Chapter 50: Prodigies Get Initiated

It's time to hear from our favorite 13 year old!

The song? Finer Things by Polo G. This is Bodie's jam, mid-chapter....

Darius

When I come out of school, TJ is leaning against an orange sports car, checking his phone.

As I weave through all the other kids glad to be done for the day, I'm glad, too.

Glad he's here and not Marley or Bodie.

Mom or Dad.

I don't even know what to call them. This family thing is so weird. None of the people in my life feel like who they really are.

It's like being an orphan but with people all around.

As I get closer to TJ and realize that the car is actually a Subaru BRZ, I decide...screw all that. Something way more important is going on here.

When TJ brings a cheap but cool sports car like that to pick me up, I know what it means.

It's a driving lesson.

"'Sup, Dawg?" he says casually. I just grin and slide in shotgun.

He won't let me drive on real roads, of course. But for about six months, he's been taking me to places like empty megachurces or closed down plants, making me drive around the empty parking lots, learning to stay in my lane, accelerate and brake smoothly, park in the lines, all that stuff.

We don't tell Marley or Mama Pat, because they would probably give him static about me not being old enough yet. I can't legally get my learner's permit for another couple years.

TJ says, "There's the law, and then there's what's done. Atlanta is a big clusterfuck of distracted drivers and the sooner you start learning to drive, the better you will be at it when I do release you into traffic."

I was kinda nervous at first, but now I'm pretty good at driving around the parking lots. As he navigates the neighborhood, I realize today's lesson will be a new challenge. This car is a manual transmission. I haven't driven that yet.

He drives to a a dilapidated building with endless asphalt. There is only one car in the parking lot.

A silver Tesla.

"Really? You had to bring him into this?" I scoff at TJ.

He laughs. "C'mon Darius. Why you givin' my boy such a hard time?"

"Bodie is your boy now?"

"Bodie was always my boy," he says seriously. "Never had a brother that had my back like him. He'll have your back like that, too. If you'll let him."

"Do I have a choice?"

"Not really. He's not the kind of guy to walk off the job, even if you act like a little shit most of the time. So really, it's your choice. Have a rich fun dad that you vibe with, or have a dad that's gonna stay on your case, tryna make you act right."

TJ pulls up beside Bodie, rolls his window down, and starts revving the engine. They talk a lot of crap about the cars.

It's all a prelude to a race.

"Who's your money on, Darius?" Bodie calls across to me.

"Electric vehicle versus sports car? Uhhhm, duh. This car."

"What's the stakes?"

"I don't care."

"Alright, look. How about, if I win, you agree to go on a little educational field trip with me and TJ, instead of your piano lesson?"

"What kind of field trip?"

"It's a need to know, Dawg," TJ says.

"I thought we were gonna drive."

"We're gonna do that, too," he assures me.

"Okay?" I shrug, figuring there's no way I can lose. "But if we win, I don't have to go."

"That's fair."

I find out in about 2.8 seconds that this race? It was anything but fair.

Bodie counts it down, but as crazy quick as TJ peels out in this car, that Tesla hauls ass twice as fast down the straightway. I'm thrillin' pinned to the seat, but Bodie has time to get out of his damn car and laugh at us as we cross the finish-linish-area.

He and TJ clap it out. "That's crazy, Dawg," Bodie says. "I didn't believe you..."

"Told you. You got that Ludicrous Mode on that whip," TJ laughs.

"So this was a set-up?" I say dryly.

"Yeah, you're going on this field trip either way. We just thought we would make it fun," Bodie says.

The race was kinda fun, but I don't say so.

"You ready to drive?" TJ asks.

"Can I drive that?" I ask, nodding at the Tesla.

Bodie wobbles his head likes he's considering, but TJ says, "Hell no. He hasn't wired the money over yet. If you wreck it, he probably won't."

I get back in the Subaru with TJ. The manual transmission is tricky. After about twenty minutes of not making it past second gear, I get frustrated from stalling out and we take a break. I sit on the pavement, using a twig to clean dirt out of the treads on my shoes.

I wish they would just take me home.

Bodie gets in the passenger seat of the Subaru. "Try again," he says.

"I'm good," I call.

"Come on. It's not that hard, it just takes getting a feel for the clutch. You'll get it," he says from the passenger seat. "Get in here."

I stomp over and get in.

"So you got some different advice than TJ? Cause-"

"You like this one? I like this one." He's ignoring my question, connecting his phone to the car audio. A familiar rap rolls from the speakers.

"It's alright. Do you know him? Polo G—"

He cuts me off by turning up the bass until the back window is rattling and the vibration pushes through the seatback, through my spine, out my chest.

