At the Crossroads (2 page)

“Well, well, well. Look who has risen from the dead,” Rico Bourgeois, Franky’s cousin, said in a heavy New Orleans drawl. Rico was short and somewhat chubby. He wore his long hair in cornrows. His teeth were covered in gold, and tattoos were everywhere on his body, but he was wasting his money because his dark skin made it difficult to make out anything. “Man, you gonna have to do something about all that sleep. You go to bed early and wake up late. Is ya pregnant, whoadie?”

“You ever see a male get pregnant? I’m hungry. When are we gonna get some food?” Franky asked.

“Food? Is that all you think about? Eating and sleeping,” Rico said. “That’s all you do. You don’t even go outside and shoot hoops. Stay round here eating and sleeping.”

“Yep, he’s pregnant,” Nigel, Rico’s older brother, said as he pressed the Pause button on the video game to laugh at his own joke. Nigel was the opposite of Rico. No tattoos, clean white teeth, and a low, Caesar-type haircut. Yet there was no mistaking that they were brothers. They shared the same dark brown complexion, big full lips, and fat faces. Nigel had a long scar down the left side of his face—a gift from a fight in the rough-and-tumble Calliope Projects. The scar gave him a menacing look, but he was as nice as anyone could ever be. And he was the sole reason they were alive.

“Where you gonna get some money from to give Jason’s lil bad butt?” Rico asked.

“I don’t know,” Franky said. “He ain’t gonna earn it anyway, so it doesn’t matter.”

“Check this out,” Rico said, standing up and walking in front of the small television set. “Now that we are all together, I need to share my plan witcha. We gonna makesome big dough, whoadie. I’ve been chewing on this one for a minute now. Kept it to myself so I didn’t jinx it, ya heard, but it’s time to let the cat outta the bag.”

“Here we go,” Nigel said, already shaking his head while frantically working the video game’s controller and trying to see around his little brother. Over the years, Rico had come up with some of the worst ideas known to man about how to make some money. He was a prime candidate for the show
The World’s Dumbest Criminals.
He had been arrested so many times that he had lost count. One time he robbed a Payless ShoeSource right after they first opened for business. He was arrested with a grand total of nine dollars and sixty-three cents in his pockets.

“We gonna start selling clothes. Right here in the house,” Rico said. “We can have our own lil ghetto Macy’s up in here, ya heard.”

Nigel pressed the Pause button again and gave his little brother a how-could-you-be-so-stupid look, then went back to playing his video game.

Franky sat down beside Nigel on the beat-up sofa and grabbed the other game’s controller. He reached down and reset the game without even asking.

“Thanks a lot, rude boy,” Nigel said, pushing Franky’s head. “I guess you in a mighty big hurry to get yo butt whipped. You couldn’t let me finish my game, whoadie?”

“Whatever. What’s the record?” Franky asked.

“Fifty-nine to twenty-nine, player. My way,” Nigel said, bragging about the record they had been keeping of wins and losses for the last month. “Twelve more games and I’m the king.”

“You’re already the winner. Even if I win the next twelve, I can’t catch up.”

“Huh?” Nigel asked, confused. He wasn’t the smartest guy in the world, but he was as good as gold when it came to his word.

“Nothing,” Franky said, frustrated with explaining the smallest of things to his cousins. It was as if they hadn’t even gone to elementary school to learn the basics.

“So if you can’t catch up, why we playing?” Nigel asked.

“Because there ain’t nothing else to do. And I’m hungry, so this can keep my mind off of eating,” Franky said. “When we gonna get some food?”

“Okay,” Rico said. “So y’all just gonna blow me off like my idea ain’t nuttin', huh? I’m telling y’all this can work. Black folks will always try to look good, whoadie. Even if we ain’t got no money for food, we dress good. Look at us. We broke as a joke, but all of us be fresh to death. If we do this, then we ain’t gone have no more empty refrigerators, no more raggedy TVs, no more hot nights, ‘cause I’m buying an air conditioner on the first piece of profit. No more stealing that hard toilet paper from the gas station down the street and having Habib cuss me out. I’m telling y’all it’s gonna be all nice up in here.”

“Where we gonna get the clothes from, Rico?” Nigel asked.

“Steal ‘em. How else you think we gonna get ‘em?” Rico snapped, shaking his head as if his older brother were the dumbest guy in the world.

