Anger Is a Gift Sneak Peek

by Mark Oshiro

  “Go in!” Wanda shouted. “Is he there?”

  Dawit stepped into the doorway, and his eyes went wide as he saw the rush of reporters. He pulled Wanda inside, then gestured for Moss to follow. “Come on!” Dawit yelled. “Get inside.”

  Moss couldn’t make the step. He looked down at the concrete, its chipped edges, and he didn’t think about it. Didn’t plan it. He crouched over, all the muscles in his legs screaming at him, and he sat on the steps in front of Dawit’s market. He reached down, the steps just as cool as they always were. Moss ran his fingers over them, feeling each nook, knowing them all by heart. It was exactly the same as it had been when this whole nightmare started. It remained unchanged, waiting for him to come back.

  The reporters slowed as they approached. He recognized a couple of them, certain one of them had postulated on-air that Javier was an illegal and therefore deserving of suspicion. That man started to ask Moss about something, but Moss had already tuned him out. The questions kept coming, the cameras flashed, and Moss said nothing. He did not move from that spot. He just kept touching the step, thinking of his father, remembering the times Morris had brought his son Popsicles from Dawit’s, remembering the scent of the aftershave Morris used, remembering the wrinkles in the corner of his father’s eyes when he smiled. Moss cycled through the Rolodex. Maybe the memories weren’t new, but they made him feel good.

  After twenty minutes of silence, the last reporter left. Moss smiled.

  39

  Their living room became a headquarters.

  People—friends, family—started filing in, one at a time, as they found freedom. Bits and Njemile were first; they’d had to hail a cab and have Ekemeni pay for it once they got to Njemile’s house. Bits’s mother, Dominique, was there, and it was the first time Moss had met her. She was big, warm, and her hair was short like his own mother’s. She hugged Moss, told him she was sorry, that she was proud that her child had made such a good friend.

  Shamika was next, and she burst into tears when she saw her best friend, saw the end result of the damage they’d done to Wanda’s face and soul. Stitches lined one of his mother’s cheeks, and a bandage was wrapped around her head. Shamika and Wanda had hugged a good long while before they broke apart and darted into the kitchen. The sound of their conversation filled Moss with a familiarity; he remembered suddenly how much time Shamika had spent at the house after his father had died.

  Esperanza limped inside nearly an hour later, and the conversation stilled immediately. Moss bolted off the couch, but then stood there, staring at her. She had an arm crossed over her chest, and she wouldn’t make eye contact with him. He made his way to her slowly, reached out and put a hand on the arm she held loose at her side.

  “Are you okay?” It wasn’t small talk. Moss couldn’t tell and he wanted to know.

  “Not really,” she said. Her eyes shot up to him. They were red. He pulled her into him, and when she began to cry, he could tell she’d kept herself together until this moment.

  He held her for practically a full minute while she sobbed. “I didn’t believe it,” she finally said. “I’m so sorry, Moss.”

  “I’m sorry you had to find out the hard way,” he said. He pulled away from her. “Do you need anything? Are you hurt?”

  Esperanza shook her head. “No,” she said, then made her way to the couch and plopped down on it. “I lied. I don’t even know what hurts anymore.”

  “All of it,” Moss said, nodding. “Let’s just say all of it.”

  She smiled, and he realized it felt good to earn that reaction. It’s a start, Moss thought.

  Others followed. Reg and Kaisha arrived not long after Esperanza, and Reg brought his parents, Lawrence and Judy, and his older brother, Reginald. Judy rushed to Moss, startling him. “I never got to thank you,” she said, “for what you did for my son. You risked your life for him. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

  Lawrence Phillips shook his hand, his eyes red and watery. “We won’t forget.”

  Rawiya was the last to make it. She did not bring her parents, and a pang of sadness hit Moss as he watched his friend walk through the door, her shoulders dropped down, bandages and stitches crisscrossing her face. She looked worse than anyone else, and when she said hello, her voice croaked out of her throat. “Sorry if I sound like I’m going through puberty,” she said. “A boot to the throat will do that.”

  Moss rushed to her side, guided her to the couch. “What happened? Are you okay?”

