Oct/08

4

Shots Fired

Gunshots on the hill tonight. Things like this keep happening. Weird sh*t. Jorjian called the police. She was the only one that called. Five shots and her knees were knocking. It must be her meds. She didn’t feel safe. Like that girl in second grade who got shot through the wall in her apartment. Like her uncle shot in the head. Like when she got shot at in Jamaica, Queens, ducked behind a van and got in some stranger’s car and drove off. And Jato wasn’t scared that night. But the kids in the projects scattered and things grew quiet and the air blew soft, and I knew sh*t was gonna go down.
“You think I’m playin’?” He howled through the bricks.

Now everyone would know she called the cops. Again. And they did know.
“They wasa just firworks.” But Jorjian knew they were shotgun sounds getting closer and closer to her complex with every thump.

Jorjian called Beatriz but all she said was,
“Wash your face and go to bed. I’m sending you big hugs.”
To herself she wondered, who the f*ck were you? Her mother-f*cking mom? If so, she’d rather take her mom. Jorjian hung-up missing Travis and feeling emptier than before. Someone kept howling outside. And Calli and her boyfriend lied to the cops.
“It was firworks. I saw him light ‘em.”
“A grown man with fireworks.” The young cop on a bike frowned.
“Man, weird sh*ts been goin’ down.” They took his word over Jorjian’s.
His word over hers.
He lied and they believed him. I sank into my covers. Ready to wake up at three am.

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Gina B. Lalonde

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