YNs— Molecular

2016

A seabag full of uniforms and other items related to life on a float with the United States Navy found its way into Mekela’s green Toyota Rav 4. She at twenty-two years old prepared for the six month excursion to Southeast Asia on a boat. In the morning, she would be shipping out to embark on adventures. In a single night, she had to make sales. To bulk up her mattress money, she hit the Wilmington, Delaware streets with a purpose. She strolled alone, not caring what anyone would say. She carried a knapsack full of molly.

Her first customers had made it easy on her, or so she thought. There at the Queen Theater mainly white people stood outside.

The knapsack actually doubled as a sling which offered easy access to the product. Her connect had said to keep it inconspicuous. An alleyway adjacent to the lights and fanfare of the gospel jazz event at the theater. She felt like the pied piper as people eager to get high before the show drained the queue. Once someone got word she sold, her profits rose.

Her first two customers looked jumpy, peppy. Kat Williamsburg and Devin Feinstein looked every part of their twenty-year-old selves. The wisps of youth painted their cheery faces.

“You can have twenty pills for fifty,” Mikela announced. Kat pulled out a crisp one hundred dollar bill. It sold by the gram, so Mikela became slightly saturated at the sight of Benjamin Franklin’s face. She pulled out a pin and struck it against the bill. It was real. She reached into her knapsack and pulled out the product.

“Thank you, this show is going to be even awesomer!” Feinstein yelped with glee.

“Wait, is that even a word?” Kat asked.

“It is now,” Mekela answered. “Thank you for your patronage.” The couple made their way back to the line, forgetting about their placement and cherishing the new bit of mind altering drugs in their possession.

Mikela walked further down the shady alley. Little puddles seemed to dot the rain-slicked street. She saw a glow in the night. It was a cigarette. A jazz musician by the name of Jones Canterbury smoked. His black skin matched Mikela’s. He was forty.

“Say what you got there?” He asked.

Mekela looked around.

“I know you’ve got something clandestine. I saw that little deal.” He put his hands in the air as if to surrender. “I’m no cop. No need to worry about me.”

“It’s just molly.”

“I know what that is. Molecular."

“Right. You're welcome to buy…for after the show.”

“That’s about the only time I’ll have to get a taste,” he observed.

“It’s up to you….”

“I’d rather unwind your mind. How’d you get involved in all of this.?”

“I’m actually in the Navy. I just do this so I can have a few more bucks to spend on clothes and shoes. I’m actually a student, too. I’m trying to be a pharmacist."

Canterbury drew in some smoke and shrugged. “That sounds about right.” He smiled.

“So if you want some, you’re free to get at least twenty pills for thirty.”

He patted the air. “No, no, no. These cigarettes are enough for me. I want to know more about your time in the United States Navy. How long you been in? You planning on making it twenty years?”

“I just re-upped for another four years. I like it. It’s okay. I’ve been able to maintain my grades and fulfill my duties as a petty officer. I’ve been moving this stuff for the simple fact that I want money. Ever since I met my plug, I’ve been able to save up enough for a new Infiniti and a house. When I'm done, I’ll have enough to send my kids through school, too.”

“How many you got?”

“None at the moment but I plan on having a whole mess of children!”

“I’ve got two boys. Different marriages.”

Mekila nodded herchead to signify her understanding.

“What are you doing out here in this cold pushing?”

“I actually go on a boat tomorrow and I'll have no time to get rid of these pills when I’m in Okinawa. This will be my second time going over there.”

“I’ve been there as well. Beautiful culture. Beautiful women.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Just make sure you rinse your drug money over there by setting up some sort of savings account. Get that yen and then see if your money doesn’t just make interest on itself every twenty-four hours.”

Mekela paused.

“I’ve got most of my money parked in money mutual accounts. So, you’re telling me I can maximize my earnings by converting the dollar to yen?”

Canterbury nodded and dragged his stick, the amber light looked like a firefly but in the winter.

Mekela looked around. “If I take that money and put it for my business in cutting hair on ship, I could match that and build upon it.”

The jazzman had been sitting on a stack of crates. He rose to his feet and buttoned his black suitjacket.

“You do that and see if your cash doesn’t grow, internationally at that.”

A surge of energy coursed through her body, she felt the bite of the wind whistle through the alley. It almost penetrated her down jacket but she still clutched herself like she was squeezing a lover. Canterbury offered her his jacket and cloaked her in it.

“Thank you,” she mentioned.

“It’s nothing,” he replied. “Let me give you some more advice. Keep the work for yourself. Don’t sell it all. Just have enough left over for yourself.”

“No,” she responded. “Never get high….”

“I know that phrase, but you’ve gotta test your product out before and after your sales. I used to move the boy in these streets. I used to do a little bit but unlike so many of my colleagues, I never got hooked.”

“Well, that is good.”

“You goddamn right. I know enough people that have injected it. They still had their talent but they lost their health. Their whole operation had been altered.”

