by Paul Langan
I love you, Grandma. Sorry I had to leave. The nurse will be here this afternoon to take you to the care center. Your bags are packed downstairs. I put Grandpa’s picture in the bag for you. I know you’ll be in good hands. Thank you for understanding. I will call you when I can. Don’t worry about me.
Love, Anika
Hakeem noticed two tiny circles on the bottom corner of paper, as if teardrops had landed on there. His hands shook as he put the letter back, his own eyes moist.
Looking at the room, Hakeem knew what Anika said the other day was true. The state people had come for her grandmother, and she had run away to avoid foster care. He hated her decision, but he couldn’t help but admire her. Alone in an impossible situation, she did the best she could for her grandmother, staying as long as possible without anyone to help her. And when she knew there was nothing more that she could do, she took a bold step and went where she wanted to be. It was a decision he envied even as he dismissed it as a fantasy the night before.
“I’ll miss you, girl,” he said aloud as he descended the stairs. Once outside, he carefully closed and locked the door behind him, treating the empty house as if it were the grave of a loved one.
Hakeem went straight upstairs as soon as he got back to Uncle James’s. His family, including Savon, was in the living room eating ice cream and watching TV. On the screen, a police car raced through a crowded city street in pursuit of a criminal.
Upstairs, he grabbed his guitar and cried through its strings, the sharp pain gradually giving way to a dull ache. His thoughts drifted to the friend he lost next door and the others he left back home. His only comfort was his guitar, but even that reminded him of Anika.
She was gone, and with her, all his songs, his words, his memories. Part of his soul. She did take things, as Uncle James and Savon warned, but for some reason he couldn’t be mad at her.
Putting the guitar down, Hakeem stretched out on his bed and imagined what it would have been like to take the bus with her back to California. He pictured being dropped off at Bluford, a place that seemed farther away each passing day. He tried to envision his friends and how they would welcome him, but instead all they did was wave goodbye. And as his tired eyes closed, Hakeem resigned himself to a simple undeniable fact: he had never felt more alone.
Chapter 9
The night faded into a blur until Hakeem heard a thud and glanced up at his clock. It was 12:15. Immediately, he felt as if his stomach sank through his mattress onto the floor.
Savon. It was Friday night. He had to know for sure about Savon.
Hakeem bolted upright in his bed. The room was dark except for the night-light. But even in its dim glow, he could see that Savon was gone. Hakeem cursed himself for falling asleep.
But then, just above a whisper, he heard it. A thin metallic squeak. Then a soft thud.
Hakeem peered out the open window. Someone was walking away from the house. It had to be his cousin.
Scrambling out the window, Hakeem nearly rolled off the roof, a drop that would certainly break bones. Unused to the roof, he fumbled at the iron railing before finally getting a good grip. The iron protested his weight with a slight groan, but it held him, and he carefully climbed to the ground, his hands moist from dew that covered the metal.
On the street, a dog barked somewhere in the distance. Hakeem heard a truck pass on the block behind Uncle James’s house. But his street was quiet. Savon was on a far corner heading toward the avenue that led to his father’s furniture store. He was heading straight to the area where all the robberies occurred. Hakeem rushed to get closer but had to wait at a cross street as a dark SUV drove past, its stereo rumbling like a rolling earthquake.
Hakeem wondered what he would do if it turned out Savon was a thief. He didn’t know if he could snitch on his own cousin. Telling Uncle James was one thing; telling the police was something else. He hoped Savon wasn’t going to put him in a position where he’d have to decide. But as he trailed his cousin closer and closer to the trouble spot, he grew more certain that his worst fears about Savon were true.
Just as Hakeem had cut the distance between himself and his cousin in half, Savon darted into a side street lined with cars and then squeezed through a broken fence that surrounded a parking lot. Hakeem began to get scared. Once he took the turn into the lot, he was disoriented. He wasn’t sure if he could find his way home alone, and yet no one knew where he was. Even if he saw a police officer, what could he say?
