Falling Ashes

 Shelonda Montgomery

Badass Larry sit on the windowsill smoking a cigarette like he grown. Some boys way older than him stand beside him smoking too. The plastic, dirty window behind Larry has old cigarette burns that’s been on it for years. Larry in my brother Quentin’s class.

Quentin and I stand in the hallway by our apartment and wait on Momma so we can go to the store. She in the house trying to find her keys and let us stand out here and wait because Quentin got too hot in his coat. We live on 1510 W. 14th Place in Apartment 308. It’s way down the pee smelling hallway. Sometime they try to clean it with Lysol, but then it just smell like Lysol and pee. We use to live on the thirteenth floor in Apartment 1304, but we moved. Momma and Daddy say that was just too high because sometimes we use to have to walk up all those stairs when the elevator would break. One time Momma said she was so tired she thought she was gone have a heart attack from all that walking. Momma and Daddy use to carry me, but Quentin use to walk. Sometimes Daddy use to pick Quentin big ol’ self-up too, though. Carry his big ol’ self-up the stairs. Knowing he too big to be carried. Larry live in the building too. He always into something and run the street like he grown.  Now, Quentin pulls his superhero cards from his jacket pocket and show them to Larry. Larry looks at the cards with his head all turned to the side, takes a puff of his cigarette, and blows the smoke into the air just as Momma walks around the corner. 

“Quentin and Hudson! Get over here!” Momma say. Quentin jumps and run over to Momma, stuffing the cards back into his jacket pocket. I run too because Momma real mad. Momma take the cigarette from Larry and puts it out on the windowsill. 

“Why you do that!” Larry say squinting his eyes low. Larry short with a squashed peanut head and broken teeth like he be chewing on glass. He has chocolate looking skin that’s always ashy and uncombed hair that always look like it’s full of little black beads that run and move and dance around on his head.

“You don’t have no business smoking. You too young for that! Every time I see you smoking, I’m going to take it.  You hear me?!” Now, my Momma say to him.

“No, you’re, not!” He say, looking at momma like he wants to hit her. He takes out another cigarette, puts it in his mouth, and holds it with his lips as he searches the pockets of his red and blue, too big, jacket for his lighter. Momma snatches the cigarette out of his mouth, the pack, and pulls him down from the windowsill by his red and blue, too big, jacket.

“Those ain’t my son’s cigarettes,” Larry Johnson’s Momma say, standing in her doorway wearing a dark blue housecoat and black slippers, standing like her back crooked.

“I just took them from him!” my Momma, out of breath, say, holding the pack of cigarettes in her hand. “He was sitting in my hallway smoking them!”

“Are those your cigarettes, Larry?” his Momma say, sighing hard, rolling her eyes and smacking her lips.

“No,” he say, looking into his Momma’s eyes, which has dark circles around them and wrinkles underneath. Beer stains on her dry, peeling lips.  

“These are his cigarettes! I took them and brought him to you! ” my Momma say, her eyes wide and rolling around like they about to fall out of her head.

“Look, my son don’t smoke. Just asked him. Said they were not his,” Larry Momma say like her blood boiling. 

My Momma cut her eyes at her hard. “He was in my hallway smoking!”

“He don’t smoke!” Larry Momma say and looks at Walter, who stands beside Momma holding his superhero playing cards. He took them out to make sure he did not lose them. “Maybe those his cigarettes! Maybe he was smoking them damn cigarettes!” she say, pointing to Quentin.

“These are . . . your . . . son’s,” Momma say holding the cigarettes out to Larry’s mother, her smacking hand shaking.

“Larry, get in here!” his Momma say. Larry walks into they apartment. His mother slams the door as hard as she can; the noise echoes through the hallway, ripping and roaring, bumping into walls.

Momma, Quentin and me walk into our apartment. Momma slams the door behind us so hard I could have sworn the paint on the door chipped and the doorknob almost snapped off.

“What’s wrong?” Daddy say, wearing blue shorts and holding an open newspaper with a picture of Ronald Reagan on his lap. Daddy say Reagan don’t care about black folks and since he got in there, he ain’t trying to do nothing for us. “Zora, what’s wrong?” Daddy say and tuck the paper to the side of him on the chair. The Apartment smell like bacon, which sizzle and pop in the frying pan, creating a smoky, greasy cloud in the air.   

