she was growing up in Sumter, South Carolina. “Dee, take the five dollars out of my back pocket.” She poked her right hip out so Numbers could remove the money while she continued to clean the whitings. “I need some cornmeal, the big thing of lard, and hot sauce from the supermarket on Myrtle Avenue.”
“Ma, what’s all the fish for?” Numbers asked.
“I’m having a card game, so hurry up back from the store. People gonna start getting here about seven.”
“Can you get me a beer, being that you’re going to the storeanyway?” Ms. Lindsay extended seventy cents to him. “Keep the change.”
Numbers wanted to say no, but his mother would surely think he was being rude and scold him for doing so. Well, at least she was tipping him, Numbers rationalized before bringing his attention back to what his mother had just said.
A card game?
What kind of cards would they be playing: Go Fish, I Declare War, or maybe Crazy Eights? Numbers grabbed his heavy red-and-black lumber jacket from the couch next to the door and his Walkman and headed out. He thought about running upstairs to get Jarvis but decided against it.
The usually crowded stoop was empty. Only a crazy old man named Shakespeare lingered by the building talking to God, himself, or his imaginary friend. Numbers never knew what was wrong with Shakespeare; he just stayed clear of him.
The temperature had dropped considerably on this late afternoon. He zipped his coat all the way up to his chin. The leaves on the trees were all but gone, and even though it was Friday, not too many people were out. Numbers made his way through the projects listening to his
Dana Dane with Fame
album, the song “Nightmares.” Dana Dane lived right above him in apartment 2E. Numbers was ecstatic when Dana Dane gave him a signed copy of his cassette tape.
Numbers walked hurriedly past the back of building 102, past the buildings and nursery on the right-hand side, then past the front of building 117. In the middle of the buildings up ahead was a play structure, monkey bars and a slide, but the kids rarely played there. Mostly the thugs, players, and drug dealers hung out there if they weren’t in front of building 79. Today was no exception. The usual suspects were congregated there, rolling dice, shooting the breeze, drinking quarts of beer, and smoking. Numberswalked on, making a mental note that on the way back he would take another route.
At the supermarket he picked up the items his mother wanted and waited in line. It was a little busy, and almost twenty minutes passed before he finally paid for his groceries.
“Young man, would you pack my bags?” an older lady behind Numbers requested as he was picking up his package to leave.
Numbers thought about it for a second. “Okay.” He set his bag down on the floor at the end of the counter and began packing her bags. For his trouble he was given fifty cents. Numbers decided to pack a few more people’s bags. Twenty minutes later he’d accumulated $3.85. He wished he could stay until the supermarket closed, but he knew if he didn’t get home, his ass was grass, as his mother would put it. He wondered why he’d never thought about bagging groceries for money before.
The twins were asleep in the room with the door closed. They usually slept through the night uninterrupted, and despite all the noise from the card game taking place in the front, that was still the case.
There were ten cardplayers not including his mother in the smoke-clustered front room of the apartment. The room smelled of fish, marijuana, cigarettes, liquor, and musk. It seemed like everyone was chain-smoking and/or drinking some type of alcohol. Marvin Gaye tunes played in the background, but you could barely hear the lyrics over all the loud talking. To cool the apartment down, the old pull-latch windows were open as wide as they could be, but the temperature inside was still above eighty degrees. The old metal heaters and pipes that were
“Ma, what’s all the fish for?” Numbers asked.
“I’m having a card game, so hurry up back from the store. People gonna start getting here about seven.”
“Can you get me a beer, being that you’re going to the storeanyway?” Ms. Lindsay extended seventy cents to him. “Keep the change.”
Numbers wanted to say no, but his mother would surely think he was being rude and scold him for doing so. Well, at least she was tipping him, Numbers rationalized before bringing his attention back to what his mother had just said.
A card game?
What kind of cards would they be playing: Go Fish, I Declare War, or maybe Crazy Eights? Numbers grabbed his heavy red-and-black lumber jacket from the couch next to the door and his Walkman and headed out. He thought about running upstairs to get Jarvis but decided against it.
The usually crowded stoop was empty. Only a crazy old man named Shakespeare lingered by the building talking to God, himself, or his imaginary friend. Numbers never knew what was wrong with Shakespeare; he just stayed clear of him.
The temperature had dropped considerably on this late afternoon. He zipped his coat all the way up to his chin. The leaves on the trees were all but gone, and even though it was Friday, not too many people were out. Numbers made his way through the projects listening to his
Dana Dane with Fame
album, the song “Nightmares.” Dana Dane lived right above him in apartment 2E. Numbers was ecstatic when Dana Dane gave him a signed copy of his cassette tape.
Numbers walked hurriedly past the back of building 102, past the buildings and nursery on the right-hand side, then past the front of building 117. In the middle of the buildings up ahead was a play structure, monkey bars and a slide, but the kids rarely played there. Mostly the thugs, players, and drug dealers hung out there if they weren’t in front of building 79. Today was no exception. The usual suspects were congregated there, rolling dice, shooting the breeze, drinking quarts of beer, and smoking. Numberswalked on, making a mental note that on the way back he would take another route.
At the supermarket he picked up the items his mother wanted and waited in line. It was a little busy, and almost twenty minutes passed before he finally paid for his groceries.
“Young man, would you pack my bags?” an older lady behind Numbers requested as he was picking up his package to leave.
Numbers thought about it for a second. “Okay.” He set his bag down on the floor at the end of the counter and began packing her bags. For his trouble he was given fifty cents. Numbers decided to pack a few more people’s bags. Twenty minutes later he’d accumulated $3.85. He wished he could stay until the supermarket closed, but he knew if he didn’t get home, his ass was grass, as his mother would put it. He wondered why he’d never thought about bagging groceries for money before.
The twins were asleep in the room with the door closed. They usually slept through the night uninterrupted, and despite all the noise from the card game taking place in the front, that was still the case.
There were ten cardplayers not including his mother in the smoke-clustered front room of the apartment. The room smelled of fish, marijuana, cigarettes, liquor, and musk. It seemed like everyone was chain-smoking and/or drinking some type of alcohol. Marvin Gaye tunes played in the background, but you could barely hear the lyrics over all the loud talking. To cool the apartment down, the old pull-latch windows were open as wide as they could be, but the temperature inside was still above eighty degrees. The old metal heaters and pipes that were
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