Excuse me officer, I am trying to make sure my cousin doesn’t rob a store, he thought angrily. That wouldn’t work, unless he wanted to get in trouble for being out after curfew.
Hakeem knew he had to stay close to Savon. Now it was a matter of survival. Focusing on the crowded lot, Hakeem spotted his cousin snaking between the cars ahead of him. The distance between them was about the length of a basketball court. Hakeem knew they couldn’t be too far from his uncle’s store, but he couldn’t see it. Somehow, Savon had led him to an alley that went behind all the businesses on the main avenue. All he could see was the backs of warehouses, loading docks, dumpsters, and parking lots.
But as he neared the halfway point of the lot, he heard music.
Another car with a loud system, he thought.
Up ahead, on the far side of the lot, Savon stopped suddenly and looked around. Four guys rounded the corner and joined him.
“You ready to do this?” one of them said. Hakeem stopped. He recognized the voice. It was Tariq.
“You know it,” Savon barked. The guys crossed the street fast.
Hakeem couldn’t believe his eyes. His cousin and his friends were going to rob someone’s business. Right now. They were ready to break in through the back of a building just as they had done at Mr. Sung’s store. Hakeem had to do something. He looked for a pay phone to call home. None was in sight.
Running to stay close, he raced to the edge of the lot. There was a phone on the corner a block ahead. Hakeem was about to sprint toward it when Savon and his friends surrounded a dark doorway at the rear of a brick building. Music drowned whatever words were being said, but to Hakeem’s surprise the door opened, and the group moved inside. An overhead light illuminated each person’s face as they passed. Savon was first in line. As Hakeem watched, a second group of people approached the door and went in.
Hakeem crossed the street and moved toward the door. The music grew steadily louder as he approached. It came from inside the building, not the street, he realized, feeling the air vibrate with sound. He rushed to the spot where Savon and his friends stood.
To his surprise, the door creaked open, and an enormous man with a shaved head and thick arms emerged.
“I don’t know you,” he said, examining Hakeem as if he had committed a crime. “You got to go ’round the front. ” The man pointed opposite the direction of the parking lot. Hakeem tried to peer around the man, but he couldn’t see anything inside.
“What is this place?” Hakeem asked.
The man suddenly looked insulted. “If you don’t know that, you shouldn’t be here,” he grumbled. The door closed in Hakeem’s face.
Hakeem rounded the corner and came face to face with a crowd of young people gathered in front a set of double doors. A sign above them read “The Street,” and just beneath were the words:
Friday Night
18 and Under
Live and Local Hip Hop
It was a club, Hakeem realized. He had gone to one with Darcy on their first date last year. But why was Savon sneaking to a club in the middle of the night? Hakeem shook his head in confusion. It didn’t make any sense. Why the secrecy?
“Yo, watch your step!” someone growled, snapping Hakeem out of his thoughts and pushing him forward.
Following the throng of people, he stepped through a metal detector, got frisked by a security guard, paid a five dollar “door charge,” and emerged into a world unlike anything he’d seen back home.
Amidst a pulsing hip hop beat that cracked and
ground the air, people were moving and swaying in rhythm. Others, standing to the side, bobbed their heads to the music and watched people passing. The floor sloped downward to a small stage illuminated by spotlights hanging in the ceiling. On the stage, two rappers performed. Their performance charged the crowd, which raised its arms and cheered in approval. Hakeem searched for his cousin as a new beat mixed in. What he saw next made his jaw drop in surprise.
Savon and his friends burst onto the stage as if they had been shot from a cannon. Hakeem gaped as his cousin strutted with poise and skill to the beat. Arms everywhere waved, heads swayed, and Savon delivered his words like sermons of power.
