by Tim Hennessy
Terrell closed out his Facebook app and called Destiny.
“I thought I said call me as soon as you woke up,” Destiny accosted in a voice Terrell was all too familiar with.
“What you mean? I am.”
“Negro, you just getting up?”
“Yeah, I was tired as shit. What up, though?”
“Nothing. Just making sure you straight and everything from last night.”
“Yeah, I’m good. You know ain’t nothing gone happen to me.”
“Whatever. Look . . .”
“I know, I know. Don’t go over there today.”
“Yeah. That too. But I was gone say let me know if you trying to get up today. I bet your mama would love to see me.”
“Cool, I’ll let you know.”
“Are y’all doing anything?”
“She said some shit about frying some chicken later. I’ll let you know.”
“Okay. Don’t forget.”
“Cool. Oh, and you think you could look over my credit hours and help me sign up for classes this week? I think I only got like three more semesters and I’m out this bitch.”
“Yeah. I got you. I got two more. Look at us, Washington High’s finest, soon to be U-Dub graduates.”
“Exactly. The best to do it.”
“Better say that.”
“Okay, cool. Well, I’ll hit you later or whatever.”
“Don’t forget.”
“I won’t. Damn.”
“And hey.”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t you take your ass over there today. And don’t go over by that trap house across the street either. I’m serious.”
“Damn, you and my mom on that shit. I’m chilling today.”
“Okay. Just call me later.”
“I got you.”
He put the phone down and thought about last night. Once he’d heard there was a riot going on, he had to go and see for himself. He remembered being pulled that way. It was hard to explain. The only other time he’d felt that kind of pull was the first time he’d seen Destiny. He had seen her before, but he hadn’t really seen her. She was closing her locker as he and Rico walked in her direction debating Kobe and Jordan. He remembered stopping while Rico continued walking. He couldn’t remember what he’d said to her and couldn’t remember how she’d responded. She was the only girl at Washington who wore leggings and didn’t look homeless. This was probably because of her toned legs and athletic build. He remembered her perfect complexion that reminded him of his longtime Hollywood crush, Nia Long. When he found out she was on the volleyball team, he never missed a game. Once they became a couple, he never missed school.
Last night, Terrell went to the riots alone. He poured some beer into a water bottle and started walking. The walk seemed quiet, surreal almost. It was that eerie spectator feeling: that almost watching-yourself-from-above feeling. His family had lived in Sherman Park his entire life. Chaos in the neighborhood had become nothing new. But a damn riot was, and it was something he had to see. He had to see a riot. He had to see a riot in his hood.
Terrell remembered approaching the burning gas station and the voices, the chorus of screaming. Agonized black faces shouted through clenched teeth. Red and blue sirens hovered, and the stench of hot gas made his stomach turn. He imagined war smelled like this. For the past few years, police had been making national headlines for murdering young black men. He’d lost count of how many. He had always moved carefully around the police, but lately folks were talking about it on CNN. The law’s presence had always made him paranoid. In fact, when he was a child, his father had sued the city of Milwaukee after having his head slammed against the hood of their car one December night. The incident had cost Terrell’s father fifteen stitches and a headache that lasted for over a week. Nothing ever became of the case, but for a while the family thought it might make them rich. He remembered clutching a bag of cold fries and watching from the backseat as his father argued with the police officer. Soon after the case was dropped, his father moved to Atlanta. His mother said, “Your father is looking for something and thinks he can find it in Atlanta.” Whenever he saw his father after the move, he wanted to ask what was so much better in Atlanta. Terrell figured it was women, because his father had always kept more girlfriends than a man should need. Sometimes, Terrell wanted to curse his father for making him another daddy-less black boy. And although Terrell had never held a gun, sometimes he wanted to point one at his father but not shoot.
Last night as he approached the burning gas station, he wondered what his father would have done. Although he had beefs with his father, he always felt his father knew what to do in any situation. During the entire walk, he’d never considered his next move. He remembered looking for familiar faces or cars but didn’t see any. While this was happening less than a mile from home and on a street corner he’d passed almost every day, it felt like another country. It looked like another country. He’d found a group chanting, “Fuck the police!” and stood beside them. Nearby, a group marched and chanted, “Black lives matter!” Cars drove by and either honked or boomed loud music. A group of officers in riot gear about thirty feet away stared in their direction. He remembered looking deep into the face of one of the officers, a white man who stared back at him. Eyes mirroring those of the officer who had slammed his father’s face into that cold car hood. He joined the chorus, “Fuck the police!” then took a swig of his beer and shouted it again, “Fuck the police!” Amused at his audacity the night before, Terrell reached for the phone and called Country.
“T, what the fuck, how come you didn’t fall through last night?”
“I know, man, I was about to, but I got tired,” Terrell responded, rubbing his stomach and remembering that he hadn’t had a thing to eat since he’d woken up.
“You got tired, or Destiny had you tied up?”
“Here you go with this shit.”
“Fam. What you about to do, though?”
