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By then my older brothers were incarcerated in the juvenile center. It was just Troy and me. I told Troy about the towel incidents and he immediately began sleeping under my bed, scared the guy would sneak in and try to rape me.
One night the guy tip-toed into my bedroom and lay on the bed alongside me. I pretended to sleep. He shook me, and without any hesitation, Troy stabbed a steak knife through his neck.
I remember the blood the most.
It sprayed my face and drenched my gown. Some nights, I still woke up screaming from a dream about drowning in blood.
I didn’t even try to wake up my mom. Nothing could get her up when she was high.
Like always, I’d called Benny and told him everything. Benny ordered me to not call the cops. Next, he raced across town and showed up in our crappy projects in the middle of the night with four men.
My mom slept as they cleaned up all the blood in my bedroom, took the corpse away, and coached Troy and me on how to act and what to say if anyone asked questions. Benny held us the whole time. His huge arms wrapped around our small shivering bodies and never let us go, unless it was to wipe our tears.
The next week, a homeless guy discovered the body behind an old abandoned building several blocks from our projects.
The cops never questioned Troy or me.
No one discussed that night again. I don’t think Vivian even knew about that night. At times I wondered if I’d imagined it all. Everything had continued as if nothing ever happened.
But things had changed for Troy.
He’d transformed overnight from a funny science geek to cutting school every day and hanging out with bullies. A year later, he was arrested for assault and thrown into the juvenile center. Once Benny heard Troy was arrested, Benny packed my bags and brought me to his home. He never even asked my mom if I could live with them. I stayed with Vivian’s family all during high school.
Mom never protested. Sadly, it took her a while to even notice I was gone.
Only God knows the type of person I would have been if Benny had never taken me out of South End.
All of my friends from the neighborhood embodied ghetto stereotypes. Half had been killed before the age of eighteen—from stray bullets to AIDs. All of them held criminal records and lived dark, depressing lives.
That could’ve been me.
Every day, I tried my best to pay Benny back for all his help. Vivian’s mother was dying from cancer during high school, so I helped out with the household activities. Once her mother died, I just made maintaining their house my full time job.
“Jazz, are you okay?” Troy waved his hand in front of my face. “You want another drink?”
The club boomed around me. I blinked away the pain and depression that came with those memories.
“Yes. Make it a rum and Coke this time.”
He frowned. “Is this job worrying you?”
“No.”
“Would you tell me if it did?”
“Yes.”
“Damn, you’re a bad liar.” He laughed and signaled for the bartender. “Your face still gives it away.”
