The Days We Won't Complete

It was a cold, dark night in downtown Manhattan. I looked down at my watch and clicked the button at the side. The time popped up as 11:45. I cursed under my breath and walked a little faster towards the Macy’s. I had 400 dollars in my pocket and I was planning on buying my mom something special for her birthday. Her birthday was tomorrow. I had to hurry. I pulled my hood up as I walked onto the sidewalk of the store. My hands were shaking from the cold, so I pulled a cigarette from my pocket and lit it. After the first drag, I calmed down. Breath. In out and out. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Just like mom taught me when I was feeling stressed. I glanced quickly to my right. Two men were sitting in a car 20 feet away, smoking. And watching me. I shivered, from the cold of course. I put out the cigarette and returned it to the pack. Cigarettes are expensive, there is no sense in wasting one. I re-adjusted the hood and walked into the store. The first thing that hit me was the white. So brilliantly fluorescent. White ceiling. White walls. Marble, white floor. And so so so so many white dresses. These days, I felt trapped in a white world. The lady behind the counter gave me a once-over, looking peculiarly at my Air Jordans and baggy sweater. I walked in and through the racks. I had to find that dress. Me and my mom came here a week earlier, and she would not stop talking about one dress that was cream colored with daisy print. She looked at it for an hour. And would not leave until I pulled her away. But, right before we left, when she went to the bathroom, I hid the dress behind a hideous brown coat. There it was, the coat that looked like death itself. I pulled the dress out from behind it, my mother’s dress. With a quick glance at the price tag, I realize I’d be broke after this purchase. 350.00$ for a piece of fabric. Ridiculous. Regardless, I carried it to the checkout and laid it carefully on the counter. The lady looked genuinely confused, but decided to ring it up without complaint. To be honest, I didn’t blame her: how many sixteen year old black kids with baggy sweaters and slightly dirty shoes did she see in her white store? My guess was none. “Little late to be out, don’t you think?” she said in a parental tone. I just nodded and smiled to myself. If only she knew what I’ve seen in my life. She’d be speechless. “365 dollars and 95 cents,” she said. I threw the money on the counter, and asked her if she would put it in two bags. She raised an eyebrow and nodded. Well, no need for the sass, I thought. It wasn’t like she was walking home. She bagged the dress, and put the receipt in the bag. I took it, smiled and left. I walked outside, and automatically did a check of my surroundings. This was New York, you could never be too careful. The men were gone and no-where in sight, so I jogged back onto the street. I looked at my watch. 12:30. I had to be quick. I was sure my mother was in bed, she never minded when I was out late. I was always out late. Even on a school night, like tonight. Running through the streets with my friends, practicing things like flips and parkour. It was a lot of fun. But tonight, I was alone. I couldn’t risk my idiot friends telling my mom about the surprise, even on accident. Anyways, as I walked down the street, I found myself breathing a little faster. I was a little bit worried. See, I had to walk through 42nd street to reach my sketchy apartment buildings. Now, it wasn’t even that 42nd street was a scary street. It was just that 42nd street was no longer patrolled by the police all over NY, because of riots in Times Square. So, because the cops are such thinkers, they cut one of the worst streets in all of NY off the patrol list. So, no 42nd street isn’t scary. It is terrifying. But, I had to get home so what other choice did I have? I walked up to the crossing light, pressed the button and crossed. Here I was, 42nd street, middle of the night, alone. Great. It’s fine, I told myself. You’ll be fine. Your tough. Suck it up. And so I did, and I walked forward. And this is what I saw. Men sitting in Buicks with hip hop blaring from the windows. Beer bottles. Broke beer bottles. People standing in packs, smoking. Men walking with women. Women walking with men. And seven tall, strong black men wearing identical leather jackets. On the left arm of each jacket was a red snake wrapped around a blue cross. Without looking, I already knew that the words, “Ride or Die,” were stitched on the back of their jackets. I