Quentin walks over to the kitchen table and starts pouring cereal into a bowl. The cereal is tan and round and has sugar on it. Not much sugar though. Some cereal misses the bowl and falls all over the table, so Quentin starts eating the dry cereal from the bowl and table. Then, walks over to the refrigerator, takes out the milk, and puts it on the table.

“Quentin, come here,” Momma say with her coat still on. Quentin, chewing, walks to Momma and looks up at her. I run to the bowl of dry cereal and start eating it. Nevaeh sits on the floor drinking a fruit punch juice box, looking around. The strawberry juice box sticky in her hand because it’s dripping.

“You stay away from him, Quentin!” Momma say.

“Zora, what’s wrong?” Daddy say, puts his feet in his slippers and walks to the kitchen and starts flipping the bacon with a fork.

“Larry was out there smoking in the hall, so I took his pack of cigarettes and took him to his mother, and rather than her scolding him like I thought she was going to do, she held him up when she know he was wrong and said the cigarettes were not his,” Momma say and turns to Quentin. “You stay away from him, Quentin!” Quentin nods and gets ready to run back to the table because he see me eating his cereal.

“Quentin,” Momma say. “I don’t want you playing with him. You understand me?” Momma say.  Nevaeh walks to the table, reaches her hand real high, gets a piece of cereal from the table, and eats it.

“Yes, Momma,” Quentin say, his voice raspy ‘cause he coming down with a cold.

“Ok,” she say and rubs his head. Quentin runs over to the table and pour the milk into the bowl of cereal; it splashes on the top of the cereal and all over the table. Quentin turns the gallon of milk around because he was not holding it right when he picked it up the first time, and pour the milk in the corner of the bowl, so it won't splash all over the table this time.  

“I’m trying to keep you all safe,” Momma say looking at Nevaeh, Quentin, and me, “because there so much going on around here ... and Quentin, hanging with that boy ain’t gone do you no good…Right, Julius?” Momma say, looking at my Daddy.

“Right, he is a lot, Quentin,” Daddy say, bending down and adjusting the stove flame. “I once saw him on the train at 1:30 a.m. with some older boys,” Daddy say.

Momma nods. “He is always out late walking around here. That boy is going the wrong way and that fool mother of his ain’t doing a damn thing to stop it. She gone lose that boy,” Momma say pointing to the door as if Larry’s Momma standing there. “Just watch and see. She already lost him to the streets. I’m not losing mine….We gone move out of here one day, but until then, stay away from him, Quentin,” she say, not even looking at Quentin. Quentin still nods, looking into the cereal bowl. Momma mumbles to herself, shakes her head, as she let her coat fall from her shoulders and take it off.

“I told you it was right here,” Larry say. He and some friends stand by the garbage dumpsters trying to pull out a dirty, raggedy, pee stained mattress that has straw coming out of a tear on the side of it. Somebody put it behind some boards and an old fake plastic tree that’s in a broken flower pot. Me and Quentin watch them from our kitchen window. Quentin sit in a chair looking all sad, his chin on his hands. Larry friend Tommy Lee pull the mattress out. Then they put it on the ground. “Watch out, I’m first,” Larry say, taking off his shirt and shoes, running around to the top of the mattress and backing back. Tommy Lee and Baby, a big kid that everybody call “Baby” because he got a baby face but too big to be called “Baby,” take off they shirt and shoes too. Baby try to curl his toes to hide the holes in his socks, but they still show.  

“Bet, but you better do some cool shit,” Tommy Lee say.

Larry run fast, stop short and flips on the mattress. He lands on his bare back and lays with his arms stretch out, laughing, his bare toes pointing straight in the air.    

“I can do better than that,” Quentin say.  

“Do better than what?” Daddy say, walking into the kitchen.

Quentin looks down.   

“Look, Daddy” I say, pointing at Larry and his friends. “They flipping on that mattress.” 

Daddy look out the window.” Ugh,” he say. “That thing has some of everything growing on it,” he say, his face stuck in a frown.

Larry and his friends take turns jumping and flipping and laughing and pushing each other around.  

“Quentin want to go out there,” I tell my Daddy.

Quentin try to hit me and miss. “No I don’t,” he say and purse his lips. 

“Leave him alone Quentin,” Daddy say. Quentin rest his elbow on the windowsill and put his chin in his hand. “I don’t ever get to have fun,” Quentin say under his breath, too low for my Daddy to hear.  