  “I mean … relatively?” Rawiya said, and she tried to grin, then descended into groaning. “No one tell jokes, it hurts too much to laugh.”

  Wanda had come into the room at the sound of Moss’s alarm, and she gasped loudly. Rawiya raised a hand in greeting, her eyes shut as she winced in pain.

  “You got an ice pack?” Rawiya asked. “Or how about four thousand painkillers? That would be great.” She opened her eyes and groaned again. “Never mind, it’s clear they got you, too.”

  “Stay there, honey,” said Wanda as she headed toward the kitchen. “I got something for you.”

  “So how is everyone?” Rawiya asked, her head back, eyes up to the ceiling. “Please tell me no one got it worse than me.”

  Reg cleared his throat. “Uh, well … someone died.”

  Rawiya’s head shot up, and she immediately clutched a hand to it and grimaced. “Oh god, who?” She looked around the room, and Moss watched her do a silent tally. “Wait a second…” Her voice dropped in volume.

  “No, not any of us,” said Moss. “Some other girl.”

  “Y’all scared me,” said Rawiya. The frantic giggles were quick, and she leaned her head back again. “So they killed someone new. Why am I not surprised?”

  “It’s like they can’t avoid it,” said Kaisha. “We were literally there to protest against them using deadly force, so they responded with … deadly force. Incredible.”

  “You had one job,” Reg joked, but it seemed the whole group was out of laughter.

  “But we’re all free,” said Moss. “And in relatively one piece, so that’s surprising. Did anyone get charged with anything?”

  They shook their heads. No one said anything.

  “I guess that’s okay,” said Moss. “Not actually what I expected.” He paused. “And the protest may have even worked.”

  “What?” Esperanza said. “What do you mean?”

  “That one lady stopped us before we left,” he explained. “Told me and Mama that they’re holding a press conference for us.”

  “Really?” Esperanza’s face lit up with a smile. “Moss, that’s great!”

  “Is it?” Moss said. “Like, I don’t even know what it’s for. What if they’re gonna sell us out again? Throw us under the bus?”

  “That’s … fair,” said Esperanza. “I am going to try and learn my lesson and just believe you this time.”

  He smiled at her. “Y’all are welcome to come if you want,” Moss said to the group. “Anyone who can, that is.”

  There was nervous laughter. “I’ll have to ask my parents,” said Kaisha.

  Rawiya made a sickening noise. “My parents,” she said. “They’re gonna flip out.” She smiled, clearly in pain, then said to Moss, “You realize how punk rock I look, right?”

  “You should go to it,” Judy said to Reg. Then, to Moss: “We’ll be there. To support you this time.”

  His mother returned with bag of frozen peas for Rawiya. “Sorry, that took longer than I wanted to,” she said. “Kept getting distracted.”

  Esperanza stood up then, swayed a bit, and used the edge of the couch to keep herself steady. “I think I need to get home,” she said. “I have to talk to my parents about all of this.”

  “Yikes,” said Rawiya, the peas planted on her face. “I mean, I am not looking forward to talking to my parents, but I don’t envy you.”

  “I don’t think I’ll make it tomorrow, Moss,” Esperanza said. “I want to real bad. To support you.”

  “
It’s okay,” he said, standing to help her to the door. “It’s last-minute. Don’t worry about it.”

  “No, that’s not it,” she said. “I doubt my parents will let me. Not after all … all this.”

  He frowned. “Yeah, they’re not going to take this well.”

  “But I need to talk to them about other things, too,” Esperanza said. “And it won’t be fun. It might be a while before I see you again.”

  “Take care of yourself first,” he said. “I’m sure we’re gonna have to have a difficult conversation someday, too. But … get better. Deal with those parents of yours.”

  “Thanks,” she said, and this time, she went in for the hug. “I love you, Moss. I really do.”

  He squeezed her in the hug, then told her the truth. “I love you, too. Even if you piss me off sometimes.”

  “Don’t the best kind of friends do that?” She smiled again, but it was weak. Her eyes drooped.

  “Hey,” said Moss to the group. “Can someone take her home?”

