D'Anthony Carlos has skated through life always being protected. When you're related to the biggest drug cartel in the DMV you gotta be protected. When all of your uncles are the most feared and respected you automatically garner the same attention...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
...But he wasn't okay.
Markel wasn't okay. He was dead. At 19 years old he was fucking dead. My best friend was gone. Once again he became another name on the news. Something people would hashtag for maybe another week wanting justice then nobody would care again.
It had been a couple of days and I still couldn't understand why. Why him and why now? All that potential shot down, literally. I haven't left my apartment to go anywhere since the morning he was pronounced dead at the hospital. Not even class or work. I haven't really talked to anyone either except D'Anthony. My phone had been blowing up from phone calls, text messages, and notifications from people that know me or go to Howard. They were mainly sending condolences.
Sorries wouldn't bring him back...
My apartment was completely dark; no lights and my blinds were tight shut. The only light was my tv that I had on mute as episodes of Queen Sugar played on marathon mode from Hulu. It was on, but I wasn't actually watching it. It was more so watching me as I stared while in deep thought. When I hear the noise of the door to my apartment being opened, I quickly look to see D'Anthony walking in using the key I gave him. I watch as he walks in holding a bunch of shopping bags. "Damn, it's dark in here," he comments seemingly more to himself as he flicks on the light switch making the kitchen and living room illuminate in brightness. I blink trying to adjust to the intensity of the track lighting from the ceiling as I see him travel to the kitchen dropping the bags on my kitchen table. "Hey, babe," he says opening my refrigerator. From his clothes I could tell he had just got off from work.
It almost felt like I was the only one who hasn't returned back to normal life. The Monday after the incident Howard students weren't really expected to go to class. Instead the school was reminding students they had counselors on campus and advised people to speak with them. The whole campus was in mourning. Along with that was a candlelight vigil that Monday night, but I didn't go. It was too soon for me.
