by Randy Ribay
He narrows his eyes and points at me with his hand holding the bottle. “Fuck you,” he says, his sarcasm replaced with raw anger.
Nasir looks at Wallace for a long time, like he’s trying to make up his mind about something. Finally, he sighs and turns to me. “He’s a lost cause. Let’s go.”
He turns his back on Wallace and starts heading back. I wait for a few seconds and then follow. But we don’t even make it off the court before something whips through the air overhead. Whatever it is bursts against the metal backboard of the nearest hoop, and shattered glass rains down around us. I cover my head, but Nasir whips around and steps to Wallace.
“Come with us or leave us the fuck alone, Wallace,” he says, craning his neck upward to stare his much taller, much bigger cousin in the eyes.
Wallace steps forward and bumps chests with Nasir. He doesn’t say anything, but Nasir keeps his ground.
I stand by, mind racing, trying to figure out what to say or what to do to calm things down. I can’t think of anything.
But then Nasir takes a step back and puts his hands up in surrender. “I’ve tried to help you, Wallace. But if you’re not going to accept it, then I’m done.” He walks away for a second time.
But soon as his back’s turned, Wallace tackles Nasir to the ground. In a flash, he’s on top of him, fists swinging.
I rush over and drag Wallace off Nasir. We fall into the snow together and wrestle for control. But I end up on top, trying to pin his arms down while he keeps trying to hit me. Most of his punches are thrashing and wild, glancing off my sides or my shoulders. He’s strong, but he’s drunk. I finally manage to grip his wrists up so he can’t hit me anymore. But I’m not sure what to do from here.
“You okay, Nas?” I call over my shoulder, panting.
I hear him breathing heavy, sucking in the cold air as he tries to get back to his feet. “Yeah, I think so.”
“Get the fuck off me,” Wallace growls. Eyes wild like he’s completely lost control of himself, he starts bucking and twisting, trying to shake me. Then he spits into my face.
I let go of one of his wrists so I can wipe it off, but soon as I do, his fist slams into my already broken nose, filling my head with a burst of fresh pain. I cry out and roll off him, onto my hands and knees, the snow crunching beneath me. My vision blurs. Blood leaks out my nose and drops onto the white.
I hear a click.
I look up.
Through the tears, I see Wallace standing there, holding something and pointing it at me—he shifts, and it glints, catching the light from one of the faraway street lamps.
It’s a gun.
“Wallace, you don’t have to do this. Don’t—”
56
Nasir
“Wallace,” I say, stepping in front of the gun with my hands up before I even realize I’m doing it. The barrel’s pointed straight at my chest, and I know this is probably the stupidest thing I could do right now. But now that I’m here, there’s no way I’m moving. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Move,” Wallace says through clenched teeth while gesturing with the gun.
“No.”
He sidesteps to get a clear shot, but I stay between him and Bunny. “Wallace,” I repeat, trying to keep my voice calm even though my heart’s hammering in my chest. “You really don’t have to do this, man. Put the gun down. We can figure something out.”
He sidesteps again, and again I follow. I try to make eye contact, but he’s glaring past me at Bunny.
“I’m not here to hurt you, cuz,” he says, “but if you don’t move . . .” He doesn’t finish his threat because he doesn’t need to.
“Get out of the way, Nasir,” Bunny says from behind me. “Don’t be stupid.”
“Yeah, Nasir,” Wallace says. “You heard your girlfriend. Don’t be stupid. Get out of the way.” Wallace laughs for some reason. Then he keeps laughing. Drags the back of his free hand across his eyes like he’s wiping tears away—but I don’t think he’s crying from the laughter.
I don’t know what to do, so I keep my hands up and stand my ground. I can’t see Bunny, but I hear him getting to his feet, and I shift to make sure I stay in front of him.
“Wallace, man, I’m not moving,” I say. “Come on—put it away. It doesn’t need to go down like this.”
Wallace takes a step forward and raises the gun so it’s aimed at my head. My breath catches and my eyes close, waiting for the click of metal and the crack of the shot.
But it doesn’t come.
“This is the last time I’m going to say it, cuz. Get out of the fucking way.”
I open my eyes. Exhale. Try again. “What do you think this will solve?”
Wallace finally looks at me, but he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. In his eyes, I see a lifetime of rage, of desperation, of hopelessness. I see he isn’t trying to solve anything. He’s out to destroy.
My mouth goes dry. I’m out of words.
Bunny comes up beside me. “Wallace—”
57
Bunny
The blast shatters the silence like the world just ripped in half. The sound rings through my brain, drowning out everything else and even making it hard to stay on my feet.
I look up. Nasir and Wallace are staring at me, eyes wide and faces pale.
And then I notice the gun’s still in Wallace’s hand. A thin line of smoke snakes upward from the barrel.
I look down.
There’s blood on my chest and my arm. Dark splotches on the snow at my feet.
Someone calls my name, but it sounds muffled and faraway, like the person’s shouting from the other end of a long tunnel.
That’s when the pain arrives. I try to cry out, but it’s hard to breathe. I’m suddenly cold. My strength drains away, and I fall backwards.
