In My Mind

Bluebird

The greater the power,
the more dangerous the abuse
- Edmund Burke

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The lounge is peppered with generations of blackness. A couple of teenagers who appear to be all on their own sit together, drawn to each other by no other factor other than age and circumstance. They look up as you pass.
Around them, a group of women with children talk while HGTV plays and four men play cards.

"Nia. Down here," Erik calls and following his voice, you go down a short set of steps into an open court. At one end, teen boys are hoopin, but on the other end you notice a chair is set up and a man is giving haircuts right on the floor. He's taking off a man's white afro, shaving it down while five men stand in a broken line.. talking and waiting. "They all got interviews," Erik points proudly, following your gaze. "They each took classes here in Zone 3, that's where our classrooms are, I'll show you that next, but this right here is a big deal."

"Hell yeah it's a big deal, I want some of this," you point to the barber's clippers.
Erik snaps to it, literally snapping his fingers to have a chair brought over and when you gesture to the barber, he happily shares a pair of his clippers with you. Without an extra cape, one of the men calls on the teenage boys who fork over a towel that you use to drape around your first client. It's ghetto, but you weren't prepared with a kit and he's fine with it. He says he trusts you, whatever you do just make him interview-ready and you do just that, not noticing that Erik has left until you look up halfway through client number two. Erik is gone, somewhere, but it's cool because you're in your element and these men are more grateful than most clients you work on regularly. They act like you just gave them money in their pocket, which you can see if they actually get the jobs.. You just keep cutting hair until the line is done and high five your partner. By the time you finish cleaning up, disinfecting, and trade info with the other barber, Erik is back and gesturing for you to follow him out again.

"Wow," you grin. "Did you see the magic. The MIRACLE I worked on that hairline," you clutch the air proudly knowing he could see it. "This is why I do what I do. You see his face? PRICELESS! I hope I get a-" His finger raises cutting you off and his phone goes to his ear quickly.

"-update," you mumble, offended until you see his face darken all lightness gone. You strain to hear the voice on the line, leaning in.. wrapping your arm around his bicep to put your ear close to the phone. All you catch is Bluebird.

"Bluebird," you repeat, echoing the word from earlier when you'd first arrived. He keeps the phone to his ear, watching the far point of the hall and a teenage boy in a red shirt appears at the end, sprinting in your direction. Skrr, he collides into Erik's chest and almost slips in a panic, breathing hard, but Erik steadies him. There are scratches on his arms and a little dirt on his cheek, you notice, reaching out quickly like a mother. Poor thing, he's frantic.

Erik grips him up by the upper arms and squeezes his shoulders looking him square in the eye. "Aye. You're okay.. You're okay!"

Panting, the kid can barely answer. Erik pins him under his arm and walks him to the lounge sighing loudly on his way back. He looks like he's a million miles away, his feet moving on their own.

"Sick of this shit," he mutters along with some things too low to hear. "This building process ain't moving fast enough! We need more funds, more materials. We need weapons! Combat training modules! Drills!" His eyes have gone crazy. You walk fast to keep up beside him.

"Erik."

"I need more money.."

"ERIK!"

"WHAT."