Hot

Today,2021

I’m not too good at describing what I remember from when I was a kid to my family. Sometimes I start in on a memory, and before I get to the good part somebody ruins my mood by telling me it never happened like that. I don’t care much for how it happened from their point of view. What does that have to do with how it happened in my eyes? They were always much taller, and older than me since I’m the baby of the family, so they remembered things differently because of how they saw things. Their view never was, nor could it ever be mine.

But, I guess it’s ok if I tell him; he won’t tell me something’s off, or nothin’.

Even if he does, he asked for it. And it’s not like I can deny him anything while he lies in this bed.

So I open my mouth, and I start from the top.

The Taste of Chicago, 2000

There was a strong smell of meats, spices, and foods I wasn’t too sure about since the best a meal could get to me as a kid was chicken nuggets and fries plastered in ketchup. Momma said we would be able to taste some really good food, and if I finished some food food, then we could talk about dessert. She separated the meal tickets we were given and put the dessert ones in her left pocket right after getting them, and started in on the lecture on how we better not waste her time, or money and how we gotta behave (this lecture was memorized already, so my eyes wandered around the area packed of people).

“You hear me?” I heard her snap. My attention went back to her to see her bending down looking into my eyes. I nodded and said, “Yes.”

That was about half an hour before my eyes were glued on a gelato stand. My mouth watered, and I got your attention by grabbing your shirt. I pointed up at the stand before you could get on me for grabbing him like that. You still snatched away, but didn’t snap at me for it since your eyes locked in on the white stand with a big blue umbrella hanging over it, more like a tent but not really.

Adults with their kids weaved between us as we stood staring. Two kids dumped spoonfuls of blue and pink gelato into their mouths, trying to keep up with their parents. One of them yelled, “Pay attention to where you’re going, not that ice cream or else I’mma take it.” A girl with a neon pink t-shirt passed my eyes.

It was so hot that when I went to lick around my mouth I got the taste of sweat, and frowned. I needed that gelato in my mouth. Needed the sweetness on my tongue, and the coldness to cool down my insides.

“Hey, mo--” I looked up to my left to see my mother. There were people pushing by, and kids hyped up on sugar and the sunshine marking a good day to be happy.

I squinted my eyes, and turned my head to the right to see her.

All I got were the backs of people walking by, and curving in front of me.

I could feel my heart pick up by then. I tried to keep my composure as I looked around me, turning around slowly, afraid I’d miss her bright yellow shirt and blue pants with white polka dots on them, the outfit she usually wears when we’re in a crowd so that we’ll be able to describe her, or point her out when we needed to. Right now, I needed to.

“Where’s momma?” My voice couldn’t have been over a whisper. I was never too good at talking when I was scared. I always felt my throat close up, and I became hot. Not the kind of “hot” from the heat outside, but this warmth inside me that filled up like steam. My throat started to burn, and I had to keep blinking fast to keep the tears at bay.

I tried again. “Where’s---”

A man bumped into me, causing me to stumble right into a kid that was running. My legs must’ve came out from under me, ‘cause next thing I knew I was on the ground with people dodging me left and right. A kid jumped over my knees. I curled them up to my chest and started dry heaving like I was out of breath. Man was I hot. It all happened so fast, I didn’t even process anything enough to be able to react to them. There were knees coming close to my face, and people telling me to move, but I couldn’t really get to those voices or people. They all just existed in this far away place. My mind couldn’t even focus on the problem, there was just heat and fuzz filling my head.

So, when you got me up, I hadn’t even noticed.

“Hey, you good? You good?” Your face started coming into focus. You looked like our mother when she was worried or yelling at us, with her eyebrows all furrowed and her mouth all pinched.

“Yea,” I answered before putting my hands in my jacket pockets. I didn’t want you to see them shaking. I couldn’t really pay attention to him because I realized momma ain’t hop into action. Meaning momma really wasn’t there.

Today, 2021

How is it supposed to feel when you’re losing the person you once looked up to every day for fifteen years, then a few times a week for three more years, till you occasionally saw them at like family events or randomly when one of you could spare some time?

“Why did you stop talking?” There’s a thin lump under the hospital’s white sheet. No cover. It’s boiling outside, but in here it isn’t too bad. Yet,Myles’ face has sweat dripping round his eyes. He looks like he has been crying.

I reach over and press the white towel I was given to his face, gently wiping away the sweat as it trickles down from his forehead.

“You good?” I ask him, trying not to meet his eyes. I hate how they sink further and further into his skull. I convinced myself the next time I went to look at them, they would be gone. Just two black holes pulling the rest of the little skin he has left, into them.

“It’s too damn hot.” He whispers. I don’t think his voice could go above a whisper anymore, or at least he doesn’t try to make it. Too much strain on his throat.

He coughs onto the back of his hand, and I wipe the spit that came after it.

His voice used to be more solid. Deeper, and smoother.Sometimes, he used his voice to scare me.

