Light It Up

by Kekla Magoon

  Host: There are two sides to everything.

  Sloan: At least. But let’s not erase the concept of accountability. We can’t throw up our hands and say bias exists, so black people are going to die.

  Host: We’ll be right back, with more from Senator Sloan and Dr. Hobart.

  BRICK

  They come to talk me down. Kimberly and her buttoned-up little activist boyfriend. Zeke is woke, but too brainy for the real world. All ideas, no clout.

  He’s the type that thinks it was Martin Luther King’s powerful speeches that changed the world in the 1960s. It wasn’t. It was bodies in the street. It was a hundred cocked guns in Oakland. It was the promise of a revolution to follow.

  They come talking to me about tweets and flyers and buttons. Naw, man. Let me hook you up.

  They need me.

  They need me to show them how to really make a stink.

  JENNICA

  Brick’s party is always the place to be. Does Kimberly think I’m stupid? “It’s not a party you want to be at.” I knew what that meant as soon as she said it.

  I came anyway. In time to see Kimberly and Zeke sitting right up where I used to sit. Holding court with Brick. So I’m holding court with my good friend Jose Cuervo.

  Screw them. Dance.

  I don’t even know what she’s doing here. Some meeting. It’ll be a cold day in hell before Brick shows up to volunteer at a SCORE meeting. They’re barking up the wrong tree. I could tell them. But no.

  Dance. Dance! Screw the revolution!

  I miss this, if nothing else. The freedom of turning my body loose against the music. The softness of liquor in my veins. It’s been ages. Kimberly barely ever parties, says it doesn’t agree with her. So I’ve kept off it all, too, because we have fun together. I haven’t even missed it.

  Doesn’t agree with her. Ha. Right now, tonight, I remember how crazy that used to sound. How could this feeling not agree with anyone?

  Anyway, here she is, trying to live the life she wants me to walk away from. Hypocrite.

  “Jennica.” Kimberly. She’s here now, with me on the dance floor. She puts her hand on my arm. “Jennica?”

  I shake her off. “Leave me alone.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing. Dancing.” I writhe toward her, then away. The beat is strong, good.

  “Let’s go home,” Kimberly says. Her warm eyes are concerned, and I hate it.

  “I want to stay.” She’s with Zeke anyway. “It’s cool. You should finish your date.”

  “We’re working,” she says. “It’s not a date. I care more about getting you home safe.”

  Bitch. Now she wants to be the perfect roommate?

  “I’m fine. I’m blowing off steam. I haven’t danced in ages. Just go. Have fun.” See? I can be the perfect roommate, too.

  Kimberly’s reluctant.

  I turn to Zeke. “Get her out of here. Show her a good time. I’m counting on you.”

  Zeke pulls Kimberly aside. “She wants to stay. She doesn’t seem that drunk,” he says.

  I smile inside. I’m trying not to seem that drunk.

  “I don’t want to leave her here like this,” Kimberly says. “It’s a girl thing.”

  “You wanna stay?”

  “No,” Kimberly says. “But—” She looks over her shoulder at me.

  Damn it. I come forward and hug her. “I love you,” I tell her. “I promise it’s okay. I’m okay.” Nothing will happen. I’m perfect. I’m beautiful. The music will never end and I’m here for it.

  “You have your phone?” she asks. “You’ll call me if you need me?”

  “Of course.”

  They fade into the crowd. Everything fades, except Jose and me. He knows how to tango, how to swirl me right. Perfect. Beautiful. Music and music and music.

  KIMBERLY

  “She didn’t seem very drunk,” Zeke says. “And she wanted to stay, what were you supposed to do?”

  “I don’t know. Friends shouldn’t leave each other in that kind of situation, is all.” It’s wrong. All wrong. “I shouldn’t have left her.”

  “She seemed okay.”

  “No, she didn’t.”

  Zeke rubs my back lightly. “Text her, if you’re worried.”

  “I did, but she’s mad, so…”

  “So, not responding doesn’t mean anything bad.”

  “I don’t even know what she was doing there. She hates those guys.”

