Did you call Brielle and tell her what happened?” asked Jada.
“No,” said Damon. “She hates me and she doesn’t need me dumping all of my problems on her.”
“So noble,” said Jada, sarcastically.
“You got something to say to me?”
“I think you’re just scared she’s going to shut you down,” said Jada.
“I’m not afraid,” said Damon.
“Yes, you are,” said Jada. “Now, you know how it feels. How it feels to get used and dumped and there is nothing you can do to change it. Now you know how Brielle felt and how Sasha felt and anybody else you’ve ever blown off.”
“If you’re trying to cheer me up, you’ve failed,” said Damon, cracking open the book he had in front of him on the desk. At least with books he knew what he was getting. He could open and close them when he wanted to and not have to worry about how the book was going to react.
“People aren’t books,” said Jada, as though reading his mind. You can’t open and close them whenever you feel like it. People have feelings. You’d better learn that before you tackle your next girlfriend and mess her life up, too.”
Damon
“Get out of the house, boy.”
His mother smacked him on the leg with her hand. Damon groaned.
“I don’t feel like going anywhere,” said Damon. He was lying on his bed, brooding, like he had been doing for the last two weeks. He wasn’t even reading. One by one his brothers came over and made him lift weights for hours on end or goaded him into a basketball game, but those were the only things that they could get him to do. Exhaustion was good. It kept his thoughts and grief at bay. His mother and sister had been tiptoeing around him and letting him have time to grieve the loss of Ricky but his mother was about at the end of her patience with his lack of appetite and apathetic behavior.
“Boy,” said his mother. “Get up now. Go someplace. I’m not asking. I’m telling.”
“There is no place that I want to go, mama,” said Damon, sitting up reluctantly.
“I do not care where you go,” said his mother, hands on her hips. “You can take yourself to the movies or go walk around the mall. Return Stump or Ephraim’s phone calls. Go play some basketball. Go to work. Or, here is a thought, call Brielle and ask her out.”
“I can’t ask Brielle out,” he said. “She probably hates me.”
“That’s enough of this whining, boy,” she said.
“Mama, please,” he said. “I just want to be by myself.”
“Boy, you listen and you listen well,” she said, eyes narrow and teeth clenched. She poked him in the chest with her index finger. “I don’t care where you go or what you do, but you’re not going to lie around my house and mope for the rest of your life. The pity party is over.”
And that is how Damon ended up driving around aimlessly, through the streets of Lansing. He drove around for a while, noting and dismissing the signs of spring. He finally ended up at the mall, a place that he never went willingly. Hopefully he could just wander around for an hour or two and then go back home. Nobody he knew would expect him to be there. He could blend into the scenery. He browsed the book store for a while, but nothing piqued his interest. He bought a book anyway. Maybe that would satisfy his mother. He wandered aimlessly.
Damon was just beginning his second trek around the mall when he realized that he was being followed. He turned his head to the side and saw two Death Lords, wearing purple and black. For the first time in weeks, he felt some emotion besides despair. A frisson of fear raced along his spine. He was just about to duck into J C Penney’s when D. Dog stepped out from behind a rack of clothing. Damon backed up into the mall.
“Was’ sup?” D. Dog asked.
Damon lifted his chin and said nothing.
“Was’ sup, punk?” D. Dog crowded close to him. Damon looked down at his shoes and sighed.
‘I’m not in the mood for this mess.’
Out of his peripheral vision, Damon could see mall shoppers either scurrying to get out of the way or crowding in closer, trying to get a better look at the potential rumble action. He could feel pent up rage that he’d hadn’t realized that he’d been hoarding for the past few weeks pick up in intensity.
“Man,” said Damon, picking up his head. He sidestepped. “I got no beef with you.”
“But see, cuz,” said D. Dog, sidestepping directly in front of Damon. “I got a beef with you. I heard you dropped a dime on me last spring. Almost got me sent up.”
Damon looked around and saw D. Dog’s boys closing in. D. Dog made a gesture with his hand and they fell back slightly.
“I’m not,” said Damon though clenched teeth, suddenly mad as fire, “your cousin. I didn’t drop a dime on you. Just leave me alone.” He took his hands out of his pockets and dropped the bag containing the book on the floor. He’d filled out in the last six months because his brothers had had him lifting weights with brutal intensity to force him out of his stupor.
“So, my boys are lying if they tell me you dropped the dime?” asked D. Dog, piggy eyes narrowing.
“Ask your boys, Dog,” said Damon. “I can’t speak for them.” Craig reared back in surprise at Damon’s flippant tone.
Damon side stepped again. Craig stepped with him. Damon’s head was buzzing with pent up rage. He glanced around and saw the people gathering and it made him feel trapped. He could feel his chest tighten.
‘Where is a freaking rent-a-mall-cop when you need one? Why can’t people just leave me alone?’
“I don’t want trouble,” he said.
“But you got me to deal with,” said Craig. “See, this mall is my turf. Way I see it,
