eating cheese sandwiches, when Mong came walking out of the house and sat on the block right across from us. He didn’t say anything either, just posted there staring at me and smiling. Fingering the tooth around his neck. I stopped chewing mid-chew, looked back at the guy. Okay, dawg, I told myself. Here it is. The shit’s finally gonna go down.
I looked at Rondell, who was concentrating his whole mind on eating his sandwich, and then turned back to Mong. “Wha’chu need, man?” I told him.
He laughed a little, kept his eyes stuck on me.
I shrugged, said: “Lemme know—”
“Why do you read all those books?” he interrupted.
I looked at him all confused. “What?”
At the time I didn’t realize how I was saying to Mong exactly what Rondell always says to me. And how most of the time when you tell somebody “what” you’re not really asking a question, you’re just saying something while you try and think up something better you could say later.
Anyways, I’d just turned toward the house when Reggie and Demarcus came out and started walking into the backyard. But when they spotted Mong sitting with me and Rondell they stopped cold. They looked at each other. Then they turned around and went back inside.
“Those books,” Mong said, staring me right in the eyes. Still smiling. “Why do you read them?”
I didn’t know if his psycho ass was making fun of meor what, so I just sat there a minute, thinking. I took another bite of sandwich, chewed it up and swallowed. I looked down at the second half and realized I didn’t feel that hungry anymore. I was just about to wad it up in my plate to throw away when Rondell tapped me on the arm, said: “Hey, Mexico.”
I looked up at him.
“You ain’t gonna eat that second part?”
“Nah.”
“Could I get it?”
I handed him the rest of the sandwich and the plate and he took a big-ass bite, sat there chewing and looking at Mong like he was just noticing him for the first time.
I turned back to Mong myself, told him my answer: “To see what happens.” Then I shrugged, trying to think if I should’ve even answered him in the first place.
Mong didn’t say anything back. He just stared at me, smiling, hardly even blinking.
“Why you wanna know?” I said.
But he didn’t answer me. He just stood up and walked back toward the house.
I watched him open the door, slip back inside, close the door behind him. I stayed looking at the door for a few minutes, trying to figure out what the hell just happened. Like, was dude clowning me for reading? Look at the bike thief nerding out with all his stupid books! Or was he just such a psycho he didn’t even know what he was saying anymore? Because who the hell would do that? Come up to somebody they don’t even know and ask why they read books? It doesn’t make no kind of sense, man.
I turned to Rondell shaking my head, said: “Yo, what’s up with that guy?”
But Rondell just looked at me with a blank face, wadding up the plate I’d just given him, and told me: “Who?”
July 9
I woke up in the middle of the night, and when I opened my eyes there was Mong. He was standing over my bed again with his arms crossed, only this time he wasn’t smiling.
“Jesus Christ,” I said, flipping over so I could face him. But after the first couple seconds I realized I wasn’t as spooked as the last time it happened. “What the hell you want now?” I told him.
When he uncrossed his arms and went to reach his right hand into his pocket I was sure he was going for a knife. Without thinking I bolted upright and swung for his face. Hard as I could. He ducked it, though, backed off holding his hands up.
“What the fuck!” I said.
“Calm down,” he told me, and then I saw he didn’t have a knife in his right hand, he had a folded-up piece of paper, which he tossed in my lap.
I picked it up, watching him the whole time. Slowly unfolded it. Looked down at the words. It was a letter from the president of
I looked at Rondell, who was concentrating his whole mind on eating his sandwich, and then turned back to Mong. “Wha’chu need, man?” I told him.
He laughed a little, kept his eyes stuck on me.
I shrugged, said: “Lemme know—”
“Why do you read all those books?” he interrupted.
I looked at him all confused. “What?”
At the time I didn’t realize how I was saying to Mong exactly what Rondell always says to me. And how most of the time when you tell somebody “what” you’re not really asking a question, you’re just saying something while you try and think up something better you could say later.
Anyways, I’d just turned toward the house when Reggie and Demarcus came out and started walking into the backyard. But when they spotted Mong sitting with me and Rondell they stopped cold. They looked at each other. Then they turned around and went back inside.
“Those books,” Mong said, staring me right in the eyes. Still smiling. “Why do you read them?”
I didn’t know if his psycho ass was making fun of meor what, so I just sat there a minute, thinking. I took another bite of sandwich, chewed it up and swallowed. I looked down at the second half and realized I didn’t feel that hungry anymore. I was just about to wad it up in my plate to throw away when Rondell tapped me on the arm, said: “Hey, Mexico.”
I looked up at him.
“You ain’t gonna eat that second part?”
“Nah.”
“Could I get it?”
I handed him the rest of the sandwich and the plate and he took a big-ass bite, sat there chewing and looking at Mong like he was just noticing him for the first time.
I turned back to Mong myself, told him my answer: “To see what happens.” Then I shrugged, trying to think if I should’ve even answered him in the first place.
Mong didn’t say anything back. He just stared at me, smiling, hardly even blinking.
“Why you wanna know?” I said.
But he didn’t answer me. He just stood up and walked back toward the house.
I watched him open the door, slip back inside, close the door behind him. I stayed looking at the door for a few minutes, trying to figure out what the hell just happened. Like, was dude clowning me for reading? Look at the bike thief nerding out with all his stupid books! Or was he just such a psycho he didn’t even know what he was saying anymore? Because who the hell would do that? Come up to somebody they don’t even know and ask why they read books? It doesn’t make no kind of sense, man.
I turned to Rondell shaking my head, said: “Yo, what’s up with that guy?”
But Rondell just looked at me with a blank face, wadding up the plate I’d just given him, and told me: “Who?”
July 9
I woke up in the middle of the night, and when I opened my eyes there was Mong. He was standing over my bed again with his arms crossed, only this time he wasn’t smiling.
“Jesus Christ,” I said, flipping over so I could face him. But after the first couple seconds I realized I wasn’t as spooked as the last time it happened. “What the hell you want now?” I told him.
When he uncrossed his arms and went to reach his right hand into his pocket I was sure he was going for a knife. Without thinking I bolted upright and swung for his face. Hard as I could. He ducked it, though, backed off holding his hands up.
“What the fuck!” I said.
“Calm down,” he told me, and then I saw he didn’t have a knife in his right hand, he had a folded-up piece of paper, which he tossed in my lap.
I picked it up, watching him the whole time. Slowly unfolded it. Looked down at the words. It was a letter from the president of
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