Page 8 of The Spirit Of My Savage
“He was with his friends last night, Sky,” she snapped. “He asked about you as soon as he got up this morning. Said to tell your crazy tail don’t flake.”
I cracked a soft smile. “I’m on my way.”
???
My mother’s house was a few blocks from the cemetery, tucked between two ranch-style homes with giant-ass skeletons holding fake tombstones. A “Boo Crew Lives Here” sign was stuck in the grass, and a plastic bat dangled off the porch like it was drunk. The whole block was Halloween’d out with spiderwebs, fog machines, orange porch lights.
As I walked up the steps, a light breeze pushed a pumpkin wind chime against the siding. I swear it almost sounded like King’s ringtone from back in the day. I stopped for a second, shook the feeling off, and knocked on the door.
My mama opened it with rollers still in her hair and a kitchen rag in her hand. “There she go,” she said with a smirk. “Took you long enough.”
“Blame the traffic.”
Inside, the house smelled like Pine-Sol, baked mac, and hot comb grease. Same as always. Savior came from the back wearing army fatigue joggers, a white tee, and socks. He’d grown out his beard and had muscle now. A little weight in his face, too. I was the oldest by four years but here he was, looking so damn grown.
“Look who finally showed up,” he said, pulling me into a hug.
“Boy, you grown as hell now.”
“So I’ve heard.” He stepped back, looking at me. “You look good. I mean, you look tired as hell too, but you still you.”
I smiled, but it didn’t reach all the way.
We all sat in the living room, eating and catching up for a while. He told me about his base, his schedule, and how he’d only be home for a few weeks before being shipped out again. When Mama went to check on her apple pie and Savior got up to take a FaceTime call, I slipped away from the noise and wandered toward the back porch.
The autumn air was sharp but not cold, just enough to make you pull your sweater tighter without complaining. Leaves rustled across the deck like they didn’t want to settle, like they were searching for something. I stood against the railing with my arms folded, trying to quiet my thoughts, but my mind wouldn’t stop spinning.
“King, you tryna tell me something?” I whispered to the wind, like he was close enough to hear.
The porch light above me flickered. Once. Then again. I turned toward it slowly, my stomach tightening. That wasn’t aloose bulb. That was him. I could feel it. I looked down, and that’s when I saw it.
A blunt just sitting in the ashtray like it’d just been rolled and set there waiting. My breath caught. Nobody in this house smoked after my father passed when I was in high school. Not inside. Not outside. I sat down before my knees buckled, heart thudding hard in my chest, fighting to hold it together.
“What you want? Huh?” I asked again, voice cracking under the weight of everything I’d been holding in.
“You good?”
I turned quickly at the sound of my brother’s voice. Savior stood in the doorway, phone in hand, eyebrows drawn low like he already knew I wasn’t. He stepped out and let the screen door close behind him softly.
I wiped at my eyes before a tear could fall. “Yeah. I’m straight.”
“You sure?” He didn’t sit yet, just stood there looking at me with that big brother concern I used to pretend I hated. “You seem off.”
I exhaled, looking back out at the yard. “Everybody keeps sayin’ that. This week makes...”
He nodded and finally sat beside me. “Three years. Shit still feels like yesterday.”
“I saw a blunt sittin’ in that ashtray,” I whispered. “Swear it shouldn’t be here.”
He looked at it and then at me. “Well, if it’s from King,” he said, voice low, “might as well spark it up in his honor.”
I let out a shaky laugh. “You stupid.”
“Nah. I’m serious. You feel him, don’t you?”
I nodded slowly. “Everywhere, bro.”
We sat in silence for a moment, the kind that didn’t feel awkward or forced. Just necessary. Then Savior said, “You know he wouldn’t want you stuck like this, right? Hurt, lookin’ back, and scared to move forward.”
