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Now You See Me
“Ready? Set. Go!”
The cool breeze conducted a ballet of grass, and the trees danced along. The man and the boy’s race devolved into a chasing game, which devolved into playful wrestling. The man tickled the boy, in a last effort to win, and the boy fell over from laughter.
“Daddy, that’s cheating!”
“Only if you catch me!”
They played this game, and played, and played. By the time they were done, both drained of energy, the sunlight had died down. The boy, with nothing to observe but the sky asked his father where the stars were.
“Son, they’re right there,” the father replied, pointing to his son’s eyes. They were his mother’s, gleaming and twinkling just as they did that October evening in ‘93.
“Do you think they’ll come back?” the boy replied as he laughed.
“I know they will.”
The boy sat for a while, and for that while there was silence.
“Do-do you think mommy will come back?”
“Carter, go inside.”
“Daddy, what’s wrong?”
“Go. Inside.”
The boy stood up, stunned, and walked inside. He should’ve known. How could he have known? He’s a child. The thoughts circled around his head like vultures for food, each one pecking at him harder than its predecessor. He just-. It wasn’t fair. He spent his whole life protecting people, and he couldn’t even save her. He shouldn’t have. He couldn’t have. After all, who could have saved her from herself?
The man followed his son into the house, and was met with what had become a routine feeling. The house had lost its glow since her passing, felt to him more like a prison. The kitchen would be empty unless he was cooking dinner, Spanish rice and chicken - her favorite.
And so it had been like this every night for the past five, and although he and his son would have fun sometimes, oftentimes the man couldn’t help but feel lonely. When he passed by the mirror in front of the stairs he could sometimes see her, brushing her long, golden hair, and he could forget. Forget and pretend as if she was there. As if she was still his wife.
But when he’d close his eyes the happy visions would not follow. He would recall their fights, their hatred. The eyes of dying cat seem overflowing with joy when compared to the eyes of a boy watching his parents’ marriage die. The man noticed every time. He would hope that the boy would leave - that he wouldn’t have to watch his mother and father like this, but the boy never left. So, when the time came for the conversation finally acknowledging the status of the marriage, the boy refused to hear it.
“I know.”
“What do you know Carter?” His mom asked with the sweet smile she always had when addressing her precious son.
“I know everything. Daddy hates mommy and it’s my fault,” the boy replied. His parents were stunned, not at the statement, but that the child cared so much about the arguing as to draw his own conclusions.
“If Mommy didn’t have to take care of me all the time maybe she could spend more time with Daddy.”
“Son, it’s not your fault.” the father would reply, attempting to comfort his son as much as possible from his post behind his wife. “We love you no matter what, and mommy and daddy are just stressed, that’s it.”
In ten years, the child had learned everything he needed to know. Stress wasn’t this. Stress was like when Daddy had a meeting but he also had to pick me up from school so he was scared he would be late to the meeting and fired. A failed marriage is when Mommy tells Daddy to go back to his mistress and Daddy says it wasn’t his fault.
Anytime Carter would find himself scared or lonely he would talk to Lucky, and anytime Carter would find himself scared or lonely Lucky would listen. So, when his mother left, he spent the whole night explaining the past week’s events to Lucky - up until the part where he was looking for the peanut butter and couldn’t find her.
“Then Daddy came to hug me. And I was confused cuz all I wanted was peanut butter,” Carter recounted. “He hugged me like he felt mommy wasn’t coming back. And that’s weird cuz I know she’ll come back. She was obviously at the store getting more peanut butter.” Lucky gave him a comforting smile, and Carter fell asleep without a care in the world, completely missing the large figure standing in the doorway. Carter would always have talks
The man opened his eyes and climbed the stairs. If he would waste time with memories, he decided, he had better do so in bed. This wasn’t the first time he forgot to tuck Carter in, and by now Carter was content with doing it himself.
************
It had now been ten years since her departure, and the man was now almost completely disconnected from his son. Carter was a teenager now, and as such was entitled to his own decisions. He never really saw much of his son nowadays, having consumed himself with work, and the son never complained. The crime rate in the city was shooting up, so he always had an excuse to be gone. Nevertheless, he always wondered if he should spend more time with his son.
The truth was Carter wanted to spend the least time with his father as possible. He made a point to come home when his father would be asleep, often eating dinner at his friends’ houses or at local fast food restaurants. He had stopped going to school and hid report cards and letters from the school intended to inform his father. For whatever reason the school never called. Maybe it was the school system’s way of giving up on Carter too, or maybe they did call but his dad just didn’t care enough. Whatever the reason, it didn’t matter now. Carter had a job. He had friends. He made a life for himself in his own way.
