Lucky Se7en

I was standin' on tha corner of Fifth street not really payin' attention. The midnight sun gently beat down on me. I watched it, almost tranced. You guys call it the moon; we call it midnight sun though 'cause our day begins at 11 o'clock, PM. I like our sun better anyway. The moon seems more trustworthy, more forgiving, keeping our secrets in its silver glow. Like an old friend, it is and will always be there. Yeah, this is our sun.

I never really wanted to hustle and sell. I just fell into it. Things happened, school wasn't workin', moms had three jobs and my lil' bro was barely eatin' enough. I had to do somethin.

I turned around quickly

"Yo, Se7en! Get yo ass over here!” screamed Roy. Roy's been my boy since buildin' blocks and crayons. Me and him are down til death. Like me, the game just kinda fell into his lap. I laughed lightly and responded.

"Yeah yeah, I'm comin'. Slow your roll man."

"Your roll is slow enough already, hurry up.", Roy yelled back. Roy could be funny, he wasn't always serious.

I hustled over and stood next to Roy. I took a breath and blew the smirk from my face. It was time for "bidness", as Roy would say. I always thought of Roy as somewhat of a mentor, though not older than me, he’d been hardened by the streets.

Roy walked up and greeted the two guys now standin' across from us.

"So we got a deal right?"

The taller of the two men stepped forward. He spoke.

"I guess so, but I ain't likin' the price." He talked with a deep voice and a southern drawl. Seemed like the school type.

"If you ain't likin' the price, then I guess you ain't gettin' nothin'." I got kinda nervous but I know Roy can handle his merch. Roy spoke again. "Look man, I gots to live, I gettin' hundred or nothin'"

The taller man gave in.

"Aight, whatever." He handed the money over to his friend and Roy gave me the bag. I started the long walk. I hated the walk; you never know what could happen.

Two years ago, Roy and I thought we knew what we was doin. We were rookies to the streets, pros in our minds. I was carryin' over a bag when the dude pulled a knife. His guy got Roy and they stabbed me, seven times, and got the bag. It became a legend on our block. I both embraced and loathed the new moniker. It represented luck, luck that I lived. It also represented a mistake. The biggest mistake of my life. One...Two...Three, by then I went numb, Four...Five, I blacked out, Six...Se7en. In 1 minute I went from Chris to Se7en.

I was snapped back to reality by the taller man. Sometimes I zone off like that. I looked back and saw Roy with the money, he nodded and I handed the bag over.

"Y'all enjoy that now.", Roy said.

"I'll enjoy smackin' that goofy smirk off yo face. Hundred damn dollers..."

He kept talkin' but we weren’t listenin'. We were walkin' back down Fifth Street. We kept one eye back on the corner and one hand on our gats in case they tried to start static. We were peaceful, but Roy had gotten protective since the stabbin'. I think he leaned on me for support. Out here, all we had was one another. I always liked the idea, like one of them old cowboy movies. Just us outlaws.

"Yo, good deal dude." Roy handed me my cut and we silently exchanged congratulations. The money ain't much but my fam came live off it.

Roy stopped at Fourth and turned toward his crib.

"Aight, peace out dude. I'll be at the ball court 'round 10."

"Cool, oh and Roy? Do yourself a favor and not get yo dumbass shot." I said jokingly.

He laughed "I'll try, and you try to get that face fixed, you is gettin' ugly."

Ten seconds later he was out of sight and I was on my own. My crib was a block away.

I turned to go down the old alley shortcut and got to my crib in no time. Some days I hated goin' home. I didn't have no pop, he left us. It was me, my bro, and my moms. Mom couldn't work a lot 'cause doctor said she had some problem in her legs. Since then I've been tryin' to help out. I got a legit job, but it wasn't enough. Six months later we got some food on the table and my lil bro's got the new Jordans. All 'cause of what I'm doin’. It might be wrong to you, but it depends on the perspective.

That night I lay in my bed just thinkin'. I had been thinkin' a lot lately. Been thinkin' about going back to school. I stopped goin' in 9th grade. Even up til then I never listened or anything. It's like back then, I couldn't see the point of it, it was like a painting. Every day I would paint a small stroke on the canvas, but the canvas was a huge one, like two blocks long. After awhile you quit 'cause you're wastin’ all this time and have no idea what it's for, but when you get older, it's like you got a helicopter ride and you see the big picture. From what I could see now I only had one corner painted and there was no way I was going to let all that space go to waste.

I looked over at the clock. It was 6 in the morning. Soon all the kids would be leavin’ for school to paint their own pictures. Some literal and metaphorical. My lil bro Kenny is in 6th grade. He wasn't like me, he got good grades. Oh man and he knew a lot of stuff. Ask him anything about science and he could answer it. Sometimes on weekends we'd stay up and just talk. Eventually though it'd always come to the same question from him, "Why don't you go to school?” I couldn't tell him. I didn't want him knowin' I slacked off and wasted my chance. That was my biggest motivation for goin' back though, to set a good example.

Daybreak came and I fell asleep listenin' to the kids goin' to their buses. When I wake up it'd be the same routine as tonight. Maybe someday I'll act on these thoughts.

I woke up at about four. Kenny was already home from school doin’ his homework. I loved watchin’ him work on school stuff. It gave me hope. Like he wasn’t gonna follow my path. I rolled over and smiled at him.

“Hey Chris!” said Kenny.

“What up lil bro?” I said nonchalantly

“Doin’ my school work. Wanna help me study for my math test?”

I thought about it a little. I wasn’t much of a math student. I was quick and all, it just bored me though. I didn’t have nothin’ better to do so I decided to help him.

