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Authors: Kekla Magoon
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every syllable. Rev-er-end Al-a-bas-tuh-er Slo-a-n. “Civil rights activist and senatorial candidate.” She parrots the byline they typically run beneath my face.
“Hello, Tina.” I haven’t inquired about her condition. It seems beside the point. She’s charming, more so with each curious peek into the room.
“You’re on TV.”
“Yes, you would have seen me on TV.” And soon, you’ll be on there, too. I put out my hand, to shake. Tina gazes disdainfully at my open palm.
“Be polite,” her mother says.
Tina shakes her head. “You’re on TV. Do you want to see?”
“Are you watching the news channel?” her mother says.
The little girl twists her hands. She becomes a small shadow of her mother, yet it’s hard to know whether she really understands the situation. “Nana is.”
“Mom, for heaven’s sake!” Vernesha calls. She plucks a few crumbs off Tina’s shirt. “Go tell Nana it’s time for your cartoons.”
“It’s not time,” Tina says. “Twenty more minutes.”
“Watch something else until then, okay?”
Vernesha turns back to me. “I want to speak,” she repeats. “I want them reporting the truth about Tariq. Not these lies.”
“All right.” Secretly, I’m glad. Secretly, this is why I came here.
“Whatever I have to do,” she says. “Just tell me.”
I admire women like this. I don’t know where they get the strength.
REDEEMA
I cut the volume low. I need to know what they’s saying about our boy. I know Vernesha don’t want Tina watching this. I don’t either. But it’s the only TV, and I gotta know what they’s saying. I got a right to know.
I send Tina off. “Go on to your room.” She’ll come right back though, like one of them spinning tops. The harder you set it off, the faster it spins back at you.
It’s the same with anything you try to push away. That’s why I keep on watching the news, although I’d rather shut it off and look after my babies. But I gotta know what they’s talking about, so it don’t sneak up and hit us.
TOM ARLEN
Doorbell rings. It’s the last person I’d expect to see standing on my stoop today. I grab his arm. “Get in here.” I glance up and down the street before I slam the door. “What the hell are you doing here? If the Kings catch you, they’re liable to knife you.”
“I have protection,” he says, patting the holster at his hip.
“Jesus Christ.” I’m eyeing the gun now. A gun that killed a boy. Now it’s under my roof. “They didn’t take it?”
“Yeah, they took it when they brought me in,” he says, “But I got it back.”
He follows me into the living room and I pour us a couple of drinks. I turned off the news coverage when I went to answer the door. Good thinking, it turns out.
“Look, can I stay here for a couple of nights?” he asks.
I’m shocked. “You want to stay in Underhill?”
“I can’t go home,” he says. “My lawyer says not to talk to any reporters, but they’re camped outside my house. They’re shining lights in my fucking windows, trying to see if I’m there. I don’t think I could even get in; they’ll swamp me.”
“The reporters come by here, too. I’m a witness on record. They know you borrowed my car.”
“Thanks for going on record, by the way. Lawyer says it helped me out. I told them ‘self-defense,’ right away, but they still questioned me. They said they had some conflicting statements, but they never made it sound like a big deal. I didn’t know the whole world was gonna come after me.” He chuckles, but I hear the nerves underneath.
We sip drinks and he tells me his story. Being hauled downtown, questioned, released with no charges pending. I’m interested in how it all happened, of course. Lived here twenty years, and I’ve never known a gunman in Underhill to walk away that easy, no matter the circumstances.
“You know I can’t go back out there,” he says. “Not till things cool off.”
“Well, sure, you’re welcome
“Hello, Tina.” I haven’t inquired about her condition. It seems beside the point. She’s charming, more so with each curious peek into the room.
“You’re on TV.”
“Yes, you would have seen me on TV.” And soon, you’ll be on there, too. I put out my hand, to shake. Tina gazes disdainfully at my open palm.
“Be polite,” her mother says.
Tina shakes her head. “You’re on TV. Do you want to see?”
“Are you watching the news channel?” her mother says.
The little girl twists her hands. She becomes a small shadow of her mother, yet it’s hard to know whether she really understands the situation. “Nana is.”
“Mom, for heaven’s sake!” Vernesha calls. She plucks a few crumbs off Tina’s shirt. “Go tell Nana it’s time for your cartoons.”
“It’s not time,” Tina says. “Twenty more minutes.”
“Watch something else until then, okay?”
Vernesha turns back to me. “I want to speak,” she repeats. “I want them reporting the truth about Tariq. Not these lies.”
“All right.” Secretly, I’m glad. Secretly, this is why I came here.
“Whatever I have to do,” she says. “Just tell me.”
I admire women like this. I don’t know where they get the strength.
REDEEMA
I cut the volume low. I need to know what they’s saying about our boy. I know Vernesha don’t want Tina watching this. I don’t either. But it’s the only TV, and I gotta know what they’s saying. I got a right to know.
I send Tina off. “Go on to your room.” She’ll come right back though, like one of them spinning tops. The harder you set it off, the faster it spins back at you.
It’s the same with anything you try to push away. That’s why I keep on watching the news, although I’d rather shut it off and look after my babies. But I gotta know what they’s talking about, so it don’t sneak up and hit us.
TOM ARLEN
Doorbell rings. It’s the last person I’d expect to see standing on my stoop today. I grab his arm. “Get in here.” I glance up and down the street before I slam the door. “What the hell are you doing here? If the Kings catch you, they’re liable to knife you.”
“I have protection,” he says, patting the holster at his hip.
“Jesus Christ.” I’m eyeing the gun now. A gun that killed a boy. Now it’s under my roof. “They didn’t take it?”
“Yeah, they took it when they brought me in,” he says, “But I got it back.”
He follows me into the living room and I pour us a couple of drinks. I turned off the news coverage when I went to answer the door. Good thinking, it turns out.
“Look, can I stay here for a couple of nights?” he asks.
I’m shocked. “You want to stay in Underhill?”
“I can’t go home,” he says. “My lawyer says not to talk to any reporters, but they’re camped outside my house. They’re shining lights in my fucking windows, trying to see if I’m there. I don’t think I could even get in; they’ll swamp me.”
“The reporters come by here, too. I’m a witness on record. They know you borrowed my car.”
“Thanks for going on record, by the way. Lawyer says it helped me out. I told them ‘self-defense,’ right away, but they still questioned me. They said they had some conflicting statements, but they never made it sound like a big deal. I didn’t know the whole world was gonna come after me.” He chuckles, but I hear the nerves underneath.
We sip drinks and he tells me his story. Being hauled downtown, questioned, released with no charges pending. I’m interested in how it all happened, of course. Lived here twenty years, and I’ve never known a gunman in Underhill to walk away that easy, no matter the circumstances.
“You know I can’t go back out there,” he says. “Not till things cool off.”
“Well, sure, you’re welcome
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