Ahgottahandleonit

by Donovan Mixon

  His dad said, “Not now, son. Get outta here! Can’t you see yo’ mama and me be talking?” Jones vaguely remembered thinking, If not now, when? But what he actually clearly recalled was hitting the floor hard, sitting up and screaming at the pain on the side of his face. He also remembered the confusion and shame on his dad’s face when he ordered him to get up and go to his room.

  Over the years Jones came to understand that, in spite of his father’s violent reaction, he was a child who was listened to. In that slap, Jones understood that what he said mattered, that his parents were listening and that his dad stood for something. Or at least didn’t stand for disrespect from his kids. He wondered about Tim—did his parents stand for anything? Probably not. So how could the boy believe that he, his study hall teacher, cared? How could he, if he couldn’t be sure about his own parents?

  “But then, what kind of fucking help was that Ted Jones?” he asked himself aloud. The sensation of failure hit him so hard he checked again to be sure that he was alone, as if his shame could leak out of the car and be seen by others. Reclining the seat a bit more, he inhaled deeply and held his breath. His exhalation came out in short bursts from his gut until they’d turned into uncontrollable contractions. Only the patient pigeons, hanging about for the odd tidbit, heard the peals of laughter bouncing off the brick surfaces of the school building. He started the car and headed for home. However, this time Jones wasn’t surprised by the moisture in his eyes because he knew that whatever the motivations behind his actions, young guys like Tim needed to know that it was at least possible that someone could give a shit.

  The door to his apartment, swollen in its frame from humidity, felt more like a crisis than an annoyance. His back was starting to ache again and he really didn’t need this now. After a good swift kick, the thing swung open with a bang.

  Rays of the late evening sun bathed the sitting room in light and exposed swirling dust in the still air. As he clicked on the AC, he paused for a moment and imagined layers of faraway constellations in the array of particles. Ever since he was a kid, stars made him think of science, science—education, education—school—ugh, I really lost it in there with that boy!

  Thirsty, he scooted to the fridge where a lone six-pack lay in wait on the bottom shelf. The pop of the tab and frosty kiss of the tin sent his taste buds into an orgasmic frenzy. For the third time within about an hour, wet tears flowed from his closed eyes.

  Before he had finished off the first can, the last day of school, the sweat, the rumble, bang and clang came back to his mind in stark lines, like the unfinished story that it all was. It felt almost unbelievable. He watched the scene in his mind as if it had happened to someone else.

  A few beers later, nature finally called. Sitting on the can in a hoppy happy haze he mused about the last remaining beer, and whether leaving it for another time was the right thing to do. Chuckling to himself, he thought, this is one injustice that will not stand! Before easing into a nod, Jones thought of when he’d met Tim Thornton for the first time.

  Uh, excuse me, but you Mr. Jones, right?

  What? Speak up, young man.

  Oh, uh sorry. Are you Mr. Jones?

  Come, step into the room. It’s too noisy out here in the hall. Yes, that’s me. And you are?

  Um, I’m-uh…Tim Thornton. Can I use your pencil sharpener?

  Nice to meet you, Tim Thornton. But I don’t know. Can you use it? Do you know how?

  Aw man, that’s so old! May I use your pencil sharpener?

  Sure, see the walk-in cabinet with the double doors over there? Freshman, right?

  Uh, yeah, I’m a freshman. Where’d you say it was?

  It’s inside the cabinet. Yes, that’s right. Open the door, that’s it. See it?

  Uh—Mr. Jones, I can see it, but it’s on the inside of the other door. It’s full of stuff in there. Wh-what I gotta do?

  What’s that, Tim?

  What do I have to do to use the sharpner, yo?

  Uh—you have to climb in!

  Jones laughed himself into consciousness and nearly fell off the toilet. I couldn’t believe it when he actually disappeared inside that thing. I guess he never saw the release chain. Probably the boy never got over that one completely. I suppose he’s been trying to get me back ever since.

