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Just Like Mrs. Wisenheart’s Christmas Show

William Teets

    I’m ridin’ a elevator sixteen floors down to my death. Maybe to hell. Least that’s what will happen, that’s what’ll be like, if I get caught killin’ Sandman. They be sure to lock me up and throw away the key. Put my ass under the jailhouse. Maybe I’ll get shot. Killed. For real. One way ticket to meet the devil. Shit be over then. Know what I’m sayin’? Dudes who kill other people don’t get into heaven. That’s a biggie in the Ten Commandments.
    I checked my Kobe shorts on the eleventh floor, made sure my piece was good. Know I need to be strapped proper once I step off the elevator, once I walk over to the corner of Cloister and Franklin. It’s really Cloister and Euclid, but everyone calls it Franklin now, since he, Franklin, was killed by the police there. Happened a couple years ago. Remember? Shot him for no damn reason. Some folks in the neighborhood made a shrine-thingy, memorial for him. Right there on the corner where Franklin was lit up by PoPo. People left candles and flowers and stuffed bears and shit. Cardboard signs with glitter and magic markers sayin’ RIP. All the shorties and family, aunts and cousins, everybody was cryin’. Shit was fucked.
    Some minister dude fought City Hall to rename the street. Name it for Franklin. But like I said, that was a few years back and the street sign still say Euclid. I think that’s some white guy who invented math or somethin’. Some shit like that. Don’t know what this Euclid dude got to do with all of us scrappin’ down here, though. Shit’s crazy. Life’s crazy. Dyin’ crazier. Feel me?
    Hell, after I kill Sandman, I’m gonna see ‘bout changin’ the name myself. Change it from Euclid to Stephen Street. For real. All official-like. Get done what that preacher man couldn’t. The way they done Stephen was grimy. He was my best friend. He was killed on that corner, too. Killed by Sandman. Over a fuckin’ dice game. You’ll believe dat? A fuckin’ dice game. Ain’t no one lit no candles, left no Teddy bears for him, but I’m ‘bout to make everything right, come correct for my homeboy. Get some get-back for Stephen. Kill Sandman and fight City Hall my damn self.
    I been friends with Stephen since back in the day. When we was little. Our moms used to be best friends too, but all that went south when we all went on a summer trip together out in the country. Me and Stephen was ’bout nine or ten. That summer vacay, they was some of the best times of my life. I ain’t quite sure what happened, but our moms got in some serious beef and told me and Stephen we can’t be friends no more.
    It happened on a Sunday. Me and Stephen took a whole bunch of little plastic mass cards from church and put them in our bicycle spokes. Made us sound like we was ridin’ motorbikes. We rode so god-awful fast and them cards were just screamin’ all loud and shit in our tires. Rode all over. Then we got so god-awful hungry we went home for lunch. Wheeled our bikes into our yards and I heard Aunt Mary, that’s Stephen’s mom, she ain’t really my aunt, but that’s what I call her, I hear Aunt Mary yellin’ from the porch, It was your son, not mine. Then my moms yell back, No, whore, not him. Don’t call my son a sinner. And then Stephen’s mom threw a rock at us, and shouted somethin’ like, Clean up your own house. Shit crazy, right?
    Momma grabbed up on my hand and dragged me inside the house after that. Told me we was goin’ home and I couldn’t play with Stephen no more. Ever. Shit, I remember I was still mad- hungry and asked Momma if she was gonna still bake bread and make sandwiches with the fish her and Aunt Mary caught from the river. We was s’pose to have a fish fry that day. She looked at me real hard and all and says somethin’ like, Not with these hands, no, no, my child, not with these hands. And that was that. Me and Stephen didn’t listen, though. We still hung out. Was still best friends. I don’t even know why I’m thinkin’ ‘bout all this shit, though. I got grown man business to take care of.
    On my way down, I thought of other weird stuff too. Like who the hell is Otis? I see this dude’s name Otis on all the elevators in all the buildings. He must own them. Puts his name on them to let folks know. I guarantee you he’s mad rich. You’ll know how many elevators there are in the ’jects? I’m just sayin’. Shit, I bet he don’t even live in the buildings with his elevators he got so much money. Probably lives in some big ole castle on top of some hill surrounded by water with alligators and sharks. Ain’t no stick-up boys gonna fuck wit’ him. Probably got mean pitties, too. Wish I was Otis. Wish I had loot like him. Wish Stephen was still alive.
    And then as I’m thinkin’ all these crazy thoughts, the damn elevator jerked to a stop. All loud and sudden-like. Scared me. Guess you could say I was a little jumpy. And Mr. Lucius got on. He brushed up against me and must of felt the ratchet I had hid. He grilled me mean hard, and then he says, What you up to today, Michael?
    And I says, Nothing.
