Tight: Tight

“Bryan,” she calls me back. “Here. I need you to go to Hector’s.”
I sigh, turn around, and take her grocery list as thoughts fly through my head. I hope there’s no note for the bodega's owner.

Ma smirks. “I guess that’s how I make you touch laundry.”
“Nah. That’s not funny,” I tell her. But it worked. I start folding.

He talks to me again but still doesn’t take his eyes off what he reads. “Bust it!” He pops up on the bed, giddy. “This is where Miles comes out in the Spider-Man costume. He looks like you and your pops, Joe, you know that?”

She pinches my cheek. “So you think you know where we are going, huh? You’re psychic now?”

Ma took me to Brooklyn Heights. When we stepped on the long boardwalk of cement that Ma called the Promenade, my jaw dropped. I said, “We see all of Manhattan!”

Go ahead! Call my probation officer! You want me back in jail! Because when I’m out all you do is tell me what’s wrong with me.

He’s probably embarrassed to be out here grungy in the same clothes. He’s proud and likes to shower, shave, and wear fresh clothes every day. Right now, he’s wearing the clothes he wore yesterday, and his face is all stubbly.

He is right about heads down there too. They dots and scurry like ants.

“Don’t worry, Jessie,” Mina tells Ma. “They didn’t find no weapon on Joe and since he doesn’t have any priors, he should get out in a coupla days if you go to the precinct.”

I think back to times he didn’t share with me and I jumped to feeling that he was grimy and not acting like a brother. Now he’s here acting this way and I’m the one feeling grimy.

The sparks of light reveal flashes of graffiti and piles of trash along paths of the tunnel.

“Then can I borrow the ball to practice?”
He makes a stingy face and says, “Get your own ball.”

He doesn’t say what’s up to me. He doesn’t introduce himself to Kamau. It is mad awkward. He just kind of sits on the edge of us and eavesdrops.

He mocks us, whining, “‘Okay, Human Torch.’” He lets out one fake laugh.

Other ways that Big Will and Little Kevin are opposite: Big Will isn’t fazed by dip dudes rocking bling or pushing fat whips.

“Joe!” Ma comes out of her bedroom. “Don’t touch Bryan! You want me to call your parole officer?”

I flick through the rest of the stacks. Ugh! I don’t understand most of this. I finally find a literacy assignment I can do, easy. I slide it out and get to work.

He’s as big as Big Will, and his face says “drama” and he doesn’t mind if he’s in it. His clothes and sneakers say swag and he’s ready to fight if someone messes that up.

I turn and Big Will is still oblivious and is SOS happy reading my comics.

Soon, he starts strolling in my apartment like whatever-whatever hostile. Like all he sees when he sees me is his memory of everything that upset him about past garbage.

Without looking at me, he says some gibberish I can’t understand ending with “And you made your dad not talk to me for weeks.”

Real fast, I wrap my arms around his waist, lift, and bodyslam him. He scrambles back onto his feet and punches for my head.

Even though I feel invincible and unbreakable, I don’t feel like I can’t be hurt. Because I can’t fight all the guys he knows.

Ava jumps in. “Ma wants to know about the fight, Bryan.”
I stare at my red knuckles, then glare at Ava.

Ma keeps on, using big words like obligation, commitment, selflessness, and blah-blah-blah. I start zoning out and not listening.