In the Now

                   There were three of them, like parakeets, they all ate peeking up from their plates, watching each others back. Seeing one of them alone, or just two of them, didn’t look right to the people in the neighborhood and at school. When they were young they met after every class, and congregated with the cool kids in the halls. They had five minute catch ups every hour and a half. Everybody figured they knew the backs of each others hands, the way they shook those elaborate handshakes all the time. There were few who knew how they met, but its not like it mattered the way people figured, the three of them boys came out of the same womb, at the same time. Might as well have, they were as close as conjoined twins.

         They were, until they experienced the effects of detachment to the weaker link, the one who can’t handle being cut away from a shared part with out withering away, unable to fill the void with anything else in life.

         Their differences were subtle complements to one another. They were all born in the same year. The oldest was born in February, and his name was DeJuan, or DJ. The  youngest, born in August. His name was Michael. The other was Sean born some time in the summer. Sean had no idea when his birthday was, because his mother abandoned him less than a year after he was born. Took him down to his uncle’s in the Five Points and left him on the stoop. Nobody ever knew what happened to her, or they never said. However it was, Sean spent his nights, feeling for her in the dark, cursing her miserably until the day he would finally meet her, and he would have it all out of his system. Sean met DJ and Michael in kindergarten and they had been inseparable for years after that. The story of them meeting wasn’t anything dramatic like the people around the neighborhood thought, but most of those stories would come along after the day they split apart.

         All three of them had fairly normal lives in the usual sense. After high school they took up dead end jobs at local retail shops. Neither one of them had a girlfriend, and didn’t really worry about the idea too much. They had their random sexual experiences, but didn’t speak of them with the enthusiasm that most other young men do. They all stayed at home, and Sean with his Uncle Persey. By now they were each nineteen years of age, still floating high through the days, smoking weed frequently as possible, finding themselves in the clouds. Neither of them had a father, so they let the ritual smoking provide them the calm, steady presence in their lives.

         It was better than nothing.

         They talked a lot about the changing world around them, making plans to change with it as soon as they got a chance. They bounced the same ideas off each others heads, of plans they would bring to fruition, they wanted to be rich. They wanted to grow into money together, and share a mansion like the people on TV, They discussed the floor plans together until they mentally customized every aspect of their pad. After work, they’d turn on the celebrity channels and fantasize one another as big stars. Michael was the rapper, DJ was the skater, and Sean was the producer. Of what exactly, they never decided, but he said he wanted to grow up to be a producer. His job was the most important. He made the beats that Michael rapped to, and Michael would rap about life being a skater’s best friend. They all knew by the way Sean could beat box with his mouth, the way he hummed the bass sounds, and ticked his tongue in hi-hat variations, that if he had his own studio, he would make the best beats in the nation. After all, if it came out of his mouth, he could make something way better with the stuff the pro’s used.

         Sean told them that.

         Then he told them to get jobs. He understood something the others were slow to understand: money is the element that places all things where they are. He’d seen it all his life, and been a victim of its circumstances. He was too big of a burden on his mother’s life, and her pocket, so he was placed with his Uncle. Persey told him he would have to pay his own way, or he wouldn’t eat. The small amount of food in the fridge was off limits as soon as he grew his muscles in his body. Sean was hungry all the time, and angry, embarrassed to tell anyone verbally what his loud stomach and frail limbs announced to his friends’ mothers’. He took their charity in bitter disgust at himself, silently promising to one day return their pity. He knew his chance to become rich and simmer in the vengeful contentment of a man whose life was always unfair was soon to be at hand. He could feel it deep in his consciousness like the anticipation of an idea that was almost a concrete fact, he saw it in his dreams, and he knew the day was close.

         They decided to use the money from their jobs to bankroll their business. By now they had gotten a mixer and a keyboard with twenty sounds. They hadn’t realized when they bought it that they couldn’t record anything they made without a computer, but it was a trial and error. So they were saving up to get one. Sean said if they stuck together one day they would make it to the big time. After all, if the crap they heard on those videos they watched was good enough, Michael was sure to blow the world away. So they worked their jobs, and made enough money to buy weed and save for the best computer available.