  PROPOSITION

  Dang! The boy is handsome, Sheila thought when Darryl came out of the darkened building. Having waited an hour outside the service exit of the library, she had begun to feel a little stupid. Especially since she saw him just the day before with Rene. Only now she remembered the odd look on his face when they all spotted Tim on the street across the intersection. Determined to get down to business, she took heart in the fact that no gangbangers were in sight and most importantly—no Maurice! He didn’t have a basketball with him, so there was no game to rush off to—he couldn’t just blow her off. Take a big breath, she thought, Game on!

  “Hi, Darryl!” she sang out across the parking lot, hot with embarrassment. What, he’s not going to stop? “Hey…Darryl Campbell, wait up! I know you can hear me!”

  Darryl turned around slowly, left hand in his pocket, right hand brushing his upper lip as if he had bristles to play with, jeans halfway down his butt. “Yo, what’sup, cuz?” he said, words sounding like they were stretched out in a hammock.

  “Don’t cuz me, Darryl,” Sheila said with one hand on her hip. “We both know that you don’t really talk like that. And why don’t you pull up those stupid pants. Your boys aren’t around. No need for street-cool here.”

  Darryl pinched his nose and looked down the street in each direction to see if anyone had heard. Holding his head off to the side, he reached out to touch her shoulder.

  “Yo, girl, why you bustin’ on me like that? What did I do to you?” he said with that smile of his, with those perfect teeth.

  Ohh, she thought. But it was more of a deep down feeling than a thought and for a moment, it caused her to hesitate, even reconsider what she’d come to do. The boy had smiled at her after all. “Darryl, I know you were there day before yesterday when Maurice beat up my brother in the park. And I know you knew he was my brother too.”

  The flash of panic in his eyes told her that it was true. “Whoa-whoa…hold up, hold up, girl. What are you talking about?”

  “No, I’m not going to hold up. I don’t care if you want to continue with this clown act. Knock yourself out. But you’re going to listen to this!” she insisted, pointing at him as she spoke.

  Darryl half laughed through a loud snort, shifted his weight onto the other foot and looked around. They were alone on the street. Only a curious dog stared at them from a window. It was beginning to get dark. He took a step towards her. “Listen to this, b—”

  Sheila took a step in as well. Standing nose-to-nose, it was clear that they were about the same height and she had the weight advantage by about twenty pounds. “I wouldn’t go there if I were you,” she growled.

  “Okay, okay, sister,” he said, taking a step backwards, chuckling softly as if there was some joke between them. “What do I have to listen to that’s so important? Besides, I didn’t touch him. Look, I’m sorry about what happened, but I was totally on the side, not a part of it. Yeah, I don’t even think the dude saw me. I mean like, did he say something?”

  “No, he hasn’t said a thing. And don’t call me sister, okay? Stop that!” she said, batting his hand away. He had tried to pinch her cheek as she spoke. “Anyway, I know for a fact that you were there, and I’m pretty sure he didn’t see you. So, he doesn’t know you were there—but I do! And since you did nothing to help him then, you have to do something for him now!” She liked her tone now.

  Darryl scoffed. “Huh? Like what?”

  “I know that you try to keep your good grades a secret so you can hang out with those silly friends of yours,” she said, poking him in the chest with two fingers.

  “And-and so?” he said looking at her poking hand.

  “And so, you have
to help Tim with his reading.” Darryl slapped her hand away when she tried to poke him again. At the same time, he grabbed his belt buckle. His jeans were about to fall to the ground. His voice exploded in a high falsetto. “With whaaaat? Shit.”

  “His reading, fool. Are you deaf? Soon he will be at the library every day. He has to pass the reading proficiency in September,” she said, wiping her mouth, worried about calling him a fool.

  Darryl guffawed at the news. “And why’s that a problem?” He leaned back on one leg and scratched his chin. “Oh yeahh…he’s STU-PID!”

  Sheila took a minute as if she could stare down Darryl’s boldness. But his curly hair threatened her resolve. Suddenly she wanted to forget all of this mess, take his hand and stroll down the sidewalk like lovers making future plans. But then an inner voice screamed at her…not now! She leaned in again, close this time and suppressed a smile. The boy smelled good.

