moss backed away from the detector, as did those on the other side. Reg pulled himself upward and struggled to remain that way; tears streamed down his face. “Just do it!” he yelled.

  When Mr. Jacobs pulled a thick black cable out of the wall, the hum dropped out. Reg pushed himself away from the metal detector with a scream. His voice was a hellish bleat as he dropped on the ground. Kaisha rolled him over on his back, a hand on his wound. Blood, Moss thought. Where had that come from? How was that possible?

  Something must have broken through the skin, Moss realized, and as he watched Kaisha agonize over her partner, his rage rushed over him, suddenly and completely.

  All Moss could picture was his father lying outside the store, the blood pooling behind his head, his mother crying as she held Moss back and away from his papa’s body. Moss’s own blood heated his body in anger, and it give him the strength to finally move forward, toward the blond cop, glare set on the man, who was now backing away with his green eyes full of fear. He felt the tingling in his hands, the lightness in his head, the heaviness of his heart, and it consumed him, filled him to the brim with a bitterness and voracity that burned his throat.

  And Njemile stepped right in front of Moss. She held a hand to his chest, and he looked straight into her dark eyes, and he heard her say, “No.” Just that, nothing more, and he saw how she stared at him, a mixture of pity and her own fear.

  Moss glanced down at Reg. His friend shook his head. “Not now,” Reg whispered, and his voice sounded so lost, so young, that Moss deflated, the rage rushing out of him, the river of anger gone.

  Reg smiled at Moss, and then he passed out.

  14

  Moss drifted.

  Mr. Jacobs carried Reg’s limp body off to the school nurse, and he saw Kaisha and the others chase after him. But Moss remained behind, and he felt a distinct sensation pass over him: This was not his body. Not his world. None of this belonged to him. He was watching a movie of someone else’s life now, and he saw the cops get on their cell phones, probably to notify their superiors of what had happened. It wasn’t until Moss felt pressure on his hand that he came back to himself, and he turned to find Bits by his side.

  “The man can’t keep me down,” they said, and smiled softly. “You okay, Moss?”

  Moss could only shake his head, and he felt his legs tremble. He stumbled forward, and Bits directed him toward the front of the school. Moss collapsed in exhaustion on the steps, the concrete cold against his legs. He didn’t know where the blond cop had gone, but Moss suspected that the man had not stuck around to see what would happen. He brushed his fingertips over the steps themselves. They weren’t as worn as the steps outside Dawit’s, but the grooves felt familiar. Bits remained silent as Moss picked at the concrete, pulling tiny bits of it off and running it in his fingers. He concentrated on the texture, the way it crumbled if he pressed it too hard.

  Moss couldn’t forget the blood. There was
so much of it that Reg had left behind at the base of the metal detectors.

  He said nothing to Bits for an eternity, and it wasn’t until he saw the black sneakers in front of him on the steps that he felt conscious again. He followed them up to the blue slacks and the sharp uniform shirt his mother wore.

  She pulled him up and squeezed him tight, then pulled away to examine his face. She ran her fingers across his cheek, making sure that he was still here, still real. It was a familiar routine for them.

  “Miss Stephanie called me,” Wanda said when she pulled back. “Told me you were out here.”

  “I’m fine, Mama,” Moss tried. “I’m fine.”

  “That’s all I wanted to know,” she said, and she grasped him tighter to her own body. This. This felt real. It was all he needed, too.

  * * *

  They sat in the living room. A glass was on the table. It sparkled from the condensation that lined the edges, the television reflecting off of it.

  The lights were dimmed, and Moss couldn’t bother to get up to make them brighter. His mother, Esperanza, and Njemile were packed onto the couch, Esperanza’s hand in Wanda’s, their eyes locked on to the TV as Kaisha appeared on the screen.

  “It was awful,” she said, her eyes red, her face puffy. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  The broadcast cut to images of West Oakland High, the front steps cordoned off with police tape. The reporter’s voice was shocked, dramatic. “School officials believe that a malfunctioning magnetic band is responsible for today’s accident, and they’ll be taking further precautions to prevent this from happening in the future. Principal Jay Elliot was not willing to say if these new metal detectors, installed last week, will be used again.”

  “They better not be,” Njemile said. Moss saw that she was twisting one of her thick dreads in her hand, something she did when she was anxious. “How could they possibly turn them on again?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised, honestly,” Esperanza said, removing her glasses with her free hand and setting them in her lap. She started rubbing the bridge of her nose. “I still can’t even believe it happened. I mean, I thought it would be a disaster, but…” She never finished the sentence.

  Wanda had been quiet as she took in all the new information from the broadcast. “You talk to Kaisha yet?” she said to Moss.

  “Yeah,” Moss said. “She said Reg is out of emergency surgery. He’ll be fine, but I’m guessing he’s gotta start over with his physical therapy.”

  She clicked her tongue against her teeth once, and then fell silent again.

  Njemile picked up the remote, flicking through a couple of other channels. “I wonder if the other networks are covering it,” she said, stopping on another local broadcast. They watched a few stories. One of rising gas prices, another of a shooting in East Oakland, and then a piece on the upcoming city council election.

  Esperanza took the remote from Njemile and switched the TV off. “I can’t watch this anymore,” she said, sounding ashamed. “What are we going to do?”

  “Is this what it’s going to be like every day?” Njemile wondered.

  “What are they going to do about Reg?” Moss added. “He’s gonna have to use his wheelchair for a while until his leg heals again.”

  “And isn’t there that other girl who uses a wheelchair? The senior?”

  “Ramona,” Moss said, nodding. “How’d she get into school today?”

  “It doesn’t sound like they would care,” Wanda said. Her lips were pursed in concentration.

