Pride

“Do you have it?” My hand clenched tightly on the string of my necklace to the point that it hurt. “Please say you have it.”

“Yeah, yeah. I got it. Do you have the money?”

“Yeah.”

Exhaling softly, I pulled out a chipcard. My hand was shaking so badly I nearly dropped it. The man ripped it from my grip and inserted the card into a chip reader that he attached to his phone.

“It better have all of it,” he muttered.

“It does.” I tried to sound reassuring.

Waiting in a dark alley as the phone’s loading bar moved across the screen felt like torture. I was certain the money was there, but dealers would sometimes lie and claim it was empty. They liked to extort money from people like me. When the word ‘success’ appeared on the screen in bold green letters, I finally relaxed.

“Alright, that’s enough for ten pills,” he grumbled.

“Ten pills? That used to buy fourteen! That won’t even last me two weeks.”

“How is that my problem?” His narrow eyes failed to conceal his contempt.

Even dealers who profited from this hated people like me. I had always known that but seeing it all the time would wear anyone down.

“Fine. Just give them.” I lowered my head, feeling defeated.

Some pills were better than no pills.

The man reached into his parcel bag filled with various prescription bottles. That’s when we heard the clear ringing of a trumpet. They were nearby. The dealer let out a curse, and as he looked back toward the entrance of the alley, his expression turned panicked. My face was likely as white as a ghost.

“Damn! The Trumpeteers, here?” He bolted toward a side door.

I let out a cry and raced after him. I could see lights appearing at the entrance, dancing wildly across the brick walls. Hardboots collided with wet concrete as numerous figures raced down the alley in our direction. The lights cast large shadows on the building, giving our pursuers the appearance of monsters.

The dealer shoved through a door and disappeared into a building. I had no choice but to follow behind. I had already paid for those pills. They were mine. I needed to take them daily. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t feel normal.

The door slammed behind me, leaving me in darkness. I fumbled with my pocket and pulled out a keychain light. It was all I had on me at the moment.

I hastily followed the direction of the dealer’s footsteps. This building wasn’t abandoned, although it looked like it was. People still lived here. Despite that, the floors were filthy, crunching with each step. The walls were covered in mold and peeling paint. This had probably once been a beautiful complex, but since the Trumpeteers took over a decade prior, such civil improvements no longer mattered to the general public. Corporations didn’t care about the poor, nor did the government, not that they were any different these days.

When I reached the stairway, I looked up. I caught a glimpse of him just as he turned to the third floor. As I climbed, I heard the alleyway door opening behind me. That had to be the Trumpeteers. Were they searching the building?

This is bad.

Unlike the drug dealer, I moved as quietly as possible. It was difficult given how derelict and creaky the stairway was, but I had somehow made it to the third level. Regrettably, I saw lights flickering down below; they were getting closer.

This is crazy. I should just run.

Would two weeks without the pills matter? I knew the answer was yes, but every fiber of my being told me to run. My hand gripped the chain around my neck one more time. At the end of that chain was a heart-shaped locket, and within that heart-shaped locket was the last picture of my parents.

I thought about my parents. They had always been so strong and determined. They were what I aspired to be. They died fighting for what they believed in, and if I chickened out now, how could I call myself a man?

I moved down the hallway, one door at a time. Most of the doors were closed or locked. I couldn’t help that. When my dealer had reached this floor, I hadn’t heard any doors slam shut, so I had to assume he was hiding in an open room.

I could hear men in boots trudging up the stairway. I was going to be caught after curfew. Once they realized what I was, I wouldn’t be surprised if they hung me on the spot. That was if I was lucky. Some of them liked to play first. They liked to humiliate us. They called it “forcing us to see the truth.” The thought of such a horrifying thing caused me to freeze. The lights had arrived. It was too late.

Just as I was thinking this, a hand grabbed me and I was pulled out of the hallway. I nearly fell as I stumbled into a small one-bedroom apartment.

“Shhh!”

I turned to see an old African-American woman wearing a big, flowery dress. She closed the door as silently as possible before clicking the lock. While giving me a worried look, she raised a finger to her mouth. I stared blankly at her, struggling to process what had just happened.

A few moments later, I could hear boots trudging down the hallway. They were followed by the sounds of laughter and shouts.

“Come out, come out!” A male voice cried out. “We know you’re here.”

As they barreled down the hallway, they kicked open doors and hit the walls while hooting and hollering. They sounded drunk, but that only made them more dangerous.

The old woman gestured to me. I didn’t understand what she wanted until I saw her pushing against the door. I quickly shoved the tip of my foot into the door crack and pressed my body against it.