“What’s going on in here?” Momma say, walking into the kitchen holding a coffee mug. Quentin straightens himself up. Momma pours herself a cup of coffee, look out the window, spots Larry, who flips, whacks his chest, and forms a gang sign with his fingers, his pants sagging down and red underwear showing.

Momma shakes her head. “That boy going to the Penitentiary someday or get himself killed. All of them are.”   

Daddy nods, looking through the cabinets. Larry and his friends, breathing heavy, sits on the curb to rest. Momma and Daddy walk out of the kitchen. Quentin put his chin on the windowsill and sigh.

“Man,” he says, stomps, folds his arms hard, and look out the window, his head held back and eyes so low that they look like they close. Larry steps back and get ready for another jump. He fly in the air.  

“Let me go,” Darren Howard, a kid in Quentin’s classroom, say, sitting at the lunch table. Larry hold his backpack and keep pulling it.

“You think I’m playing, don’t you?” Larry say, laughing. They class sit eating lunch in the Lunchroom. My class sit eating two table over. I said “hi” to Quentin, but he act like he did not hear me. He always be doing that when we in school. “You were talking shit in class but you ain’t now,” Larry say, eating a peanut butter and jelly bar with a leg on both sides of the bench. The whole table sit looking at them, including Quentin, who sits all the way at the end of the table because Momma told him to stay away from Larry. “I’ll smack your dirty ass,” Larry say, knowing he dirty too. “Say something and watch what I do,” Larry say in Darren ear, his breath hot on him, burning his ear drums I bet. The other students laugh, including Quentin.

“Hit him, Larry!” a little dust bucket kid say and drinks his milk. 

Darren sit silent and is so scared that he shakes and his eyes water. Larry see this and starts throwing pieces of his peanut butter bar at him. Two other boys start throwing pieces of theirs at him too. 

“Stop,” Darren say. 

“Nope,” Larry say and then they all start picking off they bars and putting pieces of it in his hair. They class lunchroom attendant, Ms. Marks, walk around talking and not paying attention, and my class lunchroom attendant, Ms. Price, stand, looking at her walkie-talkie, trying to get it to work. Now Larry say, “If you touch it I’m going beat your ass. ” He rolls a piece of the peanut butter bar between his finger and thumb, throws it, and hit Darren in his eye. Darren wipes his eye. Larry punches him in the face. Darren bends over and Larry and the other two boys beat him up, punching, kicking, and slapping him. Darren lay between the bench and table curled in a ball.

“Stop it,” Ms. Marks say, grabbing Larry by his arm and pulling him up. 

“Let me go,” Larry say, snitching his arm away. “I’m calling my Momma,” he says with his fist balled.

“Get over here,” Ms. Mark say, grabbing his arm again, grating her teeth and putting him against the wall. “You too,” she say and grab one of the other boys and put him on the wall. “You were in it too,” she say, grab the last boy, and put him on the wall too.  

“We ain’t do nothin,’” Larry say, stomping his feet and hitting the wall.

“Hudson! turn around and eat your food!”  Ms. Price say to me. I jump, grab my pizza, and take a bite. Then, from the corner of my eye I look at Larry. With his jaw poof and eyes low, he stare down Darren, burning a hole into him. Darren takes a bite of his peanut butter and jelly bar and look away.

The next Morning, me and Quentin sit on the sliding board in the school’s playground waiting for the bell to ring. Momma say, ‘It’s too cold to have kids standing out here.’ It’s always cold. Momma always say, ‘School don’t care about these kids.’ Quentin’s friends Albert and Wayne, stand by the gate. They use to be in Quentin’s old class. Quentin runs over to them. I run over too. Albert stands at the gate with a huge blue coat on, unzipped, looking around. Wayne stand there with a brown coat. Hood tied real tight. He has red hair and most people just call him “Red.” Wayne starts climbing the fence. Albert climb, struggling to get up there. Quentin watches them as they both climb to the top and jump. Albert wipes his hands.  

 Quentin jump on the fence, climb a little and jump off. I get ready to do it, but Quentin pulls me away from it.

“Stop iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!” I say and turn, fixing my coat because he get on my nerves.  

“You stop it!” Quentin say.

“Look at this,” Wayne say and takes out a comic book. “My Momma brought it for me,” he say, opening it and smiling all wide. All of his big ol’ teeth showing.

