spoken word. (gxg)

twelve.

twelve.

When I opened the door to my apartment, I expected the hollow emptiness that always greeted me. Instead, my roommate was there, half-naked. He looked shocked as he pulled on a shirt.

"Yo, where did you go?" He asked, frowning at me. "I came back and you weren't here, I was a little worried."

Jack, the roommate who spent every night partying until 1 am, worried? I was shocked and slightly flattered.

"I was with a friend," I explained, wincing at the word.

"Nice," he nodded stoically, "relaxing is good. You gotta take the dubs."

"Dub?" I asked, baffled. He looked appalled.

"Where are you from? Dubs, double-yews, you know, the letter. It means, like, wins," he explained, like I was slow.

"I've never heard it," I said offhandedly, crawling onto my bed to procrastinate until, oh no, it was too late to do homework and I needed to sleep.

"Man," Jack grumbled, "never heard of it..."

"Well," I said, "I don't really understand half the things that come out of your mouth, so it shouldn't shock you." The way he stood there, mouth open, arms sagging by his sides, was funny. I couldn't help but laugh. He shook his head, clicking his tongue.

"Man," he said, "you can't do me like that, dawg! Maan..."

He looked professional, light blue dress shirt complimenting the dark of his skin. When I first met him, technically over text, he told me that he moved here from the Congo when he was 12. It was nice to live with someone who was brown as well.

"You look nice," I offered. He glanced at me.

"I've got a deal going on, you know? On Fridays and Saturdays I dress nice." I had no idea what he was talking about, but I smiled anyway.

"Well, if I had as many great clothes as you I would dress nicely too," I relented, remembering the bag of clothes sitting next to me. Jack waved from the doorway.

"You can always borrow mine," he said, which surprised me.

"Thanks," I said as he left.

It was peculiar how many good and bad things seemed to occur all at once. I listed the cons first. Getting kicked out of the house when I was barely a freshman, enduring all the abuse and neglect up until that point, couch surfing until I found a place with Jack for cheap, getting assaulted, the stress of senior year and college with no parents to help guide me...

But the list of good was longer. The help and support of Mrs. Lee, being independent, attaining good grades from my own effort, finding a place to live--

It was embarrassing, but the thing at the top of my list was meeting June Willow. The hours spent with her, just reading, were hours I never wanted to give up. She was sweet, genuine. If I hadn't seen it so intimately, it would be hard to believe she fought so much. I shivered-- her skills were impressive, for sure. Where did she learn to fight like that? It obviously wasn't due to any sort of family pressure-- from what I could see, June got along famously with her family.

The more I thought about it, the more peculiar it was. Her mother's apathy to June's obvious wounds, her lack of concern to see June bring a passed-out girl into their home. Her brother's bulging muscles and father's business trips. My imagination ran wild. Were they a part of organized crime? Maybe that's why they were so rich. I pictured Tyler in his pink apron. Nope, that definitely didn't scream 'mafia.'

So what was it?

I buried my head in my hands. No matter how much speculating I did, there was no way I would arrive at the answer alone. The only way I could ever know would be to hear it from June Willow herself. But I couldn't just go up to her and ask, 'hey, why do you fight?' could I? Well, I could...