“You good?” Zeke asked.
I shook my head, said nothing, but opened the car door anyway. I wasn’t good. But that didn’t matter.
As soon as my feet touched the pavement, my legs wobbled. Before taking a step, I paused, stuffed my hands into the pockets of my favorite pink hoodie and took a deep breath. A cool breeze swept across my face as I looked up at the building, with a racing heart. I shouldn’t have had to do this alone. My momma was supposed to be here. She was supposed to grip my hand, lead me inside and tell me everything would be okay.
A couple of seconds later, the truck sped off and I started inside. Walking through the revolving doors felt like a dream. I was greeted by subtle elevator music, smiling faces, and bright lights. The hospital’s entry way was luxurious, with windows that touched the high celling. Hope General was nothing like Brickhaven Medical Center. As soon as you walked into BMC, you were greeted by angry security guards, metal detectors, arguing, and staff that paid you no attention. I hoped like hell that the atmosphere matched the care. Maybe Meech would stand a chance.
“Hi! How can I help you?” asked the woman behind the reception desk, wearing a soft smile.
A white lady wearing too much blush and bright pink lipstick pasted on her unlined, thin lips. I felt like I was in a completely different world. Ninety percent of the staff at BMC were black. And if they were white, they were unpolished and disgruntle with shitty attitudes. They for sure didn’t work the reception desk. There was always a loud, obnoxious ghetto bitch with an attitude working when I went in.
“Hi. I think my brother was brought in. He was shot.”
She squinted, and tapped around on her computer, most likely checking the admission list. “We did have a John Doe brought in about an hour and a half ago that matches that description.”
What description? I didn’t tell her shit about him. But then again, how many black men are brought into Hope General with a gunshot wound? Instead of making it a race thing, I brushed it off and chalked it up to common sense.
“Okay. His name is Demetrius Wilson,” I said, feeling a little antsy. Wrapping my arm around my body, I softly asked, “Where is he?”
My heart beat heavily against my chest as I waited for her to answer me. I just knew that the next words to come out of her mouth would be ‘he died’ or ‘sorry, he didn’t make it’. Heat radiated through my body, as I gulped, staring over at her with wide eyes as she took her sweet time telling me he was in surgery.
Before I thanked her and walked away to sit in the waiting area, she said she’d keep me updated on his progress. With a deep breath, I plopped down on one of the soft cushioned chairs and stuffed my hands into the pockets of my hoodie. My eyes shifted over to the big, black clock sitting on the wall in front of me. I watched the second hand tick past the number twelve, turning what was 4:03AM to 4:04AM.
I tapped the back of my iPhone, trying to decide if I was going to call his baby momma right now or not. I mean, I should’ve right? She needed to know. But the thought of Desiree coming down here on that ghetto shit made me uncomfortable. Hope General was quiet, with the exception of that elevator music. The minute she walked in, it would be a shit show. She was so fucking theatrical and extra.
Still.
Regardless of how I felt about the bitch, I needed to call her. Right before I could pull my phone from my pocket, I noticed the revolving doors to the entrance open and shortly after, the Christ brothers walked in. My stomach dropped. I thought they left me. It wouldn’t have mattered if they did. I was fully prepared to go through this alone, but it did feel nice not to have to.
Zeke sat next to me. Leviticus and Exodus, across from me.
“What they say?” Zeke asked.
I pulled the phone from my pocket and sifted through my contact list. “He’s in surgery. She said she’ll keep me updated.” I glanced over at him and then back down at the phone. “How many times was he shot, Zeke?”
He stroked his short beard and shook his head with raised brows. “Shit, sis, I don’t know?—”
“How many gunshots did you hear?” I cut in, my knee bouncing profusely as I stared down at Desiree’s name.
I felt like I was holding it together pretty good. I was handling shit. Letting things be. I hadn’t overreacted. Had only dropped a few tears. I’d been strong. But I didn’t know how I’d react when I called her. When she exploded in tears. Would I be able to hold it together then? While listening to someone break the way I should have?
“I didn’t keep count,” Zeke flatly said. “That bitch was ringin’ off though.”
“And you left him,” I mumbled. “You got in the car and?—”
“I did what I had to do,” Zeke said. “What was I supposed to do, Rei? Run back for him? Catch a couple slugs my damn self? I was?—"
I jumped up from my seat and walked away; phone pressed against my ear. I didn’t want to hear shit else Zeke had to say. What he said was pointless and wouldn’t change the situation. Meech was shot. He left him. And as hard as it was to digest, he did do what he could. I cut my eyes over at Exodus and Leviticusand he was watching me. Exodus. Leviticus had his phone to his ear, talking at a low level. Slightly, I frowned, and looked away, listening to the sound of Desiree’s phone go to voicemail.
With another sigh, I called again. This time, she answered with an attitude.
“He ain’t here, Sereia. Call that dirty bitch Tata. I’m sure she know where the fuck he at.”
I bit down on my bottom lip, rolled my eyes, and said, “Meech got shot. We at Hope General.”
“Wha—what?”
“Meech got?—”
