CHAPTER 14 #2
A fidgety, wide-eyed anxiety owned me whenever Shay wasn’t home. I would stake out the bedroom window, waiting on a signal that she was safe.
Nico’s Mustang would creep onto the block.
The arrogant rumble hitting my chest before the headlights even broke the darkness.
The horn was a secretive signal for Shay’s ears only.
She would escape into the night, only to return with her spirit completely rearranged. A stranger hiding in my sister’s body.
She would slip in past the curfew, sinking down beside me to face the mirror.
“Whatchu’ get into today?”
She drop the question acting like she ain’t been gone all night.
“Nothin’ much.”
“You helpin’ Mama wit’ tha boys?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Somebody gotta keep ‘em straight.”
She operated under the total delusion that she was keeping me out of the line of fire. Chasing a fantasy she believed existed beyond the block.
The day everything cracked open started as any other afternoon. I remember the day vividly because I had the twins stuck to my shirt sleeves earlier that day as we pushed through the glass doors of the theater to see Spawn.
But the city didn't care about superheroes. It was trapped in that long, cold wake that started the previous September when the news from Vegas hit about Tupac. A reminder that in our world, the heroes don't get to come back from the dead with a magic suit.
The twins drained every ounce of my energy at the theater. The second my back hit the cushion, I let sleep take over. Shay’s grip on my arm woke me up too soon. The theme song of ‘Smart Guy’ was in the background when she yanked me from my peaceful slumber to the jagged reality of our front steps.
We watched the city drag itself through the day.
I had sunflower seeds in my lap, cracking them between my teeth and spitting the shells into a cup.
Shay flipped through a VIBE magazine everybody passed around the neighborhood.
She froze on a page, her eyes performing a methodical sweep of the fashion.
She was benchmarking her life against the gloss.
“Peep dis,” she thrusted the magazine toward my face.
“Dis girl is a wreck.”
I let a laugh slip.
“She ain’t a wreck, Shay. She jus’ a lil’ skinny.”
Shay’s pride flared.
“Put me inna frame and I’ll make dis magazine sell out.”
Her words wasn't a hallucination. Even as her sister, I found myself choking on an envy that had no business being there, yet it burned all the same.
That’s when Shanae emerged, at nineteen, she held a seniority Shay couldn't touch. Nico’s baby mama made the sidewalk seem small. Her ponytail whipped the air into submission with every step. She stopped dead in her tracks, flashing a smile that signaled nothing but chaos.
“I caught you in tha passenger seat of my man’s ride.”
Her voice a sharp blade.
Shay didn’t flinch, her focus remained on the magazine as she flipped the pages.
“He ain't yours when he wit’ me. Simple math, right?”
Shanae’s arms snapped across her chest.
“Ain't you a child? Like twelve or sumn’?”
Shay’s eyes drifted upward, slow and deliberate.
“Why is my age yo’ concern?”
Shanae let out a dry, humorless cackle,
“You think you a prize,” she mocked.
“But you jus’ anotha slut he gon’ chew up n’ spit back out to tha curb where you belong.”
Her insult poisoned the air. Shay’s fingers tightened on the glossy edges before she snapped the magazine shut. She stood up.
“You wanna say dat again?”
Shanae closed the gap, walking up the steps of our stoop.
“I said—”
The sentence died in her throat. Shay cut the talk short with a right hook that rattled Shanae's teeth.
The collision sent a shockwave down the block.
The stoop couldn't hold them, they spilled into the street.
Hands locked into scalps as they dragged each other through the dust.
Neither would let go. Bodies scraping against the stone in a desperate struggle for the top position in Nico’s world.
This wasn't about a boy or the disrespect. Every strike from Shay carried a silent history of her struggle. Pride was the excuse, but survival was the engine. Her anger was like a physical shield, forged from a pain that refused to show its face to the crowd.
The intervention came from the edges of the crowd, two corner boys, gripping wrists and waists to end the violence.
Both girls doubled over panting, like two exhausted animals in heat.
Shirts shreds of twisted cotton and sweat, their faces a map of fingernail tracks.
Blood painted a thin line down Shay’s chin and her eyes held a heat the sun couldn't match.
She wasn't finished, she was just recharging.
“Ain’t no fuckin’ body tellin’ me who I can love!”
That shout hit the rowhomes and bounced back. She forced a path, hands shoving aside anyone dumb enough to be in her way. The street was vibrating from her fury.
