disappointed in her.'
'I don't think I'll be able to trust her again, and I hate that. She was my best friend.'
'Come on now. Can't nothing heal without pain. Let it go. Let her go. Let them go. So that you can move on and do what you need to do. Cause there's still a lot of work that needs to be done. Ain't no point in letting all of your gifts get all moldy here in the dark.'
'All right, Big Momma. What's the first step?'
'Do what you do best. Someone's got to lead. Someone's got to be brave enough to put themselves out there to make the first move. Bring people together.'
'It's time for a family meeting.'
Not very many things scared Lott. In his few years on earth, he'd seen men die, by the hands of both men and monsters, though the men were usually monsters in masquerade. His FedEx uniform, in only a short time, had become a second skin. How he saw himself and how others saw him. He was lucky to get a spot at the printing company. The hours weren't as good and the drab brown uniform made him self-conscious of walking around like shit on a stick. His beard grew longish, not quite unkempt, but definitely scraggily as it came in. The swelling in his face had retreated, leaving only the occasional bruise along his ribs from the beating. Word traveled quickly along the neighborhood wire, but he didn't know what to think about the meet-up.
With family, truth was a while in coming. There were watershed moments in a man's life, a crossroads of regrets and humiliations. Lott wondered how he could make it up with folks. For so long he had stuck close to King, forgetting why he needed to get clean. These days, with his spirit dry and cracked, with him on the verge of relapse, he was barely conscious of asking himself 'what the fuck are you doing?' Living on automatic pilot with the disease of amnesia, the bad times didn't seem that bad and the worst times reminded him of where he came from. That to forget how bad he got, just for a second, and he'd be right back there. So he concentrated on just trying to breathe and to sort things out.
Everyone had an assumed role to play. When he was little, his mother often came home, having gotten her drink on, usually in the company of some man she called her boyfriend who basically threw a couple of bills her way to keep the lights on. When ends came up short, the shouting could be heard up and down the block. Lott always feared for his mother. From a young age, if things got too loud, he stepped between the man and his mother. 'Leave her alone,' he'd shout. Or he'd simply ram his head into the man's testicles. On more than one occasion, he took the beating intended for his mother. With him and his mom, he was quick with a joke whenever her own pain threatened to lash out at the nearest available target, usually him. Anything to laugh away the pain. Then came the mission, salvation in something larger than himself to believe in. To be straight. Then came King. The man wasn't his salvation, but he gave him purpose.
'Every man wants to be part of something larger than himself.'
He recalled the words as clearly today as he did then, as if he were… called. He and King were boys almost from the jump, but King had a way about him, kept himself guarded around him, not letting Lott all the way in. The great King was afraid of being hurt. Again.
And Lady G. From the first moment he saw her, he thought that if he could have her, then it would mean he was worth something. That if she chose him then he could feel good about himself. It was all so selfish and messed up.
And he knew he had to carry it.
Yeah, he'd be at the meeting and take what was coming to him.
A few times Lady G thought of crying. She didn't know how she'd react the first time she saw Lott. Part of her thought she might just slap him. It was as if he represented her poor choices, all the hurt she that twisted her up inside, all of the damage they — she — had done to their little circle of friends. It was easier to put it on him, his manipulation of her feelings — she was in a vulnerable place, confused, scared, out of her depth, and he took advantage of that — than think about her role in things. They would never be the same after all of this. Nothing would be the same. Not their friendship, not their circle of friends, what remained of it. Not the common vision they once shared. They were lost.
Two blocks north, on High School Road, a couple of large backhoes razed two houses. They'd fallen into disrepair and no one wanted to buy them. The fact that one had been set on fire with the word 'snitch' spray- painted on the side surely didn't factor into it. They could have met in the Youth Solidarity building, which technically fell under the ownership of Pastor Winburn's church. But King wanted to meet where they had started.
The burnt cream color burnished to near gold under the stern glare of the sun. A year or so back, the Church of the Brethren was one of the churches caught up in a string of arsons. Fire investigators suspected drug addicts illegally squatting. The fire unleashed a nightmare torrent of paperwork, with confusion over insurance and permits. The faux-stucco facade, which was once a simple near yellow, was now seared to a muddy ash. Scorch marks, like black tongues, lapped at the edges of the building. Plywood protected what remained of its doors and windows, supposedly sealing the building into a free-standing sarcophagus. The rear of the building, more heavily damaged by fire and water and vandals — the elements of the neighborhood — reduced the back to piles of scree and poles. More plywood served as the rear wall. An unoccupied eyesore, it stood as if in hopes of its presence shaming the community into some sort of action.
Lady G ducked under a fallen beam in the alcove and wound her way around to the sanctuary. From the way he stood, hands joined behind his back, a commanding presence, she recognized the silhouette on the far end in an instant.
King.
Her throat tightened even as her heart raced. A wave of heat flushed her face and her mind… blanked. Hoping that he'd take notice of her before she was close enough to say anything and initiate conversation, her feet carried her forward in a zombie shuffle.
King rolled the spindle they used as a table to the center of the room. Painted white and green, it served as their round table. Meeting around it meant fair fellowship, one body coming together as equals. Cooperating in equal service. There were no chairs to sit in, which left them all in the same position, but he didn't think the proceedings would last too long. This meeting was just to clear the air, and he doubted anyone would be seated anyway. Plus he still needed to go across town. As head of Youth Solidarity, he'd set up a meeting with Black. He had to start over building bridges and coalitions among the gangs. And this new player not only had muscle, but the will to use it. All the work King had done getting the leaders to the table was undone. And he wondered how much weight he still carried in the street. A cuckolded man, punked by his own. It didn't play well.
He recognized the slinking shadow immediately. He knew every curve, every nuance of her movement. She could never hide from him because she had filled up so much of his world. His heart hurt at the sight of her. He longed to hold her in his arms again, to feel her pressed into him, to know the presence and comfort of her love again. But he couldn't escape the specter of pain that accompanied her. The anger he expected wasn't there. He didn't know what to say to her.
Lady G wandered all the way to within feet of him before finally stopping. Once it became obvious that he knew she was there and hadn't said anything. Part of her wanted to turn around. The soft scritch of her shoes against the cement floor was the only sound.
The pair locked eyes only for an instant. Lady G studied the ground, King the scenery to his right.
'I'm sorry.' Lady G's voice cracked and trailed off.
'What? I couldn't hear you.'
'I said I'm sorry.'
'Damn right you are.' The words sprang from his mouth before he could stop them. 'I'm sorry.' The words just seemed so small. Three syllables to cover all of his pain, loss, and shame. It didn't seem like nearly a large enough bandage to staunch the wound.
Lady G had braced herself for the rage. Actually she feared it would be worse. Possibly violent. 'I know.'
'You don't know how much I loved you.'
'I guess. I took it for granted. I couldn't handle it.'
'You threw it all away.'
'I was scared.'
'After all that we've been through, I thought I could rely on you. You're dead to me.' King still loved her. Part of him would always love her, but he kicked himself for missing the signs of her duplicity. At no point did he sense
