Being COOL

Never seen so many white folks at the 3rd avenue stop in the Bronx. I'm trying to get sense of who they are. They all appear to be in their late 20s and wear professional clothing. Stockings and skirts and the like. I can't help noticing that they are all wearing black.

Upstairs, a man is being handcuffed. I checked the desire to stare, but still managed to get a look at him. Male, mid 50s, with a brown hoodie on. The police looked like they were pulling something from the tip of the garment that still adorned the man. Perhaps drugs?

I have a mild headache coming on, and I'm quite sure it's all the stress I've been under lately. My boss at Papa John's won't give me a break about coming in late. It was one time, and it was only because class got out late at Honta Community College. I punched in about 8 minutes late but he still docked me the hour. I would complain but I'm not in a position to do that. I'm not trying to lose the only income I have.

I guess I got it lucky though. I live with my mom and she's got a good job at the Chase Manhattan Bank right there near the 3rd avenue bridge. She's one of the people who sets up accounts and loans and  whatever else. She gets paid nice and I know if I ever needed it, she'd help me out, money wise. I just don't like having to ask he; makes me feel like I'm not pulling my weight.

6 train just got here. I'm going  down  to 96th to see my brother, Cool. He's four years older than me and he's gone through a lot.

When we were kids, he'd steal jewelry and cash from my mom... He was doing that at 8 or 9. My dad was always there though to beat him whenever he got a little too crazy.

The real problems started  when pops died. Cool was 12 and I was 8. I don't remember everything exactly, but basically, my brother got caught up with some group that used to vandalize places over in Harlem. They'd pick pocket and steal and then resell whatever they could at school.

One time, they broke into a bakery that the principal's grandmother owned and stole hundreds of dollars worth of cookies and candy. They got caught when, at lunch time, it was discovered that large swaths of the sixth grade were consuming her signature gourmet confection.

By high school my brother was dealing PCP out in the 116th street projects with everybody else. He barely went to school but to sell. He cursed out Ma, and got a girl pregnant, though she lost the baby. My mom kicked him out the day police arrested him for the first time for possession.  He was about 17 by then, and it was the beginning of an extensive record.

All that makes him sound bad but he always treated me good. When pops was gone he talked to be about how I needed to man up an not be a little kid anymore because nobody had time for that shit. When I started to slack off in middle school, he took the time to kick my ass. See, I was always a good student so in his mind there was no excuse. At the time I thought he was a huge hypocrite but now I know he was right.

In high school, when I needed money to pay for my football uniform, Cool came through for me. My mom didn't want me to play so I couldn't ask her. Actually whenever I needed money for anything, I felt more comfortable asking him. Cool said he'd look out for me and he wouldn't let me get a job... He wanted me to focus on school.

The train pulls into 96th. I step out, and ascend the stairs into the brisk air. I'm only outside for a minute as the Starbucks he and I are meeting at is right on Lexington.

I approach a man sitting near the garbage can, cradling a small Starbucks coffee cup.

“Hey," I say.

I can see that he's a little thinner than the last time I saw him a year ago, but he's got a fresh hair cut and looks ok. He stands up and gives me a hug. He wears a smile but his gray eyes are serious. He motions for me to sit.

“When you get out?" I ask, as he takes another swig of his beverage. He clears his throat and stares out the window for awhile.

I decide to wait. That's how Cool is, he's never one to hurry. He was the one who called me here so I know he's got something to say.

Finally, after a few minutes, he speaks in his quiet tone.

“You still in school, little man?" He asks, his pupils arresting my heart.

“ Yea," I say.

“ Imma actually transfer to Pace next semester. Gotta figure out the financial aid though."

Cool nods his head slowly.

“ How's Ma?"

I shrug to say  “alright,"and he doesn't push it. They haven't spoken in years.

" Listen," he begins, rubbing his face methodically, “I gotta tell you somethin'. "

He's sitting erect in his chair . I've never seen him look so grim. Not even before they threw him in jail for assaulting his ex-girlfriend last year.

“ I'm going away for awhile for some bad shit," he says in a toneless voice.

“ What you talkin' bout man you just got OUTTA jail-"

“ Listen," he says, his eyes flashing with anger. In a moment though, he's recovered his nonchalance.

He glances around him cautiously and leans in close. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out an envelope and hands it to me.

“ Don't react. Just calmly place it in your backpack."

I nod solemnly. I feel my heart beat accelerate.

"Its 75 grand and it for you. "

I begin to sweat all over.  My brother never jokes so I know that this money is for real. If he's giving this to me something is very very wrong. I begin to tear up.

“ Keep. Your face. Stone.'" he commands. I bite my lip.

He gazes out the window for several long minutes.

“ Listen man, you can't stay in the city,"  he says as calmly as if he were telling the time or weather.

“ I dont really give a shit about ma but she ain't safe neither so maybe you outta take her with u. Either way u gotta move fast. You git it?"

I nod, but I don't understand at all.

“ Good. Leave as soon possible. Leave tonight. Don't tell no one where you going. That money will hold you for awhile."

Then with an abruptness, he chugs the rest of his coffee and tosses it into the trash with contrived quiescence.

“ What did you do," I whisper, but he's already stood to leave.

“ Be good bro," he replies simply.

And with that, he walks out into the brooding February night.