  Esperanza tried to protest, but Martin leapt up to volunteer. The two of them left the Jeffries house with a wave. Moss stared at the closed door for a few seconds. There’s a cost for everything, isn’t there? Maybe his friendship with Esperanza would remain rocky, or maybe this was their chance to rebuild. To heal. To understand.

  The room was already back in the swing of multiple conversations. He saw an opportunity as the rest of the living room was consumed with chatter. He made his way to his room, quietly and with purpose. He flicked on the light and closed the door behind him, careful not to let it slam. He needed a moment alone.

  His room had remained unchanged, too. Javier’s bag was on the bed, its contents spilled across the top sheet. An iPod. White headphones. Bike gloves, old and splitting. A copy of Overwatch. The Moleskine notebook. They were all Moss had left of Javier.

  No. That was wrong. He lay down on his bed, and he made a new Rolodex within himself, just for Javier. The way you kissed my jaw. The way sweat ran down your chest. The feel of the muscles in your arm, the scent of your breath, the blackness of your hair, the curled smile.

  Moss had a lot of memories to save.

  * * *

  Moss adjusted his tie. He hated wearing shirts with buttoned collars; his neck was so big that they all fit too tightly. His wrists throbbed as he pulled at the tie, so he dropped his hands to his side. Ms. Perez smiled at him.

  “Stop fidgeting, baby,” his mother said. “It’s making me nervous.”

  He smoothed down the front of his shirt, but it felt too small. The buttons over his stomach bulged. If he had had more time, Moss would have begged his mother to take him to get a larger shirt.

  He looked up at his mother. Her eye was bruised, yellow and purple, still swollen, though not as grotesquely as yesterday. He glanced at his wrists, red and scabbing; his back was stiff; his legs were sore; his fingers were swollen, but not broken. Moss hurt all over.

  Yet the exhaustion in his head overpowered it all. He shifted from one foot to the other again; he just wanted to get this over with. Eugenia had met them at a coffee shop that morning so they could talk about the press conference. They had invited her, too, given her a call the afternoon before. But once she saw them, saw the state of their bodies, Eugenia couldn’t talk of anything else. No one knew what the press conference would be about, so how could they prepare for a surprise? So they had sat there, nursing their drinks, ignorant and nervous. Moss kept looking to the door, a fear swimming over him, a certainty that at any moment, the cops would burst into the shop and take him away to finish the job.

  So he asked to get out on the street where he didn’t feel so cramped. They were next to the south entrance to City Hall, as they’d been instructed. The mayor and the chief of police had not shown up yet, and neither had Johanna. Moss pulled out his old phone, which had a new screen thanks to a friend of Martin’s but still wouldn’t catch a signal.

  It was 8:54 A.M.

  “She’ll show up,” Wanda said. “The news vans are already here, and they have a little podium set up out front.”

  “I know,” said Moss. “I’m just nervous, that’s all.”

  “I don’t blame you.”

  “This can’t actually be over, can it?” He tugged on the bottom of his shirt once more, trying to pull it past his belt. “It feels too easy.”

  “It’s never going to be over, Moss,” his mother said. Eugenia turned away after that, trying to pretend like no one had seen her start to cry.

  Moss remembered the fear he’d had that day that he would never see Eugenia again. He reached over to her. “Will you come over today? For dinner.”

  “Me?” She seemed surprised to be asked the question, and she wiped at her face. “De veras?”

  Wanda nodded. “We don’t have to disappear from each other’s lives,” she said. “Please, if you’re willing … we would love to have you over.”

  “I would like that,” she said, quiet and small. “I would like that a lot.”

  Johanna arrived a couple of minutes later, her heels clicking on the sidewalk, her hands raised in a defensive position. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she blurted out. “It’s just been so busy this morning, I couldn’t get away early enough.”

  “So what now?” Moss asked. “Is the press conference still happening?”

  “Absolutely!” Johanna said, maybe a little too excited. She’s overcompensating, Moss thought. “Unfortunately, you won’t get to meet with the mayor and the chief of police until afterwards. They’ve both been in meetings since six this morning. Lots of policy decisions being made.”