Step back! Here comes the
outcast,
Makin’ you move wit’ da spells dat
my rhymes cast
Pushin’ and pulling you,
my words subliminal
I got mad skills, but I ain’t a criminal
Others judge and try to hate me
But when they hear my beats, they
can’t escape me
’Cause I’m a lyrical deliverer, the
rhythmical superior
Always misunderstood, but never
inferior . . .
Hakeem stood dumbfounded, his mind spinning like a whirlwind. Savon’s behavior over the last week suddenly made sense. The late hours, the mysterious plans, the desperate need to be out Friday night. None of it had anything to do with robbery. His cousin was a rapper, not a thief. Hakeem felt a wave of relief and regret for what he had thought all along.
On the stage, Savon had charisma, commanding attention with each step he took. And as he strutted across the stage, he seemed driven by his music.
Watching him, Hakeem understood exactly what Savon was feeling. It was the same as when he played his guitar. Like him, Savon used writing and music to respond to the world around him, to vent his frustration, to react. In many ways, he realized, they weren’t that different. Raising his arms upward, Hakeem joined the crowd in support of his cousin.
“Blood is thicker,” Uncle James had said. For the first time, those words seemed true.
But there were still so many unanswered questions.
Savon and his crew performed several songs and then left the stage in a chorus of cheers. As soon as they finished, three guys immediately took their place and began a performance of their own. The crowd swayed and moved for the new performers, and Hakeem began to search for Savon. He had to talk to him. At the very least, he owed his cousin an apology.
Darting through the shadows, the blinding stage lights, and the throng of moving bodies, Hakeem checked each area of the club, but he couldn’t find Savon. Near the main stage, a teenager bumped into him and offered to sell him drugs. “I got what you need, man,” the kid said.
“I’m cool,” Hakeem replied, stepping away. Similar things had happened at Bluford. But here, alone in an unfamiliar place, he didn’t feel as safe. He looked at the clock. It was already past 2:30 a.m. , and he still had the unfamiliar walk home. Then he had to climb back in the bedroom window and try not to wake his family. Lost in a sea of strangers, Hakeem began to worry. He decided to check the men’s restroom. If Savon wasn’t there, he’d try to walk back alone.
The bathroom was crowded when he stepped in, but Hakeem noticed that everyone in there was standing around talking. In the far corner, three guys were huddled together; one was counting money. The tallest of the three nodded at Hakeem.
“Whatcha lookin’ for, man?” he asked. “Maybe I can help you find it. ” Several guys in the bathroom laughed. Hakeem’s instinct told him to leave.
“My cousin,” Hakeem replied, turning away.
“Ain’t no cousin of yours in here. I ain’t ever seen you before. Where you from?”
Hakeem turned to leave and bumped into the kid who tried to sell him drugs outside. “Yo, watch your step!” the kid said.
Hakeem tried to go around him, but the kid moved to block his path.
“What you runnin’ from, man?” came the first voice. Before he could move, Hakeem felt someone grab him from behind, tugging him away from the door. Several hands began checking his pockets for money. “You got anything for us?”
“Get off me,” Hakeem commanded, twisting unsuccessfully against them. Within seconds, he was completely surrounded. He knew something bad was about to happen, but he was powerless to stop it.
Then, like an explosion, a familiar voiced boomed. “Let him go!”
Hakeem turned back to see Savon, Tariq, and their friends.
“That’s my blood, yo! That’s my cousin. Let him go!”
Hakeem felt the grip on him loosen immediately.
“Why didn’t you say you was Savon’s cousin?” one kid said, looking at Hakeem in disgust.
“C’mon, cuz, we gotta bounce,” Savon said, pulling Hakeem away from the circle of young men. In an instant, Hakeem was outside with Savon and his friends. He felt embarrassed as he looked at their serious faces and struggled to shake off the attack.
“I gotta get this boy home before he gets me in more trouble,” Savon explained. Then he shook hands with the members of his crew. Seconds later he turned to Hakeem. “Let’s go,” he said firmly.
Together they crossed the parking lot in dark silence as if neither knew how to talk about what just happened.