         The boys figured they were made to be a story of overcoming. Sean told them of the struggles he’d heard of in the past. He’d pace, full of nervous tension, gabbing on and on about celebrities through history. He’d speak of the poor, the lucky, and the determined, who all came up to be loved Americans. He repeated that it was their time, but he saw nothing but cloudy, inaudible dreams in their future, never materializing into a true form. As much as he tried to focus, and to see the obstacles ahead, and how to beat them, he couldn’t. The only way to make it to them was to see them ahead, he figured. The frustrations of his blurry vision tormented him, day and night until he could forget them in a cloud of smoke.

         Eventually, DJ decided he never had it that hard. He wanted to skate for real, not just in his dreams. At some point he decided that was his only way out of a life not that far under the poverty line. Sean knew DJ was straying long before they found themselves in their current predicament. He focused on keeping Michael focused on their dream. Everyday he invented new beats similar to what he’d heard on the MTV video shows. Michael would rap for hours to the mental imprint of Sean’s examples. The more he smoked, the better he thought he was, and he too was busy rapping to see the skeptical looks being exchanged between the other two.

         Friendships were never worth large amounts of money, that’s the unfortunate common. The three of them, on sober nights would lie in bed and hold back tears of reality’s insults. They were so hopeful, but Sean never preached about ambition or pro-activity. Truly, he had no idea how to make anything he hadn’t seen made. He just needed to explain it to someone like Michael, who could soak up anything like a sponge. That was his chance, and everyone only got one chance, the way he saw it. Sean just didn’t want to find himself on another stoop, alone, like before. He knew their group could break through the glass ceiling if they stuck together, but that was the only way. He couldn’t make it alone, and he wouldn’t loose his chance for anything.

         



                                                                          * * *



         In the now, they all stand motionless in a basement with a ceiling too low for either of them to extend their arms and stretch their limbs to God. There are two small windows behind Sean’s head, but the only illumination comes from a silent television set, stationed on the latest celebrity scoop. Blue and bright white light flickers against their bodies. Their faces are blank aside from the blinking white and dark that shows dilated pupils in their eyes. They’ve been standing now for twenty-eight seconds in silence, Michael in shock, and DJ in anger. Their faces are identical aside from the turned in eyebrows on DJ’s face. They simultaneously stare at the barrel of a gun, afraid to breathe, knowing a single flinch separates them between the current moment, and a chance to see tomorrow.

         As for Sean, he holds the cold steel key to their destinies. Thoughts rush light speed through his head, but one continues to trod and pick pieces at the front of his sanity: the thought of buying the gun, accompanied by the wish he hadn’t spent the money they saved on it. Now he truly had their lives in his hands. They wouldn’t go anywhere, or see another face without his will. Now he understood the old and all too worn out saying: be careful what you wish for.

         They’ve been standing now for fifty eight seconds. DJ is considering making a move. He scans the room through the whites of his eyes for a place to execute a James Bond dive. Unfortunately, Sean is standing nearest to the stairs, the only exit, which means he’ll first have to lure him away, toward the middle of the room. He figures Sean isn’t that good of a shot, he’d never even seen a real gun before, he thinks. He takes a glance at Michael to see Michael glancing back.

         “Hey!” Sean screams, full of nervous emotion. “You two sit the fuck down, now!”          They’re in Sean’s house, and his uncle isn’t due back from work for another three hours. “Sit down,” he says a lot calmer, and quieter. “We just gotta’ talk.”

         “Dude,” Michael says in a quaking voice. “This ain’t cool at all. Stop pointing that gun at us, man.”

         “Sean,” DJ chimes in. “This is crazy man, we’re about to leave, right now. C’mon Mike.” DJ tries to start for the stairs, but Michael hesitates. He looks at DJ with a pleading expression, so DJ decides to take the first step to build a little courage between them.

         “This ain’t a game,” Sean says, raising the gun in aim. “Nobody’s going anywhere. Both of you sit down.”