Nasir’s face appears above.
His lips are moving, but everything is slipping away . . .
58
Nasir
I rush to Bunny’s side as he falls. Let Wallace shoot me, too, if he wants. I need to help my friend.
“Bunny,” I say. “Bunny—you all right? Can you hear me?”
But he doesn’t answer. His mouth opens and closes, opens and closes, as he struggles to breathe. His eyes gaze upward, unfocused, losing their light. The snow is stained dark all around his body, a stain that’s spreading like ink soaking paper.
I look him over, searching for the wound. I find it—it’s at his arm below the shoulder, pouring out his life. I press my hands to the spot to try to stop the bleeding, because I think that’s what I’m supposed to do. But the blood soaks through my gloves to my fingers, hot and infinite, more blood than I’ve ever seen in my life, more blood than it seems like fits inside a body.
I’m shaking, hyperventilating. I don’t know what to do. I continue putting pressure on the wound, and I press my forehead to his.
No, I pray. Please, God—No.
“Bunny,” I say. “Bunny. You’re going to be okay. You hear me? You’re going to be okay.” I turn to Wallace to tell him to call 911, but he’s gone.
The ringing in my ears fades. Sounds return in a rush. Bunny gasping. Me sobbing. Dogs barking.
Keeping one hand on Bunny’s wound, I use my mouth to tug off the glove on my other hand, then I grab my phone out of my pocket and dial 911, hands slick with blood and shaking. I hear myself tell them my friend is dying, tell them to please come quick he is my only friend and he is the best person I know and the best person in the world and he does not deserve this. I tell them where we are and they say help is on the way and keep talking but I’m shaking so bad I drop the phone into the snow and can’t find it so I put both my hands back over the wound again and my mouth tastes like copper.
I don’t know how long I stay like that—minutes or hours or days. The dogs even stop barking.
An immense hush settles around us. The dark stain grows. The snow continues falling. Large flakes catch in the lashes of Bunn
y’s open eyes.
59
Bunny
60
Nasir
I do not remember how I got here. In the hospital. I am in the waiting room. It is bright, so bright it hurts. My clothes are stained with red. Bunny’s blood.
But I am here.
Me. My parents. The Thompson family. Keyona, her dad, and stepmom.
We are all here. Except for Bunny.
We are crying and taking turns holding each other. But I know that each of us is alone.
Time passes.
A doctor walks out, a mask pulled down under her chin. Her face is worn and sad. We gather around, holding our breath and hearts and hope, knowing this is probably not the face of good news but wishing so badly we are wrong. I am somewhere inside of myself—collapsing, falling, fading—preparing to hear the worst, preparing to hear that my friend is dead.
Because of me.
She scans our group. “Mr. and Ms. Thompson?”
They step forward, and she leads them aside to deliver the news privately. I watch, out of earshot, heart in my throat.
She says something to Bunny’s parents, more than I expect. And they hug, tears streaming down their cheeks. Then they return to the rest of us, arms wrapped around each other.
Mr. Thompson swallows. Removes his glasses and wipes the tears from his eyes. Then puts them back on. And smiles. “He’s alive.”
Everyone lets out a collective sigh of relief.
I cry.
I thank God.
I cry some more.
And I am not alone.
61
Bunny
My eyes open. Barely, but enough to see through the fog to find faces looking back at me. My family, I think. And Keyona. And Nasir. They’re all smiling and crying, and I’m wondering what’s happened, what went wrong.
They’re speaking to me, but I can’t make out a single word. I’m so tired.
I feel like I did when I’d fall asleep in front the TV late at night as a kid and then half wake to my dad carrying me upstairs to my bed. Just like I’d do back then, I let the tiredness overtake me as I feel myself floating upward, safe.
62
Nasir
Jess takes Justine and Ash home after a couple hours. Keyona and I decide to stay, but her father and my parents head out also. We promise to let them know what’s going on as soon as Bunny’s out of surgery or there’s an update.
He was lucky, the doctor had said. I’d called 911 quickly, the park was close to the hospital, and the plow had just gone through the area where we were. Bunny had lost a lot of blood by the time he got to the hospital, so if it had taken just a few minutes longer, then he probably wouldn’t have made it.
As we wait, Mr. Thompson paces around while Mrs. Thompson downs cup after cup of vending machine coffee. Keyona and I sit in those uncomfortable chairs, not saying a word to each other. At one point, I drift off and dream of Bunny’s funeral.
We’re in a church. Everyone who came by the hospital tonight is there, packed into the pews, even the doctor and nurses I’ve seen flit past.
We pray and cry and share memories. Jess and Keyona give beautiful, heartbreaking eulogies, but when it’s my turn, I’m too wrecked to make it all the way up front. I stop at the open casket, feeling like I’m about to curl into myself—but it’s not even Bunny inside.
It’s Wallace.
Before I can say anything, the pastor shuts the lid, an old lady starts playing the organ, and the pallbearers lift the casket and carry it outside and into the hearse waiting out front like it’s all happening in fast forward. We get in our cars and follow in a long, slow procession all the way to the cemetery. Then we watch as they put the body into the earth. All the while, I’m wondering who we buried.
