Chapter Three - Void

"If you're not confused,

you're not paying attention."

- Tom Peters

That night, I lay in bed on top of the covers. The sweet, lukewarm breeze seeps through the windows from the busy city night into the peace and privacy of my bedroom. The whole neighborhood seems to be asleep. Stuck in an abyss of silence and darkness, I spread across the bed and think about things. Wondering what this summer would bring.

I had planned it to be a great one with Deshaun, Jon and I. I planned us to be strolling through Central Park eating soft serve ice cream and watching little league baseball games. I planned us to watch the sun set over the city ever night while sitting on top of the apartment buildings. I planned us to go to the Bronx Zoo, SoHo, and other famous places.

But now with Deshaun's job, and just knowing he won't be spending half the time he promised with me, I feel like falling asleep and not waking up until early September. Deshaun had taught me that you can't run from problems, or in this case, sleep away those problems.

And Jon doesn't seem like he'll care to spend much time out of Studio Zero either. Kin, who seemed friendly with me the minute she met me, seems wrapped up in the music also. I just had to listen to that one verse to know she'd be the same.

Saleem doesn't seem all together. Something about him just... It's unexplainable. His tattoo and shady smell makes me wonder if he's on drugs or not.

It's hard to walk this kind of balance beam of stability and happiness and joy and soberness when all around you young, innocent kids are dropping like flies and falling into this "alternative" lifestyle. They all need a dose of Deshaun.

I'm not going to act like I'm a perfect child, or Deshaun. But we risk so much to keep ourselves above that level of the stereotypical teenager. You know, the stupid, druggie, sex-obsessed stereotype. What we risk here is so much compared to other areas. A simple "no" could land someone a punch in the jaw. While in the suburbs, I'm sure they just won't care that much. But I wouldn't know, since I've never lived in the suburbs. I just know that these other kids numb their pain, but we suffer from it and live with it.

A screech of tires outside jolts me from my trance and a shot rung from a few blocks away as a group of rowdy teens smashed a bottle against the roof of the apartment across the street.

Carmen's eyes are fully dilated this morning and she's all jittery and nervous. She sits down to munch on her cereal with me and she couldn't stop moving.

"Hon?" She asks me, smiling and spilling some milk from her mouth as she did. "Can you go get my purse? I need something in it."

"What do you need?" I ask, taking another spoonful of O's from the dollar store. Carmen sighs in annoyance, unlike her old self.

"Just get me the damn bag." Mom turned slowly from the kitchen counter, staring intently at her older daughter.

"Carmen, I never raised you to talk to people like that. Especially your family." I smile at my mom, admiring her like always. She has excessive strength. No matter what happens, she seems to pull through everything like it was nothing.

"Mama, you have no idea what I'm going through right now," Carmen pleads, looking exhausted and out-of-it.

"You're right, because I never trusted anyone, especially a man." Mama pours herself a glass of water. "That's what men do to you, leave you in the dirt like you are now."

"You must've trusted someone enough to have us two." Carmen motions to me and I just lazily roll my eyes. Mama glares at Carmen in slight anger.

"I thought I was in love when I had you, Carmen." Mama then looked at me sadly. "And I was in love when I had you. But when the ass saw you, he thought you weren't his. We had some problems later and eventually split up."

"Oh..." I mumble, really not up to hearing the old story again. Carmen then turns to me once more.

"Shay, can you get my bag?" I sigh and walk towards Carmen's room, a small, ten-foot by ten-foot square with a bed and bureau with a closet half blocked by the bed. Her corduroy, three-pocket purse is open and lying sideways on the floor. I grab the strap and pull, the contents dropping out quickly and silently against the carpet. I bend down to pick everything up, a few makeup applications and a clear plastic bag. I pay no attention until I see smaller bags inside with white powder and green leaves with a small square paper and a needle. I gasp and shove the bag deep into the purse and craft a smile onto my face.

"Shay? What's the hell is taking so long?" Carmen sounds slightly agitated.

