Page 117 of Wings of Ebony
Chatter quiets.
People are staring.
She goes on. “I’m always sitting on the sidelines watching you protect me. You looked out for me my whole life. Then Moms died and I didn’t see you again for a minute. I ain’t knowwhatto do. I was so scared. I’m staying, Rue. The Rowmyhome too.”
Am I this stubborn?
“T, this ain’t a game. You could get…” I can’t even say the word.
“Look around, sis. Everybody here is ready to do what we gotta do. What you always say?Weprotect us because—”
“—nobody else going to.”
“Exactly. I’m part of that we.”
She doesn’t know what she’s asking. She asking a lot. All this started to protect her, keep her safe. Now I’m supposed to let her walk into the line of fire?
“Please,” she says.
Ms. Leola’s white hair cap moves through my silent audience. “Alright, baby you ready?” she asks Tasha. Then glances at literallyeveryonestaring at me, confusion written on her face. “Was it the gumbo?”
“No,” I say. “I—the food is fine.”
Tasha narrows her eyes.
I guess I have to let her be who she wants to be.
“Tasha’s staying here.” I regret the words as soon as I say them. Ms. Leola doesn’t like it either, by the expression on her face, but she kisses us both on the cheek. Her bony hand wraps around my wrist with an iron grip. “You keep yo’self and that baby alive, you hear?”
“Yes ma’am.”
Ms. Leola shuffles out the door and silence falls on the place. Ole Jesse’s arms are overflowing with cans, but his eyes are fixed on me. Julius is posted up on a wall, arms folded across his chest. He’s not talking to anyone or looking at anything in particular. His jaw is tight, mean. He’s worried. Something twinges in my chest.
He really does cut for me.
Bo’s eyes are wide open, and the sound of a gun clicking into place sends a chill up my arm. Spoons chime and bowls set on tables, a sea of eyes staring back at me.
Everyone’s watching, waiting for me to speak.
I tap my pocket of recorders. It’s time.
“Thank you all for coming.” I shuffle on my feet. Public speaking isn’t really my thing. “I-I know there’s some folks that don’t know everything that’s been going on, and I swear I’ll explain more when I can.” I tug my sleeves down. “But most of y’all have seen what the Litto gang did tonight and has been doing around here.”
A few disgruntled voices chime in and I raise my voice above them. “Litto is—”
“A racist,” someone says.
“Littering our streets,” someone shouts.
“Killing our kids,” says someone else.
“Yes, all that,” I cut in. “He runs most of his drugs throughJameson High, using students. It’s disgusting. And his men trashed half of East Row tonight. He’s done so much foul stuff on our block and I’m done just taking it. The police ain’t taking him down. It’s like no one cares whenourpeople dropping dead or getting locked up left and right.” A few “wells” and “amens” rise from the crowd. “I’m gonna draw him out, back here, and—”
A gun cocks. “And I’ll handle his ass.”
“Wait, listen. If we just knock him off and he disappears, one of his minions could take his place. Us taking down some dude on our own, cops would blame us. I say we go about this smart—with evidence. We know what he’s up to; all we have to do is prove it.
“We are the eyes and ears of East Row. All of us. Weseewhat he’s doing to East Row, our high schools, our streets. The twisted-ass cops he has rolling through here. Reporters don’t come here. Maybe the world don’t wanna see. But we can make them—with proof.