“I don’t know, that’s why I was hitting you. What you got over there?”
“Shit. Everybody just now getting up. But I go back to New Orleans later this week, so I’m down to throw a few back.”
“Bro, I thought you muhfuckas was getting it in last night? And why every time you say New Orleans you say that shit like that, like you not from here. All like Nawlins. It’s New Or-leens, Negro.”
“Don’t hate because I got that Southern flow now. And I told you about counting my drinks. I’m grown and if I want to get it in last night, this afternoon, tonight, tomorrow, that’s my business,” Country joked, then blew air into the phone.
“Why the fuck you blowing in the phone?”
“I’m having me a little smoke, Mr. Officer. Damn. Oh, I almost forgot, I saw that shit you posted on the book. That shit was real. You was out there, huh?”
“Yeah, that shit was crazy, fam.”
“Knowing you, you was out there with no pistol, no plan, no nothing. Just out there.”
“How about I don’t count your drinks, and you don’t worry how I be out here?”
“Whatever, fam. Come over here and sip something with us.”
“I’ll be through. Is Rico over there? I didn’t see his whip.”
“Yeah, he here about to cook some shit. Fall through, bro.”
Terrell put the phone down and headed for the shower. As much as he wanted to see Country and Rico, he wasn’t sure he should be over there. Last month, that house was raided, and a few people went to jail. The house was Theresa’s mama’s house, but her mama was never home. Theresa had just graduated from Washington High, and although she was kind of young, she could throw a crazy house party. Theresa was also the prettiest girl in the hood. Every guy in the neighborhood had made a move, and he was no exception. Terrell had been telling her for years that he’d take her on a date once she turned eighteen. She’d turned eighteen in June, and he had yet to make good on his promise. Just two weeks ago, she asked if he would take her to one of those “cra
cking college parties.” After the police raid, his mama made him promise to stay away from that house.
Exiting the shower, he also wondered if Rico’s wild cousins would be over there. They always had at least one gun and some illegal substance between them. While most of the people around smoked weed, they were the only ones who sold it. They carried weed in bulk. If there was another unexpected raid, that could be a problem. While placing his Packers G hat on his head, he felt his stomach turn. Not the way it turned last night, but the way a hungry stomach does, the way a rioting stomach does. Rico was one of the best cooks he knew, including his own mama. He knew whatever was being prepared across the street would be right on time. Rico had just completed his first year in the culinary arts program at MATC and cooked at the Applebee’s down the street. Rico always hooked them up with a free order of off-the-menu wings whenever the restaurant manager wasn’t looking. Even when they were kids, Rico could dig into any refrigerator or cupboard and put a gourmet meal together. And these meals weren’t gourmet peanut butter and jelly or bologna sandwiches. Rico cooked whole big-mama meals. In fact, by the time they turned twelve, Rico had already perfected lasagna, fried catfish, fried okra, collard greens, baked chicken, and an immaculate poor man’s peach cobbler.
Terrell walked out of the house and sat down on the porch, fondled a cigarette, and stared across the street. He’d never noticed how much Theresa’s house looked like every other one on the block. All the houses looked the same. But none of the houses had the same things going on inside. He remembered when Theresa and her mama moved there about eight years ago. The elderly couple living there before was one of the last white families in the neighborhood. All their kids had grown up and moved out, but this didn’t prevent the bevy of Christmas and Halloween decorations. For years, it was the only house on the block with skeletons hanging from the top balcony, and during winter a large glowing Santa figurine guarded the front porch. Sometimes they’d even turn the inside into a haunted house. His first kiss took place in that dark basement.
Terrell lit the cigarette and started walking across the busy street. An old orange Chevy sped by and beeped its horn just as he made it to the other side. He turned around and stared at the car, unsure of the occupants, or if the horn was even intended for him. Ringing the doorbell, he continued staring down the street. By now, the Chevy was blocks away. Country opened the door holding a bag of chips and a bottle of beer in the same hand.
“Finally, you come to see your people,” Country greeted with a huge smile on his face.
“What up, fam. Hey, who we know drive an orange old-school?”
“Orange old-school? Oh, you talking about Wop, Rico’s cousin.”
“Oh shit. Wop got an old-school now?”
“Yeah. He just got that joint. He brought it over here last night to show everybody. But we know you was too busy being woke and shit.”
“Who all here?”
“Why you asking so many questions? Just bring your ass inside.”
“Can I bring this cigarette in?”
“Yeah, but go straight downstairs.”
They walked down to the basement where a soft musical bass beckoned. The crowd was smaller than he’d expected: Rico was on the phone, Theresa and a girl he’d never seen shot pool on a crooked table, two dudes lay on separate couches staring at their phones, and Country walked behind the small wooden built-in bar.
“What you want to drink? We got Henny and some beers back here,” Country said.
“Let me get a shot of Henny and one of those beers.”
“Oh, you rolling double-fisted.” Theresa smiled while clenching a half-broken pool stick.