"Um... sorry, I'm coming." I clench onto the purse and leave the room as quickly as possible, a thousand thoughts running through my mind at once.

No way Carmen is doing... drugs. Maybe they're Evan's. They have to be. He's always a sweetheart, though. Perhaps he had them for a friend. Or maybe it was one of Carmen's friends.

I hand Carmen her purse and her brown eyes pour lamely into mine. She peeks into her bag quickly and zips it up.

"Did you go through this?" Her tone is angry. I shake my head.

"No, I just grabbed it and brought it out." Carmen sat there, eyeing me for a few seconds until Mom chirped in.

"Deshaun called last night. He said there's a fundraiser concert thing going on towards the end of July. He wanted to know if you wanted to help out with anything, he'll be rapping for the audience there." Mom raises her eyebrows questioningly at me, as if I should have an answer for her immediately. She loves Deshaun, like her own son.

"Oh..."

"Will you?"

"I don't know."

"You should."

"Oh."

"What are you doing today?"

"I don't know."

"My God... What excitement in your life!" Mama exclaims sarcastically, but slightly aggravated. I shrug and drop my bowl in the sink, dragging my feet lazily into my room.

Outside the world pulses with energy, the city thick with American culture and the kids having the time of their life on this hot Monday morning. A hazy sky hangs lowly over the buildings, lavender in color and drenched with moisture. I lean on the windowsill and watch the kids play stickball once again, lazing around all day.

I spend the whole day with my mind racing of thoughts of what I had seen in Carmen's purse. No one needs to tell me what was in there. Drugs. Marijuana and cocaine, accompanied by a syringe and a paper to roll a joint in. I've seen it all too many times before. In Harlem, it's hard to mature and hold onto your innocence.

Last time I checked, older siblings are supposed to be role models. They're not supposed to be doing drugs right under your nose. I can't blame my mother, she raised us right, never left anything out. She sat down and talked to us about everything we needed to expect in life, so nothing would send us into shock. I can't necessarily blame the neighborhood she lived in, El Barrio, because she lived in Harlem without turning to it. Maybe the kids she hangs out with are morphing her into something she never should have been.

Around dusk I awake from a light nap when a car honks outside repeatedly. Groaning, I turn on the radio and flip to a local hip-hop station. WJHU 97.3, New York City's Hip Hop Underground station. Instead of playing well-known, mainstream rap, this station plays what the locals put out there, and it is the reason many artists have become what they are today. Sometimes I think Deshaun will become WJHU's most prized offspring.

I can just see it now. His lyrics screaming from stereos all over the world. Children and teenagers idolizing him.

And that's exactly what makes me sick with jealousy.

"On August 10th, come to Dana's Dance hall," says DJ Warp, "WJHU 97.3, New York Music Inc., and Studio Zero are pairing up to hold our first-ever annual New York City's Harlem Heroes benefit concert. Emcees and groups like Last One Left, Novocain, Homegrown, Denounce, Just Fine and more to be announced. Fee is five dollars at the door, all proceeds go to Harlem's school district and the law enforcement of the town. Help us make Harlem a better place and promote this event. And next up, we have Just Fine's 'Never Enough' to give you a taste of what you'll miss if you miss this concert. Peace." With that, instrumentals and lyrics that made me want to get out of the bed played.

DJ Warp said "Novocain." Jon and Kin wanted to use Homegrown, maybe there's another band named that. Meh. Who knows.

Within a few moments I had my head back on my pillow, dreading the summer. Tomorrow being the last day of school and all. Never before had I actually despised the summer. But then again, never before have I spent the entire summer away from my other half, Deshaun.

My mind races all day in school, mainly with my sister and the drugs I found and just the fact that this would more than likely be the worst summer.

At lunch I sit with Deshaun and Jon with a few other kids that like rapping whom I don't know. They talk about mainstream rappers and whether or not they're any good. Most are considered trash by Jon and Deshaun, while the rest disagree.