         “Why the hell you got a gun, man?” Michael asks desperately.

         “I don’t got a choice,” he looks at DJ. “You’re not gonna’ fuck us over.”

         “Fuck you over?” DJ shouts. “You can’t make me do anything Sean. If I want to take my money, I can!”

         The dark of the low ceiling basement brought about a rush of light fatigue over the three boys. Their eyes strain against the bright over dark, and the constant changing hue of the room. There are two couches and a glass coffee table furnishing the basement den. The lack of fresh air, caused by poor ventilation makes the room hot, and it smells of heavy spray-on fragrance. The three boys are sweating beady forehead droplets and they breathe deeply against the saturated, oxygen lacking air.

         DJ, in stress, lack of comfort, and the obvious fear of his life begins to lose patience. “Sean,” he says, “I dunno’ what the hell you think you’re doing, but I’m leaving. I don’t give a fuck what’s running through your fucked up mind, but you ain’t holding me nobody’s hostage. Mike you can stay if you want.”

         Michael looks up hopefully, waiting for DJ to charge his way to the stairs. No way is Sean seriously thinking about shooting anyone, he thinks. His eyes follow DJ’s cautious frame taking steady paces to the stairs. His heart skips a beat when Sean slides over to impede any exit, and beats rapidly at the bright flash that seems to hold time in place. A loud crashing sound ripples against the walls, and for a moment Michael thinks he’s gone deaf. Without realizing, Michael stumbles and sits on the smaller couch behind him. He blinks several times as black dots float around his vision. He glances at the TV and can’t hear a famous singer ramble on about his extreme struggle, coming out of the suburbs. Through his muffled sense of hearing, he instead listens to DJ howling in pain. He forces his eyes back over to Sean, who’s still standing over DJ, still holding the gun like its his last grip on reality. Michael wants to walk over and check on his friend, but he remains still in fear he will be next. He wants to say something, but his thoughts become jumbled and unintelligible. So he stares from Sean, to the gun, to DJ still crying out, bleeding on the floor.

         A puddle is starting to form under DJ’s squirming body. He clutches at his midsection, hoping the blood will clot, and the pain cease soon. His eyes are shut tightly. He doesn’t want to see the fluid pouring from his body. He took a bullet square in the belly, and the only small chance he has to survive is prompt medical attention, which is no guarantee at this point. While he pleads silently to God for his life, all that can escape his lips are groans and grunts. The pain pulsates through his whole body like torture, yet an exhausting tiresome feeling overwhelms him. He can feel himself starting to shake, shivering from the sudden cold that has begun running through his veins. Fear lurks deep in his mind, knowing his injury is a step away from serious. At least it feels that way, this is the worst pain he’s ever experienced, it feels like his insides are burning away, like stomach acid has started seeping out of its casing and flooding his insides. His body is starting to feel weak, and all he wants is sleep. As he prays that someone is calling 911, and in the midst of his rush of thoughts, he decides he will never forgive Sean, life or death, for what he’d done.

         While DJ’s soul slowly and painfully takes leave from his physical body, Sean stands over him, knowing full well the situation has spun quickly out of control. He now tries to decipher the jigsaw puzzle of successfully committing a murder and escaping punishment. The first evidence to dispose of, he knows, is a talking mouth. The only witness is Michael, and Sean has no doubt he will talk. He looks at Michael, who is chewing away at his fingernails. He can’t tell Michael he’s going to die. He’s going to need help getting rid of the body. Sean slows his thoughts to a slight roll. DJ isn’t even dead. Why didn’t he just sit down like I said? Sean ponders. It’s not my fault the kid got shot, all he had to do was listen. Good riddance anyway, he wanted to tear our group apart, along with our dreams. What am I going to do now?

         Michael reaches in his pocket and pulls out a cell phone. Sean points the gun at him. “Put that away! Who the hell are you calling?”

         Michael looks at him as if the answer is obvious. “I’m calling 911, he needs help, Sean. He’s bleeding a lot.”

