Solid ||Bryson Tiller||

Eleven

Bryson's POV

That same day I left Franko's Barber shop, I ran my hand over my cut, feeling my waves. Stepping onto the dark streets, the smell of earthworms hit me. My growling stomach couldn't wait til I got home. A black Lambo came around the corner, a little too slow. Without thinking, I hit the pavement. Shots cut through the air above me. My body went into overdrive. Rolling twice, I dove behind a mess of trash cans, covering my head as bullets ricocheted off metal. My shoulder and hip burned. I knew I was hit. I looked right and right for an escape. The door of a Chinese Laundromat was a few feet away. I made a run for it. In two seconds, I was crashing inside. Everybody started screaming as bullets shattered the front windows. I heard the screech of tires, and the gunfire stopped. I was on my knees, blood all over the white tile floor. I looked up to make sure they were gone. Then I passed out. I didn't stay unconscious for long. I guess God wanted me to remember this day. When I opened my eyes, two EMT's were over me. I groaned as they put pressure on my right shoulder and hip. Every breath meant more pain. Gritting my teeth, I focused on a piece of glass on the floor. You gotta survive, I told myself. Be strong. Be strong. A needle went into my arm, and in a few seconds, blackness. For a long time I was in the dark. I knew stuff was going on around me, but I couldn't wake up. I was too busy wrestling the pain. I saw the lights of the operating room above me, and later, voices, some I knew, and some I didn't. I woke up in a hospital room. A fat black nurse was doing something to my arm. I moaned.

She looked at me. "Are you waking up, dear?"

"I...ow!"

"Sorry, honey. Your bandages have to be changed." I felt a pull, and turned my head to see what she was doing. When I saw the gooey, bloodstained bandage, I looked away.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Shouldn't you know that if you're messing with me?"

"I know your name. I want to make sure you know it."

"It's Bryson Tiller. I didn't get shot in the head or nothing."

"You better thank the good Lord for that! And thank Him the bullet in your hip wasn't an inch to the left."

I went silent, taking this in. I was still dealing with this life-and-death shit. I didn't need it thrown in my face.

"You scare all the patients like this?"

"Just the ones I think should be scared. The ones I think are involved in gangs or drugs."

"You say that to every black man?"

"Only the ones people aint calling innocent bystanders." She eyes me. "You might as well know you will be visited by the cops."

"Jesus."

She cleared her throat loud. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't take the Lord's name in vain."

"Sorry."

She pulled back the sheet to look at my hip, bunching it in front of me so I couldn't see what's going on. I gasped. My wound stung like hell as she changed the bandage. The pain sobered me up. I could so easily be in a body bag right now. My enemy took the step I did not want to take, and that's how he almost won. Almost. The fist on my good arm tightened. This wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

"There, it's done and everything's looking good." The nurse put the sheet back in place. "I have to call those officers and tell them you're awake. They'll be coming to ask you some questions."