A Long Walk

Most days are like this. Especially during the transition between winter and spring. The lcrisp air tainted with the scent of cigarette smoke, gasoline and restaurant deep fryer is within sniffing distance. For Sean, this is a different day though. His mornings are a combination of music, cereal and a white owl to ease the anxiety the city brings. Sean is greeted by his grandma who already up and appears to have been up quite awhile by the cigarette ashtray half filled and morning coffee cup empty.

“Wassup grandma”, Sean said, drinking the milk from his Captain Crunch.

“Don’t wassup me Sean, why those dishes ain’t clean?”, she barked.

“ what do you mean, I worked all day yesterday, how do you expect me...?, and before he finished his point, Sean was interrupted by a flood of thunderous gunshots. Glass and lead spilled into the kitchen, as voices are heard yelling outside as the bullets whistle by Sean’s head, so close he can feel the heat singe his skin and the wind from the speed of the bullet graze his beard hairs.

“ I didn’t forget about you clown , you know what it is when we catch you slippin out here bruh!” Sean tackles his grandma to shield her from the barrage but not before she was hit in the leg, arm and shoulder. Sean drags her into the closet that was directly behind the front door entering the two bedroom apartment. Blood on his freshly ironed shirt and new Nike shoes, he sprints to his room and grab the .357 and 9 millimeter he had stashed inside the speaker box in his closet. With full malice and intent, Sean unloads in the backyard at the men who shot his grandma. He hits the guy twice in the stomach and once in the head, killing him. As he falls out of the back door attached to the kitchen, he spots the other shooter running down the alley.

“ y’all aiming at the wrong house!”, he chases the man down the alley but not before tossing the .357 back in the kitchen. It was at this moment, he’d realized the benefits of playing football in high school. Each step dug into the concrete, unleashing gravel in the wind behind him along with sweat, blood and his fear of consequences that may occur. Sean quickly approached the shooter from behind and landed a vicious to the shooter’s temple while playing a million scenarios in his at the same time. But the only thing that came to mind was “‘man, it’s only 1 in the afternoon”.

This is normal occurrence for Sean and yet this time it felt different, personal like an ex-girlfriend stealing your favorite sweater. Sean, sweaty and tired from sprinting, jogged back toward his grandma’s house to see what can only be described as a scene from murder. Blood splatter canvassed the kitchen like Picassos’ paintbrush. Glass just as evenly distributed through the countertops and kitchen floor. The smell of iron from the blood saturated the air conforming with the burned bacon.

“Grams, Grams”; he yelled with a fierce shriek that pierced the ears of mice and man.

“Where are you?!”

“Grams!!”…

“ I’m here”, she whispers softly. Sean’s grandmother, was laying in closet where he’d tossed her during gunfire. Still bleeding from her leg and arm, she clung to her grandson as he helped her to her feet to further look at her wounds. She looked up at him, with tears, sadness and fear cloaking the warm smile Sean had grown accustomed to say

“Get out and do not come back until you find my grandson”.