On the Come Up(71)

“Look, I didn’t ask you to help us!” I yell. “I simply said don’t tell her! All right?”

Malik stands as straight as a board. “Yeah,” he says. “Whatever you want. Bri.”

He says my name like it’s a foreign word.

I don’t have time for whatever his problem is. I don’t. I need to get that chain back. I hop in the car. He’s still standing on the sidewalk when we peel off.

Aunt Pooh and Scrap go back and forth about the Crown. Apparently, he’s known as Kane and he likes to race his Camaro on Magnolia. I figure that’s where we’re headed, but Aunt Pooh pulls up in front of my house.

She puts the car in park. “C’mon, Bri.”

She gets out herself and holds her seat forward. I climb out, too. “What are we doing here?” I ask.

Aunt Pooh suddenly hugs me extra tight. She kisses my cheek, then whispers in my ear, “Lay low.”

I push away from her. “No! I wanna go, too!”

“I don’t give a damn what you want. You staying here.”

“But I gotta get that—”

“You wanna die or go to prison, Bri? Either a Crown will kill you in retaliation, or somebody will snitch and the cops will take you down. That’s all that can come from this.”

Shit. She’s right. But suddenly it hits me—

She could get killed. She could get arrested.

Forget a spark. I’ve lit a bomb that will explode any second.

No, no, no. “Aunty, forget about it. He’s not worth—”

“Fuck that! Don’t nobody come at my family!” she says. “They took my brother, and then one points a gun at you, and I’m supposed to let that shit go? Hell nah!”

“You can’t kill him!”

“What the hell you call me for then?”

“I . . . I didn’t . . .”

“You could’ve called your momma, you could’ve called Trey, hell, you could’ve called the cops. Instead, you called me. Why?”

Deep down, I know why. “Because—”

“Because you knew I’d handle him,” she says through her teeth. “So, let me do what I do.”

She heads for her car.

“Aunt Pooh,” I croak. “Please?”

“Go inside, Bri.”

That’s the last thing she says before she speeds off.

Now I know why I called her. Not because I wanted her to handle him. But because I needed her.

I drag myself up the walkway and unlock the front door. Jay and Trey’s voices drift from the kitchen as some nineties R&B plays on the stereo. A creaky floorboard announces me.

“Bri, is that you?” my mom calls.

Thank God she doesn’t peer around the kitchen doorway. I don’t think my face can hide what just happened. I clear my throat. “Y-yes, ma’am.”

“Okay. Dinner’s almost ready.”

“I, um . . .” My voice weakens. I clear my throat again. “I ate at Malik’s.”

“Probably a bunch of junk food, knowing you three,” she says. “I’ll put a plate up for you.”

I manage to get out an “Okay” before I make it to my bedroom.

I close the door. I just wanna hide under my covers, but my bed feels miles away. I lower myself in the corner and pull my knees up to my chest, which feels like it’s gonna cave in.

I wanted that guy dead, I swear I did. Now all I can think about is how a gunshot’s gonna take him like one took Dad.

If he has a wife, his death will mess her up like it messed Jay up.

If he has a momma, she’ll cry like Grandma cried.

If he has a dad, his voice will dip when he talks about him like Granddaddy.

If he has a son, he’ll be angry at him for dying, like Trey is.

If he has a little girl, she’ll never get a response when she says, “Daddy.” Like me.

They’ll bury him and make him into everything he wasn’t. The best husband, the best son, the best dad. There will be T-shirts worn around the neighborhood with his face on them and murals in his honor. His name will get tatted on somebody’s arm. He’ll forever be a hero who lost his life too soon, not the villain who ruined my life. Because of my aunt.

They’ll only show her mug shot on the news. Not the pictures of us smiling together on her Cutlass or her cheesing with that GED Jay thought she’d never get. She’ll be called a ruthless murderer for about a week, until somebody else does something fucked up. Then I’ll be the only one mourning her.

She’ll become the monster for handling the monster I couldn’t handle myself. Or somebody’s gonna kill her. Either way, I’m gonna lose Aunt Pooh.

Just like I lost my daddy.

Every tear I’ve held back rushes out, bringing sobs with them. I cover my mouth. Jay and Trey cannot hear me. They can’t. But the sobs come out of me so hard that it’s almost impossible to breathe.

I hold my mouth and fight for air all at once. Tears fall over my fingers.

Jacksons can cry. Even when we have blood on our hands.

Nas once called sleep the cousin of death, and I suddenly get that. I could barely sleep for thinking about death. I said six words that may have summoned it.

He pointed it in my face.

They felt heavy when I said them, like I was taking a weight off of my tongue, but somehow, it’s as if they’re still lingering there. I practically see them and all seven of their syllables.