This Is My America(28)

“What do you know about that night, and where is he?” My voice rises in excitement. I should’ve come here Friday. Tasha should’ve sent me a text to let me know Quincy was out yesterday, not waited until today to say something.

“This ain’t CNN, Don Lemon.”

“Quincy.” I play-punch his arm. “This is my brother.”

“Damn. He’s safe. I mean, I don’t know exactly, but he ain’t in jail. Shit.” Quincy pauses. “That’s all I can say. You know I got a soft spot for you, but you gotta trust your brother. I can’t get in the middle of this.” Quincy reaches for my arm but then pulls his hand back. “He’s already gonna kick my ass for talking to you.”



“You promised me you’d always look out for me.”

That was years ago, when Daddy was in jail awaiting trial. We went by to visit Quincy. Mama made his favorite pie. He suffered through the pain and acted like he was fine, even when I could see a grimace on his face with each move. The next day he forced his mama to visit us. He’d heard I’d locked myself in the closet because I was afraid of getting shot like him. Nightmares filling me each night, that the police would storm through our house. I got over it; never dreamed it would happen again with Jamal. When Quincy came to visit me back then, he stayed by my closet for hours. We talked about our favorite shows. Things we liked to do. How much he missed school. When he left, he promised he’d always look out for me. Sealed it by kissing my cheek before hobbling down the stairs, our mamas yelling at him to be careful.

I can tell Quincy’s thinking about that day. He drops his head and runs his fingers around his locs.

“Jamal’s took care of you pretty much your whole damn life. You think he’d run so far he couldn’t get to y’all if he needed to?”

“He’s close, then?” I grip Quincy’s arm, my heart hanging on every word.

“Nuh-uh. Don’t be using your flirtish ways unless you mean it. I’m not playing these games with you.”



“Quincy,” I say, “tell me where my brother is and what you know about Angela.”

“All I know is he was messing with someone else’s girl on and off since right after homecoming. A white girl at that. Fast-forward six months and she ends up dead. That’s why I stick to sistas.” Quincy gives me a lazy smile. “They were supposed to hook up that night. Then I get a text that plans changed. So he met me here. Whoop-whoop, she didn’t show. Typical. That’s it. Then when Jamal was here, he got a text, said he had to bounce. Whoop-whoop.”

I pause, make sure I should admit this out loud. “I saw Jamal at home before the cops came, and he was cleaning up blood.”

Quincy glances up at the ceiling as he grips the chair, then makes eye contact. “Jamal wasn’t messed up the first time he came over. But…when he came back, he said he found her, tried to save her, but she was pretty much dead in his arms, bleeding from her head. Like someone banged a rock on her head. He got there and found her like that.”

“Why didn’t he call 911?” My heart aches at what Jamal must’ve been feeling, finding Angela like that.

“What you think was going to happen in this town if your brother called 911 and he got blood on him out at the Pike, hanging over a dead white girl’s body?”

I rub my hands over my face. I get it, but I wish he did something different. “Who does he think did it?”

“I don’t know. You gotta talk to him, because as far as the po-po is concerned, the common denominator is your brother. You notice how these jokers ain’t doing much investigating. They came around here, but all they were asking about was your brother.”



“What did you say to the cops?”

“Shiiiit. I didn’t tell them nothing. And Jamal damn sure wasn’t about to give me no details so I could get hung up by this. I’m lucky Beverly had some pull, or you know they’d drag me into a room until I said something.”

“You didn’t want to know what happened to Jamal?”

“What for? If I know, they got me ratting on my boy. If I don’t know, it don’t make a difference. Jamal’s my boy, and I know he didn’t put no hands on no girl. I’d whip his ass on principle.”

Everything he’s saying is the truth I’ve known for Jamal. It makes more sense why he didn’t call the cops. I wish he hadn’t touched her and just called the cops, but Jamal wouldn’t be the type to not try and help her. He’d go to see if she was alive. If he could save her. Quincy doesn’t have more to say, so I stand. He walks me to the door. When Quincy opens it, I scoot through, but he stops me.

“For your brother, me, whoever will get you to listen, please watch out.” Quincy brushes my hair back, then cups my chin. It’s intimate. I go still, mesmerized, wanting to see what happens.

“I will,” I whisper.

Quincy’s leg is pressed up on me, and his fingers touch my hair. God, it’s weird, I want him to kiss me. He’s looking into my eyes, and I feel like he can hear inside my head. He leans in. I blink, breaking our eye contact. He tenses up, like he’s expecting me to shove him, but I don’t. Quincy grazes his lips past mine without touching them, skimming my cheek and kissing me by my ear. He releases me, opening the door wider. I almost say, That’s it? Because if he kissed me right now, I would definitely kiss him back. He doesn’t do anything more, though, so I try not to stumble down his porch to my car.