Urban Legends

     Rajon was dead. My brother, the peacemaker, the only kid from Dawson High School headed to college, some fool killed him. Nobody could make any sense out of it. The wise but scruffy men who ran the newsstands scattered around the neighborhood didn't even have anything to say about it, no insight to offer. The gossiping housewives shook their heads in pity as I passed them on one of my walks to clear my mind, mumbling 'Poor child.' to one another. I heard them chattering, though, when they thought I was out of earshot. 'Maybe it was for money,' one would offer. 

'No, child, it was pure racism, hatred. That white boy's eyes got fierce whenever he glanced at a colored boy, we all knew it'd happen someday.' 

They'd get quiet, the only sound being the scrape of a stiff straw broom against the crumbling concrete. 

'Poor child.'

     I tossed and turned a few times in my lumpy mattress, but sleeping was impossible, just like every night since the shots rang out in the alley by the Asian market. I stared hard at a bump in the ceiling, trying not to relive that night, that trip to the hospital. I could hear my Mama and Pop talking in the next room, their bedroom, but I couldn't make out the words.  I pretended they were talking about something happy, though I knew the opposite was true. 

'We should take a vacation,' Mama's young soothing voice would suggest. 'Maybe go see my sister on their farm.' 

'Rajon would love that,' Pop's rough but loving voice would rumble.

     I bit my lip, trying to hold back the tears. Why am I making myself think these things? I wondered as hot tears flowed down my face, cooling quickly as a frigid breeze came in through the open window. We visited the farm once. I don't remember much, since I was only four. But Rajon was nine, and he loved it. He talked about it all the time, even nine years later when we walked down the bright city streets around sunset. He talked about how peaceful it was there, and how you didn't have to worry about hate, since the clean air made everyone happy and accepting. That's why he wanted to go to college, he'd say, to be able to get a good job and live wherever he wanted. Now his only home was in the ground, for eternity.

     I woke up to my alarm clock shouting "Today's weather: Cloudy with a high chance of rain. Strong winds. High: 62, Low: 50." I shut it off quickly, crawling out of bed. Perfect weather for a funeral, I thought as I stumbled out of my room and towards the bathroom.

     I splashed my face with cold water over the sink and wet my toothbrush. 6:30, so I probably got about three hours of sleep. Better than nothing, I thought as I started brushing my teeth. 

     Sitting there on the yellowed fake marble counter top, next to the almost-empty tube of toothpaste, was a picture of Rajon. He was smiling from ear to ear, dressed up and clean in his school picture from this year, his senior year. Mama surrounded the smooth metal frame with candles. The good, but not overpowering flowery smell reminded me of Mama's perfume. With Rajon's smiling face beside me as I brushed my teeth, I felt like we were getting ready for school. We only brushed our teeth together when we both overslept, which happened a lot.

     I spit out my toothpaste and finished my business in the bathroom, then went into the kitchen for some breakfast. Mama was leaning against the fridge staring out the window into the gloomy haze. She held a steaming cup of coffee, and her face was red and puffy from crying, I could tell she was full of sorrow, dragging it around like a boulder chained to her ankle, but no tears fell down her face. Maybe she was out of tears.

"Come here, child," she said, sounding years older than her actual age of 36.

     I took a slow step towards her, then collapsed into her arms, sobbing. I let her warmth surround me, and let the tears flow. Rajon would never feel her warmth of love again.

"I miss him, Mama," I mumbled into her shoulder. "Why'd they shoot him? He wasn't in no gang."

"I don't know. baby. But we can't change anything now. We can only celebrate his life, and accept the fact that the good Lord is taking him back home."

"Mhm," I said softly. "He's in a better place now. Better than this nasty, dangerous city."

     We pulled away from each other, and Mama tightened her tired face into a sad smile.

"You're acting so mature about this. I'm proud of you, baby. Rajon would be, too."

     I tried my best to smile. I walked to the cabinet over the stove to get a box of Cheerios, then to the fridge for milk. I took a bowl and spoon and sat down at the round kitchen table, with four chairs.

"You just relax today. You're not going to school. But keep quiet 'cause your Pop's in our room, and he can't deal with you hollering at him right now, okay?"

     Mama walked over to me and ran the back of her hand across my cheek.

"We'll leave for the funeral at 5:15. Be ready," she said as she walked away.

  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

       I buttoned the top button on the stiff white shirt, shifting the collar so it wouldn't chafe my neck as much. I pulled on the thick black suit jacket, glad that it kept me so warm. I was standing in the bathroom with Pop, both of us dressed in suits. I watched with envy as Pop effortlessly tied his tie, fingers flying and tugging like they'd done it a million times before. Pop noticed me watching him and chuckled.

"Give me that tie, I'll tie it for you, boy."

     I silently slid the smooth black tie off the plastic hanger and handed it to him. He reached around my neck and wrapped the tie around, under the collar. I concentrated on watching his hands so I could learn how to tie it myself, but his fingers flew so fast I couldn't keep up.

"You sure have grown bigger. You're almost a man now," Pop said when he was done.

     I didn't know what to say, so I just looked at him. His eyes had dark circles around them, and the lines around his mouth looked deeper. He seemed like he sprouted a few new gray hairs overnight, and the brightness in his eyes was gone.