  “If you don’t want Maurice to find out about your tendency to study and your geeky job here at the library, you better agree to give Tim some real help every day that he comes. You have to make sure that he is able to pass that proficiency. You got it? You know what would happen if those silly boys heard about you.”

  “Aw man,” he said, turning to face the other way. “I’m no fucking teacher.”

  Sheila came around to face him again. “No, but you are somebody with a secret that wants it to stay like that. Right?”

  “Hmm…” said the fake thug, rubbing phantom chin whiskers.

  LIKING IT

  While he stared at himself in the mirror, Tim brushed his teeth and stood on one leg in ‘tree pose’—something he’d seen in a yoga book. He laughed out loud thinking of his trip to the library with his uncle six weeks ago at the beginning of the summer. Gentrale would be shocked to hear that Tim had become kind of a regular at the joint, reading the news online almost every day.

  Gentrale had said that he needed someone to accompany him to the library—claiming he needed help, that he had to research something important. Yes, that’s the word he used. Research. Tim had to think about that for a minute. He was a little suspicious when he agreed to go. And, he was embarrassed to be seen, so he suggested they sit in a remote corner near the wall.

  It didn’t matter. Gentrale was in a great mood as he planted himself in one of those big leather chairs and read the local paper aloud as Tim followed along. After reading an article about the recent robberies in town, they made a trip to the card index and then down the aisles. A few minutes later, they were reading the details of famous robberies in the U.S. from a couple huge hardcovers. At one point, a library employee, a dude named Darryl, reminded them of the library policy of silence. Later, the guy returned with a bunch of cool illustrated books.

  Darryl suggested they go online and search The Most Stupid Burglars Ever. A couple hours later, Tim and Gentrale were eating ice cream and laughing about the guy who wore a transparent face mask during a bank robbery and about other failed heists. Tim liked that word heist.

  Yes, it was his uncle who tricked him into going to the library in the first place. But it was Darryl who got him through those doors every day. If it weren’t for him, things would have been different. Tim kept quiet about all of this, telling himself that it was none of his family’s business: It’s on me, yo! Like if I can’t pass that proficiency, it will totally be my problem.

  There was another problem though. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew the library dude from somewhere.

  He stood grinning at the toothpaste flowing down his chin, but nearly choked when the bathroom door suddenly swung wide open.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Sheila, get the fuck out of here!” he barked. Toothpaste rain speckled her glasses.

  “I’m going to tell Mom about your filthy mouth. And—take that toothbrush out of your mouth.” Looking towards the floor she said, “What the—” She pointed at his legs.

  “Oh, uh—forget that!” he said, putting his foot down. “Leave now, please. I have to eat something and get down to the gym before it gets too crowded.”

  “Oh!” she snorted. “So now that you’re done trying to grow some brains you want to grow some muscles?” she said, flexing a bicep.

  “Girl, that’s none of your business. Now get—” he said, trying to push her through the door.

  Sheila pushed back. “Ha! That’s good and all, Timmy, but you look like Al Jolson with that toothpaste—”

  “CLOSE THE DOOR!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. This time, his sister allowed him to push her out.

  Who the heck is Al Jolson?

  A moment later, it was Gentrale at the door. “Tim! You done fell in the toilet boy or what?”

  “Ahgottahandleonit,” Tim mumbled on his way back to his bedroom. The phrase made him think of his dad all boozy and swollen. It was something he always said. Remembering that, Tim felt a little sick. He threw on his clothes, grabbed his gym bag and ran out of the house as if he could leave the puffy-faced memories behind.

  Out on the sidewalk, the sun felt as if it would pierce his skin. Sweat poured out of him as he trudged forward, moving his book-laden gym bag from one hand to the other. There were still about three weeks to go before the proficiency and he had to pass it. The thought of failing almost made him turn around and run back home. Sheer determination kept him going. He couldn’t listen to any more of his sister’s shit. He really didn’t want to hear: So Mr. Asphalt, what are you going to do now?

