TROUBL

     The day before Saturday was not right. Sky was shedding and majority of the neighborhood stayed dry within their doors. Jason was figuring a problem set at the kitchen table. His backpack strap dangled off the boundary, and the zipper was untidy, exposing books and books of notes.
      Keys rustled at the door, mixing with water drop noises that flooded sidewalks, ground grates and gray lawns. Upon entering, Jacob removed his sweatshirt bonnet. His shoe prints sank into the carpet, leaving a dampened trail through the living room. Counting to himself, he stopped at the linen closet. His hands took a green body cloth. And then he placed himself on the bathroom toilet.
      Before causing heated water to rush through the pipes, Jacob took shoes and socks away from his toes. He withdrew the sweatshirt from his torso and twisted each end in opposite direction, letting excess water hit the smudged tiling. He stood, unbuckled his pants, removed under garments, and allowed steam to wrap his free skin.
     Maurice heard the shower running and walked back into the living room. A final rush of brisk outside came inside as he remembered to close the door he had forgotten. “What you doin’?”
     “Nothin,” Jason distracted himself from his work, tapping his temple with his pencil eraser.
     “Nothin’?” Maurice moved a seat from beneath the table. “Nothin?’ What is this?” He reached across. He tugged on Jason’s arm, pulling Jason’s entire body downward onto the floor. Jason raised his unclenched arm and smeared the coming tear path towards his ear. Maurice’s mind was lost in back of his eyes, almost staring through the subject in front of him. He slouched and permitted his head to rest on his shoulder. Jason strolled in a fast manner towards his room when Maurice’s grip slid away. Closing the door, he put his body under covers and watched the wall.
      Steam not inhaled by the fan spread into the hallway when Jacob opened the bathroom door. Switching the bundle of clothes into his left grasp, Jacob pushed his bedroom door ajar before his knuckles pushed against it twice. Following his knocks, he went to a corner where there was a brown drawer set. Arbitrary black freckles went over it, and its handles were copper plated.
      Sliding out one of its drawers, clean under garments presented themselves. He took a pair of plain, white boxer briefs and pulled them over his bottom. On his bunk, twice day-aged jeans slept on his mattress. He quickly threw them on his legs and a one-half, ironed long sleeve over his chest. He then sat, retied his boots, grabbed a hooded sweatshirt, and a rain resistant overcoat. Jacob took a stare at Jason. He reached inside yesterday’s pants and moved.
     “Here,” Rip said as he extended a hand. “Here,” he repeated again, stretching out his hand further.
     “What’s this for?”
     “She came by.”
     “Oh.” He then said, “Keep that.”
     “It’s yours.”
     “I wasn’t here.”
     “True,” Rip kept the paper and went atop the car’s trunk.
     Leaning his waist, Jacob’s lips had a plastic tipped cigar between them. The burning end improved to a better red as he took in a breath. Rip looked up and down the street. He spoke, “I’m ‘bout to go in.”
     “No, you ain’t,” Jacob smirked at his friend. He offered a pass of his cigar.
     “Dude,” Rip’s look got serious. “I don’t do that shit.”
     “My fault,” laughed Jacob, returning his offering to his lips. “What time is it?”
     Rip looked at his phone, “Seven.”
     “Half a day. Ain’t shit out here.”
     “Well…that’s how it be,” Rip shoved his phone in his pocket.
     “Hey?” Jacob asked.
     “What’s up?”
     “Let’s go in, then come back.”
    “I don’t know about tha’.” Rip calmly spoke, “No, I’m cool.”
    “A’ight,” Jacob gave Rip a handshake and left.
    “Where you goin’?”
    “Your house.”
     “A’ight.”
     Jacob stole a final glance as he rounded the corner. Passing a home and jettisoned car lot, his feet joined the street’s parallel broken lines. Letting a car by, he met eyes with a middle-old man. Dressed in a yellow and full rain suit, the man called, “Dude.” Jacob squinted, unable to determine the subject in his vision field. The man reached the sidewalk. “Hey, you got that?” he then asked, “Hey, you got that?”
     “Nope. Rip up there though.”
     “Okay,” the man scampered off, nearly introducing his face to the street as he crossed it. Jacob continued to a green and white trimmed home. He climbed the stair case onto a porch. After blowing breath into his hands, he knocked on the white screen door.
     “Jackson ain’t here. I think he wen’ to your house,” Pop said while opening the door. Two televisions stacked atop one another. The top screen was functional. Gray and sixteen inches, it tuned into a comedy of an earlier time.
     “What’s this Pop?”
     “You don’t know ‘bout this. This befo’e your time. You too young. Too young.”
     “Prob’ly not,” Jacob smiled. He turned to a photograph on the fireplace shelf. Cased in a generic, wooden frame, two pre-teenaged boys stood on either side of a cooking grill. One was eating meat. The other was passing sauce. In the distant backdrop, park tables and benches were adorned with plastic and paper things. Unknown people were seen enjoying baseball and volleyball, and children had climbed a tree. Jacob smiled again, then stood and began to leave.
     “Leavin’ already?”
     “Yeah, I’ll check my house.”
     “Okay then.”
     Jacob motioned toward the street, side stepping a waterfall that came from the roof top. A slow, violet started to cover Day. Sun was setting. Street lamps began to come on, and car headlamps were being flicked on. From the corner, Jacob saw his friend conversing with a homeless woman. When he reached Rip, Jacob sat on the car trunk. Watching Sun finally sleep, he tallied rocks that were living in his pockets. “Dude,” Jacob peered up. Rip pointed his head at a black and white automobile. Braking, it proceeded to bend the corner.
     Rip buttoned his coat. He followed around the trunk contour and put his elbow on the door. “Thought you were goin’ in?”
     “I did.”
     “Who was there?”
     “Pop.”
     Wha’ he say?”
     “Shit.”
     “Yeah, he usually do,” Rip responded.
     An almost golden wagon pulled parallel to the street. Its roof was a bit bent and colored differently. “What’s happ’n Rip?” A voice called from the window.
     “What’s up wit’ you?” Rip approached the car.
     “Same ol’.”
     “When you get back?”
     “Two days ago.”
     “Hey,” Jacob said from his seat. “Can’t say what’s up?”
     Peeking inside, “I didn’t know tha’ was you. All covered up an’ shit.” He returned conversation towards Rip. “You know Blue got killed.” Rip stood blank, flipping through his memory. “Blue, Keith’s little brother from down the street.”
     Rip’s eyes lit. “Fo’ real? Damn, when?”
     “Las’ night. Roun’ one.”
     “They know–
     –Nope. I heard somebody from the other side did it.”
     “Sorry to hear that,” Jacob interrupted, placing rocks in his pocket lining.
     “I know. It’s good,” the man said. “Guess he was fucking with the wrong people.”
     “Guess so. Don’t trip, they’ll get theirs,” Rip contemplated at the concrete.
     “Hope so.” Checking clock’s movement, “I see ya’ll. Don’t mean to rush off and shit, but I thought I’d give you the heads up. I’ll check you later.” The man drove off, giving peace symbols through the window glass.
     “Damn, that’s fucked up.”
     “Ain’t it,” Jacob replied indifferently. “People die ev’ryday.” He took a cigar out the package and lit.