I used to tiptoe around the intonation of his voice to not get my butt whooped when he caught me in his room, or caught me in a lie. I tried to make sure he stayed calm, and acted like I wasn’t doing anything worth a punch. “I’m sorry. I was just trying to help you clean up in here, that’s all.”

I’ve cried out of fear of the look on his face. I wanted to cry at his face now. I wanted to run to our momma so she could hear me, and catch him before he did anything. I wanted her to save me, but I needed her to save him today.

“Keep tellin’ the story,” he coughs out. I want to water his throat like a dried patch of grass, and make it revitalize itself.

The Taste of Chicago, 2000

There were flyers littering the ground; they were blue with black letters. I focused on them as you pulled me along.

The Taste of Chicago, 2000

She must’ve not known we had stopped. She must’ve been distracted as we were. It had to be something good for her to not realize we weren’t right by her side. We were always getting snatched back to reality when we stopped walking, or started wandering around. But this time, too long a time had passed.

You looked down at me, and shook the hand you held to get me to focus on you. You kept repeating, “We’re gonna find her. It’ll be ok.”

People passed us, all laughing and eating. I wanted to ask them for help. Then, I remembered momma telling us to only ever stop people we knew for sure worked at places, and policemen if we absolutely had to ask for someone and no worker was around. She said people may use this opportunity to persuade us to follow them to their cars to kidnap us. That terrified me.

Another rule, or suggestion: stay put. When we got lost, we had to stay put. If too much time had passed, then and only then could we move to get help.

I didn’t know how much time had passed, but it felt like enough to get help for. I was just too scared of asking the wrong type of person.

I kept looking around till my vision got too blurry and my head fell. You gripped my hand, and suddenly my eyes were dry again.

I looked up at you to see your eyes scanning the area. You were all calm, and sure. Like you were thinking, “We’re lost, but it’s no big deal.”

My own mind raced.

“I want mommy.”

Mommy. That word usually made me feel embarrassed to say. Sometimes I’d whisper it to her when you weren’t around because if I didn’t she’ll get all upset and act like I just told her I didn’t love her anymore. I’d be like, “Thanks mom,” and the look on her face would have me back peddling so fast...but you never even cared when she looked annoyed or hurt when you said it.

I wonder how you were able to just let her look at you like that.

“She’s probably waiting for us up there or something to prove a point about us just wandering off. If not, don’t worry. We’re gonna find her.” You removed your hand from mine, and placed it on the back of my head with a smile. “Man, you’d think with this dome you’d learn how to think a little. Why didn’t you stop her too?”

I didn’t smile. Actually, that made me feel worse. Looking back you were just trying to make me feel better about it. But, I now felt solely responsible for being lost.

“It’s cool aight? Yeah, we’re lost. But it’s cool. It’s not like she’d leave without us. That means she’s here looking for us too. We just gotta run into her. The problem isn’t us being lost;it’s the lecture she’s gonna give us.” We kept walking and walking. My belly rumbled, and I tried to focus on everything and everyone all at once.

Today,2021

“Man does that feel like forever ago.” My mouth says before I’m able to stop it. I turn my attention from the closed door to my lap.

“I’d do anything to go back.” He starts a weak laugh that I know will end in choking. It makes me want to hug him.

He used to have this swagger. This way of saying and doing anything that made you just wanna watch him. And when he laughed, you couldn’t help but feel good about yourself. Like when he’d laugh and yell, “In one,” before I dared to pick up a ball to mimic him. Once after he singelandly destroyed two brothers on the court, he just looked at them with this serious face for a few seconds before unearthing this deep laugh. Both of the guys jumped out of their skins before joining in on his laughter. Then, as soon as they started joking around and saying stuff like, “You’re pretty good. I coulda had you if I had on my Jordans,” he got all serious and pointed over to me.

Before their game, they had seen me trying to mimic some of Myles’ moves, and started laughing at me. That’s when he challenged them. They thought it’d be easy. They thought he was gonna have me on his team. But, I said I didn’t even wanna play. Truthfully, I did...but I wanted to save myself from further embarrassment. I didn’t want Myles to be even more disappointed in me. So, I said no and stood on the sidelines when you shrugged and tossed the ball to one of the brothers before squatting a little to guard him.

Now here we were, after you dominated the court and showed them they had no room to talk. “Apologize.” Myles said. His face held no trace of joking. He looked at both of them one at a time.

And they did apologize. Sure, neither of them said it loud enough for it to be picked up from where I stood, but they did.

And that was when I realized he was my hero.

After that, I told myself I needed to be like him. I needed to be able to talk to people, and walk in any room holding everybody’s attention. I needed to be able to dress like him, and of course I needed to ball like him.

There was nothing he could do that wasn’t cool in my eyes. One day, I saw him shaving for the first time. I stood there with my mouth agape and wide eyes. He rinsed the cream in the sink, looked at me in the mirror and smirked. “It’s not that big of a deal,” he said before wiping off his face.

It’s not that big of a deal.

But, it was to me.