  “Fuck her,” he grunted. “What I do is none of anybody’s business.”

  BEST LAID PLANS

  Even though Spank lived on the eleventh floor of the Southside projects, you could hear the beat of his stereo from the street. Tim didn’t come down here much. It was way too easy to get into some shit with the police. If the cops didn’t get you, the dudes on the corners could easily interpret your presence as either a problem or a threat.

  The elevator was a toilet. No seriously, there were bottles of piss in the corners of the four-by-four box. Tim ran up the eleven flights, six of them without lighting in about a minute flat.

  “Wasssssup, Spank?” Tim sang breathlessly, letting his greeting substitute for a long-needed exhalation.

  “S’up, Tim? My man. You made it!” Spank shouted back, reaching to hug him.

  Tim, sweaty from his run up the stairs, pushed away quick. “Yeah. It’s Saturday night, bro, I have to get in a good one before it’s all over. Only a couple more weeks before everything starts up again.”

  Spank looked him up and down. “Whoa, brother, don’t be bringin’ no school shit up in here. Hey, s’up with the muscles? You be working it, huh?”

  “Yeah, brother. Gotta do what I gotta do, you know! Ooh-wee, you got some smoking honeys up here tonight. But seriously, you have to change that track. I mean…”

  Spank yelled across the room, “Yo, Betty! Bring this boy something to put in his mouth so he can shut the fuck up! Haaaa.”

  Tim couldn’t make out Betty in the crowd until he was bumped in the chest by two huge breasts in a tube top. “Hey, Tim, how you doin’, baby?” she said with a scary smile. “Ain’t seen you for like forever. What you want, beer or some of that other shit going around? Hey, where you going?”

  Before she’d finished saying whatever she had to say, Tim had moved on. He’d thought to catch a glimpse of Maria in the crowd. “I’ll get with you later, Betty,” he yelled back at her. When he didn’t see his favorite Guatemalan, he joined in the group bump and grind. No room for any kind of stepping, only hands overhead, hip and booty moves allowed. Tim felt the effects of the heavy marijuana cloud hanging in the air and soon was giggling at a couple blitzed-out girls talking about an upholstered chair.

  Yo, Kathy—chill, baby. Put your foot down. You know the deal. Spank’s mom will spaz-out if she sees shoe marks on the furniture an’ shit. Humph, I don’t know what he be worried about. This ain’t exactly House and Gardens…haaa…shhh-shhh, here comes Spank n
ow.

  Tim nearly lost it when Spank spoke up. “I heard that shit. Ya’ll can get y’all’s asses outta here if you don’t like the conditions.”

  “Hey Spank-a-Lank, what the hell is that?” Tim pointed towards the corner.

  Spank waved a hand at the thing. “Aw man, that’s uh-uh, an old weaving machine. My folks don’t know how to throw nothing away.”

  “What do you do with it?”

  “You weave stuff, fool!” he said and pushed through the crowd towards the DJ. “Wait a minute…I’ll get back to you homie. Hey, Maaarcie…pump it up, girl. I wanna be feelin’ it.”

  The bony girl at the booth spoke into the microphone. “You talkin’ to me, Spanky Butt?”

  “Your name still Marcie, right? I can’t hear the music. Turn it up—turn it up…” he chanted, bringing the whole room with him. Turn it up—turn it up.

  “I thought you were going to talk to Spank all night, Timmy,” Maria said, tapping him on the shoulder from behind.

  “Maria! Oh, so now like you talking to me, huh? Giving me the eyes and shit. What changed since the last day of school? Wait, first gimme some of that spliff.”

  “Okay, but take it slow, baby.” She handed it over.

  Tim took a deep pull on the blunt. It sent him into a coughing fit.

  “Haa…shit, I told you to go slow, bro. That stuff is strong,” she said, patting him on the back.

  Tim doubled over from the smoke. “Oh man! This—ain’t just weed. I got to talk with Spank. He must be experimenting again,” he said, taking another drag.

  Maria’s hand froze in mid air. “Experimenting? What the fuck are you talking about, dude?”