Nightcrawling(8)

My fist hits his stomach lightly, but all I feel is the tight push of his muscles. Marcus always flexing. “Hey, we gotta talk.” I try to whisper so the boys won’t have to hear, even though Cole can hear it all through his headphones anyway.

“Let’s talk.” Marcus’s face tells me all I need to know. It’s shut, every cavity of feeling closed down.

“Look, Mars, we don’t got enough money for no rent increase. You over here without a job and I can’t handle it no more, so—”

Like most days, the moment I try to speak, Marcus inserts himself. His voice fills up the whole room and it’s like he’s gone to war with the air, leaving me with nothing. Marcus pretending I am not standing here, that the paper I left him this morning ain’t nothing but a lost cat flyer.

“Aight, Ki, don’t be going on this I don’t got a job bullshit. I got a job, so how ’bout you go on home and let me finish my track. Shit.”

He doesn’t even take a beat before he’s rambling about his new verses, talking about how he’s gonna make it big.

It didn’t used to be like this.

About six months ago, Marcus was at a bar when he heard our uncle Ty’s voice come on, rapping the same way he always has. Marcus looked him up and found out he had an album coming out, that he was signed with Dr. Dre’s label and making bank in L.A. It unleashed something in Marcus and the next day he quit his job at Panda Express and started hanging with Cole every day, hell-bent on becoming Uncle Ty. I tried to give him his space, let him feel his rage, but it’s been too long now and whether he likes it or not, he needs to start acting like a grown man again.

I look up at him, trying to search for a little bit of me in his face and finding nothing but a fingerprint beneath his ear.

He sighs. “It’s fine, Ki.”

“We don’t got enough money to make rent every month as is. In two weeks when we out on our asses, pretty sure it ain’t gonna be just fine.” I slip my hands back into my pockets so he doesn’t see the mess I’ve made of them, picking at them while his words stampede. “I’m out looking for jobs before you wake up every morning and all you ever do is hang out with Cole and Tony and pretend like it’s getting you somewhere. You ain’t even acting like my brother no more.”

“Oh, we back on this shit.” His eyes glaze over, stuck in the same place on the wall.

“Marcus, please.” I don’t want to beg him, not while Tony and Cole are on the other side of the glass, snickering and sipping on their beers.

For the first time today, Marcus looks right at me, stares, and finally his eyes are familiar. This time when he speaks, his voice shakes.

“You know when we were younger and Uncle Ty took us to that skate park and we’d go down and run at the wall, tryna climb back out? And you were smaller so you kept on tryin’ but you couldn’t reach the rim of the slope and you kept sliding back down and then you’d sit in the middle, all these skaters whipping in and out, flying around you, and you’d cry.”

He doesn’t say it like a question, but I know it is one. He’s asking if I remember the burn on my palms or the fear throbbing behind my forehead.

“I remember.”

Marcus hesitates, licking his lips, and continues. “I didn’t help you get up and it ain’t because I didn’t care or I wanted to win, nah, it wasn’t like that. I was just waiting for Uncle Ty to show me some tricks and if I helped you, waited for you, I woulda missed my shot. You get that, right?”

The air between us is thick. He is asking for my permission.

“I guess.”

My mouth is dry, searching in the drought between us for something solid and full, before I look up at him and breathe in his crumpling face.

“It’s okay, Mars.” There’s something about the way his eyes cave inward that makes me want to erase all of it, simply let it go. “I want you to shoot your shot or whatever. It’s just…” I glance toward the other side of the glass where Tony is staring straight at us. “Never mind,” I say. “Really.” I look away from Marcus.

He waves the tension out of the recording booth. “Now can I get a beer or you gonna stand here sulkin’n shit?” His body straightens, the hurt disappearing and leaving only a tilted smirk. I nod, following him out of the booth to join the circle around the soundboard, where Marcus opens a can and chugs. I sit in between Marcus and Tony, across from Cole, trying to figure out if Cole’s got a problem with his ears or something, why he don’t respond to Shauna’s bellows.

Cole is lengthy, his entire body appearing like it could stretch all the way to the ceiling if you pulled hard enough. His cheeks dip into his face and I know he’s sucking them in, making them touch his grill. Cole is cocky in that way that might just be endearing because, in our crew, he has made it, can support his baby mama and afford a car, even if he’s still living in his mama’s house. He says it’s by choice and the way his mama hugs him makes me believe it.

I catch Marcus staring at me, watching me sip the beer Tony gave me, and making sure I don’t grab another can. He doesn’t like when I drink. The minute I lock eyes with him, he looks away.

Marcus returns to the recording booth after he finishes his beer and we all watch his head nod, saliva flying out his lips, chest a bulk of muscle he worked harder for than anything else he’s got. I’m alone with the boys and Tony’s left arm hangs at his side. He reaches up to lift it around me a couple times and then retreats before patting my leg twice. His hand is heavy. When Tony speaks, his voice comes out with a hint of a growl, like a lion’s been hiding deep inside his throat, attempting to claw its way out.