Crouching Gangster, Flowering Quince

Chapter Two

11:00 PM

Ma's sleeping in her room. The showerhead in the bathroom is still dripping from the shower I took about four hours ago. I don't think I can move; closing the pipe is out of the question. I can't even blink. I feel drunk. There's no liquor in the house, though. I wish there was; I could use a beer right now. I chuckle at the thought, thinking about that one time JJ vowed to never drink again. It lasted about an hour, maybe two. We were high that night so I don't remember much, besides the fact that it can definitely go on my list of greatest moments with the boys. It makes me sad to think about it, that I'm leaving them, one way or another. I wish it didn't have to happen this way. I want to leave, sure, but I wish it could be easier. I wish it didn't make me feel this bad.

But it does. And the showerhead keeps dripping.

The television's volume is low, which comforts me yet disturbs me. I long to hear the noise, what the characters of this unfamiliar show are saying. But it's not worth waking Ma up. I have about thirty minutes to go before I dip, and waking her up before then will just ruin everything.

"Human beings are sixty-five percent water," I manage to hear one of the female characters from the show say.

"Well goddamn, Miya," another girl says. "Isn't that obvious?"

Then the TV cuts off. That's it until we pay the bill again.

I yawn. There's no noise in the house. All I can hear is the rain, and the light swoosh noise that comes every time a car drives down the wet road. I stay where I am for a while, listening to it and focusing on it and letting myself sink into it. Whenever I close my eyes, it sounds like waves crashing in the ocean, and then comes a wave of euphoria. But then something else will always creep into my thought; I always see Currency's eyes when he first told me about this two weeks ago, and I see the almost frightening voracity on his face, and it's all over. I open my eyes like I'm waking up from a nightmare, and the beach is gone.

The real nightmare is about to come at midnight.

I wipe my forehead and sit up, facing the hallway that leads to my mother's bedroom. I want to go in there, to watch her sleep for the last few minutes I have and hope that looking at her will help me change my mind. I used to do that when I was younger. Whenever I missed my father or I was afraid of what would happen to us, I would wait until she fell asleep and go into her room. She has always been beautiful, but there's something about her face once she falls into unconsciousness that makes her look like a goddess. Her peaceful smile, the ethereal stillness of her eyes, the softness of her skin-whatever it was, it helped me clear my mind. After staring at her for a while, I would always know what to do. Or, in this case, what not to do.

But I can't look at her. If I go in there right now, watching her sleep, it will only confuse me. I'll probably remember how she smiled when she saw that envelope from UCLA and how good it felt to know that for once, I was making her happy. But then I would remember where I am and who I am; no matter how much I want to ignore it, I will never fit in anywhere else but here. Why go to college if no one else there knows what it's like to live a week on candles and canned food? Or to eat a lot whenever you go to a friend's house because you know there might not be food when you get home? Or to stop believing in God because he ain't never done shit for you?

That's why I don't want to tell the boys yet. Despite all the reasons why I should go to college, they will all be right about one thing: when you're from the hood, it's hard to be anywhere but the hood (especially when you're still as broke when you leave as you were before).

I have forty more minutes before go-time. Forty minutes to find something to do to help me make this decision.

I take my keys from the coffee table, look at the envelope one last time, and then walk out the door.