63
Bunny
I wake to the sterile smell and bright lights of the hospital, the steady beeping of a heart monitor. No pain. I’m lightheaded and groggy, probably thanks to the IV connected to my left arm.
My parents don’t notice I’m awake at first, and I don’t say anything. Partly because my mouth’s so dry it feels stuck closed and partly because it’s kind of nice. They’re sitting in the two chairs against the wall, and my dad’s holding my mom as she rests her head on his shoulder. They’re watching The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air on the TV mounted near the ceiling with the volume turned down low. Neither of them is laughing at the show’s funny parts, but I let out a weak chuckle at something Will says.
“Bunny?” my mom says.
“Hey, Mom.”
She rushes over to my bedside and gathers me in her arms. “Are you okay, baby? How are you feeling?”
“I’m . . . I’m all right.”
“Careful, Sharon,” my dad says.
But she doesn’t let me go for a while, and I’m cool with that. And when she finally does, she keeps my left hand in hers. My dad hugs me next, squeezing me harder and holding me for longer than my mom.
“We love you, Bunny,” he says.
“I love you guys, too.” Then I remember how I got here and sit up a little. “Is Nasir all right?”
My mom and dad exchange a look.
“He’s fine,” says my dad. “Right outside with Keyona.”
“Wallace?” I ask, wondering how much they know.
My mom exhales. “Gone.”
I drop back into the hospital bed and close my eyes, nose still aching. It all starts replaying in my head. Hanging out with Nasir at the court. Wallace pulling the gun. Firing. My world fading to black.
I thought I died.
I open my eyes and turn my head to look at my right arm, which is in a cast from my shoulder to my wrist and a sling.
Before I can ask about it, my mom says in her nurse voice, “The bullet went straight through. It hit the brachial artery on its way, but they were able to repair it. That’s why you were in surgery. It also grazed the humerus and fractured it a bit, which is the reason for the cast. It’s going to take some time to heal, but it will.”
“How long?” I ask. I figure I’m going to miss spring and summer ball, but I’m wondering if I’ll have to sit out next season as well.
“Doctor said it should be as good as new in a few months,” my mom says. “Of course, you’ll have to go to physical therapy for a while.”
“Think of it as some time to rest,” my dad says.
I try to feel thankful that I’m still alive. But I’m not going to lie, I’m wondering if it’s going to mess up my game. I’m right-handed, after all. And even if it doesn’t—even if my arm heals perfectly—scouts might still be afraid that it could cause problems later on.
“I can see on your face you’re already worrying about recruiting,” my dad says, interrupting my thoughts. “But the doc said they expect a full recovery, so try to relax.”
I nod, though that advice is a hell of a lot easier said than done.
“The police are here,” my dad says. “They want to talk with you about what happened once you’re feeling up to it. I’m guessing they want to see if what you tell them matches up with what Nasir said went down.”
“Can you and Mom stay?” I ask.
“Of course, baby,” my mom says, and squeezes my hand.
“And then can I see Keyona and Nasir?”
My mom’s jaw tightens when I say Nasir’s name. Dad touches her arm, and her face softens a bit. “Sure,” my dad says. “I’ll go tell everyone you’re awake now.”
He dips, leaving me alone with Mom.
After a moment, I ask, “Nasir tell you everything?”
She nods.
“Please don’t be mad at him.”
“He almost got you killed, baby. None of this would have happened if it wasn’t for him.” She squeezes my hand.
“I know, Mom. But he’s, like, the only friend I’ve got.”
“So I should just let it go?”
“Yeah.”
Before she can respond, my dad returns with two cops. One’s
a skinny young dude and the other’s a tall, athletic-looking woman. I tell them exactly what I remember happening. The guy cop jots things down in a notebook the entire time, and the woman cop interrupts me to ask follow-up questions every now and then. Everything must line up with Nasir’s story, though, because they don’t seem to doubt anything I tell them. Eventually, I run out of words, and they run out of questions. They assure me the police will find Wallace soon, but that they’ll stick close by since he’s still at large.
That should scare me, but I don’t think Wallace is going to try to come back to finish me off or anything like that. Those guys he sold the bad tip to were already after him, and now the police are, too. My guess is he’s in the wind.
When I think of Wallace, I find I’m not even angry. Maybe I would be if he’d shot Nasir instead. More than anything, I’m sad for him. I’ll heal, but his life’s over. Even if it is his fault, that doesn’t make it any less tragic to me.
After the cops leave, my mom and dad hug me again. A nurse comes in and checks my vitals as she chats with my mom. She says everything looks good, then congratulates me on the state championship—which I almost forgot about—says the doctor will be by shortly, and leaves.
My parents hug and kiss me, like, a hundred more times, my mom tells me we’ll talk more about Nasir later, and then they head into the waiting room. Keyona walks through the door next, Nasir trailing behind her. She comes right over and starts kissing me. The beeping of my heart monitor speeds up, and we both start laughing at that even as we’re kissing. Finally, we break apart, but keep our foreheads touching, both of us with tears in our eyes.
“Bunny,” she says.
