Hawthorne Heights [Editing]

four [edited]

They all watched me gaze back at them until I continued down the sidewalk. One more block and I would be in my stuffy bedroom.

     "Why you say gay like it's an insult, Harrison? We all know that you hooked up with some rando!" The pretty girl yanked her arm out to the side and swung it around wildly.

He yelled, "I ain't even mess with him! We only kissed and that's it!"

I chuckled internally, making my way onto the side of the court near a bench to hear the rest of the argument.

     "Then stop acting like that, oh my god! He hasn't done anything to you so dead the hate." She threw the basketball over to her friend, who in turn let it fall onto the ground.

     "Bruh," the boy waved his arms dismissively into the brisk air. "I'm done with you. I swear you always tryna defend somebody."

My fingers played around with the shutter on my camera when I finally realized they were arguing about me.

     "And you always judging somebody for doing something different. Just go home, Harrison," she huffed, "you can't even play basketball."

I shouldered my backpack and adjusted the camera on my hip. Aunt Cleo wanted me back at the apartment to meet her Sister Support group after telling them about my arrival. According to her, she made the group to talk mess about the other inhabitants of the building over glasses of cheap wine and joints. If I got glass or a pull, I'd tell them anything--just not why I moved.

☾

Between the cheap wine flooding my bloodstream and the haze of smoke swirling around in the air, I wasn't sure which one brought back the memory. My stomach wrenched as my current surroundings late night surroundings melded into the dim basement.

     "Bruh," I ran down the wooden steps and crouched on the concrete floor next to Omar. "Where you even get a gun from?"

My best friend, Omar, revealed a small black glock from his neon green drawstring bag. We were in his uncle's basement since it was too hot to go outside that day. The sun caught his eyes glittering with excitement and fell onto the black metal in his hands. The small gap in between his two front teeth matched that of his mother's, and released air whenever he spoke. He had skin the color of grizzly bears and the personality of one too.

His minuscule hands grasped the cold exterior of the gun, trembling with fear. Around this age, everyone from where we were from at least held a gun. Omar was determined to become part of that messed up statistic. He practiced tucking it in the waistband of his basketball shorts and laughed, mocking the way his uncle walked around the block.

     "My uncle had it in his dresser so I took it. This tight ain't it?" Omar's voice cracked.

I looked around the basement apprehensively before holding the weapon. I saw them around when I'd ride my bike home from school and in movies, but I'd never been up close and personal with one. I practiced shooting it, holding it sideways with one eye open the way I had seen actors do. My index finger reached for the trigger as I moved my lips to the side.

     "You gotta be careful wit it, man! Don't hold it like that cause the saf-!"

My finger slipped.

Pow!

The sunlight flooded the basement the moment the bullet pierced Omar, and it illuminated the saccharine liquid pooling from his body.

I told myself it was an accident everyday since his blood covered my palms and leaked down the drain in the middle of the floor. But something told me that I did it in purpose.

I jumped up out of the bed, sweaty and trembling, and went down the hall to the bathroom. Small notes from Aunt Cleo's music slipped underneath the door and shook the small black an white tiles on the floor.

Leaning all of my weight onto the counter, I stared at my red eyes in the mirror before flicking on the cold water. My legs shook underneath me as if they were threatening to give out, and my eyes leaked tears into the running water pouring down the drain. I focused on the jarring sound of the rushing water, the bright lights burning my eyes, and the feeling of the cold floor under my feet. My stomach rolled again, with more effort as though my vomit was fighting to escape.

I leaned over the edge of the sink with my mouth wide-open as I gasped for air. I felt like the lavender from Mr. Otieno's apartment flooded the vents and purposely drowned my senses. Repetitive thoughts kicked around in my mind, flooding my memories with accusations, interviews, and the familiar feeling of guilt.

     "You aight in there, nephew?" Cleo's voice slammed through my reverie.

I nodded my head as though she could hear me, tripping over my words, and mumbling, "M-mhm, yeah, I'm cool. I'm just not feeling too good."

She waited for a few seconds, and then whispered, "Do you want somethin' to eat? Clarita made some Rotel."

I slid down against the wall to sit on the floor and rest my head in my hands. Everything around me amplified in every way possible. My head throbbed as if it had its own pulse and I wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep.

     "I'm good, auntie," I choked out.

Her breathing sounded so loud that I felt my body thrumming to every inhale and exhale. I knew that just like my mom, she would walk away and let me sort everything out by myself. I prayed that she would go back to the living room and leave me alone.

She cleared her throat and tried again, this time with a cleared voice, "I called Jelani to ask him about you this morning since I don't know too much about you, and it's not like you're willing to give out information."

I took in a shaky breath when I realized she wanted to continue speaking.

     "He told me about your situation, so I apologize for what I said, not only because it was insensitive, but because I can relate to your pain." A slight thud against the door sounded. "So for as long as you're living under my roof, know that you aren't alone."

Her words seemed to gather everything wrong with me at that moment and lock them away for the night. I blinked at the white door to the right of me and stared at the clear distinction between my mother and my aunt. My mother walked away from the door, whereas Aunt Cleo sat behind it.

☽

«fireside chat: omg y'all, i love this chapter so much ONLY because it shows a side to khari that i never really poked at too much in the past version. it shows how much the death of omar really ate him up. it shows that he wants to reach out and talk to someone, but he's afraid of being looked over again. can y'all hear me crying?»