On the Come Up(18)

I throw my hoodie over my head and march down the sidewalk.

Sometimes I dream that I’m drowning. It’s always in a big, blue ocean that’s too deep for me to see the bottom. But I tell myself I’m not going to die no matter how much water gets in my lungs or how deep I sink, I am not going to die. Because I say so.

Suddenly, I can breathe underwater. I can swim. The ocean isn’t so scary anymore. It’s actually kinda cool. I even learn how to control it.

But I’m awake, I’m drowning, and I don’t know how to control any of this.





Six


The Maple Grove projects are a whole different world.

I live on the east side of the Garden, where the houses are nicer, the homeowners are older, and the gunshots aren’t as frequent. The Maple Grove projects are a fifteen-minute walk away on the west side, or as Grandma calls it, “that ol’ rough side.” It’s on the news more, and so many of the houses look like nobody should live in them. But it’s kinda like saying one side of the Death Star is safer than the other. It’s still the goddamn Death Star.

At Maple Grove, six three-story buildings sit close enough to the freeway that Aunt Pooh says they used to go on the rooftops and throw rocks at the cars. Badasses. There was a seventh building, but it burned down a few years ago and instead of rebuilding it, the state tore it down. Now there’s a grassy field in its place where kids go play. The playground is for junkies.

“Whaddup, Li’l Law,” a guy shouts from inside a raggedy car as I cross the parking lot. Never seen him in my life, but I wave. I’ll always be my dad’s daughter if nothing else.

He should be here. Maybe if he was, I wouldn’t be wondering how we’re gonna make it since Jay doesn’t have a job.

I swear, we can never just be “good.” Something always happens. Either we barely got food or this thing got shut off. It’s. Always. Something.

We can’t have any power, either. I mean, think about it. All these people I’ve never met have way more control over my life than I’ve ever had. If some Crown hadn’t killed my dad, he’d be a big rap star and money wouldn’t be an issue. If some drug dealer hadn’t sold my mom her first hit, she could’ve gotten her degree already and would have a good job. If that cop hadn’t murdered that boy, people wouldn’t have rioted, the daycare wouldn’t have burned down, and the church wouldn’t have let Jay go.

All these folks I’ve never met became gods over my life. Now I gotta take the power back.

I’m hoping Aunt Pooh knows how.

A boy zooms toward me on a dirt bike wearing a Celtics jersey with a hoodie underneath, clear beads on his braids. He hits the brakes just inches away from me. Inches.

“Boy, I swear if you would’ve hit me,” I say.

Jojo snickers. “I wasn’t gon’ hit you.”

Jojo can’t be any more than ten. He lives with his momma in the apartment right above Aunt Pooh’s. He makes it his business to speak to me every time I’m over here. Aunt Pooh thinks he has a crush on me, but nah. I think he just wants somebody to talk to. He’ll hit me up for candy, too. Like today.

“You got some king-size Skittles, Bri?” he asks.

“Yep. Two dollars.”

“Two dollars? That’s expensive as hell!”

This li’l boy’s got a whole bunch of money pinned to the front of his jersey—it must be his birthday—and he’s got the nerve to complain about my prices?

“One, watch your mouth,” I tell him. “Two, that’s the same price they are at the store. Three, why you not in school?”

He pops a wheelie. “Why you not in school?”

Fair enough. I slide off my backpack. “You know what? Since it’s your birthday, I’m gonna go against my own rules and let you have a pack for free.”

The second I hand them over, he rips them open and pours a bunch into his mouth.

I tilt my head. “Well?”

“Thank you,” he says with a mouthful.

“We gotta work on your manners. For real.”

Jojo follows me to the courtyard. It’s mostly dirt now thanks to the cars that people have parked there, like the one Aunt Pooh and her homeboy, Scrap, sit on. Scrap’s hair is half braided, half Afro, like he got up in the middle of getting it braided to go do something else. Knowing Scrap, he did. His socks poke out of his flip-flops, and he shoves huge spoonfuls of cereal into his mouth from a mixing bowl. He and Aunt Pooh talk to the other GDs standing around them.

Aunt Pooh sees me and hops off the car. “Why the hell you ain’t in school?”

Scrap and the GDs nod at me, like I’m one of the guys. I get that a lot. “I got suspended,” I tell Aunt Pooh.

“Again? For what?”

I hop up on the car beside Scrap. “Some BS.”

I tell them everything, from how security loves to target black and brown kids to how they pinned me to the ground. The GDs shake their heads. Aunt Pooh looks like she wants blood. Jojo claims he would’ve “whooped them guards’ ass,” which makes everybody but me laugh.

“You wouldn’t have done nothing, boy,” I say.

“On my momma.” Aunt Pooh claps her hands with each word. “On my momma they messed with the wrong one. Point them out and I’ll handle them fools.”