“Steal ‘em from where?” Nigel asked.

“Man, I swear you were born with three and a half brain cells. From the stores where they sell ‘em, Einstein.”

Nigel shook his head and kept playing.

“You didn’t even think I knew who Einstein is, did ya, Franky?”

“Who is he?” Franky asked, already knowing that Rico didn’t have a clue.

“Some rich white man, that’s who. Don’t get ya head kicked in. Anyway, where you think we gonna steal ‘em from, Nigel?”

“I have no idea,” Nigel said.

“You think I’ma break into the factory where they stitch them up?” Rico said. “We going right up in the store and do a smash-and-grab.”

“Ever hear of cameras, idiot? We’ll be locked up before we make it back to the hood. Think of something else with your eleven brain cells. And hurry up, ‘cause ain’t no food up in here. I got ‘bout seventy dollars, and the rent is due. And I gotta pay this rent in five days or we gonna be homeless.”

“Call Domino’s,” Rico said, plopping down in a chair that had seen better days.

“No,” Nigel said. “We already had Domino’s four times this week. We need to eat something with some vegetables in it.”

“Pizza got vegetables on it. Ain’t cheese a vegetable?” Rico asked with a frown.

“Cheese? Since when did cheese become a vegetable, braincase?” Nigel asked. “I could see if you said the tomato sauce, but cheese? I want you to stop smoking whatever it is that you’ve been smoking today. Make this your last day, ‘cause you’re already dumb enough.”

“Neither one of them are a vegetable. Technically tomatoes are a fruit, and cheese is not even in the equation,” Franky said as he pushed the buttons on the controller to make the little football players move here and there on the small television screen.

“Leave it up to Einstein to get all deep,” Rico said, fanning his hand to brush away the smell of him passing gas. He wasn’t the least bit embarrassed by his flatulence or his ignorance.

“Man,” Franky said, “you stink. You smell like something crawled in you and died.”

Rico laughed and kept talking. “I don’t care about none of that fruit or vegetable crap. I’m ordering a pizza, and we can rob the pizza guy like we always do.”

“No, you ain’t,” Nigel said. “You always go overboard, Rico. You need to learn to leave well enough alone, boy. You keep on pushing it and you gonna get yourself ten years in prison over some pizza.”

“Well, what we gonna eat?” Rico said.

“I’ll run to the grocery store in a minute,” Nigel said as he made a few moves in the game. “Right after I whip up on this chump.”

Franky tossed the controller on the raggedy sofa after another loss.

Nigel reached over and rubbed his little cousin on his head. “There is always next time, lil whoadie,” he said, smiling and throwing his hands up in victory.

Franky leaned back on the sofa. He took a deep breath and blew out about a week’s worth of frustration. He took another breath and screamed at the top of his lungs.

“Man,” Rico said, looking at his cousin as if he might’ve finally cracked. “You need to use your inside voice, whoadie.”

Nigel stared at his little cousin. He knew Franky was like a fish out of water with this ghetto living. Hurricane Katrina had done a number on all of them, but he knew that Franky was affected the most. Because before the waters came and changed all of their lives, he was a rich kid living the good life out in Jefferson Parish with his parents.

“Okay. It’s time to eat,” Nigel said. “Franky, walk with me to the store.”

“Yeah,” Rico said. “You need to let off a little steam. Outside.”

F
ranky and Nigel walked down the sidewalk in their Southwest Atlanta neighborhood and took in the scenery. So many people were outside that it seemed like a street party was going on. Guys were on the corners with their shirts off, talking loudly about whatever was going on in their worlds. Kids were playing on the sidewalks, and girls were walking around in groups, enjoying their days. The old people were out on their porches, shaking their heads at some of the things they heard coming out of the mouths of the kids they had watched grow from babies. Franky spoke to the midget, Shorty, who was always standing out in front of Willy’s, a liquor store, begging for change.

“Times hard on the boulevard, young buck,” Shorty said. “Let me hold a lil something to take the edge off.”

“Can’t help you today, Shorty,” Nigel said as they continued on their way.

“Well, God bless you anyway,” Shorty said, then turned to the next person he saw.