“Aight sure bro.” I walked over to the table. I took a quick look around the livin’ room. My money, that dirty drug money, paid for this. I don’t see why it’s so bad. It keeps us afloat. Who knows where we’d be without my money. I stopped myself. I hated thinkin’ about that stuff. Roy always says think ahead or you’ll get behind.

I looked down and gazed over his math book. He was doin’ the nine time tables. I had trouble with them too.

“Aight Kenny, 9 times 7 is?”

“Uh...58?”

“Nope. Yo Ken, let me see yo hand” I grabbed his hand and showed him the nine times trick with yo fingers. It looked goofy but it was freaky how it worked.

I watched him do the trick and think it over.

“Is it 63?”

“Woo Kenny you is smart. You right man.” We both laughed and shared a smile. It was times like these I loved. “Aight little man, I’m bouts to bounce. Peace out.”

I took a shower and put on a tall black tee and some black jeans. I always had a thing for black. It’s like symbolic and shit. I don’t know. I could feel it. It represented me against all this shit I’ve been through. Black was me.

I slipped on my Black Jordans and went out the door. I stepped out of our house and into the ghetto, which had a ceiling of its own. No one made it out of here. You born ghetto, you is ghetto. It looked like any ol’ ghetto you seen, tall apartment buildings with spray painted shit on them, cracked sidewalks, old cars on the curb, busted down party stores on the corner. This shit was like a rap video. Our building was brick and had two floors. We lived on the first. No one lived up stairs yet. Last person that did was some old white dude. He was creepy. He died two months ago and it has been vacant ever since. Guess people didn’t want in as bad as we wanted out.

“Yo my boy Seven!” I turned my head and saw my homie Trey. “Don’t look at me like you don’t know who the fuck I am, show some love.” I walked toward Trey laughing and greeted him
“Ay man.”
“What you up to?” I gave the casual response.
“Nothin’ man, just chillin’.” He shot back quickly.
“You want to be up to somethin’.” I studied the look on his face. I knew this look. He has plans. He motioned me into an alley. “Look man, I’m getting’ people to go for a ride man…”
“What you mean ride?”
“Drive by man!” He hit my arm. “The 5-0. Didn’t you hear what they did to yo boy Roy?” I had no idea what he was talking about but I was afraid to ask. My curiosity got the best of me.
“No, what happened to Roy?!”
“On the way home last night I guess some cops rolled up on him, he gave them some back talk and they beat him.” I was in shock. My world was crashing. I lost control.
“What did they do?! Is he ok?! Is he ok?!” I begged and pleaded. I studied Trey’s face. He wasn’t smiling.
“He…he…he’s dead man. I’m sorry.” I collapsed. I dropped to my knees. Not him. Not Roy. My boy. He was like a father to me… I was there. I saw him. I said goodbye. I didn’t know it’d be the last.
I woke up in my bed. Alone. I just laid there. No movement. I needed to step out. I don’t wanna be Chris. I don’t wanna be Se7en. I slowly closed my eyes and stepped out of my body. I floated. I was an observer. I’m not sure how I did it.
What I saw was a broken puzzle. A pile of skin and flesh with no purpose. A man who spent years selling drugs. A human who’s sole purpose was evading law enforcement and getting addicted people high. Roy went like that. Roy died. As a dealer. A “bad guy”. He might as well been carrying a red light saber.
The “bad guys” are so recognizable. Red light saber in Star Wars and like those old westerns my grandfather watches where the bad guy had a black hat and the good guys white. When I looked down I saw a black hat wearing villain. But not all bad, I did it for a reason. Like a sheriff who went bad to protect his loved ones. By the end of the movie he always turned back. Roy never did. I didn’t wanna wear the black hat forever.
Roy died. He died defying the good guys. Was it their place to beat him? To kill him? No. Never. But they did. The good guys killed. They killed a bad guy. Yay them. But he wasn’t a bad guy. More like a double agent. If you knew him you would have loved him. Never hurt anyone. I was confused. Is it ok not to kill the bad guy sometimes? Is the bad guy sometimes not that bad? Can the good guys be wrong? Can they be bad?
I miss the days when things were black and white. Grey sucked.
For two days I laid in my bed. I ate some crackers and a small hamburger once. I drank some water. Neither of these actions were voluntary. Kenny came in to do homework. He tried to get me to talk. He bargained for me to get out of bed. I didn’t even offer a smile. I couldn’t. No deal.
Finally I woke up. I hadn’t been sleeping for the two days. I was more like in a trance. I don’t know. It’s like even if I wanted to answer I couldn’t. All of a sudden I woke up. I stepped out of bed and noticed I was in my pajamas. I had no idea how. I looked around and stretched. The windows were black so it must be night. Good. I like night.
I remember while being out someone telling me the officer who killed Roy was shot 20 times in the chest by a masked group. They claimed these were radicals who killed a good man.
But it was retaliation.
I don’t remember who told me it. It was a comforting voice. Probably mom. It didn’t make me feel any better though. Even if I had the hand attached to the fatal trigger it only continues the cycle.
I stepped into the kitchen and noticed the clock. 2:00 AM. Yep. Everyone was sleepin’. I extended the limb attached to my shoulder to open the fridge and got some water. I used the hole on the front of my face to swallow it. It was surreal.
It was still hard to face he was dead. Roy was so wise. I can’t imagine him doing something to provoke the kind of beating that happened. It wasn’t fair. He didn’t deserve it. The comforting voice also mentioned the police found him with cocaine. It was a lie. Roy never touched it. He hated it. He always told me “Don’t touch that shit, hear me? It’s bad news.” I listened. I knew he did too.
Why would the good guys lie? Were they really the bad guys? I didn’t like this. The lines were blurred. No one in the real world wore black or white cowboy hats or even had light sabers. So how could you tell? There’s no way they knew Roy had anything on him if he did. He didn’t have a black cowboy hat on…
I hate grey.