         Sean looks down at DJ. There is a lot of blood seeping onto the floor. He takes a step back to avoid getting any on his shoes. Now he starts to feel the reality of just shooting somebody, and watching them die. He’s trying to think of a way to explain to the police, there’s none, somebody’s going to jail. Maybe I can get Michael to take the rap, he thinks. No, won’t happen. Why can’t I just disappear now? I want to turn into an invisible man now and leave forever, maybe go find my mom? Why did my mom even leave? That’s why everything fucked up!  Why did DJ want to leave? He focuses his attention on the room again, and decides there’s only one practical course of action. He and Michael have to dump the body, clean the house, and pretend nothing happened. First, he has to convince Michael to help him throw the body in a river or something. Shouldn’t be too hard, he decides, the guy’s like a sponge after all. 

         DJ has quieted down. Sean wonders if he’s going into shock. At this point his face is no more than a pale grimace. The longer he sits, the more blood will spill into the carpet, another minute can’t be wasted.

         “Michael,” Sean commands. “Help me get him.” The majority of the blood is on his midsection and chest. “You grab the head, I’ll get his legs.”

         “Where we gonna’ take him? The ambulance will know…”

         “We’re not calling the ambulance! Both of us will be thrown in the slammer. Oh, the cops will love this, three black kids, one dead! Can you survive in prison Mike?”

         “It was an accident, man! We have to call the cops-what else can we do?”

         “Look, if we’re gonna’ get through this,” Sean surprised himself at how calm and steady his voice carried. “Somebody’s gotta’ think, Mike. We need to move fast, or we’re both going to jail for murder. The cops don’t care how, they just wanna’ put someone in jail. Now grab his head, we can do this.”

         DJ begins coughing and crying out in pain again. “Call the…fuck! Call 911, somebody…” He groans in pain and rolls over on his side. More blood starts to pour from his belly.

         Michael pulls open the top of his cell phone to expose the buttons and dials emergency. Before he can hit send, Sean fires a shot. He meant to hit the couch next to Michael, but instead he hits the wall just above his head. Michael ducks and rises back up with his eyes wide in furious anger.

         “Dude you almost fuckin’ shot me! Fuck you man!” Words want to pour out of Michael’s mouth like water from a broken damn.

         “Put down the phone, now.” Sean’s still aiming the gun in Michael’s direction.

         “He needs help now! You shot him, not me! I’m not helping you dump his body. He’s our friend! I can’t believe you’re doing this. Are you crazy?”

         “Our friend?” Sean moves in closer and steps over DJ’s cooling body. “He wanted to take the money we were saving, all for himself! He said it just a minute ago, you heard him! He doesn’t care about us!”

         “Sean, he said he wanted his share of the money. He has a right, and I want mine too, screw you man! Why did you go and get a gun? What are you thinking? Now you got us all fucked! No way in hell am I gonna’ try to cover this up, you idiot!”

         “That’s what he said today, the other day you should’ve heard the way he talked about you and me. He said we were losers and he didn’t give a fuck what happens to us! I got the gun because that’s the only way to talk sense into you idiots! You were just going to throw our chance out the door, I told you we have to stick together, you guys just wanted to leave me to die by myself, but I ain’t going out alone!”

         Now Michael’s thinking Sean is crazy, by the way the hate in his voice tried to justify his decisions. He could see the anger in Sean’s eyes, not against him, but against his own life, and the entitlements he felt he’d never gotten. Michael knows he has to get in touch with the police, or his chances of surviving the night are slim. He doesn’t know the neighbors have already called the police, complaining of gunshots and shouts, but an uneasy calm comes over him, as he knows the night can only end one of two ways.

         “Sean,” Michael says in a quiet, trembling voice. “I don’t care what he said, if he doesn’t want to hang out with us, it doesn’t mean he should die. He’s entitled to his money. We trusted you enough to keep the money, doesn’t that mean anything? You came to kill us, because he didn’t want the computer? You must be off your fuckin’ block. And you wanna’ talk about friends? What kind of shit is this?” He waves his arms to encompass the whole room.