The beat fills the space in the car. There's no room for questions, or driving instructions. Or bullshit.

Bodie opens the moonroof, rolls both front windows down, and closes his eyes, bouncing along to the music.

"Whenever you're ready, Dawg," he yells above the buzz.

I'm not ready I guess, because I just sit there, listening to the rap. I've heard it a crap ton—it's kinda played out—but I've never really thought about the words.

It's about the vicious circle of thug life, but wanting to rise above it. It's about questioning the blood and the drugs. It's about how hard it is, to make it straight. It's about...letting go of a past that doesn't serve, and making a better life.

It's about the pain of losing and the victory of finally winning. It's about getting out, getting paid. It's about grinding for the good life,sampling the shorties, but saving your heart for the ride-or-die. It's about giving something back to where you came from.

I look over at Bo-dad, as I have been referring to him in my head. I can see why he likes this rhyme. It's chill, like him. And it's his story.

He's got it on repeat. He says nothing as it starts again and I sit there, listening. He puts on his sunglasses and rests his arm out of the window, thwapping a beat on the door.

The third time it plays, I push in the clutch and start to mess with the gear shifter again, just practicing shifting through the gears. About halfway through the song, Bodie grips over my hand and firmly shifts into first.

"Forward, Holmes," he says, more interested in switching up his door-bang beat than teaching me to drive.

But I do what he says and work on letting out the clutch while I apply the gas. I find the right pressure to send us moving forward smoothly. This time I manage to shift to second without stalling out, then to third.

"Clutch, brake, turn, downshift" Bodie instructs as he pushes over the wheel for me while I grapple with it with one hand and struggle to find the right gear with the other. "A little gas...a little more...nope..."

I stall out.

"It's alright. Turning and downshifting is the hardest part at first. Try again."

I do it over and over until I can cut a long rectangular circuit in this massive parking lot. We listen to that song like twenty times. Finally, Bodie tells me to park and put it in neutral.

He's still got his sunglasses on, looking out the window.

"Darius."

"Yeah?"

"Do you get that I'm always gonna be riding in your whip, giving you help if you need it, but some things you have to figure out on your own? Like how to work a clutch?"

"Yeah."

"Hey...dad?" It's the first time I've called him that.

He takes off his sunglasses and turns to me. "Yeah?"

"I don't know why I acted like that this morning. Sometimes, it's like, that hate just bubbles up. I hear myself saying it and at the same time I think it's bad and it's not fair—especially to my mom—but I can't stop. It feels..."

"Good. It feels good to blow up at her. You blow off the steam, you feel better," he summarizes.

I don't say anything. He's right, though.

"Drugs are kinda like that. They feel good, and then they feel bad. And you say you aren't going to do them anymore. Then you forget the bad part, and you get the itch to feel good again."

"So how do you stop doing something that feels good but that you know is not?"

"You do whatever it takes. For me, it's methadone and beating a drum and boxing. For your problem, maybe it's something else. Maybe you put that fire into your song-writing. Or you leave it on the court."

"Yeah. Boxing sounds kinda good, too, though."

He gives me that bright white grin. "We could definitely do that. But right now we gotta do this other thing. It's uptop—North A."

I ride with him in the Tesla. About halfway there, he asks, "When your mama took you to school this morning—"

"We talked. I apologized. I meant it."

He nods. "That's good."

He reaches into the storage compartment and gives me back my phone without further comment.

I have eighty-six snaps from friends. Five from Gwen, but she's cool once I explain I got my phone taken away.

This sketch "field trip" takes us to a brick building on the Emory Hospital Campus. A guy that looks way too athletic and photogenic to be in a lab coat meets us in the deserted lobby.

Bodie claps it out with him and introduces him as Dr. Cameron Martin.

"Almost. I graduate in a couple of weeks," he says with a flash of perfect teeth and dimples.

Why them good-looking whiteboys always got dimples?

Harry Styles has dimples.

So Gwen says.

I never paid any attention.

"You must be Marley's kid Darius. Call me Cam," he says to me, with a homie handshake.

Huh. You wouldn't think a doctor would be so cool.

He looks kind of familiar, too...

"This is probably a weird question but...how come I feel like I've seen you somewhere?"

Cameron looks a little puzzled. "Maybe you saw me when your mom and I worked together?"

I look automatically to TJ, he says, "Naw, that's not it."

I'm starting to realize how much I do that. Look to TJ to answer questions for me. I guess it's just a leftover habit from being a little kid. I need to quit that.

Because I'm not a little kid.

And because...you know...Bodad.

TJ's still talking. "You used to see him on TV probably." He nods to Cam. "Duke has been Darius' team ever since he was a little thing. Basketball of course, but football, too."

