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            Jevaughn’s right hand feels heavy; in fact, his whole body seems to be anchored. He glances down and notices his fingers wrapped around the cold, black steel of a handgun. Where the pulsing of his heart should be, there is only a vacant numbness as the darkness around him encroaches.

“Do it, man! Do it!”

The voice startles Jevaughn and he turns his head this way and that, searching the darkness for its source.

“Get that muthafucka! ‘Bout he’s talking shit!”

Again, the voice echoes into Jevaughn’s ear, then is swallowed up by the thick black void surrounding him. He is panting now, fear having caused the prickly heat on his skin to become a cold sweat, dripping from his temples. His palms are moist and the gun begins to slip from his grasp, but he remembers it is there, tightens his grip, and points it into the darkness. He’ll show whoever the fuck is messing with him who’s boss. He has a piece, he has the power.

“You better come out from where you’re hiding and show yourself or else I’m gonna put you 6 feet under, my man,” Jevaughn barks.

Silence.

“I’m just gonna let my gun do the talking,” Jevaughn threatens. Metal clinches against metal in a loud snap as Jevaughn cocks the gun and takes off the safety.

More silence as fear tightens its grip around his 15-year-old mind and swallows him further into its obscurity belly. Time gets lost in the void and Jevaughn’s arms are sore and burdened from holding the gun up for so long. It is heavier now than it was before. Finally, the voice returns, this time as a mocking whimper.

“You’re just a little bitch. A pussy.”

The taunting incenses Jevaughn, boiling fear until it is melted into a mixture of red, hot anger and hurt pride.

“Say that to my fucking face, my man,” he retorts. “Show your face and we’ll see who’s the pussy.”

The hairs on the back of Jevaughn’s neck stand on end as he feels the warm air of someone’s breath tickling his ear.

“Like I said, you’re a little, bitch!” the voice booms, deep and menacing, losing all notes of humanity. Jevaughn spins on his heels and at the same time that he feels the wetness spreading from the front of his pants to his inner thigh, he squeezes the trigger. A loud thunderclap explodes into the darkness, jolting Jevaughn awake.

*                                              *                                              *                                              *

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, Jesus!” Mabel’s arms are wound tightly around Jevaughn.

Every attempt to push her away only tightens her hold. Jevaughn gives in and soon he is pudding in her unconditional hands. Tears flow from that space in him where he could have sworn there was only room for the empty, emotionless expressions of manhood. The boy inside him rises to the surface and cries into the soft shoulder of his mother’s enclosed arms.

“Shh, baby, Shh,” Mabel hushes. “It doesn’t matter what you did. It doesn’t matter.”

“Momma, I – ”

But Mabel cuts him off before he can say another incriminating word. She does not want to know anything beyond this point, this shared moment of complete love for her son. She only wants to know him this way.

“Shh, Jevaughn. It does not matter, you hear me. You are my son and I love you. That’s the end of it. That’s all I need to know.”

“But, momma, I –“

This time, the wail of a siren slices the air, cutting the breath from Jevaughn’s throat before he can utter another word. The voice of the building manager whines over the P. A. System. There is a fire in the building. They must evacuate immediately. The smell of smoke sifts in through the open window. Jevaughn, his tears abruptly dried and his manly resolve returned to him, removes himself from his mother’s arms. He pulls on his clothes and rushes to the balcony, where he can see the smoke billowing from an apartment two floors down. He grips the railing and leans his body over the balcony, so he can get a better look, confirmation that it’s a real fire and not the weekly Tobermory false alarm from a rickety old stove’s greasy burner. Flames flicker in the reflection of the apartment’s window.

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