Page 109 of Falling Into Gravity

Quesha kissed her teeth and walked out toward the porch. She ain’t slam the screen door, but the air changed when she left.

Pharoah took a pull and exhaled slow. “You…look like shit,” he muttered, voice slurred but clear enough for Malik to catch.

Malik let out a breathy laugh. “You always know how to ease a nigga into comfort.”

“Gotta keep you humble,” Pharoah said, eyes flickering with amusement. “Be…sides… I ain’t seen a… nigga look that beat up since I tried to fight James over a phone charger in ninth grade.”

Malik smirked. “That nigga bit you, bro.”

“Still got the scar,” Pharoah nodded like it was war-earned. “Ain’t no love in Crescent over electronics.”

They both chuckled lightly, but it died quick.

“Still got that Crescent air ‘round you,” Pharoah said, serious now. “Still think you gotta fight to keep breathin’.”

Malik leaned his head back against the cushion. “Ain’t that the only way?”

“No.” Pharoah shook his head gently. “It’s the only…way if you wanna die fast.”

Outside, the wind rustled the plastic covering Granny had wrapped around her porch plants. One of them knocked against the screen like even the vines were tired of watching them self-destruct.

Malik rubbed his hands together like he could warm his spirit through friction. “I ain’t mean for it to happen like this,” he said, voice low. “I wasn’t even there ten minutes before they jumpedme. It wasn’t even for me…it was history. Shit from years ago that they never let go.”

Pharoah’s head tilted. “You tired, huh?”

“Hell yea.”

“You ready to do shit different?” Pharoah puffed his vape again. He preferred holistic pain meds over the ones the doctors prescribed him.

Malik didn’t answer. Just let the question sit in the air.

Pharoah shifted, turning in his chair just enough to square up with him. That look in his eye was solid—like he was holding something heavy, but sacred.

“Look at me, Malik,” he said. “I can’t walk…can’t run…can’t slide for nobody no more. My days of spinnin’ the block been over since I took them bullets tryna protect what ain’t even mine no more.”

Malik’s throat tightened, eyes glossing over.

He thought about that night, more than he admitted. The sounds…the screams…the silence afterward…the blood. How it should’ve been him. How it felt like he stole a life he hadn’t even earned.

“But you?” Pharoah went on. “You got all your limbs. You got a brain that makes the hood feel like Wakanda when you talk about it right. You got a woman who’d go to war behind your name, and a city still tryna figure out how you didn’t die last week.”

He took another pull from his vape, exhaled slow. “So be my legs.”

Malik blinked, his tears falling down his face.

Pharoah nodded again, firmer. “Live for me. Get the love. Get the money. Be a fuckin’ king.” He stopped to catch his breath, eyes still locked on Malik. “Don’t let what happened to us be the blueprint. We ain’t meant to die martyrs—we meant to live like legends.”

That silence between them wasn’t awkward and sad.

It was sacred.

A brotherhood.

It was love.

Malik wiped his eyes fast like he could pretend it was nothing. “You always gotta get spiritual on a nigga,” he mumbled.

“I’m spiritual now, huh?” Pharoah smirked. “Nigga, I been spiritual since they took the use of my legs. I meditate every time I gotta pee.”

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