Hakeem had much to say, but he didn’t know where to begin. He was grateful for his cousin’s help and impressed with his performance. And more than anything, he was relieved that Savon was not the thief he imagined. Yet he was also angry. Had Savon treated him differently, just told him the truth, he would not have snuck around in the dark. He would not have been forced to lie to his father. He would not have ended up trapped in a bathroom by a gang. As they walked, Hakeem’s anger nearly held back the apology he knew he owed his cousin.
“What were you thinkin’?” Savon asked finally, breaking this silence. “If Tariq didn’t see you go into that bathroom, you’d a got a beat-down. Everybody knows not to go in that bathroom after midnight. It’s dangerous,” he said.
“I was lookin’ for you,” Hakeem replied.
“Why? So you could lecture me like Dad about how I was throwin’ my life away, doin’ somethin’ stupid, hangin’ wit’ the wrong crowd,” he said, shaking his head. “I ain’t havin’ that. ”
“No, Savon,” Hakeem said, swallowing his pride. “I was tryin’ to find you to apologize ’cause I had you all wrong. You were good up there tonight, the best rapper on that the stage. ”
Savon’s eyes widened at Hakeem’s comment, as if kind words from someone in his family were not what he expected. For several minutes they crossed the quiet streets without a word, but then Savon kicked a can along the curb, and turned to Hakeem.
“Know what my pops did when I told him I make money rapping at clubs and house parties? He told me I needed to get a real job before I ended up in jail. Since you showed up, he only got worse. Now he don’t say nothin’ to me except how good you are and what a disappointment I am,” Savon said bitterly.
“I’m sorry, Savon,” Hakeem said, beginning to understand his cousin’s frustration. In his attempt to guide Savon, Uncle James was treating him unfairly and pushing him away. If it weren’t for his friends, Hakeem realized, Savon would be completely alone too.
“You ever try to talk to him?” Hakeem asked.
“Talk, ” Savon scoffed. “He don’t listen to me. All he cares about is work. ”
Again, Hakeem heard the pain in Savon’s voice, and he knew there was some truth in his words. But he also knew it wasn’t easy to talk to Savon. And he had seen Uncle James’s deep concern for his son, though Savon couldn’t see it.
I was just hoping you could talk some sense into him, Uncle James had said days ago.
“You two need to talk. I mean really talk,” Hakeem suggested.
“You don’t understand, cuz. I tried talkin’ to him months ago. I told him that me and the boys had been rehearsin’ and stuff. I
even asked him if he wanted to see us perform, but all he could talk about was the store, and how he needed me there all the time.
“I was like ‘But Dad, I been workin’ here since I was twelve years old. Can’t I do my own thing for once just on weekends?’ He told me no, that I was goin’ to be wastin’ my time or somethin’. He don’t even know what I do, and he starts actin’ like I’m becomin’ a criminal. You know what it’s like to have your own father disrespect you like that?” Savon asked, his voice wavering slightly.
“I know you don’t ’cause your dad believes in you,” Savon answered his own question. “The way I see it, if my dad can’t support me, why am I goin’ to spend the rest of my life doin’ what he says? Besides, he don’t need me anyway. He’s got you,” Savon said as they turned a corner.
“The day you and I fought, he said he was ready to kick me out. I’m done with him, and he’s done with me,” he added bitterly.
For an instant, Hakeem almost thought he saw Savon’s eyes water, but he said nothing, letting his cousin recover. As they neared the house, Savon stopped suddenly, his eyes wide open.
“Oh, no,” he said heavily.
Hakeem followed Savon’s gaze toward the house. All the lights on the first and second floor were on. That could mean only one thing. Someone had discovered they were out.
“We’re busted,” Savon added. “Dad’s gonna kick me out. ”
“No he’s not,” Hakeem assured him, imagining the look on his own father’s face when he discovered his empty bed. He could almost feel Mom worrying about him as he neared the house. “We’ll talk to them together. ”