He walked out, leaving me to stare at my own face, moving the bottom half up and down to see if some hairs magically grew above my upper lip. They hadn't, but I checked every day and every night just in case.

“You always take forever to tell a simple story. Well, I don’t have forever, so hurry up.” I can feel his eyes on me, and I want to reply back with something witty, something that’ll forgive this moment.

“The rest of the story makes you sound like some hero, and I don’t want your ego getting too big.” I manage to say. It didn’t sound all too happy, but I hope he takes it as me not only seeing him as he is right now, in that bed.

“I wasn’t no hero. I was just trying to be a good big brother. Now, finish the story.”

This makes me look over at him. I’ve tried to convince him that he’s still my brother. That I’m not scared of how thin his body has gotten, or too self absorbed to acknowledge that this is far more difficult for him than it is for me. But, maybe I haven’t talked myself into believing those things. Because when I look back at him, I can only do so quickly.

The Taste of Chicago, 2000

We kept on running, and walking. No one seemed to notice two kids all alone, one looking terrified. Maybe they just didn’t care. It was too busy and hot to really pay attention to anything but the food, and your own kids anyway.

By now I’m thinking about how we’re gonna support ourselves, or whatever ‘cause there was no way we were gonna find her. I couldn’t hear anything but my own thoughts.

But soon I heard your voice breaking through the silence, and my body was being pulled so that my feet had to hurry before my brain realized what was going on.

“Boys!” I could hear her before my eyes zeroed in on her. And when they did, my feet moved with purpose into her arms, and only then did you let go of my hand.

She didn’t even get mad at us till we reached the car later on. She let us apologize for stopping, and then treated us to food and finally finally that Italian ice. It was good, but not as satisfying as I thought it’d be. It certainly wasn’t worth what we had gone through.

In the car, I looked over at you falling asleep after momma went in on us for being hard headed. I thought I should thank you, and I was going to till you looked over at me.

You just smiled. And I smiled. And I turned my head to look out the window before falling asleep.

Today, 2021

“You’re good at telling stories. You make ‘em...come alive. Like, all descriptive and---” Myles starts to cough and I move uneasily in the seat.

“Thanks. I always thought I was bad at speaking.” It’s true. I’ve always preferred to write down stories, and felt kind of jealous of the people who could get a room laughing or crying from a story. Never could figure out when to say, “What had happened was,” or “Mind you,” or how to say them so everyone would actually care to hear the rest.

A good story becomes bland and I get all nervous. But, not when I write. When I write, I feel more comfortable and powerful. Like, these are my adverbs and characters. I can add and subtract better than any mathematician on a piece of paper.

“You’ve always been more intune with your emotions. I wish I was like that.” Myles says. “I mean, right now I can tell you how I feel. Lousy as sh--”

“If momma walks in here and hears you cussin’ you’ll feel worse.” I try not to sound too bad for him. All light and stuff. But, it sounds pathetic. Like, I can’t hear the truth. And I can’t.

I have always been good with feelings, and expressing them when need be. I’m the one who writes the eulogies and stories with people going through dark times. I cry when I need to, and speak to a therapist when I feel like it’s all too much.

Yet, I still don’t know how I’m supposed to feel right now. Or maybe I know how I’m supposed to feel, just not how I actually feel.

He starts to cough and I move to my feet, but he motions me to sit back down with his hand. So, I do. And I sink into the chair.

I remember how I felt the day I was on the court one day after school. I had been out there habitually. Ball had really become life. And it wasn’t even because I liked the game like that. It was just to hear what I heard that day.

I stood on that three point line, I dribbled twice, jumped, and the ball left my hands gracefully. That swish made my heart jump higher than I had, but then I heard his voice from over the fence.

“Aye when you learn how to ball like that?”

I looked over to see Myles standing there blocking the sun from his eyes. He walked through the opening in the fence, and came onto the court to look at me. He took my head in his hand and gently pushed it to the side.

“Still can’t beat me though.”

And that’s still one of the greatest days of my life.

Right now. I know that this is the worst day of my life. It just feels darker and heavier than the day before, or the week before;he hasn't moved from that bed though. Yet, today just doesn’t feel like the ones before.

I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel.

But, I know my heart’s racing.

My hands are clammy.

I know my mouth is dry and my eyes are wet, and I’m trying to focus on how I feel.

I wipe the sweat from my forehead.

I’m looking at his heart monitor.

The beating has been slowing since I ended the story.

Slowing

Slowing

I’m looking at his face. I don’t know when I started standing.

He’s smiling, but it’s not reaching his eyes.

I don’t know what the heart monitor is talking about.

He’s not that calm.

He’s faking it.

Like that time he faked being sick to get out of school, and when momma suggested going to the hospital, he was suddenly up and ready to take on the world.

His hand reaches out for mine, and I take it.

A tear falls from his eye.

The monitor talks louder,all monotonous. But, I can’t hear it.

How am I supposed to feel?

Because right now,

I just feel hot.