Lamentation (The Weary Shall Be at Rest)

"Where the fuck is it coming from?" I say.

"It's over by them cars," Kasim says.

"Well fucking shoot them!" I turn to face the double-parked cars across the street and hear three more pops. "Shit!" I say, as I duck behind a car. I still don't see who's shooting, but I reach over and start shooting anyway 16, 15, 14...

I've never been a bad kid. In fact, when I was little, I would rarely get in trouble. The first time that I can remember getting in trouble at school was when I was in kindergarten. We were having recess inside because there was a thunderstorm that day. I spilled the art supplies. It made a loud crash, spreading crayons and scissors everywhere, but somehow my teacher didn't notice.

I started to pick up the mess when I heard someone say, "ooooo someone threw the crayons down. Who did it? I'm tellin."

"It was Jay. Don't tell, he's picking it up," Kasim said.

"Now I'm really telling cause he never gets in trouble." I spent the next ten minutes being told by the teacher that I couldn't throw things just because I was mad.

I duck back down and place my back against the front driver side tire. Pop Pop Pop. I look to my left and see Kasim to my right. He is by the trunk of the car.

"Shit man, what the fuck happened?" Kasim asks.

I ignore his question and try to catch my breath. Kasim shoots over the trunk of the car at the cars parked across the street. I know that I need to calm down and help him. I hold my breath for five seconds and turn to look over the hood of the car. I finally see who is shooting at us. It looks like three of them. I don't stop to get a closer look; I just start shooting again. 13, 12, 11, 10...

I can remember being 13 and coming home from school. Just down the street from the main entrance there was a bus stop. I would go to the bus stop and lean my back against the wall of the bodega. It was a 15-minute wait for the 81 bus to take me home to the South Ward. I remember watching as the people would come in and out of the bodega.

There was always someone standing outside of the store, smoking a cigarette. The odor of cigarettes would sit in the back of my throat. When one person was done smoking, there would always be someone else walking out of the door of the bodega, opening a brand-new package of Newports.

When the 81 finally pulled up to the bus stop, I would board and look around. I knew everyone on this bus, by face not by name. I thought of them as my silent friends. No one ever spoke to one another, but we all knew each other. I would watch people get on at the same stop every day and get off at the same stop every day, cycling through their outfits over the course of a week.

After about twenty minutes, I would get off at my stop, walk down the street and take in my surroundings. If you've ever watched The Wizard of Oz, you will remember that while Dorothy was in Kansas, the entire world was gray. My city was gray in a different way. Kansas was the gray of tall grass and dust in the air; my city was the gray of sidewalks and cement buildings. Kansas was the gray of wind blowing through the tall grass and cars traveling over gravel roads; my city was the gray of Honda Civics which had long since had their mufflers removed. I always heard the subwoofers from the trunks of people's cars thumping in time with the dying ticks of an engine on its last leg...

I duck back down as I feel the shockwave of a bullet flying over my head. My heart is pounding, and it feels as if my entire body is beating in time with it. Kasim throws his gun onto the ground and reaches underneath his belt producing another one. He immediately goes back to shooting.

"Shit," Kasim yells, as he crashes to the ground gripping his shoulder.

"Shit!" I yell, as I get back up and keep shooting. 10, 9...