"I am not good at joining the problem. That is because I am busy brainstorming for a solution." Chioma Onwudiwe
The two boys jumped over the barbed fence. Tumbling simultaneously as their stolen goods rolled out in numerous directions.
“Quick said the older one, grab our stuff. We have to run now.” Then they both studiously began to grab, what they could from the scattered mess. They proceeded to stack them carelessly, into the two large garbage bags that they had smartly procured. And then headed for their homes.
They avoided the open streets, that were now pockets of bonfires. Their small city had erupted into violence, after the shooting death of a black teenage boy by two white cops the previous week. What had started out as a peaceful demonstration, against police brutality. Quickly escalated into a volatile spectacle. As cars were set on fire and nearby stores were looted and destroyed.
Shawan and his friend Javaine, had not been a part of the original peaceful protest. But when word got around, that the organized gathering. Had now declined into a volatile mob fest. Their youthful quest and exuberance got the best of them. Each told their mothers, that they were going to the other’s house. Shawan’s mother was initially skeptical and worried. “Don’t go doing anything stupid,” she warned. “I don’t understand why we keep hurting ourselves this way. We destroy our own neighborhoods and things still don’t get any better.”
“Huh?” The boy queried half-heartedly, as he struggled to put on his sneakers. “I said you boys stay out of trouble. Don’t go starting something. If it gets out of hand and people start fighting and shooting, run back home. Do you hear me?”
“Yes ma.” Shouted Shawan, as he grabbed his jacket and ran out into the cool evening. The woman shook her head. She had three other children, besides Shawan. All whom she was raising on her own.
Each day they hit the uncertain streets, could very well be their last. And it left a halo of fear looming over her head. She knew the woman, whose son had been gunned down the previous week. She was now the current recipient, of myriads of sympathetic attention. They had exchanged pleasantries, a couple of times at the playground. While their teenage boys played basketball. It was simply cruel the brevity of existence, so easily bestowed on their children.
When Shawan got to his friend Javaine’s place. That one was embroiled, in a shouting match with his mother. He too like his friend, was being raised by a single mother. Occasionally, he and his sister would spend time with their grandmother who lived upstairs. But it was not an extra thrill. Not much of a difference anyhow. It was still the same building and the same projects.
“Come here, I want to show you something”. Javaine whispered, when they finally left his building complex.
“What is it? Oh wow….” Was all Shawan could muster, when he saw the small black gun that his friend was now brandishing. He had initially hidden it in front of his pants, when he left his apartment.
“How did you get that?”
“From my cousin ‘T’.”
“The drug dealer? Won’t he miss it?” Shawan was uncomfortable, yet curious. “He has another one.” Was all his friend offered, before they headed into the streets and its promised adventure.
Lugging their goods in the garbage bags. They began to approach Javaine’s building complex first. The plan was to leave the stuff in the basement there. A space to which he had unlimited access. Thanks to his cousin ‘T’, who frequently ‘greased every palm’ necessary. He had a business to run, he would explain to no one in particular. “You do what you have to do; to keep what you have to keep.” That was his personal mantra.
The flashing and swirling lights caught the boys’ attention, before they saw the front of the building. “Wait,” cautioned Javaine. “The cops are here.”
“Really, but what for?” That uneasy feeling was washing over Shawan again and he could almost hear his mother’s voice telling him to head home immediately.
“How are my supposed to know?” Snapped Javaine, who felt he had to think fast. “Maybe they are looking for us.” He finished matter-of-factly.
“Looking for us?” His friend was petrified. “What did we do?”
Javaine, the older of the two. Only looked at him and shook his head.
“Here is the deal, because I am not going to jail. My father is there and so is my uncle. And I ain’t going that route too.”
“Me too.” Agreed Shawan who had broken into a sweat. “So what do we do now?” He really wanted the whole night to be over.
“We kill before we are killed.”
“What….?
The two police men were still ringing the bell to the apartment, when the first shot hit the black officer. He slumped almost immediately. His white partner went down with him, as he tried to apply pressure to the neck wound. Holding up his gun, he called for backup.
Two hours later, the building complex was swarming with cops and emergency workers. The cop’s dead body had been removed. He died within minutes of the inflicted gunshot wound. The shooter was still at large. They had aimed from an unlit and hidden section of the projects. Moments later, two other bodies were being removed from the building. One was the dead body of a woman, strangled by her boyfriend during a fatal case of domestic violence. The smaller body was that of her daughter, now fighting for her life. She also had been severely beaten by the same man.
“I don’t know how this could have happened," wailed Javaine’s grandmother. "The cops were right there, after we called 911. But then they never made it up on time, before he killed her. Only because one of them, had been shot.”
"Whatever you stand for, will eventually invade your life. Not necessarily favorably." Chioma Onwudiwe