That's when I realize. "Ohhh damn! You were the quarterback for Duke! Number 12! You were like...the best quarterback they ever had!"

He gives a grinning shake of the head and stuffs his hands into his labcoat pockets. "Definitely not, but I had a good run my senior year."

"11 and 1. But you didn't play in the bowl game. I remember, that was a big deal..." I was only nine but I was devastated. Duke got killed without him.

His dimples disappear. "No, I didn't. My girlfriend was in an accident a couple days before that. It was serious. She was in the hospital." He has a far away look. Suddenly I wonder if she died or something.

"Is that why you became a doctor instead of going pro?" I ask tentatively.

His attention refocuses. He runs a hand through his hair, but does this weird thing where he stops midmotion and looks at his hand. Then he shakes his head and smiles at me.

"No, being a doctor was always the plan. College ball was as far as my talent was going to take me. Being a practice team quarterback in the NFL, constantly traded, at the mercy of other people's decisions? Didn't really appeal to me."

"Still. You would have been in the money, just going pro..."

He laughs. "Money isn't everything, Darius."

I say nothing. He's the kind of guy that's never had a Wal-mart Christmas and been grateful for it.

I look down at my brand new Yeezys. It's so weird how my life has changed, already. We were poor. Then it got better because of TJ's and Marley's jobs, but the neighborhood was still rough, and our backs were still up.

And now? I'm not sure how it's going to go, but if Bo-dad sticks around...

Does that mean I'm more like Cameron Martin than I think?

Protected? Privileged?

My life is spinnin' right now, and I'm kinda trippin'.

Bodie puts a hand on my shoulders. "No, it's not. Which is why we are here. To get real about what's important. I appreciate you setting this up, Cam."

Cameron nods and gestures toward a set of double doors with his shoulders. We follow him through and down a long dark hall with closed doors. He unlocks the door at the end. It's a large medical type room with all kinds of empty gurneys and trays lined against the walls.

I don't look at them.

All I can see is the shape covered by a blue-green drape in the center of the room.

I stop. My feet ain't going nowhere. "What is this?"

"This is a reality check, Darius," Bodie says quietly.

"Your initiation into gang life," TJ adds.

Cam walks slowly around the body. Almost revererently, he folds the drape down. It's an actual dead person. A young black guy, maybe a few years older than me.

No. I guess he's not. Dead folk don't really have an age, do they? Time has no meaning for them, anymore.

Bodie and TJ exchange a look, and they walk forward to the gurney. They all just stand there, waiting for me.

I get it. They aren't gonna make me do this. But they want me to.

And I'm not a little kid, so I'm not gonna freak and walk out. I'm gonna step up like they did.

It's weird how my breath gets all jerky as I force my feet to move. I ain't ever seen a dead person.

I stand between Bodie and TJ. Bodie puts a hand on my shoulder and gives a nod to Cam.

Cam places a gently hand on the dead guy's shoulder. "This is Malcolm Hyde. He was fifteen. He lost his life two days ago. He coded in the ambulance from trauma due to GSW. Gun shot wounds," he adds, for clarification, but I had already figured that out. "Three to the chest."

"He left behind a mother—Audrey—who had already lost one son to prison. I met her. She's a good woman. A strong woman. Not strong enough to keep her sons out of a gang, though.

"She wanted Malcom's life and death to mean more than senseless violence, but his organs could not be donated for transplant, because he has a form of hepatitis he probably got from unprotected sex. So his body was donated to the pathology department, where the effects of his disease can be studied. I asked her for permission, so that you could view him."

He reaches for the drape again, and folds it further down.

I take an automatic step back, but Bodie's arm keeps me from turning and running.

The guy's chest has been cracked open. It's...mostly been closed but the gaping seams? They are hard to look at. They cut up all his tattoos. It feels like a scary movie. Like any second the seams are going to burst open to horror.

"I was on ride along with the EMT's that took the call for Malcolm. I was there when in died. He died while we were fighting for his life. Between his injures and our measures, he died in more pain than any person should have to bear. His last words were begging for his mother.

"It was hard—very hard—to have to be the one to tell her that he was gone. His life meant everything to her. Now for her, for him, there is just...hollow."

After a long a moment, Cam says... "Take your time. I'll be outside."

The door echoes in the room as it closes behind him.

I can't stop looking at those seams, dark and promising more gore underneath. The more I look, the more horrible it becomes.

I focus on his face instead.

Two days ago this corpse was a dude, walking around with plans. He was prolly thinkin' about his night, his boys, his next meal, maybe his girl.

Now he's...cold.

His plans busted.

His face will never smile again.

It's frozen in no expression whatsoever.