The gossip hit the pavement and took off. Traveled the concrete, jumping from one stoop to the next, like a raggedy network of judgment and hype. Constant surveillance. The block don't just have ears, it has megaphones.
Mama was a solid wall in the doorframe when Shay finally appeared. The screen door only opened a sliver, hand gripping the edge to ensure the threshold stayed a border Shay couldn't cross.
“You not bringin’ dat mess in dis house,” a tremor running through her words, but Mama didn't budge an inch.
“I have to protect ya brothers and sister. Dat life you chasin’ only gon’ lead you one place.”
Shay huffing and pupping was the only sound between them.
“You don’t control me! Open tha damn door!”
“Watch yo’ mouth Shaylene! I’m yo’ Mama!” she shouted back.
“And I refuse to end up like you! Broke and bitter wit’ no man ta love you!!” her response carried the sting of a physical blow.
A visible tremor came over Mama, but her feet stayed glued. The gatekeeper of a house Shay was no longer allowed to enter.
She finally surrendered to the rejection, stomping off the porch with a mouth full of venom and a heart full of spite.
Upstairs, I stayed on the edge of my bed, listening to the foundation of our house crack.
My fingers buried themselves in the wool blanket.
My heart was splitting right down the middle, a casualty of their shared blood.
Both women stood their ground. A pair of mirrors refusing to reflect anything but their own fury.
When Mama fell asleep, I stayed awake. My mind wouldn’t let me rest. Shay came back a few hours later, knocking lightly. I opened the door, excited that she came back. The house ain’t the same without her. I closed my eyes, now satisfied that Shay was beside me, safe.
The sunrise revealed a suffocating silence.
Our room felt violated. The closet door hung wide, a graveyard of empty racks.
The air held the sugary memory of Shay’s body spray, a scent she used to douse herself in until the room choked.
Mama stood frozen in the door, like she was waiting for the walls to offer an explanation for the void.
The silence finally provided the answer and a sudden, manic energy overtook her.
She was a blur of motion, hitting the stairs with a frantic thud and bursting through the front door.
The screen door slapped the brick behind her as she pounded the pavement.
Her breathing a panicked rasp as she searched every alley and shadow in a five-block radius.
“Shaaayyyyy!” she hollered. Her voice bouncing off brick walls and parked cars.
“Shay! Come home!”
Mama’s sprint took her from one concrete boundary to the next, her calls for Shay a frantic loop. By the third corner, her vocal cords surrendered, and she broke mid-shout. Shay was nowhere to be found.
The street report was final, Shay moved into Nico’s crib.
When the truth hit Mama, her armor shattered.
She dropped onto the couch, bones losing their ability to hold her upright.
She became a ball of grief. Shoulders drawn tight, her shaking hands was the only sound in the silent room, a physical manifestation of her defeat.
“Lord… please!” Her voice was barely there.
“Don’t take my baby from me.”
She said it again. And again. And again.
Praying the words themselves might reach wherever Shay had gone.
I sat beside her without saying anything.
My eyes stayed on the empty spot across the room.
Where Shay usually stretched out with her feet on the coffee table, flipping through magazines or laughing at something on TV.
Now it was empty air. The whole house was altered, like one of the walls had been secretly removed while we wasn’t looking.
That night, sleep was a foreign concept. I lay flat on my back, the ceiling a canvas for my heartache. A pale orange flash from the streetlight invaded the room, a physical reminder of the block's watchful eye.
Shay was more than a sister; she was the scout.
She took the first hits and broke the first rules.
She stepped into the parts of the city that Mama warned would eat us alive.
She carried the only light we had in this house.
I spent my life chasing the glow of her heels through the alleys.
I trusted her eyes more than my own. But the bulb shattered against the concrete tonight.
Shay had become part of the midnight, a silhouette I could no longer track.
Part of me craved her nerve, the other part dreaded the fallout. Shay’s exit was a declaration of war. She ignored the rules and marched toward the life she wanted. She was the match and the gasoline, and she didn't care who got burned in the process.
Fear for my own survival took over. My stomach performed a sickening roll.
I pulled the comforter tight, like a barricade between me and the night.
This block possessed a gravity that pulled even the brightest stars from the sky.
And Shay was the most dazzling thing we had.
With her gone, the dark was heavier, more permanent.
Laughter bled through the window screens from a few stoops down, mocking the silence in our house. Our catastrophe was background noise to them. These streets don’t just raise you; they study you. And the surveillance was over, the block was ready to make its move.
SUMMER WITH NO SUN