Thud!

I barely had time to get in place before a force struck the door. Someone had kicked it from the hallway. It was already a blessing to have a lock in a place like this; however, that lock would have broken had we not been bracing the door.

“Stupid door.” I heard a voice mutter on the other side.

Please. Go away. Just leave. Please…

I had my eyes closed and muttered these words silently while clutching my necklace. There was a sudden scream, and the steps moved away from us. I let out a long breath, opening my eyes. The old lady had her eyes closed too, clutching a small cross in her hand, and muttering prayers that didn’t sound much different from mine. Her eyes opened, and I blushed slightly, realizing I had been staring at her.

We could hear screaming and the sounds of struggle. They had found someone, and were dragging them away. There was nothing either of us could do. We stared silently at each other as they wailed and cried while being forced down the stairway and out of the building.

When I was sure it was safe, I cautiously moved to the window and peeked out. I didn’t want to expose myself, so I looked as carefully as possible. There was a person with long hair being dragged out by four men. They were all armed. Some had shotguns, while others had AR-15s. They didn’t look like police. The Trumpeteers didn’t always look like the authorities, although they acted like it.

The men tied the person up and tossed him into the back of their red pickup truck. Two men jumped into the back, and the other two took the front seats. One of them took a big swig of alcohol before shattering the bottle on the ground. A trumpet blasted into the night, then the men, still hooting and hollering, drove away. That person would likely never be seen again.

The old woman had finally abandoned her position against the door, waddling over to the bed. She picked up a parcel bag and pulled out a pill bottle.

“I believe this is yours, sweetie.”

I looked at the bottle in her hand and let out a cry. “That… the dealer?”

“He tripped outside my door and dropped his bag. It was too dark and he was too panicked to find it.” She chuckled. “I wasn’t going to pass up on such an opportunity. Do you know how much drugs cost these days? Outrageous!”

I cautiously reached out and took the pill bottle from her hand. When I looked at the label, I couldn’t help but feel dismayed.

“You know?”

“I saw your deal going on in the alley.” She gestured out the window. “People-watching is about all I do these days.”

“I mean… you know…” I couldn’t keep the bitterness from my voice.

“Oh… sweetie…” She reached up and cupped my head in her hands. “This old woman is just too observant. Believe me. You’re very passable.”

“Thank you.” I didn’t know what else to say, so I opened the bottle. “Ah! There are nearly thirty pills in here!”

“Take them. It’s not like I need them.” She waved her hand dismissively. “As for that drug dealer coming back. I ain’t scared.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Just take care of yourself, okay? And that little sister of yours too.”

“How-”

She chuckled. “What did I say? Observant.”

She tapped my wrist, where a small child’s wristband had fallen from my sleeve cuff. It was a childish thing made by my little sister. The necklace and the wristband, one given by my parents, one given by my sister, were the only two possessions I owned or cared about.

Touching my wrist, I gave the old lady a nod. It was a promise.

I still waited an hour or two before finally slipping out the back of the apartment building. I carefully made my way home, keeping my ears open for the sound of trumpets. Our residence wasn’t much different than the building I had just left. It was even mangier though and only had one floor. I hurried over to our room. When I pushed back the dirty cloth covering the entrance and saw my sister lying safely in bed, only then did I relax.

I entered the room and popped open the bottle, taking a pill and swallowing it. Thirty days. I had thirty days of treatment now. Looking into a broken mirror, I examined the stubble growing on my chin. She called me passable. I could focus on getting a job now.

“S-sister?” The groggy little girl sat up, rubbing her eyes.

I turned away from the mirror and kneeled next to her, knuckling her forehead playfully. “It’s brother. I’m your big brother. How many times do I have to say it?”

“Owie… yes, Brother!” she whined cutely.

“Big Brother…” I corrected.

“Big Brother!” she confirmed desperately.

I spared her from additional knuckling, and instead messed up her hair with my hand. She pouted, trying to straighten it out with her fingers.

“Brother… I sold three flowers today.” She redirected the conversation, looking for praise.

“Good job.” I nodded in approval.

“Are you proud of me?”

“I am!”

“Do you think… our dads would be proud of us?” Her voice sounded a bit uncertain.

I stopped for a second, my hand instinctively moving to the heart-shaped necklace. I knew it was a bit girly to wear it. It didn’t do me any favors trying to pass. However, whenever I thought of our fathers, I knew that as long as we kept going, there would be a future. Our dads died to ensure our futures, and one day, I might have to die to ensure my sister’s future. No matter what, we had to keep trying to make a future for ourselves.

It is who we are.

“Yeah, they’d be proud.”