An old black Camaro pulled up in front of the park bench where Carter was sitting.
“Yo, hop in,” a voice from the inside of the car yelled. The doors unlocked. Stepping in, Carter was greeted with the warm scent of marijuana and cheap liquor. He asked for the blunt and received it. Immediately, Carter took a big puff and held it for 40 seconds - not bad, the car driver thought, for a kid. The driver’s name was Boogie, or at least that’s what his friends called him. Recently, Carter had become one of those friends, so rides around town in the middle of the day like this weren’t uncommon.
“You know today I gotta feelin’,” Boogie said. “business gonna boom today.”
“Business is always boomin’,” Carter replied, “cuz I know how to sell.”
Boogie’s laughter caused him to have a small coughing fit.
“Hey you don’t mind I brought a friend with me to help,” Carter mentioned. That was strange, Boogie was certain he had only let one person into the car.
“Yeah sure, can he wrap?” Boogie asked.
“He can sell,” Carter answered with a grin. At Lucky’s behest, the car was set in the direction of the local BurgerTown. This destination wasn’t the center of attraction in town, it wasn’t the home of some special burger guaranteed to change your life, and it certainly wasn’t the best hangout spot the boys could find. It was, however, accessible, and within 5 minutes the boys would have their meal. It also helped that for whatever reason, the police avoided this side of town - as if the rest was any better. Boogie parked, and Lucky darted towards the restaurant, unapologetic to whomever he bumped into.
Lucky could feel every eye on the restaurant fall on him as he entered. His focus was unrelenting however, and he scanned the restaurant until his eyes fell upon the table in the corner. By the time he reached the table, everyone in the restaurant had turned their attention elsewhere. Everyone except one. The tall brunette sitting at the table met Lucky’s eyes for a second longer, only to turn quickly away. Fear was apparent in her trembling voice, from the greeting to the exchange. Half an hour later Lucky left the restaurant, cash in hand. He counted one, two, three thousand, and let out a sigh of relief. Around the corner, he found the car, as well as his friends being approached by three seemingly angry men. He approached quickly, to Carter’s relief.
“Yo, Lucky! Tell this dude I don’t have his money.”
“I know you got it, just hand it over, and nothing happens, you feel?”, immediately responded the angriest of the three men. His hand drew nearer and nearer to his waist, where his pistol was kept, half in his pants.
“Yo Boogie, what’d you d-.” The shot came quickly, but the ringing in all of their ears lasted much longer. The hole in Carter’s chest seemed deep enough to dive in, yet too shallow to help escape from the sea of blood Lucky seemed to now wade in. There wasn’t time to reflect, and before they could fully recall the recent events, the two friends were down the street.
************
“Sixteen-year-old black male. Black eyes and hair. Not carrying any firearms.”
“Copy that. Any suspects?”
“The tape showed four other black males in the immediate area before and after the shooting. Looks like they ran as soon as they heard the shot.”
He cut the phone line and rubbed his temples as if they held the key to releasing all frustration. On days like this he often forgot why he joined the force. No one in his family was an officer, and having grown in a much nicer city many miles southward this wasn’t his only option - in fact policing was his last. He stood up, and headed out, having reached no conclusion.
“Officer Robeson, you’re here,” he heard as soon as he pulled into the burger joint parking lot.
“Right this way,” ushered another officer.
As he was being escorted towards the crime scene, Jackson began to feel uneasy. In fifteen years of service he had learned a lot. One of his most important lessons to date was to follow his gut, and today, his gut told him to leave. Naturally, this wasn’t the first time he felt this way, it came with the job after all. Jackson thought of all the times he had felt this way previously, especially during training, and how he had always been able to bring his courage out above all.
“Yeah… I mean, the scene was pretty brutal,” mentioned the escorting officer, “there doesn’t even seem to have been a struggle.”
The officer turned to check Jackson’s reaction, to find no one beside him. Jackson was standing still, with no emotion, but only a few feet behind. It was clear whatever he had witnessed shook him, but for an officer of his experience and renown, this was unusual. A third officer came around, reading off of a clipboard.
“His name is Carter-.” He was cut off by Jackson.
“Robeson.”
************
The emptiness of the house struck hard whenever he went home. His loneliness some days brought him to tears. Other times Lucky would come around, to listen, just as he had done for Carter. Jackson was sure he was going crazy. He had to be. After all, sane men don’t speak to their dead sons’ imaginary friends.
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