  “They are a lot to take.”

  “They’re kind of a joke to me. I mean, not exactly. I know they’re dangerous and all. But I grew up with them.” I guess I want Zeke to be impressed with my chill or something. The Kings used to scare me, big time, but Jennica helped me see them for the puffed-up little boys they are. I know they could still hurt us. But they’re quick to flinch if you don’t cower.

  “It’s crazy, the way they jump at Brick’s every order.”

  “We don’t have to work with them,” I say.

  “Yeah, we do.” Organizing 101. Consolidate community leadership around a common goal.

  “They want to fight the cops. SCORE can’t get into that kind of thinking.”

  “If all you have is a hammer, every problem looks like a nail,” Zeke says. “We can give them some alternatives to the hammer.”

  The image in my mind is Brick, holding a big-ass hammer that suddenly turns into a flock of butterflies, fluttering around his head. The expression on his face makes me giggle out loud.

  “Maybe Sloan will have some ideas.”

  Ice water.

  JENNICA

  On the dance floor everything feels fine and good. In the bathroom, the whole world tilts and I can’t tell which way is up anymore.

  Someone knocks on the door. “Hurry up. There’s a line.”

  It’s too hard to pull my tights back up, and I poked my finger through them anyway, so I strip them off and put them somewhere near the trash. I fuss with my skirt until I think it is covering me again. The walk home will be cold, but I don’t want to leave yet anyway. I want the music and its magic back.

  The hallway is tilted and labyrinth-long. “’Bout time,” says the cat-eyed girl who was pounding on the door.

  “Sorry,” I mumble.

  My hand traces the wall. As long as the music is getting louder I am moving in the right direction.

  “Hey, baby,” Noodle says. “You looking for me? I’m here.”

  He’s here. In front of me like a wall. His arm slides around me and suddenly we’re walking again. But the music is getting softer, more distant.

  “Music,” I say. “I want to dance.”

  “We’re gonna dance, baby,” he says. “You and me.” The arm that’s around me is holding me up and also kind of cupping my boob.

  It’s funny. Usually getting drunk makes me want to lean into him. Not tonight. Here and now I see him for the slithering snake he is.

  No.

  It’s funny, but not.

  A soft click of a door latch and the music is muffled even further. My back is against the wall and Noodle presses up against me with his whole body. His hands push up my skirt. His mouth is on my neck, my chest. When I try to wriggle away, he takes hold of my wrists, pinning them beside my head.

  “Shh,” he says.

  Manhandled. I know what this means now. What it means to be up against a wall with no power and no recourse.

  No. The word echoes in my brain. Maybe it has always been there, straining to break free.

  “No!” When it comes out loud it feels like something should shatter. But nothing does. Not his grip on my arm. Not the look in his eyes.

  “Stop!” I shout, but maybe it comes out like a whimper.

  “You used to like it when I did this,” he says. “I know you like it.”

  “No. Please.” There is nothing I can do. There is no fight in my body. I think about pushing against him but my arms are limp. I close my eyes. Maybe I can pass out and it will be like it never happe
ned. He has been in me before. Maybe I won’t know the difference.

  “Let her go.” Brick steps in and thrusts his arm like a bar across Noodle’s chest. He shoves him back. The front of me goes cold, now exposed to the room.

  And then Noodle is gone, and there’s only Brick. Standing in front of me, holding me up. Someone has to.

  “I have to go,” I mumble. “I have to get home now.” Somewhere, I have a purse, and phone. Kimberly—

  “Nope. You’re staying here tonight,” Brick says. He lifts me up in his arms and carries me from this room to another one. Blue-gray walls, silver fixtures. Brick’s own bedroom.

  He sets me down near the edge of the bed. He straightens my clothes and pushes back my hair. His face is so concerned. He’s sweet to me. Always has been. It would be easy. So easy to …

  “Don’t,” he says. “Don’t come at me like that unless you mean it.” He puts his hands on my wrists, real gentle. My skin still stings there from Noodle’s grip. I want to erase everything that just happened. Put myself back in the column of good.

