All Involved Read Online Free Page A
Author: Ryan Gattis
shines his watchâs face at me. Still got over an hour and fifteen before Lil Mosco goes Tasmanian Devil. Thatâs if weâre lucky.
Homies already locked down the alley on both ends. Ranger, Apache, and Apacheâs cousin, Oso, are guarding up the way. Like soldiers, you know? I canât see far enough down the other side to know whoâs down there, but theyâre there, four long knives of shadows pointing up the alley cuz of the softball field lights a few blocks over, which is weird cuz I canât imagine anyone playing agame with the city burning up like it is, but whatever. It ainât my electricity.
The alley is wide enough for two compact cars maybe, nothing else. The backsides of wooden houses on either side are old as fuck, like 1940s, and rotting at their drainpipes. Some garages are separate from houses and between them thereâs mattresses, old couches, and all the other shit people donât want in front or on the lawn. Itâs definitely that depressing kind of place no owner ever thinks youâll see, the backs of houses nobody bothers to paint.
All around us, the streets are watching.
Blank faces tucked up in the shadows of garages. Scared faces acting like they ainât scared. A couple look familiar and I mark them in my head. Oneâs a nurse though, still with hospital blues on. She flinches a little when I look at her. Beside her thereâs a shuffling black bum I donât recognize from the neighborhood. Heâs short, with a cane, and heâs moving toward the body like heâs curious.
When he sees me eye him, he says to me, âHey, what happened here?â
I donât even break stride.
âSomebody get this eyeballing motherfucker out of here.â Feels like I spit it more than I say it.
Fate nods back behind us, and some soldier mustâve branched off to take care of it cuz I hear a quick scuffle but nothing worth paying attention to. Iâm already focused on something else.
As we walk up on my big brotherâs body, it looks too small to me. Like, his shoulders are too small, and I always remember them being wide enough to carry me around and pretend he was a horse when I was just a little chavalita . I donât flinch when I see his face, but I stop. I stop hard.
Thatâs cuz Ernestoâs face is busted the fuck up. I mean, itâs his face but itâs not. Not no more.
Both his eyes are blown out like a boxer took shots on him, all methodical and shit. Grit from the alley floor is pressed into longwounds on his cheeks, into his mouth. Little bits of sand. Tiny pebbles. One of his front teeth is turned all the way around. His cheekâs caved in. Heâs missing an ear.
âThatâs him,â the lil homie says, but he doesnât have to.
Shit. Itâs fucking obvious.
I donât say that though. Iâm all trapped inside my head.
Iâm looking down at my big brother who doesnât look so big.
I work my jaw and it pops. Ernesto was taller than that, I think. Stupid, I know, what with everything else I see but you canât help that shit. The thoughts just come, unoriginal shit just bubbling up, and my skinâs prickling. Thatâs when I realize Iâm sweating hard.
Heâs still wearing his uniform, my big brother. Heâs wrapped up in dark and dirt and still-drying blood. On this whole busted-up excuse for an alley, thereâs only one tree tall enough to put its shadows on him, and itâs swaying back and forth, pulling this dark outline up and down his legs like a blanket, like itâs trying to tuck him in or something.
Worse than that, heâs wearing the cowboy boots I got him for Christmas two years ago. Black leather and an elm-colored heel and sole. Real classy shit. He never wore âem at work, only to walk to and from. For some reason, that hits me deepest. I remember his crooked smile when he opened that box, how his eyes got wide, and I gotta
Homies already locked down the alley on both ends. Ranger, Apache, and Apacheâs cousin, Oso, are guarding up the way. Like soldiers, you know? I canât see far enough down the other side to know whoâs down there, but theyâre there, four long knives of shadows pointing up the alley cuz of the softball field lights a few blocks over, which is weird cuz I canât imagine anyone playing agame with the city burning up like it is, but whatever. It ainât my electricity.
The alley is wide enough for two compact cars maybe, nothing else. The backsides of wooden houses on either side are old as fuck, like 1940s, and rotting at their drainpipes. Some garages are separate from houses and between them thereâs mattresses, old couches, and all the other shit people donât want in front or on the lawn. Itâs definitely that depressing kind of place no owner ever thinks youâll see, the backs of houses nobody bothers to paint.
All around us, the streets are watching.
Blank faces tucked up in the shadows of garages. Scared faces acting like they ainât scared. A couple look familiar and I mark them in my head. Oneâs a nurse though, still with hospital blues on. She flinches a little when I look at her. Beside her thereâs a shuffling black bum I donât recognize from the neighborhood. Heâs short, with a cane, and heâs moving toward the body like heâs curious.
When he sees me eye him, he says to me, âHey, what happened here?â
I donât even break stride.
âSomebody get this eyeballing motherfucker out of here.â Feels like I spit it more than I say it.
Fate nods back behind us, and some soldier mustâve branched off to take care of it cuz I hear a quick scuffle but nothing worth paying attention to. Iâm already focused on something else.
As we walk up on my big brotherâs body, it looks too small to me. Like, his shoulders are too small, and I always remember them being wide enough to carry me around and pretend he was a horse when I was just a little chavalita . I donât flinch when I see his face, but I stop. I stop hard.
Thatâs cuz Ernestoâs face is busted the fuck up. I mean, itâs his face but itâs not. Not no more.
Both his eyes are blown out like a boxer took shots on him, all methodical and shit. Grit from the alley floor is pressed into longwounds on his cheeks, into his mouth. Little bits of sand. Tiny pebbles. One of his front teeth is turned all the way around. His cheekâs caved in. Heâs missing an ear.
âThatâs him,â the lil homie says, but he doesnât have to.
Shit. Itâs fucking obvious.
I donât say that though. Iâm all trapped inside my head.
Iâm looking down at my big brother who doesnât look so big.
I work my jaw and it pops. Ernesto was taller than that, I think. Stupid, I know, what with everything else I see but you canât help that shit. The thoughts just come, unoriginal shit just bubbling up, and my skinâs prickling. Thatâs when I realize Iâm sweating hard.
Heâs still wearing his uniform, my big brother. Heâs wrapped up in dark and dirt and still-drying blood. On this whole busted-up excuse for an alley, thereâs only one tree tall enough to put its shadows on him, and itâs swaying back and forth, pulling this dark outline up and down his legs like a blanket, like itâs trying to tuck him in or something.
Worse than that, heâs wearing the cowboy boots I got him for Christmas two years ago. Black leather and an elm-colored heel and sole. Real classy shit. He never wore âem at work, only to walk to and from. For some reason, that hits me deepest. I remember his crooked smile when he opened that box, how his eyes got wide, and I gotta