was looking at members of the NTG gang. Sweat beaded on my forehead. I had no other options. I walked straight, head down. I would be fine, I thought. They were a gang not know for hurting innocent people. Not usually. I kept walking, they kept walking. Almost marching. Like an army. They were 20 feet away now. At 10 feet I stopped breathing. They stopped. I stopped. I’m done. “Yo, what’s good?” someone said. The man in the front. He was tall. About 6’2. Solid build. A tattoo on his forehead that read “damaged” and a teardrop tattoo by his eye. Fitting, I thought. “Nothing much,” was all I managed to say. I had to sound fine. I convinced myself I was fine. “You from around here man? You know where you are right now?” he said in a menacing tone. “42nd street,” I said with a friendly smile. That’s when he punched me. Hard, in the temple. My vision swam. I fell. I dropped the bag. The bag. I rolled onto my side, grabbed the bag, and returned to the man with a hard uppercut. Blood on my knuckles. I ran. And so, the chase began. People dove out of the way as I barreled down the street. I clutched the bag in my hand. This dress was all I had. It was the only thing my mother would get for her birthday. We were poorer than poor. Poor as dirt. It was just me and my mom. We had no family. Dad went away on an alcohol binge that we never returned from. I wasn’t about to lose this dress. Not to these guys, not to anyone. Thinking fast, I took a hard right. Towards a chain link fence. I could hop it easy. I whipped the bag up and over. Thank god it was double bagged. I swung myself over it. Two men got over, the rest stayed back cursing and catching their breath. I knew these streets like the back of my hand, but then again, they did too. If I cut right now, I could get on a roof by climbing up a gas line. Sounded good to me. However, I wasn't sure how much longer I could run for. Sure, I was fast. And I had okay endurance. But the best I could run was 4k, and I had to stop and puke after that. However, my adrenaline was pumping as I neared the building. Here we go, I thought. My last chance to lose these men. I had reached the building. I jumped as far up the wall as I could before grabbing the gas line. My Jordans didn't grip well at all against the wall. I slipped, but hauled my body up the wall. I could already sense the blood dripping off a fresh cut on my knee. I was on top of the building now. Only one man had followed. I quickly ducked behind the wall of the roof access door. I looked around. Think fast. I'm going to have to fight. Weapon. Sharp or hard. I found a brick. That won't do I thought, how am I supposed to smash this guy with a brick? I don't think I could stomach that. Quickly. I found a pipe. About 2 feet long. Thin but dense. This will have to do I said. I clutched it with both hands and listened. I heard a stray dog barking in the distance. Sirens. A scream. And the sound of feet scratching against the side of the building. Shit, I muttered under my breath. Breath. Don't cry, I said to myself as a tear slipped from my eye. I didn't want to die. The man was on the roof now, I could here his breathing. Labored. But calm. He had a sick calmness. That almost felt like he had done this before. Taken life. I swung around the corner and my pipe met his left kneecap. He screamed in pain and shoved me. "Boy oh boy kid, your in for it now." He smiled. And pulled out a switchblade. I swung again, but missed, and he batted the pipe away with his arm. I tumbled harmlessly to the ground. My breath caught in my mouth. "You have any idea what I'm going to do to you?" the man said. I kicked out with my legs, and brought them hard against his shins. He howled and swung his blade. It caught be in the cheek. Blood poured from the wound. I had no choice. I rolled backwards and onto my feet, and sprinted for the edge of the building. I could smell the water. I knew it. I was bordering the edge of the East River. I jumped. And with that, time froze. Not in a good time froze way. Not a fairytale, first-kiss way. A sick, artificial time froze. Almost machine. And this is what I thought about. I thought about the days I will never complete. I thought of the school I will never graduate from. I thought of the wife I would never meet. I thought of a baby I would never have. And I thought of the dress I would never give to my beautiful mother. And of the memories we would share. And it all went black as I slammed into the black churning water of the East River of Manhattan. The bag floated to the surface.

The End