Is he somewhere? Is he nowhere?

Both options terrify me.

I want to stay right the fuck here. Forever.

I bet he did, too.

My heart is racing.

I've never been this close to death.

Oh, fuck. Yes, I have.

I almost delivered death.

To my own father. I look at him.

He's looking at me like he's trying to shoot his thoughts into my brain with his eyes.

"Eight inches," he says. "You understand what I'm saying? The difference between Malcolm and me? Eight inches."

I nod. I reach up and touch the raised scar on his left bicep and then I flatten my hand over his heart. The distance is about eight inches. The difference between him standing here and laying where Malcolm is.

"I know." I shake my head hard, back and forth. "I get it. I'm never touching a gun again. I ain't about that thug life."

"You're wrong. You see this?"

Bodie tears open the top button on his shirt. He takes my hand and puts it on his Sixmob tattoo, sorta disguised in his tribal tats. He turns me around to look at TJ, who opens his collar and shows me his identical tat, on his neck.

"You see that?" Bodie says, gesturing to TJ's neck. "You don't get a choice, Darius. You are in the thug life with us. We chose for you before you were even born. It ain't fair, but it's the truth. We are in a fucked up situation with Daemon. A deadly situation. A situation we are not gonna tell you about, but a situation that you are burdened with, nonetheless."

TJ takes up the lecture. "Bodie is tellin' truth. This is a situation where any one of us can end up like Malcolm. One wrong move, Darius. If Bodie, or me, or your mom, or you, make one wrong move with Daemon—it puts us all in danger."

He grabs my head, making me look at him.

"I never wanted you to know Daemon. I used to look at you when you were a little kid, and I was glad my own brother was locked away for life. Cause he's a killer, Darius. He takes lives. He brings this," TJ grabs my hand and forces it onto the arm of the dead guy, slowly, giving me time to accept the cold flesh.

"Ok, I get it," I say hoarsely, removing my hand from the dead kid.

Bodie grips my shoulders and stoops a couple of inches. "I hate this, Darius. It shouldn't be like this. I should be able to tell you that I'm going to always keep you safe. That nothing bad will ever happen to you, or your mom, or anybody that you love.

"There is nothing more in this world I want than to protect you. But the only way I could protect you from Daemon will also hurt you. I could keep you safe by taking you away from your Mama Pat and TJ, but I know you don't want that.

"So here's the deal. Me and you and TJ? We are a gang of three, and you have a job. Your job is to lock it down, son."

I nod. I know what he means. Keep the secret. Not let Mama Pat and Daemon see that he is my real dad.

"But just like learning to drive that car today? There are some jobs you have to figure out for yourself. I can't control the feels you feel, or the things they drive you to do and say. You have to get a grip on your emotions and think before you speak. You have to be smart and keep your mouth shut around your Mama Pat, around Daemon. This ain't about something as easily corrected as disrespecting your Mama. This about life and death, you feel me? Can you keep your mouth shut, Darius?"

I nod slowly. "I can. I will." I look from Bodie to TJ. "Is this how it's going to be...forever?"

"No," TJ says firmly. "No, it's not. We are going to make things right."

Bodie nods at TJ. "But you gotta stay in your lane, Darius. Cause making it right ain't your job. Your job is keeping the status quo."

I want to say I'm not a little kid. I want to know what they are planning. But as I stare at Malcolm, I think...maybe I don't. I don't want to make trouble or conflict or cause Bodie or TJ to worry about me and whether or not I can run my job.

I don't want them worrying about me.

They have bigger things to worry about.

"I can stay in my lane. Let me prove it. Let me stay with TJ and Mama Pat when you and mom go to LA. That would show Daemon that things are going back to normal, right? That Mom is with you now, but leaving me with Mama Pat like usual. Just like she did when she was with Marc. When Daemon comes over, I can talk to him like I always do. You know, like forced polite? Nice, but not too friendly? I can do that. I swear I can do that."

Bodie and TJ exchange a long look. TJ nods. Bodie nods back. He grips the back of my neck. It pinches, but I know his only showing me that his love is fierce.

He locks eyes with me. "Okay.  I trust you, Darius. I know you are not a little kid. I know you know what's at stake. I know you can do your part."

TJ covers Malcolm back up to the neck.

We stay there a few more minutes with Malcolm. It's kind of hard to leave him like this. I don't know him, but I feel like this might be the last time he will ever be with people that feel him.

I want to ask Bodie and TJ how many times they have a kept a vigil for a fallen brother. But then again, I don't want to know.

I hope they never have to again.

I love these guys. I think Bodie-TJ-Darius is one of my favorite trio's in the book. Right up there with Trace-Kat-Ashlynn.