         “You’re as stupid as I thought.” Sean says coldly. “He was going to take our future and throw it away. Somebody had to protect our investment!” Sean’s getting careless with the gun, and the trigger’s like a hairpin.

         “If he dies, you’re gonna’ be in a lot of trouble. He’s dying Sean. You are about to be a murderer. I’m not helping you unless you want help calling the cops. I can’t believe you did this man! Get that gun outta my face!” Michael sinks down in his seat and chews away at his fingernails. He can hardly move, he looks at DJ and feels ready to cry. If only he’d stayed at home to play NFL Bash.

         DJ has lost at least a pint of blood. The stream coming out of his belly has slowed, but only because the remainder is in scarce supply. He trembles and curls up like a snail. His thoughts have turned to prayers. He hasn’t seen his life flash before his eyes yet, and wonders if he’s hell bound. The police will be along in under a minute.

         “So you’re turning your back on me too, just like everyone else?” Sean says with a nod. “Well you’re gonna help me get this body, or you’re gonna die and I’ll throw you both in the trash!” He aims the gun, hoping to persuade Michael more forcefully.

         “Sean, our moms’ will come looking for us! Do you ever watch the FBI shows?”

         “This isn’t a movie Michael, its real life now. You have to get real!”

         “Get real?” What is wrong with you? You’re a psycho, can you hear yourself? You are talking about trying to cover up a murder!”

         “We can still get away, Mike. I know what we have to do. All you have to do is trust me. Just trust me, and I promise, we will be together forever. You don’t have to leave, and I don’t have to leave. We can do this together Mike, all we have to do is stay together.

          Michael stirs in his seat, listening. He doesn’t want to speak, but his emotions have taken control of his language. “You shot him on purpose, didn’t you? You came here to kill him all along!” I’m calling 911!” Michael presses the send button.

         Sean clenches his teeth and forces tears back into his eyes. He narrows his eyes and takes a deep breath. I don’t have a choice now, he decides. He tenses his arm and fires a hot bullet into Michaels shoulder.

         “Yow!” He screams in pain and falls to the floor. “Fuckin-A man!” Michael struggles to keep his consciousness. The bullet hit something, but he doesn’t know what. He can feel it burning a hole in his arm. He uses his other arm to try and crawl toward the stairs. His head feels like its going to dis-attach from his body and stay in the basement to sleep. His heart beat has risen and his vision is becoming blurry. “Fuck dude…” Is all he can choke through his clenched jaw.

         “Why can’t you just listen?” Sean’s now standing in a puddle of blood and dying bodies. The bullet he shot Michael with hit a bone and caused marrow to leak into his insides. He tries to think fast, but he can’t think of anything beside anger. It shouldn’t have come to this, he thinks. They didn’t leave me any options. They deserve to be exactly where they are. I hope they’re in pain, but they won’t know pain, they betrayed me. What happened to our dreams? He now considers turning the gun on himself. What is this life worth anyway? My mom didn’t even think I was worth the trouble, after all. He paces around the room, his hands sweaty, but he can’t put down the gun. His head spinning, but he can’t make it stop, he can hardly breathe, and his lungs feel like they’re not getting any air.

         “911 dispatch, what is your emergency?” Sean doesn’t know the woman on the other end of the line is straining her ears to hear what’s going on. “Excuse me? Is there some kind of emergency?”

         “Fuck!” Sean yells. Michael, do you like it down there? Do you see what you made me do? You two fuckers are really something! You called yourselves my friends?”

         “Hello? Please somebody say something. Is everything okay?”

         The police are at the neighbor’s house listening to the complaint.

         “I heard a few gunshots over there fer sure.” He says with a slight southern drawl. His stringy hair rains down from just above his ears, and his arms have tracks drawing a heroin train to his heart.

         The senior officer jots down the man’s statements. “How do you know they were gunshots? It’s not just,” he points at the marks on the old man’s arm. “The stuff kickin in, is it?”

