The neighborhood looked different when you didn’t want anybody to see you.
Pretty Boy checked his phone again but Kriminal had stopped calling. Their conversation earlier had been short before he hung up on his older brother. Kriminal had asked him about the money and Pretty Boy had told the truth. Yeah, he had it, but no, he couldn’t bring it back to Kriminal. When asked why, he told him the truth.
The thing I should’ve said before this all went down.
“It’s not right . . . what we did.”
Kriminal had cursed and yelled and told him right had nothing to do with it. He told him—threatened him—to bring the money back to him. Pretty Boy had simply responded by hanging up and not taking any of the other calls that had come in.
Now, hours later, he sat in the back of a cab sitting on a ripped-up seat. Pretty Boy hoped this wasn’t symbolic. He had waited long enough before heading home. He doubted Kriminal would be found there. His brother was in hiding, especially since he didn’t have the money. Pretty Boy wanted to gather some of his belongings before taking off. For how long, he didn’t know. Where to, he didn’t know. But he had some things to get. And he had to tell G-Ma goodbye, at least in his own way.
Just as he had hoped and suspected, Kriminal wasn’t anywhere to be found. His grandmother was on the couch listening to some program on the little radio next to her on a table. After walking through the house, Pretty Boy placed the duffel bag beside an armchair and then settled back on it. He didn’t want to make G-Ma wonder what was wrong.
“Where’s your brother?” she asked as she turned down the radio.
She knows somethin’s up.
“Don’t know.”
The leathered face stared at him. “You boys fighting?”
He gave a casual shrug. “I guess so.”
She kept looking at him, studying him, enough so that he had to look away.
“Come on over here,” she told him.
Pretty Boy didn’t want to. He didn’t want to stay here for long. But this was his opportunity to listen to his grandmother and then tell her goodbye. He should’ve done this a long time ago.
Sitting next to her on the couch, he stared at a face as constant as the sky above. He wondered when he’d see it again.
If ever.
It was like she knew. G-Ma always seemed to know. Even when she was quiet. Even when she decided to not do anything. Somehow she always knew.
Her frail body leaned over, and then bony hands with skin dripping off them held each side of his face.
“My pretty boy,” she said.
It had been G-Ma that gave him his name. The name that had stuck.
“Think back about all those nights when I’d sing you to sleep. Every night, the same song.”
Her ragged, low voice began to sing and it took him back to being a boy. Still full of hope and dreams. Still growin’ and still believin’ and still not knowin’ all the bad stuff beyond these walls. Just a boy looking up at his grandmother and listening to her sing “Seek Ye First.”
The rumbling deep inside started to shake again. Pretty Boy felt his eyes gloss over with emotion. He remembered it well. He’d never forget that song and the voice that sung it even if he was miles away from both.
When she finished the song, she didn’t pull away. Those wise eyes just locked on to him and didn’t let go.
“I know it ain’t easy for you out there,” she said in a way that felt like some kind of parachute flapping behind him. “You got voices pulling you in all different directions. But there’s only one voice that matters.”
The hand that slightly shook against his cheek now moved to his chest. Right above his heart.
“You listen for that, and you follow it. And you’ll be just fine.”
It seemed like that one voice G-Ma spoke about had been following him around for some time. And it had finally caught up with him and sat him down last night. He had finally heard it in a way he hadn’t heard it before his whole life. And this time Pretty Boy had spoken back, asking, begging for help.
And it answered.
He thought about maybe telling G-Ma, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. Not now.
The less she knew, the better.
“Are you gonna stay around for a while?” G-Ma asked.
Pretty Boy realized that he couldn’t leave now. Not after this. Not like this. He swallowed and looked out the front window he had stared out a million times before.
“Yeah. For a while.”
Pretty Boy knew that he had waited long enough. Another few hours wouldn’t hurt anything. But then he was going to be gone.
Maybe—no probably—gone for good.
Man, he’d miss this woman sitting next to him.