Quentin look at it, his eyes all big and smiling like he ain’t never seen no comic book before.

“That’s the new one,” Albert say as he takes an unwrapped chicken patty, full of lint particles, from his pocket and takes a bite. 

“What’s that,” Quentin ask.

“Chicken patty,” Albert say, looking at the comic book like it’s nothin’ to take out a damn unwrapped chicken patty, full of lint, from his front blue jean pocket and take a bite from it.

“Why is it just in your pocket like that?” Quentin say.

Albert shrugs his shoulders. “I just grabbed it out the icebox before I left this morning,” he say. Quentin nods.

They all stand looking at the comic book, Albert eating his chicken patty, smacking hard. He stuffs the patty, crumbs falling off of it, back in his pocket. The crumbs all on the rim of his pocket, falling to the ground beside his feet. I try to stand on my tiptoes to see the comic book too.

Larry walks over, fixing his too little, gray coat, wearing a black hat on his head. He looks at us all, push Quentin, and run.

Quentin puts his book bag down and chase him through the monkey bars and around the swing set. They both running so fast they slid on the gravel, flicking the rocks around.

I look at them hard. “Ooooooo! Quentin! Momma say.”

“IknowwhatMommasaid!” Quentin say to me, his eyes cutting at me hard, squinting low, his lips pouting out. He catches Larry and they wrestle in the middle of the playground, pushing, grabbing and holding each other down. The bell rings, breaking up the match.

“Stop it! Quentin!” Momma say as Quentin rides through the aisle of the grocery store on the shopping cart, banging against soup cans and cereal boxes. “Leave the cart alone. If you can’t push it right, don’t touch it!” Momma say, limping because a few minutes ago Quentin clipped the back of her foot with the cart.

“Momma,” I say, pulling on her coat.

“Yes, Hudson,” she say, looking around at the food on the shelves.

I hold a bottle of chocolate syrup up to her. 

“Can we get some of this?” 

“Put that down,” Momma say and take the bottle out of my hand and put it on the shelf. Nevaeh sit in the cart looking around, her hand on the red plastic strip of the metal bar. “Do y’all want cake tonight?” Momma say as we pass the boxes of cake batter, rolling through the long aisle slow. The rickety cart thumping loud as we walk ‘cause the wheels all beat up and raggedy because they got huge pieces of rubber missing.

“Yes!” Quentin and I say at the same time. Nevaeh don’t really know what’s going on. She’ll eat anything. She always pointing to stuff and touching it slow. And her lips are always pink like she always be eating strawberries. Momma don’t be giving her whole strawberries because she might choke. Momma just crush them up and give them to her.  

“Chocolate cake,” I say.

“No, Momma, yellow cake, you made chocolate last time,” Quentin say, looking at me all crazy.

“Momma!” I say.

Momma look at me. “Hudson?”

I hold up a jar of sauerkraut.

“Can we get some of this?” I ask my Momma.

“Do you even know what that is?” she say.

“I do. I like this, Momma,” I say, smiling. “Can we get it?” I say.

“Put that down.” She frowns, fixing the scarf on her head, tucking the braids that’s coming out back in.

I put the jar of sauerkraut down where I got it from. We walk around some more.

“Ok, what about this?” I say, pointing to some granola bars with my legs stretched apart real wide because I don’t want to fall.

“Hudson, get over here!” Momma say. “Tie your shoe.” I bend down and start tying my shoe, taking my time.

Momma sigh and roll her eyes.

“Tieitforhim,Quentin,” Momma say.

Quentin walks to me, put his backpack down, and starts tying my shoe.

“I want to do it myself,” I say and pull my foot away.

“Let him tie your shoe, Hudson! I just came in here to pick up a few things. Did not intend on being here all day!” Momma say.

I slide my foot to Quentin, and he starts tying my shoe; I stand with my arms folded rocking from side to side.

“Hold still!” Quentin say, holding my shoelaces in his hands. 

I hold still.

He slowly positions the dingy white strings together to make sure they even, then he, with one knee on the floor and the other up, slowly start tying my shoe. As he ties it, I play with his hair, patting his afro down ‘cause it’s always big and sticking up.

“Stop!” he say.

“Momma!” I say.

“What, Hudson?” Momma say, looking at a box of oatmeal on the shelf.

“Quentin was playing with Larry today,” I say.