  Brick pushes me back a step. But his eyes say different. His fly says different. I wrench my hand away, slide it down his front. Kimberly might walk away from me but Brick won’t. He’ll always be there for me.

  He catches my hand again. “Jennica, you’re drunk.”

  “You wanna prove you’re some kinda good guy?” He sways, or maybe it’s me. “Bullshit. You run this neighborhood. There’s nothing good in that.”

  “Jennica—”

  “You’re no good,” I shout.

  He stands silent. Dizziness rises from somewhere behind my knees. My hands find the edge of the mattress. Toss myself against it. My shin cracks against the baseboard. “Ow.”

  “You okay?”

  He kneels beside me, massaging the sore spot on my leg. His hands feel good, like they could cover all of me, make the hurt go away.

  He slides my shoes off. “Get some sleep, okay? I don’t know what’s going on with you, but we can talk tomorrow.”

  Screw that. I reach for him, pull him in. When our mouths meet, I taste salt and beer and breath.

  It’s one quick moment, or it lasts a hundred years. Something like that. It’s gentle and wet and, honestly, why is it always so hard to get ourselves together?

  He tears his face away. And that’s what it feels like, a Band-Aid being ripped off, a curtain being torn from ceiling to floor.

  “Jesus, fuck,” he says. “Jennica.” He’s somewhere else, not up against me. Why? I blink until the room comes back into focus. He’s all the way over by the windows.

  I come up on my elbows. “What? Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted?”

  He comes closer, sweeps my hair to the side. “For once in this fucking life, I’m gonna do the right thing,” he says. “And I’ll probably regret it.”

  MELODY

  Brick comes out into the hallway, looking stressed. And furious. All at the same time.

  “She okay?” I ask. He’s been in the bedroom with Jennica. I want to make sure I did the right thing. When I saw Noodle carrying her off to a bedroom … something about it ain’t feel right. I’m not some kind of tattletale. I hope that ain’t what he thinks. God, it probably is. He tells me he wants to go militant, and I bring him Zeke and Kimberly. I see a known asshole bringing a wasted girl into a quiet place, and I tell Brick. Maybe I am a tattletale.

  “Do me a favor,” he says. “Help her get in the bed.”

  “Noodle took off,” I tell him. “Don’t go looking for him.” Great. To top it off, now I’m the weak-ass chick who doesn’t want to see Brick in a fight. He’s never going to trust me. But why do I even care?

  Brick nods. “I’ll wait here.” His voice is strained. “Just, make sure she’s okay, would you?”

  “Yeah, sure.” Maybe I should have gone in there with him to begin with. But the look on his face was worse than thunder. And it all happened so fast.

  The room is dimly lit. Jennica is already on the bed, asleep or passed out. Either way, not much for me to do. I prop a pillow against her back so she stays on her side, then I slip off her shoes and pull the sheet and blanket up over her. Tuck her hair back, out of her face, real gentle. Like a good friend would do. She’s breathing soft and even. I ain’t sure whether to wish she’ll wake up remembering or not.

  True to his word, Brick is waiting in the hallway. “Thanks,” he says, when I emerge. “I owe you.”

  No good way to respond to that. I shouldn’t get extra credit for doing a good deed. “Nah. I tell it like it is, right?”

  “That’s only what I like most about you.” He touches my shoulder, his thumb kinda skating along my collarbone. My mouth opens, just a little. Brick’s eyes go cloudy. His hand’s up behind my neck and I’m not sure what to make of being caught this way. No time to think or to plan. He leans in and I don’t stop him. Why would I? He’s fine. He’s the king of all in sight and here he’s chosen little old me. He could have any woman he wants.

  The unexpected thing is, it’s not just a hookup, either. I stepped to him and he liked it. He needs someone like me to keep it real with. I’m good for him. We balance.

  Melody Jacquard, coming up in the world. And it feels great.

  DEVANTE

  “Listen,” Robb says. “You gotta talk to Tyrell and get him on board. I’m sick of tiptoeing around his studious ass. You gotta tell him.”