         “Sir I spend a good fo’ yeas down’ner in Vet-nam, I knows what a gunshot soundin like.”

         The senior officer looks at the man and impartially jots down the rest of the statement. He slaps his pad closed, tips his hat, and turns around, hand on hip. After reaching the car and dropping the pad in the open passenger door window, he walks toward the door of Uncle Persey’s house, with his rookie partner behind him.

         “You guys didn’t want to get rich! You didn’t want to get the mansion! You were playing me all along! I should’ve known, I must’ve been crazy to trust you!”

         “Sir please pick up the phone and talk to me. I’m sending out a unit to the location of the phone.” Two loud pops make the dispatcher jump almost out of her seat.

         The police also hear the shots. The look at each other and draw their guns from their holsters. As they reach the door, the senior officer calls, “Police! We’re coming in!” He kicks the door open with one try.

         The rookie gets on the radio. “This is 2440 to dispatch requesting backup here on 3200 Williams.”

         The distorted voice hollers back, “Dispatch to 2440, backup on 3100 York.”

         The two officers enter the house and clear the first floor, then head for the stairs. They slowly make their way down, anticipating any perps coming from the blind side. The senior officer goes first; adjusting his eyes to the lack of light downstairs. He knows there’s an assailant, possibly with a gun in the house. The stairs creak as he nears the bottom. He looks up at his partner, withholding a nervous dread. Eight years on the force, and he’d never had to use his gun. Now going into a dark hallway, with a possibly armed man waiting in the wings, he almost thinks of trading places with the rookie. He knows he’s not a coward, and moves forward, confident his training has provided him the skills to handle the situation. A drop of sweat falls from the senior officer’s head, onto his shoe. He glances back at the rookie. This guy better have my back, he thinks.

         They reach the bottom of the stairs. “Shit,” escapes the officer’s throat as he sees DJ’s cold and bloody body at the bottom of the stairs. The body isn’t moving at all. He swings his gun around the corner, followed by his body. He moves in to give the rookie room to cover him.

         “I’ve sent out two units to the location of the phone. Please, somebody talk to me.” The dispatcher sits on the edge of her seat without noticing. Her supervisor and his supervisor are now standing in their watch tower, listening in too.

         “Police, freeze!” The senior officer calls. “Son, drop the gun, okay?”

         The rookie is looking at Michael’s brains through the back of his head. He freezes and his jaw drops. Blood is everywhere. He can see as the light flickers on the walls. Sean is sitting on the couch, staring at the muted television set. He’s watching the show where they show all the best, most expensive mansions. He holds the gun in his mouth. He doesn’t even seem to notice the police.

         “Drop the gun,” the senior officer says quietly. “Please son, nobody’s gonna hurt you, drop the gun, huh?”

         The dispatcher looks at her switchboard like it’s a television tuned into the super bowl. Her supervisors are staring at her. She hears the officer say: “C’mon son, please, drop the gun. We’ll help you son, just put it down, please don’t do it.” She places her hand over her mouth. “Mitch, get an ambulance out here, now.” She mouths they’re on the way, as if they could somehow hear her.

         Officer Mitch fumbles around his shoulder and clicks his radio. “Dispatch, 2440 requesting an emergency medical unit at 3200 Williams.”

         The ambulance is almost at the house.

         The dispatcher silently prays for the stranger on the other side of the phone. She keeps listening. “Son give me the gun, don’t do it son. It’s not worth it, please…

         “Bang!”

         “Fuck!”

         The dispatcher jumps up and falls back into her seat, mouth wide open. A tear forms in her eye, and the supervisors look at each other. The dispatcher sinks her shoulders. They didn’t save him. Who the hell else died in there? She wonders. She takes off her earphones and stares at the switchboard.

         The basement is as still as the lifeless bodies scattered around the room. Mitch and his partner stare in shock. The senior officer drops his gun and swallows hard.

         Dispatch, we have a double murder suicide on 3200 Williams, Get somebody out here now, it’s a bloodbath.”

                                                                          In the Now