Quentin looks up at me, his mouth open, his eyes as wide as they can be. He squints them at me, creating wrinkles underneath. He swallows hard, his lips dry.

“You were,” I whisper looking down at him, my hand around my mouth like a cup. “I saw it,” I say.

Quentin pulls the loop tight.

I take a box of grits off the shelf and walk to Momma.

“Can I get this?” I say.

“What did he say,” Momma say, ignoring my question and looking at Quentin.

Quentin looks at her nervous, his eyes all wide. I put the box of grits in the shopping cart. 

“What did he say, Quentin?” Momma say, looking at Quentin.

Quentin gets up real slow, looking at Momma. Nevaeh picks up stuff in the shopping cart and looks at it, but she don’t know what she looking at. She picks up a box of cornbread mix and puts the corner of the box in her mouth. I take it from her and put it back in the shopping cart.

“What did he say?” Momma say.

Quentin stands still with his head down.

“Get over here,” Momma say.  

Quentin stands so close to the cornflake boxes that he almost knocks them down and holds the zipper of his jacket with both hands, fidgeting with it. Momma walks to him.

“Didn’t I tell you not to play with Larry?” she say.  

Quentin nods.

When we get home, Momma put all of her grocery bags on the floor beside the door. Quentin walks in the door real slow, barely seeing over the brown paper bag full of groceries that he holding. I hold Nevaeh’s hand with one hand and a loaf of white bread, in a tan plastic bag, in the other. The bag twisted real tight because it was spinning around as we was walking home. I put my bag on the table and take the loaf of bread out.

“Put that bag down,” Momma say to Quentin as she takes off her coat and places her house keys in a wooden bowl that’s on the living room cocktail table. Quentin walks in the kitchen and places the bag on the table as tears slowly form in his eyes. He stands with his back to Momma, knowing she watching him. And she watching him. Quentin starts taking the groceries out of the bag like he don’t know why Momma told him to put the bag down.

“Quentin, take off your coat,” she say. He turns around, takes off his coat, and places it on the chair. It falls off the chair on the floor beside another chair. He look back at it but don’t touch it, but he want to because he know it’s gone take up a little more time. Momma just keep her eyes on him. He turn around, walk toward his coat, and bend to pick up.

“Go get the crate,” Momma say to Quentin.

Quentin walks into Momma’s and Daddy bedroom, gets the big, black milk crate, and brings it out. “Put all of them in there,” Momma say. Quentin walks all wide and stomps his foot.

“Momma, please,” he say, squinting with his head back like it’s ‘bout to fall off.

“Go on get them and put them in there,” she say. Quentin walks around the house picking up his toys and putting them in the crate. Tears gather and fall from his eye as he puts in his truck, punching man toy, football, and Nunchucks. 

Momma take the crate. “Come on put them in there,” she say, pointing the crate toward Quentin’s pocket. He looks at his pocket. Then up at her. “Nope, you should have thought about that before you played with that boy. Put them in here,” she say. Quentin takes out his superhero playing cards.

“Oooh can I have them, Momma?” I say. She act like she ain’t hear me and keep staring at Quentin, who takes out the cards and holds them real tight. Then he hovers them over the crate.

“Drop them,” Momma say. He drops the cards, folds his arms and sits on the couch so hard that the back of it slams into the wall.

“Get get and sit down right,” Momma say, burning mad. Quentin gets up and slowly sits down again.

“One month,” she say.

“Momma,” Quentin say.

“One month,” Momma say. He stomps his foot. “Stomp it again and I am going to make it two… you are on punishment. No TV, no radio, no toys, no nothin’. You go to school and bring your butt right back to this house. Understand me?” Momma say. Quentin stare at the wall with his jaws puffed. “Do you understand me?” Momma say, staring Quentin down.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he say, his tears rolling down his face. 

“Now go in your room,” Momma say. He walk to the room and slams the door. “Quentin!” she say. He opens the door and closes it softly.

Later that day, when I go into our room, I see Quentin sitting on the floor with his legs folded under him trying to feed our cat Diamond some butter cookie that he had in his pocket all day. He got them from the school cafeteria. She mainly just smells the cookies and kind of lick it a little. Diamond white with black and gray patches. Momma found her one day in the hallway. Said somebody put her out.