“I figure I need to catch up.” He sat down on the floor and put the beer to his mouth. Took the final drag of his cigarette and then placed it in a crowded ashtray.
“So, tell us what happened last night, fam,” Country said from behind the bar. “I hear muhfuckas was not having it.”
“It was crazy, man. Like, I’ve never seen the hood like that before. It was so many cops and shit. And so many people. And everybody was just mad as fuck. Everybody was just mad and yelling.”
“We supposed to be mad. How they gone just shoot that man like that,” Theresa’s girlfriend said while aligning her broken stick with the cue ball.
“Yeah, for sure we are, but I didn’t expect all that. I didn’t expect shit to be on fire. That fucking gas station on Sherman and Burleigh was on fire.”
“What did you expect?” Rico said, putting down the phone.
“Shouldn’t you be upstairs cooking?” Terrell joked.
“I am. Theresa’s mama got some ground beef up there. I’m thawing it out right now. I’m about to cook the shit out of these burgers. Let me hold one of them cigarettes, though.”
“This my last one, bro.”
“I’ll go down the street and get you another pack in a minute. Don’t be stingy with the squares, bro.”
Terrell pulled the box out of his pocket and handed Rico a cigarette, grabbed the shot next to him, and swallowed it down in one motion. He’d drank on an empty stomach before and knew a few shots and beers would distract him from whatever hunger he felt.
“I’m saying I’m glad I went,” Terrell said. “I really don’t know how to explain it. They’ve been hunting us forever. It felt good just to tell the police, Fuck you. And to feel like they couldn’t do shit because we was all together, like united and shit.”
“I saw some folks got arrested, though. So apparently they could do shit, college boy. And when did you start talking like you a Black Panther or some shit? It was that Africology class you took last semester, wasn’t it?” Rico chuckled, smoke wafting from his mouth, as he headed toward the stairs.
“Nobody I was with got arrested, and we was out there. Like, I was with this crowd, and everybody was screaming Fuck the police in they faces. And they didn’t do shit.”
“But they could’ve, social media tough guy. And like I said earlier, I bet you was out there with no strap or nothing, just screaming Fuck the police like you at an NWA concert and shit. Boy, you lucky you didn’t get arrested. Your mama would’ve beat your ass,” Country said in a fake country accent.
“So, you going back tonight?” Theresa asked with a hint of concern in her voice. “It’s gone be even crazier. Everybody on the book talking about protesting.”
“I don’t think so. I want to, but I told my mama I’d chill.”
“First they killing us and now they trying to get the fucking Apprentice dude elected president. This some crazy shit. Bro, I done got pulled over so many times for not doing shit,” said one of the guys on the couch without taking his eyes off his phone.
As the shot pulled Terrell’s body down, he found himself staring at Theresa, and in that moment realized she was probably the coldest girl he’d ever seen up close. Her red bandanna and red lipstick lit the dim room. Her braids hung low, and the light sneaking through a tiny basement window reflected off her black-rhinestone top. She leaned over the pool table, and with her eyes facing him smashed the cue into the eight ball. She looked at him and asked, “You want next, college boy?” He shook his head but knew that was a lie. He’d wanted next. “Well, let me know if you change your mind,” she giggled while sauntering up the stairway.
He wondered how many of the dudes in the basement wanted next. He still had that date promise in his back pocket and considered bringing it up. The beer in his empty stomach sunk him lower and momentarily tethered him to the floor. He knew taking Theresa out meant borrowing his mama’s car. It meant waiting until his next paycheck. He remembered Rico one day telling him that Woo claimed Theresa was a freak in the sheets. Rico also claimed skepticism because Woo had a knack for exaggeration and outright lying. Many of the girls in the hood that Woo claimed were freaks had denied knowing him in that way. No one ever asked Theresa if she’d known Woo like that. True or not, he worried about it all. If Woo had been with Theresa, they’d probably went for a ride in
one of Woo’s nice cars. They’d probably spent some of Woo’s money at the mall or out to dinner. And Woo probably showed his experience in the bedroom: an act Terrell had only lied about. Like the time he told Country and Rico he’d lost his virginity in the school’s parking lot after junior prom. Or when he bragged about how freaky the white girl in English 101 from up north had been.
“Man, I’m about to go to the crib quick and come right back,” Terrell said, feeling the beginnings of a headache.
“But you only been here for like an hour,” Country said while pouring two shots from behind the bar.
“I know, but my mama supposed to be coming back in a minute, and I just remembered I said I’d take out the chicken. I’m gone do that quick, handle some other shit, and come right back,” Terrell responded, knowing he wasn’t coming back. Even though he’d been there for only an hour, it felt long enough. Long enough for him to feel out of place. Last night’s riots had stirred something in him. Suddenly, the urge to drink, smoke, and make passes at Theresa had subsided.
“All right, because you know Rico’s burgers about to be on hit.”
“I already know. I’m coming right back, bro,” Terrell lied again.