  “Mama?” said Moss, concerned.

  “They don’t care,” she repeated, pulling her hand from Esperanza’s and rubbing her temple. Her voice was even, deliberate. “They don’t care about your safety, first of all. They didn’t care when that poor girl got assaulted and had a seizure, and they won’t care about Reg’s injuries.”

  “See!” Esperanza said, leaning forward to stare at Moss. “I told you. We just gotta reach out to more people, get ’em on our side.”

  “What do you mean?” Wanda said. “On what side?”

  Moss and Njemile exchanged a glance as Esperanza’s gaze drifted away from Moss’s mother. She said softly, “We were just thinking of organizing something at their school.”

  “Really?”

  “I mean, nothing too serious, you know, nothing that would break the rules or anything,” Esperanza added, her hands up in a gesture of innocence.

  “Well, why not break the rules?”

  Esperanza scoffed. “You’re not serious, are you?”

  “What did you have in mind? A protest? A petition? Maybe some sort of demonstration outside the school?” Wanda asked.

  Esperanza was so shocked that she threw her hands up. “Moss, is she for real? I can’t tell if she’s joking.”

  “Yo, my mom’s legit,” Moss said, nodding his head. “I have seen her get down.”

  Wanda laughed. “That’s one way of putting it,” she said, a gracious smile spreading across her face. “Me and my husband used to be involved in politics ’round here. Years ago, that is.” She went quiet. “And after he died, too. I haven’t been as involved lately, but it has been a large part of my life.”

  “Well,” Esperanza said, encouraged to continue, “we’re definitely thinking that there needs to be some sort of protest. But we just need to reach out to as many people as possible first.”

  “What do we even protest at this point?” Njemile said, bitterness in her voice. “Our school? This country? Our whole lives?”

  “Well, what if Reg had been hurt worse than he was?” Moss asked.

  “It’s just the start,” said Esperanza. “I really think it is. So, a protest is a good idea! Right, Wanda?”

  “I think y’all could do better than that,” Wanda said. Moss tilted his head, confused, and his mother stood up and walked across the living room toward the kitchen. “Moss, you seen my phone? I gotta make some calls.”

  “Why?”

  Wanda peeked back around the entryway to the kitchen. “You kids are right. We need to organize people. I think we should get more than just students, however.”

  “What are you talking about?” Esperanza asked.

  She came back into the room and sat on the armrest of the couch. “Sorry, just getting ahead of myself,” she said. “We need to take care of this now. I worry enough as it is whenever Moss leaves this house. Who knows what else those things at the school are capable of? Are the police trained well enough to use them? Based on what I heard from y’all, it doesn’t even sound like anyone knew how to operate those monstrosities.”

  Wanda disappeared back into the kitchen, and Moss’s friends looked to him for an explanation. He’d seen his mother go into this mode before, but it was a long time ago. She went to every rally after Morris died, organized as many of them as she could, spent hours on the phone trying to connect with as many people as possible. A few minutes later, the three of them could hear her rapid chatter, and a familiarity washed over Moss. He hadn’t seen her like this in a long while.

  It was strangely comforting.

  Njemile switched the television back on and Esperanza groaned at her. “Aw, come on,” Esperanza said. “The news depresses me.”

  “I just wanna see if they say anything more,” Njemile said. “Just a few minutes, I promise.”

  Moss pulled his feet up to sit cross-legged on the couch now that his mother’s seat was empty, turning his face away from the television. But he couldn’t keep his attention away from the news, even though he wanted to. Njemile turned the volume up once an image of their school flashed on the screen. “That’s us!” she said, but her excitement quickly evaporated.

  The anchor read the story without any interest or passion. “Local residents in West Oakland are concerned about the installation of metal detectors at West Oakland High after a malfunction in the equipment momentarily harmed a student,” the man said.

  “Momentarily?” Njemile whined.

  “W
hile we haven’t received a statement from the Oakland Unified School District, the Oakland Police Department has reported to NBC4 that no crime was committed, so no arrests have been made.”

  The three of them groaned, and Moss felt a spike in his chest, a surge of rage. “Damn it,” he muttered. “Of course they’re quick to say that.”

  “I mean, I’m not surprised,” Njemile said. “What would you even charge someone with? Who would you charge?”

  “Shhh,” Esperanza said. “It’s not over.”

  There was a shot of the front steps of the school, yellow tape strung across the entrance. The newscaster continued. “A school official, who spoke with us under guarantee of their anonymity, said that the metal detectors were installed after a fight broke out on the second day of school.”

  Then the video flashed on the screen. A chair flew over the heads of a mob, and it was impossible to make out what was happening. Unless you happened to be there, Moss thought. He could make out the row of lockers and even saw Shawna for a brief second, but his heart sank. This was not an angry response to a fellow student being assaulted; this looked exactly like what the newscaster said it was.

  “That wasn’t a fight!” Njemile said. “Why are they making it seem like one?”

  “It’s easier for them to categorize it that way,” Wanda said from the doorway, startling them all.

  “Jesus, Mama, how long you been standing there?” Moss said, his heart thumping.

  “Just a few seconds, actually.”

  “Categorize it how?” asked Esperanza. “What do you mean?”

  “Notice how they called what happened to that Meyers girl a ‘fight,’” she said. “And it certainly looked like one, right?”

  “So now that they’ve established that there was a danger,” Moss said, following his mother’s logic, “it makes it seem like the metal detectors were justified.”

  “Exactly,” said Wanda, smiling at her son.

  “You done your phone calls?” Moss asked.

  “No, got quite a few more,” she admitted. “But I’ve got something for y’all.”