“Not supposed to give her that,” I tell him. Then I get on my knees next to Quentin and start rubbing Diamond. She arches her back under my hand and rubs her head on me. Then she walks under my bed and starts looking around because she always be looking for stuff to sniff. I reach my hand out to Diamond to try to get her to come from under the bed, but she just look at me, her eyes all big and shining. She put her stomach on the floor real low and start licking her lips. Momma walks up and stands in the doorway, her hands pressed against the white paint chipped door frame.

“Quentin, sit down,” Momma say. He gets up and sits on the bed with his head down. Diamond walks from under the bed and lays down in the corner beside Quentin’s desk.

“Get over here,” I say to Diamond, put her on my lap and rub her.

“Look at me,” Momma say to Quentin. He looks up at her with dried tear stains on his face and tears forming in his eyes. “I need you to listen to me… and you don’t, Quentin,” she say and wipes his tears with her hand. “I know you like playing with Larry,” she say, sighing, “but that little boy is into some of everything around here and his mother don’t care. Do you remember the way she behaved when I told her he was smoking? 

“Yes,” he says.

“I know you do because she said those cigarette were yours.” Momma looks at Quentin’s red eyes and runny nose. “You kids and your father are all I have,” Momma say. “I am punishing you because I told you not to play with him…and you did it anyway,” she say and wipe Quentin’s greasy forehead with the palm her hand and take a piece of tissue from the desk and wipe his runny nose. “Your father and I are trying to do everything we can to protect you.  You can’t hang with everybody because some people ain’t right and weren’t taught to be right. Don’t know how to be,” she say. She sigh and look into Quentin eyes. 

“You are the oldest, so I look to you to set an example and do what your father and I ask you to do…I need you to listen to me because my words will keep you safe…Can you do that for me?” my Momma say. 

Quentin nod with his head down. 

“I need you to look at me, young Man. Can you do what  your father and I ask you to do?” 

Quentin looks at Momma. “Yes, Momma.” She squeezes his hand, kiss his forehead, and hug him. Quentin sit still with Momma’s arms around him. He puts his arms on her sides because they are too short to reach around her, but he rest his head on her shoulder and try.

“Let my baby go!” Larry Momma say the next day, trying to pull Larry back into they apartment. Two policeman hold him against the wall in the hallway handcuffing him. Me, Momma, Daddy, Quentin, and Nevaeh are by the stairway, looking at them with a crowd of people. The elevator stopped working, so we got to walk. Daddy holding a whole lot of grocery bags. Momma hold some too but not as much as Daddy because she got Nevaeh’s hand. Quentin hold a big brown paper bag in his arms that has bananas and bread sticking from the top of it.  The bag tearing on the side because he hold it too tight. I just got one plastic bag that keep twisting on my arm.

“Excuse me, Ma’am. I need you to step back,” one police man say and move Larry Momma back.

“He just a child,” Larry Momma say, her white nightgown hanging off her shoulder and red robe hanging and dragging on the dirty hallway floor. 

“Ma’am,” the policeman say. 

Larry, wiggling, look at her, his eyes open wide, red, and watery. “Momma,” he say, his voice cracking.

“It’s ok, baby,” his Momma say to him. “Please,” she say to one of the policeman.

“He was involved in a crime and we are taking him in,” the policeman say.  

“Y’all just picking on my baby!” Larry Momma say.

“Ma’am, a witnesses identified your son and two other boys,” the policeman say.

“They did not!” she say.

“They did and we are arresting all of them,” he say.  

She look at the policeman like she want to cry. “No!”

“I will give you the information where to go, ok?” the other policeman say. Quentin move to the side, look over the bag, and stare at Larry, who moves from side to side, close his eyes, and put his head on the dirty hall wall.

“Please,” Larry Momma say, still trying to pull on Larry.

Several people in the crowd stare and shake they heads.

“Come on y’all,” Momma say “Let’s get this food up these stairs.”

“Right,” Daddy, veins showing on the sides of his head and sweat on his forehead, say. “Quentin and Hudson, get the door,” he say. Me and Quentin run, open the big steel door, and lean on it. Momma and Nevaeh walk through. “Go on,” Daddy say, his foot on the door. Me and Quentin walk through. Daddy move his foot.

“He just a child!” we hear Larry Momma, crying, say as the door slam. 

As we make our way up the steps, her words hang in the air and spin and move on our bags and backs and rush out of the next open door into the dark, bouncing off walls.