Issue #20 (2011) PDF - myweb - Long Island University

developmentally delayed. The neighborhood kids called her Retardo, and his grandmother called
her a crack baby.
He had been counting down to this day for 365 days, marking off a calendar his mother got
from the dry cleaner that featured Asian women. His mother had yelled at him when he took it out
the trash.
―What you want to look at those Chinese women all year for
―I just want the calendar,‖ he had said, retrieving it from the trash like it was buried treasure.
It was last year, on this date, August 11, when he saw his Uncle Kev and his crew in the
playground. Kev was his dead father‘s youngest brother. He was with a group of guys all wearing
the same uniform—white wife beaters and baggy jeans. From a distance, as they loped across the
playground, pants in various stages of gravity-defying freefall, they looked like a gang of toddlers in
too-big outfits, The pavement seemed to exhale heat, and the wind held its breath, and everything
seemed tense, tight, and about to combust.
Jamel ran over to the gang. Breathing heavily, he fell in step with his uncle‘s clique. He
walked with them a good while before they realized they had a stowaway.
―Yo, little man thinks he down with us,‖ a short, tatted guy said, circling Jamel.
―That there‘s my nephew. Jamel, what you want‖ Kev asked, appearing in a parting of the
guys.
―Nuthin‘. I‘m just hanging with you,‖ he said, trying to strike a determined pose.
―I see that, but where you s‘posed to be‖ Kev asked, anger rising in his voice.
―Come on, Uncle Kev. It‘s my birthday.‖
―Happy Birthday. How old are you‖
―I‘m nine.‖
―Tell you what; come back when you‘re ten.‖ Kev‘s friends fell out laughing.
Jamel felt the anger rise inside his head, and for a moment the world went all red. Then he
felt a pounding in his head, not rhythmic like the neighbor‘s salsa music but a four-one-three-fivetwo
syncopation that made him feel wobbly and confused. It was a minute that seemed longer to
him, but when the air began to fill his concave chest again, and he opened his eyes, his uncle was
standing there holding a twenty-dollar bill.
―You want it or not Go get some candy or something.‖
Jamel grabbed the bill and stuffed it in his pocket. ―Thanks,‖ he said, whirling around and at
the same time running to catch the red light right before it blinked green. Jamel dashed in front of a
car, causing the driver to brake suddenly and swear out the window, but Jamel was already running
toward his friends on the basketball court. He would not tell them about his money; he did not
want to end up buying everyone something, nor did he want them to think that he had it like that.
There would be a fight. Someone‘s feelings were always hurt, and there was always a fight. Jamal
put his hand in this pocket and held the money in his fist.
He felt proud of his uncle and the fact that he had money and friends and respect in the
neighborhood. That was a year ago. Since then Jamel had made a point of running into Kev as much
as possible. Kev would give him a little money or send him to the store and reward him, so it didn‘t
seem like he was begging. He reminded Kev last week that today was his birthday, and Kev
promised to take him shopping today. Now that he was ten, he would have to start taking life more
seriously. He had to make sure his mother and Dawn were taken care of. He needed to talk to Kev
about a job after school or something like that. He heard the knocking at the door when he slipped
his polo shirt over his head. As his head emerged from the dark softness of the well-worn cotton,
he heard his Uncle Kev‘s voice. He ran out into the living room and forgot himself when he
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