  Moss sighed, but said nothing.

  “Cheer up!” Johanna said. “I think you’ll be quite pleased with what you’ll hear today.”

  “We’ll see,” his mother said. “You haven’t been the bearer of good news so far.”

  Johanna coughed and pursed her lips. Moss could see the frustration forming before him, and it was so annoying. How does she feel more inconvenienced than me? He let the moment pass, and the three of them followed Johanna as she led them toward the front of City Hall.

  The cameras started flashing immediately once they stepped onto the lawn of Frank H. Ogawa Plaza. It was bright that morning and the sun warmed Moss. He glanced out at the large crowd that had formed. At first, he saw mostly photographers and reporters, and then there was Enrique, his arm in a sling, his other holding his skateboard up in the air. Now that he had a chance to take in the crowd, he could tell that the reporters were well outnumbered by everyone else. Moss nodded at Enrique, then gaped at who stood nearby.

  Njemile, whose mothers, tall and proud, stood behind her. She held hands with Shawna, who had a hand on Reg’s wheelchair; Judy and Lawrence were behind him. Kaisha flashed a peace sign at him, and Rawiya jumped up and down, waving. Her parents were there, and he nearly broke into laughter at how excited Hishaam seemed, his hand waving back and forth frantically. There was Bits, too, a grin plastered on their face. How? Moss thought.

  “I figured you could use some support,” Wanda said as they ascended the steps at City Hall. “I made a few calls to their parents.”

  His heart swelled with affection and admiration. In a universe so cruel and unfair, so designed to torment him, he’d been given a mother who cared for him, deeply and completely.

  Given the circumstances, Moss felt lucky.

  The mayor stood on the far side of the podium, alongside the chief of police. They were both much shorter than Moss expected. The mayor nodded at him, tight-lipped, but the chief of police stood still and silent, staring out at the crowd. Figures, Moss thought. But he wasn’t there for them. They were here for him.

  At least he hoped so.

  Mayor Barry Trent stepped up to the podium, and he gripped both sides of it, hard enough that Moss could see the whites of his knuckles on his already pale skin. He’d seen the man on the news a few times, but it was only now that he felt like a real person, not just a figure or an idea. Mo
ss didn’t know much about him; he’d been reelected the previous year, and most of the adults in Moss’s life hated him. Moss stared at him, and realized that the sweaty, nervous mayor looked so … harmless.

  It was 9:02 A.M.

  “Good morning, Oakland,” Mayor Trent said. “Thank you for coming out this morning. The events that have unfolded over the last twenty-four hours in our city are disturbing and unacceptable. Oakland has a long and proud history of resistance and progressivism. These values were tarnished yesterday, and I am ashamed.”

  He breathed in deeply. “I am here this morning to announce that my office will be working intimately with the chief of police, Tom Berendht, to develop an effective and fair system to guarantee the right to peaceably assemble and the right to protest in Oakland. It is unfortunate that it took recent events to spur us into action.”

  There was a smattering of applause. A sound of clicking camera shutters. Moss looked over at his friends, saw Martin, Dawit, and Shamika there, too. They wore scowls, and it amused Moss.

  “Mr. Jeffries.”

  Moss turned to Mayor Trent, who now stared directly at him, his eyes glassy, his face twisted with concern.

  “I wanted to apologize personally for what happened to you. For how you were treated by this city.” The mayor was not reading from any notes; he did not break eye contact with Moss. “You came to us in grief over the loss of your friend, and you were not listened to. You were treated with disrespect, with condescension, with violence. You did not deserve this. I am so sorry for that.”

  Moss couldn’t help it. His eyes darted directly to Johanna, and it seemed like she’d never held her lips shut tighter. He nearly broke out in a round of laughter. He stayed quiet and controlled the urge.

  The mayor stepped aside without another word or a glance at the other man who stood next to him. The chief of police stepped up to the microphone, and Moss thought he looked annoyed that he’d not been introduced. Berendht did not look in Moss’s direction. His white cheeks were flushed, and he rubbed at his nose before he spoke. “Good morning,” he said. “The Oakland Police Department would like to make a statement.”