    And he says, Mm-hmm.
    And then we both were quiet for a minute. And then Mr. Lucius just start talkin’ without being asked nothin’. Starts sayin’ some shit like, I knew a youngblood ‘bout your age. Fourteen, right? He did something real foolish. Thought because he was a young’un, he would only do a short bid in juvy. Well, he was right and wrong. He did time in juvy, but it wasn’t short. Kept him to his twenty-first birthday. Seven long years. And then Mr. Lucius leans his face all serious at mines and stares. And I just looked up at him. And he get off the elevator on the fourth floor and says, Have a good day, Michael.
    And I say, You too, Mr. Lucius.
    Like he knew what I was plannin’. But he didn’t faze me. His words did made some sense, though. Seven years is a long time, but I’m prepared for all that. Told you all that already. A little part of me kinda wished he had stayed and talked, though. I like Mr. Lucius, wished he had stayed and talked.
    When the elevator reached the bottom, I didn’t fall through the floor and crash. End up in hell. None of that, but I was burnin’ up anyways. Had sweat on my forehead, sweat above my lip, but I just wiped myself with my shirt and kept on. Business to take care of.
    On my way over to Cloister and Franklin I stopped at Mr. Lee’s bodega. I was dumb thirsty. I got a bottle of water and when I went to pay Mr. Lee, he asked me if I could help him put a big box of plastic cups up on a shelf and the water be free. So, I helped him. When I stretched my arms up, and we put that big ole box up on the shelf, my shirt raised up and Mr. Lee peeked my gun. His eyes were open. I mean wide open. And I just kinda stood there. Embarrassed. Felt grimy. And Mr. Lee says, Michael, what’s that?
    And I says, Nothin’.
    And Mr. Lee says, Michael. No good. You good boy. You good family. This not good.
    And I say, Thanks for the water, Mr. Lee. I got to go.
    And he says, Michael. You stay. Talk to Mr. Lee.
    And I just left.
    Why everyone want to talk to me all of the sudden? Ain’t no one ever want to talk to me before. I drank my water.
    When I got a half block away from Cloister and Franklin, I was mad hype. Just not in a good way. I saw Sandman just like I knew I would. Shootin’ dice. All smiles and laughin’ and dappin’ everyone. I thought of Stephen, and I shivered and got crazy goose bumps on my arms even though it was crazy hot. My stomach was doin’ flipflops. Reminded me of how I felt when I had to play a solo on the bells in front of everyone for a Christmas show. Back when I was in Mrs. Wisenheart’s class. Back in third or fourth grade. Damn, that was so long ago. I really liked Mrs. Wisenheart. She was always nice. I smiled and then got super-heated at myself for bein’ soft. Fuck Mrs. Wisenheart. Where she now? What good any of that do me?
    And then I had one of them out-of-body experiences I heard about once. Like I was floatin’ above the streets watchin’ myself headin’ back home. Like a dream. Saw myself walk past Mr. Lee’s store, past Mr. Lucius in the lobby, and I saw myself ride Mr. Otis’ elevator back up to the sixteenth floor. Like I was there but wasn’t. Some bugged-out shit. I crept all quiet-like into my crib. Mama didn’t even hear me. She was watchin’ one of them holy-rollin’ rich guys on TV talkin’ ’bout how the good Lord is gonna save us for a small donation of cheddar. Yeah, right. Now that there is some hustle shit, but Mama Dukes didn’t even fidget. I saw me sneak into my brother’s room and put the gat back into the Nike shoebox on top of the closet shelf where he hides it. He don’t think I know it’s there, but obviously I do. Fixed his shit up just right so he wouldn’t even be suspicious. Then I went and sat on the couch with my moms and said, Ma, remember the time I played the bells in the Christmas show in Mrs. Wisenheart’s class? Mama smiled and rubbed her hand on top of my head and called me, honey. Shit felt good.
    And then I was floatin’ again. Watchin’ myself again. I stepped hard up to the corner. No one said nothin’. No one paid me no mind. They all just went on laughin’ and frontin’ and playin’ dice. A lot of little niggas my age watch the older dudes play dice and ball and shit, and sometimes we join ’em. Like Stephen done. But not many, if any, of them little-ass niggas do what I’m ’bout to do. I reached into my waistband and took up my brother’s gat. Someone said something like, Oh, shit, little homie got a Glock. I pointed the gun at Sandman and said, This for Stephen.
    Dudes started scatterin’. Some girls screamed. Sandman looks at me shook as could be. Craziest thing is I saw Mrs. Wisenheart’s face again. And I was seein’ myself again. Like some kinda ghost. Like I was performin’ in some movie. Puttin’ on a show. Just like Mrs. Wisenheart’s Christmas Show. And then Sandman was about to run, and I squeezed that motherfuckin’ trigger hard and saw fire flash and heard thunder roar. Then everything went black. Everything got dark. Like someone switched off the lights.

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