Mekela pushed out her breath and noticed how it condensed with the cold air that looked like Canterbury’s smoke. “This is the best I’ve been doing out here. I really want my own pharmacy, like a dispensary. I want to prescribe legal molly. I want to allow people the option of not being depressed and still have the power to not being addicted.”

“That’s the idea,” Canterbury affirmed.

“What makes it even more interesting is the fact the people wish to have their troubles erased,” She felt slightly miffed. The whole thought angered her with an intensity that warmed her mind despite the briskness of the outdoors.

“C’mon, let me take you inside,” Canterbury suggested.

“Don’t I need a backstage pass?” she asked, almost like a child, full of innocence.

Canterbury unhooked his lanyard and bestowed it upon the young woman. “Let’s get in here.”

The drummers air drummed and the trombone artists cleared their valves. A golden light surrounded the crush of musicians.

“Welcome to the inner sanctum,” Canterbury announced.

“Everyone, this is….I never got your name!”

“Mekela,” she spoke with authority.

“Mekela! Of course. Well, anyway. She’s got something special for us after the show. Some little gifts. But we’ve gotta make her feel right at home. Shall we?”

“Yeah,” the room seemed deflated because they focused on their instruments and only had a hint about what Mekela clutched in her knapsack.

A portly man named Carmony Glint walked up and shook Mekela’s hand. He was light-skinned about three to four tones brighter than Canterbury.

“You’ve never been back here before, have you?”

“I’ve never even been in the auditorium,” Mekela admitted. She looked around the room and heard the bass cello boom in front of her. The tuba belted out chords. She was wrapt.

“I want y’all to treat her like your daughter,” Canterbury pointed out.

Glint spoke with the air of a gentleman of leisure.

“My dear, you have something in store for us?”

“I do.” Her confidence level elevated.

“I might need to get my debit card and pay you through the ATM down the street.”

“That’s okay.”

“Pleasure to meet you.”

He waddled back over to his own cello and laid a bed of sound that sounded so pure and resonant that it warmed Mekela.

“Hi, I’m Nivet Hilkin.” He pointed to his trumpet, the brass instrument gleamed in the soft yellow glow.

“I’m just excited to be back here. Thank you for letting me be a part of your jam session.”

“This ain’t just a jam session, it’s a seance. We’re trying to call back the souls from the past and bless this performance. Do you believe in God?”

“No.”

“No?!” Hilkin nearly saw his mind slide from his brain. “I mean…there are some guys from my old gigs…anyway…it’s cool. It’s cool. To each her own, right?” Hilkin didn’t stay long with her. She walked around the room and looked at her reflection in a mirror. She liked what she saw. Her chin canted upward a bit. A smile scrambled across her face.

“Let’s go right behind the stage. You’ll be able to see and hear us better than anyone else in the house,” Canterbury assured.

After the show the audience filed out. Clientele. But Mekela remained torn. She wanted the money from Glint which would probably be able to put a down payment on a new Mercedes truck. On the other hand, she could make a good coin with the college students from UD. She decided to stay.

Glint walked over to her.

“Jones told me what you have. I want all of it. Like I said, we just gotta hit that cash box and I’ll withdraw.”

“Let’s go,” Mekela mentioned. Canterbury had flecks of sweat on his brow. He interrupted the two of them. His face looked grave.

“Where do you think you’re going? Carm’?! What’s up?”

“We’re just going to get some clean winter wind,” he retorted.

Canterbury put his hands up as if to say “you got me!” and permitted the duo access to the exit.

As they walked out onto the street, they approached the ATM. He entered his card and information. Mekela looked around, the crispness of the evening shivering through her frame. Glint withdrew his card and shrugged.

“Insufficient funds!” Then he produced a pistol and motioned for her to give up her bag. Tears streamed down her face.

“No,” she backed up and stopped sniffling. She got into a stance and disarmed Glint quickly. She pointed the gun at him.

“You’ve angered a sailor. That was your second mistake. Your first mistake was in thinking you could just coerce me out of my product and profits.”

Glint began to cower. “Look, I'm sorry. I just got done with a divorce and she’s taking the kids. Whatever you’re selling, I know I’d just make a few sales myself.”

“Well, you were wrong. I’m not going to take your card or anything but this pistol. You’re going to back away from this place and you’re going to go back to the theater.”

She backed up and then sprinted back to her car. She got in her Toyota and screamed at herself. She expected to yield at least five thousand in a night. Instead she looked at her sole hundred dollar bill. Real tears actually flowed this time. She punched the steering wheel. When she started her car to go back to her house having gained little cash in the night, she contemplated the events of the night and reflected on the fact she would not have the money prepared for her to transact all the funds to build her laundered business.

She opened the door to her car as the garage door opened. In a moment, an orange man streaked by and ate up Mekela whole. Her keys and knapsack dropped to the driveway.

She had a call coming from her mother. She went to voicemail.