They passed two check-cashing joints, which stood in the place of banks; a Laundromat that was always packed; and a few more liquor stores. Kenny’s Hot Wings stand had a long line, which meant Kenny was running a sale in order to get rid of the chicken wings before they spoiled.

Franky and his cousins lived in the heart of the inner city, complete with the drug addicts, young street dealers, and all other less-fortunate folks. Every day was a struggle for the majority of the residents, and it took Franky a while to get adjusted. He learned not only to accept this as his new reality, but also figured out a way to make it work for him. Ghetto folks were some of the most resilient people he had ever seen in his young life. They made a way out of no way and always kept things interesting. Like right now. He looked to his left and saw a boy riding a bicycle full speed with a lawn mower strapped to the back. Franky tapped Nigel and showed him the guy. They both shook their heads.

Nigel was Franky’s biggest blessing, and no matter what, he would always be thankful to him for saving his life. When the storms came, he swam through lots of water to help folks. And once the water gave way enough for them to drive through the streets, he loaded up Franky and Rico and came to Atlanta. It was Nigel who was responsible for them having the house where they could rest their heads, and it was Nigel who put food in their bellies. When they arrived from New Orleans three years ago, they didn’t know a soul in Atlanta. They slept in their car for almost two weeks. It was Nigel who carried the load for them when then-twelve-year-old Franky and fourteen-year-old Rico could only stand by helpless. Nigel had been only sixteen years old at the time, yet he found a way for them all. He contacted a pastor at a local church who rented them a home. He lied about his age, got a fake identification card, and found a job working at a warehouse. The company stored high-end electronics for stores like Best Buy, Circuit City, and others. Everything was fine until Nigel decided to start stealing the televisions, DVD players, and whatever else he could get his hands on. After his supervisor found out about his shady side deals, Nigel was promptly fired. He was lucky the supervisor was from New Orleans and sympathized with his plight, or he would’ve surely done some serious jail time. Once Nigel was out of a legitimate income, he took to the streets. He had to take care of his young brother and little cousin, so he resorted to selling small amounts of marijuana and running other little hustles to keep the lights on and food on the table. After an arrest for possession, he quit selling altogether and started washing cars and doing other little odd jobs to make ends meet.

“So what’s on your mind, lil cousin?” Nigel asked once they were halfway down the street. “Seems like you need to talk.”

“Hey!” Franky yelled at Jason, who was out riding his bike in the middle of the street. “Bring your lil butt over here.”

“Who you yelling at?” Jason said as he rolled up on a bike that was way too big for him.

“If you run in that street again without looking, I’ma try my best to break my foot off in your lil narrow tail, ya heard,” Franky said.

“Okay,” Jason said as stood up on the pedals and rode off. “But how you gonna catch me, dummy?”

“Yeah, okay. Keep on. Don’t let it happen again, Jason,” Franky said.

“That lil boy is off the chain. I guess he’s the lil brother you never had, huh? With his lil bad butt. Hate to say it but that boy will probably end up in jail or worse. He’s already been caught stealing like five times. The only reason he ain’t in jail right now is because of his age and because Habib has a big heart and won’t press charges on him,” Nigel said.

“He’s not bad,” Franky said. “Just misunderstood. And his grandmother is too old to put the fear in him.”

“And from what I see, you ain’t putting no fear in him either,” Nigel said. “But keep at it. He might wise up.”

“Yeah. I guess I need to step my game up,” Franky said, making a mental note to lay some hands on Jason for his smart mouth the next time he was close to him.

“You’re like the teenage Martin Luther King. You’re a dreamer, Franky. And on these streets, daydreaming can get you messed up. I’ve seen lil boys younger than Jason straight pop caps in fools.”

Franky shook his head at the truthfulness and tragedy of his cousin’s words. He walked with his eyes straight ahead, his hands in his pockets, and his heart dragging the ground. He was always on an emotional roller coaster. One minute he could be laughing and joking and then the next be wanting to cry.

“I’m tired, man,” Franky said. “I can’t get it out of my head that things won’t ever go back to the way they were. I miss my dad, man. Just as I was getting over my mom, my dad had to die. This just isn’t fair, man. How did I get here? How did we get here?”

“Life put us here, cousin. I know how you feel. I miss my dad, too,” Nigel said, showing a rare sign of vulnerability. “But what can I do about it? Nothing. So we gotta keep grinding and make our own way in this world, ya heard.”