“He’s super fine,” Zorka said.
“That’s Ray-Ray,” Deandra said. “He dead.”
“Shit.” Zorka put the photo down. “Total shame!”
“For real,” Deandra continued. “He was super fine.”
“He got shot?” Zorka asked.
“Girl, you need to update yourself on some shit, seriously. You killing me with this racist feedback.”
“What?”
“Not all dead brothers be dead cause they got shot.”
“Oh ok,” Zorka replied. “I understand.”
“Ray-Ray was a star athlete and good grades, academic. He was gonna go to Harvard or some shit like that, plus he was fly as fuck. All the girls be chasing Ray-Ray… like even the white girls don’t know what to do with theyselves when Ray-Ray come around…”
Tiff came back in with a two-litre bottle of Sprite and three glasses, and Deandra got quiet. Tiff stopped and looked at Deandra. These girls could feel each other’s emotions like drops in the same river.
“Spicey just be askin about Ray-Ray…” Deandra admitted.
“It’s fine, Dee,” Tiff said. She set down the glasses and untwisted the cap to the Sprite. The bottle hissed. Deandra reached over and said, “Here I’ll do it,” and took the bottle in her hand and started pouring everyone a glass.
Tiff looked up at Zorka. “Ray-Ray was my big brother, so…”
“I sorry, Tiff,” Zorka said. “I say to Dee, he look so super-fly, I am sad to hear.”
“Man, I remember how all the girls be crushin on Ray-Ray, that’s when Tiff was all skinny and didn’t even pay me no attention, ha – Tiff don’t even remember too! But I saw Tiff right away, my heart near damn burst open right then and there!”
Deandra looked over at Tiff. Tiff caught her eye and dipped her chin gently down, smiling privately to herself.
“I saw you…” Tiff said quietly.
“Nah, you didn’t, I was like acting up all the time in front of you and you ain’t even be turning your head—”
Tiff looked over and gave Deandra a self-conscious smile, then bit her lip and looked down as if she’d have a laugh, but just stayed smiling.
Deandra gave a proud one-sided grin and said, “Anyway…”
Her face was warm and drifting for a second. It floated over to the photo of Ray-Ray. Then when it landed she picked up her thought.
“He was gonna get a scholarship, like first Milwaukee public brother to get a full ride to an Ivy. Cause he was smart too. Keeping his grade up. Plus he was the only Freshman on Varsity and by the time he was a Junior – shit that boy could sprint that final stretch! There was this white kid, Jacob somethin, he clocked in at like eighteen minutes something, like 18:42 or something, for the 5,000 metres, at the Washington Park meet, right? Well Ray-Ray fuckin shaved that kid, broke the goddamn record PERIOD, 18:08 right? That’s the photo, it was in the papers, like front and center, with them big letters, “RAYMOND THOMSON, THE LIGHTNING BOLT”. We all be going to them track meets just for him, to see him run (well, ’cept for me, cuz I had my eye on Tiff, ha!), but yeah it was like magic, I mean he was like floating across, but his legs cutting through the air… But then he just drop dead. Right in front of all our eyes too. It was at Jackson Park, the one between Forest Home Avenue and Jackson Park Drive, and 43rd cuts it off on the West, you know which one I’m talking about? Anyway it was the two-mile run, and everyone was waiting around the intersection of 43rd and Forest Home and the flags were all set up and shit, and of course who do we see on that home stretch but Ray-Ray sprinting his last yards, like a bullet with his chest out and his legs slicing the air in front of him, he was coming towards us like the Goddamn-Messiah!”
“Don’t say that, Dee.”
“I’m sorry Tiff. But I’m serious, Spicey, that boy was like holy when he be running, you could feel it.”
Deandra looked over at Tiff.
“Anyway, maybe I shouldn’t be running my mouth ’bout it.”
“No, it’s fine. I mean she wanna know.”
“What happen?” Zorka asked, swallowing her Sprite.
“…Nobody knows,” Deandra picked up. “Like even those smart-ass doctors at that Mount Sinai Hospital couldn’t figure it out. Ray-Ray just grabbed his side, hunched down and collapsed. Then he wasn’t moving. Coach ran up and he was like pushing everyone away and the other runners kept coming in and some ran around him and others stopped cause no one knew what was going on, and Coach was saying to Tiff and her granny, “It’s gonna be ok, just give him some space.” But he ain’t movin! Give him some space, he kept shouting. Then the ambulance came and they were shouting for everyone to BACK UP, and they got out that machine with the wires, and cut his shirt open and taped them wire-ends on his chest and stomach and they were shouting CLEAR, and Ray-Ray’s chest jump up, as if he wanted to get up and run, but then it fell back to the ground, and Tiff ’s granny was getting in a fight with Coach and one of them ambulance men, cause they was pushing her away, and she kept saying THAT’S MY BOY THAT’S MY BABY BOY—And…”
Deandra glanced over at Tiff and stopped.
“I’m sorry, Tiff. I didn’t mean to get into it like that. I’m sorry…”
“It’s fine, Dee. Yeah, Ray-Ray was real special. Not just cause he was my brother, but I mean for the community too. Everyone was like, well Ray-Ray can do it… don’t matter what… You know? Made everyone feel like, we can achieve whatever we want, and like if you be working for it, like reading and doing your homework, then training and practising, you gonna get it, that’s how it was. It’s like what they say at Church be all riding on Ray-Ray, cause he made it happen like that.”
“But why you not study and practise like Ray-Ray and get big scholarship too?” Zorka asked.
“Nah, see here’s where you don’t get it, Spicey.” Deandra stood up and walked to the window. Then she turned around, “…cause you ain’t black and you ain’t even American, so you way off if you think I’m just gonna read those white-ass academics, and white-wash my goddamn brain so I can get a fuckin C+ in their history class where we be learning ’bout our Presidents and the Louisiana Purchase and the Great Depression and shit, but ain’t nobody gonna talk ’bout what the fuck their white asses did to my people… And ain’t they real content with themselves, hoardin us into section 8 housing and detention centers, ‘keeping the streets safe’, whitefolk all ‘Tough on Crime’ but they just guilty as fuck about history, stashin us away so no one sees what they done.”
“Dee, relax, she just asking… she don’t know,” Tiff said, walking over to Deandra.
Deandra took a step back and turned towards Zorka.
“Like seriously, I don’t know what kind of fucked up shit went on in your country or whatever, and I’m sorry ’bout that too, but shit’s real here. Like it’s not history, it’s now.”
Zorka was looking into Deandra’s soft, round eyes, willed and faithful.
“History is now,” Zorka repeated.
After Raymond’s funeral, Tiff ’s grandmother would open her prayer book and sit by the window as usual, except Tiff could see by her mouth that she wasn’t reciting the prayers or reading from the Bible. She was just mouthing to the clouds, “Give him back.”
“Blessed be the God and father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.”