VI

Seven hours is a long time to be in a car with anyone. Sure it starts out all good. The two of you are having good conversation. And if you're anything like me, the conversation revolves around a pony or Dora The Explorer. But about three hours into the ride, conversationbecomes sparse. Radio stations once full of bass, snare and bomb lyrics are now nothing but static. Then the inevitable happens...silence. It's then that the real talking begins. Excuses about past transgressions flow freely like water from a fountain. You believe them because you have no reason not to. Why would this person lie to you? You continue to listen intently until sleep becomes your lover. You cuddle up to it, wanting it to keep you warm during this marathon car ride.
"Are we there yet?"
You know the answer, but you having the one your trust tell you the answer in their loving baritone voice.
"Not yet Stinka. We've still got about two more hours."
Just enough time for a quick nap. You sleep soundly knowing nothing will happen to you because not only is sleep covering you, but your Daddy is too.

I look away from the road and look to my right. She's finally asleep. I was starting to think she'd talk me to death, but she only made herself tired. I wonder what she writes in that journal of hers. It's probably full of pony rides and Dora The Explorer. Good. She needs to be akid sometimes. Hell, so do I. I'd love to be young and carefree again. What am I saying? Being young and dumb got me into my current situation.

It was about Charlene declared she was going through with the pregnancy and that I'd better get my shit together. She never mentioned having an abortion, not that that was an option. Who am I to tell a woman what she can and can't do with her body? I say that as man in his mid-20s with a child of his own. But at that time I was a 19 year-old manchild. That type of thought didn't run through my mind at that time. So instead of flipping out on Charlene I decided to take a drive. I figured it would clear my mind. I didn't think it would put a permanent cloud over my future which is now my present.

After riding out for about 45 minutes I got hungry and decided to hit up Jack-In-The-Box. Even guys need comfort food, only instead of chocolate I craved grease. I started to turn into the driveway but it snaked around the corner. So I decided to go inside to order my sweat, greasy relief from my impending baby mama drama. I walked inside and immediately got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I don't know if it was from the vomit behind the garbage can or the five guys at the counter with red flags hanging from their back pockets. The guys were trying to flirt with the girl working the fries. I wasn't mad at their hustle. I was guilty of doing the same thing from time to time. I figured I'd give them a chance to try and get a free apple pie out of her. A chance turned into 15 minutes. Now we had a problem. A stressed out and hungry Black man is not a good thing.

"Hey fellas, let me just slide in here, put in my order and be out. That cool?"

I hoped that throwing that trace of sincerity would soften the hearts of these cats.

"Fuck you college nigga! Wait yo ass in the back till I finish talkin'. BITCH!"

I was cool until he said "the B word". I don't know what it is about calling another man a bitch. It demasculates him in every sense of the word. Now present day Donovan would've had a witty quip ready in his back pocket to unleash on this cat.
But this was hot-headed 19 year-old Donovan.
The same one that carried a box cutter everywhere.
I'm talking class...the gym...church...EVERYWHERE.

The one who called me out turned and looked me in the face...kind of.
He was about six feet three inches tall and looked to weigh about 275.
I hadn't hit puberty yet and was five feet nine inches tall and weighed 182.
Hence the box cutter.

"You got something you wanna say mark? If so speak up bitch nigga. If not shut the fuck up and let grown folks finish talking."

By this time the others turned around too and sized me up. They looked at their de-facto leader and then looked back at me.

"Man Terry leave the lil' nigga alone man. He ain't worth the piss out my dick," said one guy. His mouth said one thing, but I looked in his eyes and saw something else. He knew I was getting to the breaking point.

But Terry ignored his comrade and continued.

"Nah fuck that. Bitch nigga got something to say then let him say it."

I stayed quiet and gently put my hands in my pocket and looked down at the ground. My right hand slowly caressed the cool blade with my fingers. I waited.

"I can't hear you bitch. Let me get a little closer," Terry leaned in closer letting his ear almost touch my mouth.

I stayed quiet.

"That's what I thought. Bitch ass, mark ass nigga. Go get you a degree or sumthin nigga," said Terry as turned his back and continued his feeble attempt to get something free from the fry girl.

After Terry turned his back to me, I stayed silent for about 17 seconds. Then something in me snapped. To this day I dno't know what it was that made me lose it. It could've been the stress Charlene was causing me or the hunger I had in my gut or just that I was tired of this guy fucking with me. All I remember is slowly pulling the box cutter out of my pocket with my right hand. I grabbed a handfull of Terry's afro, yanked his head back and cut him long and deep across his throat. I didn't stay long enough to watch his body drop. To watch him choke to death on his blood. But what scares me is that I WANTED to watch him die.

I bolted for the door immediately and threw the box cutter into the reeking garbage can. I jumped in my car and peeled off. Surprisingly I wasn't followed. I guess the other guys inside were in shock from what had just happened. I drove right back to campus. I didn't know where else to go.

I hid out in my dorm room for 13 straight days.
No food, phone, internet, television, water or shower.

On day 14 worked up the courage to turn on the TV.

"This thing should've blown over by now. I mean guys in gangs get killed everyday out here. It's not like he was a somebody," I told myself out loud. I turned to KNBC, and saw a familiar figure.

It was me.
Me running to my car.
Me getting in my car.
Me hauling ass out of the parking lot.
That's when I threw up.
I wondered when Jack-In-The-Box got security camers outside as I heaved.
You get sick to your stomach when you realize you're wanted for murder.

When I finished hurling, I looked at the TV again. Terry's mugshot was on the screen. Under the picture was his full name: Terrance Alexander Hill. The face paired with the name stuck out to me. My mental Rolodex flipped rapidly. When it stopped I realized what I'd done and threw up again.

I killed Charlene's brother.