"Most of the credible rappers that actually have something to say don't make it on the radio, and if they do, it's usually at three, four in the morning when everyone's either asleep or too stoned to know what they're saying," Deshaun was the renegade in the rap group, always. But always highly respected because anyone that tested him in a battle got slapped down so hard they practically fell through the floor.

"Why don't they get on the radio?" Jon mused aloud.

"Because nobody wants to hear that," said one kid in a do rag said, biting into a chicken sandwich.

"Thank God for WJHU."

And here is about where I doze off every lunch, having absolutely no idea what they're talking about.

Deshaun and I take our seats in History, this being one of the two only classes we have together. We have a final now, and a full seventy-five minutes to do it. I sit behind Deshaun and he turns to talk to a tall, thin boy dressed black, baggy pants with a few shackles and a black t-shirt saying "A time to live, a time to die," which I remembered from the Ecclesiastes poem I read in English not too long ago.

"Justin, did you study?" Justin snickered, shaking his head.

"Hell no, no need to. You?"

"Yeah, for a couple hours over the weekend. I heard it's pretty easy compared to the homework he gave us all year." Deshaun glanced at the clock and then back to Justin. It was fifth period, last class of the last day of school.

"Yeah, but I didn't really do it," Justin explained. He never did his homework, but he was always that kid that would help you out whenever you needed anything. He was generally quiet, and a very rebellious teenager, but also very smart. Maybe not wise like Deshaun, but very logical. He's shunned for some unknown reason by nearly the entire school, but he pays other kids such as Deshaun attention.

"Alright, quiet down. I'm passing out the final exams now, so get out your pencils, just write your name on it, and you know the rest." Mr. Johnson passed back about five pages worth of questions and another one for an essay.

Justin whispers to Deshaun, "Thank you." and his face has a confused look as he eventually just shrugs and turns back to the final.

Within a few minutes I have gotten nearly an entire page done, and notice that Justin, next to me, hasn't even looked at his paper. He just sits there, his hand in his pocket, flicking something.

A little while later, I'm a little more than halfway through the final and Justin takes his hand out of his pocket. Out of the corner of my eye I see a large, Cuban cigar twirling in his fingers accompanied by a lighter. Justin feels his cigar, smells it, flicks it and places it between his still lips. Blind to the stares he is receiving from a total of two students, he lights his cigar and places the lighter gently on the desk. The sound draws more students' attention.

Taking a puff, Justin reaches down into his backpack and pulls out a bottle of Vodka and a shot glass. Mr. Johnson hears him opening the bottle and jumps out of his seat, speed walking over towards Justin. He pays the shocked teacher no attention as he pours the Vodka in a shot glass and chugs it, knowing all the students are now watching him.

"Justin, put that out right now and go see the principal. I'll get a security guard!" Justin just ignores him smugly and continues puffing on the cigar. The class starts to whisper to each other, confused and slightly scared. I have no idea what to think, I'm too confused to know what to think. Mr. Johnson's yelling at him gets drowned out as I see Justin puts his cigarette out on the desk. He takes another shot and puts the bottle down on the desk. Justin looks up to Mr. Johnson and reaches in his backpack.

His eyes have an eerie look to them. He looks as though he's gone insane, but he keeps his face stolid and emotionless. Almost delirious now, Justin's hands grasp a metallic handgun, and Mr. Johnson shouts for everyone to leave the room. Students scream and race for the door, not wanting their own lives at risk. Deshaun doesn't move, instead he coaxes Justin to put it away.

"Justin, you don't want to do this. Please, put it down." Justin pays Deshaun no attention also. In the midst of Mr. Johnson screaming, demanding Justin put everything down, the students running towards the door, Deshaun pleading with Justin and my own thoughts, my entire mentality about to hit a brick wall, I froze.

Numb, my legs wouldn't allow themselves to move. My heart stops, and my blood fell from my head, making me slightly light-headed and nauseous, I begged myself to keep running. At the very end of the rabid pack of students trying to leave the room, I was petrified for my life and for Deshaun's.

Then a shot rung out. My eyes darted, and I jerked my head to look over my shoulder.

Then a black void.