09:08:35 a.m.
WHEN MARK WAS SHOT
I was shattered. Shifted.
Never the same again.
Like shards of my own heart
shivving me on the inside, just like your mama told you.
You and Shawn were little
and I couldn’t just come home
and be a daddy and a husband
when I couldn’t be a brother no more.
Not after what happened.
And how it happened.
But I didn’t cry. Didn’t snitch.
Knew exactly who killed Mark.
Knew I could get him.
The Rules.
Taught to me
by Mark.
Taught to him by our pop.
That night
I walked two blocks to where Mark used to move,
where dirt was done.
And waited and waited
until finally a dude came
from a building,
stepped to his corner
Mark’s corner
slapped a pack in a customer’s clutch.
Money was exchanged
and I knew that was my guy,
the guy that shot my brother dead in the street.
I made my move.
Hood over my head.
Gun from my waist
and by the time he saw me I was already squeezing.
POP! POP! POP!
By the third
he was down,
but I gave him one more just because I was angry.
So angry.
Like something had gotten into me.