"My boy's funeral. I never thought I'd see the day," Pop mumbled as he walked out of the bathroom.

     I took one last look at the framed picture of smiling Rajon on the counter, then followed Pop. 

"You boys look handsome," Mama said as she held the apartment door open for us. She locked the door and Pop put his arm around her waist as I started going down the stairs.

     The clunk of Pop's and my dress shoes and the clack of Mama's high heels against the wooden stairs formed a sad sort of song. It reminded me of the music on TV when somebody finds out something they don't wanna know.

     Old Mrs. Sylvester was checking her mail when we reached the bottom of the stairs. She saw Mama in her black dress, looking so scared to walk out that door, and she shuffled over to her to sweep her up in a big, warm hug. They rocked back and forth together a few times. Mama was sobbing into Mrs. Sylvester's wool jacket, saying, 

"My baby, my sweet, sweet baby. He ain't never hurt no one." 

Mrs. Sylvester comforted her, then pulled away. She looked at Mama for a few moments, then said,

"Mary, darlin', the Lord will take care of him. Maybe him and Ralphie will be good friends up there." 

     Mrs. Sylvester chuckled. Ralphie was her late husband. He was a smart, loving man, and he died of a heart attack three years ago when I was ten. Mrs. Sylvester was sad and quiet for a time, but now she was back to her old smilin' self. It made me hopeful seeing that I could maybe live a normal life again.

"And you," Mrs. Sylvester said, grabbing my face between her bony hands. "You poor, poor child."

     She pulled me into a tight hug. Her powdery, perfume-y smell was choking me. Her wool jacket was rough, even through my suit.

"Poor, poor child," she kept murmuring. 

     She stopped hugging me and I gasped for air. She walked over to Pop, and he awkwardly shook her hand. He was hiding how sad he truly was. He was acting strong and invincible, so me and Mama had someone to look up to. Classic Pop.

     Mama opened the glass door and a gust of wet, cold air hit me in the face, We started walking towards the church's graveyard through the mist, silently.

  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

     The mist turned into rain, making the grass crisp green and the dirt rich brown, a sharp contrast to the swirling gray sky. The funeral guests stood like statues, listening to the priest's strong voice praising Rajon's wonderful life. Among them was Officer Brenson, in uniform. He was the chubby white cop who had been trying to find Rajon's killer. He was good at his job, but he seemed very out of place at the funeral.

     Suddenly a rusty white Ford Escort came tumbling down the hilly graveyard road. It stopped sharply, behind the hearse, and out stepped Denny Glunt. He was a tall, square-faced thug with short, red hair. As he walked closer to where everyone was standing and people could see who he was, everyone started gasping and shouting. The gossiping housewives turned to each other and started whispering. A frail old lady was fanning herself, then she fainted with a yelp. A crowd formed around her, and through all of this, Denny kept walking swiftly towards Rajon's coffin. I felt my blood boiling as he stopped, ten feet from Rajon.

     He was the boy widely suspected of killing Rajon.

     Pop, standing beside me, started towards him, fists balled. I put my arm out to stop him.

"Let the law take care of him, Pop," I said in my most demanding voice I could.

     He hesitated, then nodded sharply.

"You're right, boy. You're right."

     We stood in understanding silence as we watched Rajon's coffin slowly descend into the cold earth.

Author's Note

Well, I had to write SOMETHING!

Reviews

[Rosalyn Marie]

ok so I'm just reading this for real cuz i just remembered and im sitting bored babysitting but jackies in bed so.... yeah anyways this is sooo great! i really loved it you are so good at personification and describing feelings. you definately have to show Ms Neves this!

[creatorx2]

When I started reading, I almost expected it to fall into the deathtrap of angsty depression. It didn't in the slightest...that's difficult to do, and it was done well. Nice job.
The build-up to the funeral scene was excellent. All of your characters seemed fleshed out, and each was dealing with it in their own way. The emotions were mature and not overly dramatic, as they should be.
I felt that the ending seemed out of place, with the killer showing up at the funeral. It felt strange and a little unnatural in comparison to the rest of the story, and ended rather abruptly.
Otherwise, I found the writing style to flow nicely, and it didn't overwhelm me at all. I rather liked this piece and I feel it deserved its award well.

[Rosalyn Marie]

i havent read this yet but its prob amazing :D your're in the room rite now ill read it tomorrow lol :)

[Gianna Perry]

Why are you so good at writing?! Damn girl, you on fire!

Sorry, had to get that out...

Really great (as usual).

~STR

[Jong Schrijver]

I liked this a lot. A lot of emotion in it and it gave us a brief kind of description of where they are and who they are. I think everything was fine, wording, dialouge, grammar, all of that. The only thing I might consider is not jumping so quickly to the point where you're at the funeral. Again this is only a suggestion. Also, is this a story or possibly a book? because it could definately be expanded into a book, which in that case could allow for much more detail leading up to the funeral, possibly a look into Rajon's death and what happens after the funeral. Great job:)

[Kirbetsy]

This is pretty good. You did a great job showing their emotions.

[Alex Thomas]

The way you convey emotions using dialogue is excellent. This piece is very plainly descriptive. You should try adding more interesting language. Like when you described what they were wearing the funeral, instead of My black jacket, Pop's black tie, My black tie, etc. try something like, "the color of raven's feathers" or something not quite as cliche.