{ 756 words featuring Jamila and Tommy }
I wanna borrow one of your guns.
What fo’?
Because.
You a girl, you don’t need no gun.
Yes, I do.
No, you don’t.
Then neither do you.
Whatever, girl. Don’chu have cooking shows or The Disney Channel to be watchin’?
You know me better than that.
Go help your Ma with the dishes or something.
You should know better. I ain’t ever been like that and you know it.
I don’t see why not. You should be more like a girl. I blame your brother for that.
Don’t go there.
He always wanted a lil’ brother but he got a lil’ sister instead, so he tried his damnedest to make you a tomboy.
So why you need your gun?
What?
What’chu need a gun for? You don’t shoot nobody.
Girl, you don’t know what’chu talkin’ ‘bout. Now run along . . .
Just a tough guy with a gun who don’t even use it. Wannabe gangsta.
Shut up, girl, you don’t know what’chu talkin’ ‘bout. This a man’s thang.
I bet you ain’t ever shot anyone.
Lil’ girl, you don’t know shit. Another one a yo’ brotha’s mistakes.
You leave my brother outta this…
Brought you up to be like a man…well, a boy…but he hid the truth from you. He wouldn’t let’chu near the ugliness.
Whatever.
Way I see it, if you gonna take away the girl inside, you gots ta put the streets in her…
That’s a bunch of bull—
Ain’t no girl got no bid’ness meddlin’ in man’s world. What’chu need a gun fo’ anyway?
Because.
I heard that already.
Because I want to get those suckas . . . killed my brother.
Fuck you talkin’ ‘bout, girl?
You heard me.
Do you know what it’s like to kill somebody? No? Of course not ‘cuz you a silly ass lil’ teenage girl try’na be like her dead big brother.
Shut up. Shut the fuck up!
You little shit …
What the fuck you smack me for?
‘Cuz you don’t need to be talkin’ like that. You talk like that ‘round your mama? Huh? Say it again and you get the same.
You didn’t have to hit me. If my brother was here he’d kick your . . . butt.
Yeah, but he ain’t here cause he’s dead. And you know why he’s dead? ‘Cuz he fucked around and got himself killed. He wasn’t wronged . . . yeah, you’d like to believe that, but you pay fo’ what you get, you get what you pay fo’. No disrespect, but he had it comin’. He did wrong to the wrong people. But it ain’t my place to tell you ‘bout all that.
[Momentary pause]
So have you ever killed anyone?
Yeah.
What was it like?
To kill anotha nigga? Girl, the first time is the worst experience of yo’ life. You get in real close and personal, right? You’re . . . what’chu call it . . . intimate, right? Intimate with another muhfucka, another living person . . . a human being, right? You come up behind him and throw your arm around his neck . . . get’im ‘round the shoulders. Then you take the gun, shove it into his back . . . you pull the trigger, right? POP! POP! POP! POP! Four shots, quick . . . straight through the heart . . . lungs . . . kidneys . . . whatever. He falls to the ground, but somehow he gets his hands locked onto you . . . he’s pulling you down wit’im . . . it’s like a death grip. You see his eyes . . . and fam, they wide as all hell . . . he’s coughing up blood . . . choking on it . . . blood splashing all over his face . . . his chest. Sprinkles of it hit you in the face . . . gets in your eyes . . . and he won’t fuckin’ let go! And he’s shaking and shivering like he’s freezing . . . it’s all the blood oozing from his body . . . like his soul’s evaporatin’ from his blood or his body. It freaks you out . . . to see this dude . . . dyin’ . . . starin’ at’chu with dead eyes . . . so you freak and empty the rest of the clip in’im. He let’s go . . . finally, ‘cuz he’s dead.
Oh, Jesus!
Girl, wha’chu you crying for? You asked what it’s like.
Written June 27, 2000 (updated for modern times)
Copyright © 2000-2016 by Brandon L. Rucker. All Rights Reserved.
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