  I pause my game. “What makes you think I can do that?” Because we’re both black?

  “You can speak his language, right?”

  I pretend not to hate that. “His language is Excel spreadsheets.” I struggle to inject lightness to my voice. “Who else speaks that?”

  Robb laughs. “I don’t know. Just try, okay?”

  It’s easier to agree. “Okay.”

  “Thanks,” Robb says. “You wanna walk down to the Black House together?”

  I glance at my screen. The meeting doesn’t start for an hour. “Gotta hit the books a little longer,” I tell him. I hold up the controller. “This was my ten minute break, but I should read another chapter of Econ.”

  “Okay. Just try to get T to come, for once.”

  Pause. Save. Power off. “Why do you care so much if he comes with us? It’s not like you’re best friends to begin with.”

  Robb pauses. Shrugs. “It’s where he’s from. He should stand up, don’t you think?”

  “I think it’s his business.”

  “Fixing the damn world?” Robb slaps the doorframe. “It should be everybody’s business.”

  EVA

  In my room I can pull up my sleeves and examine my bruises. When I am not looking, other kids reach out and pinch me as hard as they can. I say nothing. Like I’m supposed to.

  In my parents’ bedroom, Mommy thumps something down on the dresser. Probably her hairbrush. Maybe her fist.

  The walls are thin. I hear everything. But I say nothing, like I’m supposed to.

  “You need an attorney, Darren. With this money we can afford the best.”

  “I can’t accept their money.”

  The floorboards creak as Mommy paces. It is always Mommy who paces. Daddy holds still, like a coiled spring.

  Mommy says, “No one will know.”

  “They’ll know. What does it say if I accept it?”

  “It says you’re a father with a child to feed and a mortgage.”

  Daddy’s voice is tight. So tight. “People already think I did it on purpose.”

  “No one will know.”

  There is no such thing as silence, but for a moment the air is still.

  “I’ll know.”

  @Viana_Brown: Why do they always call her “the slain black girl” on TV? #HerNameWasShae

  @BrownMamaBear: IT COULD HAVE BEEN MY BABY. #EveryBlackParent #BlackParentFears

  @Momof6: Teach your kids to listen to police. End of story.

  @WhitePowerCord: Criminals get what’s coming to them. Underhill PD FTW!!!!!

/>   @UnderhillSCORE: Curfew’s up. So are we. It’s time to take a stand. We know who’s against us. Who’s with us? #Underhill

  @BrownMamaBear: All you kids go on home now. Stop your foolishness! They’re coming for you.

  @WhitePowerCord: SHOOT THEM DOWN. SHOOT THEM ALL. CURFEW’S UP. WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR #UnderhillPD?

  @Viana_Brown: No officer with a shred of humanity would fire into a crowd of peaceful protestors. #Underhill

  @WhitePowerCord: Then maybe private citizens need to take matters into our own hands. You’ll see us up close tomorrow. #WhiteOut #MakeItKnown

  @KelvinX_: Tear gas goin up! Say your prayers and make your stand, Underhill. #UnderhillRiot

  DAY SIXTEEN:

  TORCHES AND TERROR

  PEACH STREET

  This street stretches to the other side of town. Bends and curves with the whims of the city. Feel the ripple effect? We are all connected, pebble by pebble, block by block. One smooth double yellow line.

  When the torches light up across town, people feel the ripple effect in Underhill. The street shivers in the light of the flames, and the city stands up to take notice.

  WITNESS

  You try to explain to your daughters what it means to be hated. They do not understand.

  There are bows in their hair. As they look up at you, their eyes bear everything fragile in the world.

  They do not understand. You pray they won’t ever.

  It is hard to say the word “hate” in their presence. It is impossible to convince them they are any less than loved. They feel safe and happy. You want to be proud of yourself for gifting them peace, but you are fearful of their naïveté. Their small hands hold yours. They can see that you are sad.

  They do not understand. Today, you are the scary one, telling tales of a nation out to get them. You squeeze their little knees and promise to protect them. Try to forget that it is out of your hands.