Korey’s older brother was out back, chucking rocks at the abandoned building next door. Korey listened to the rocks smack wood, counting the seconds in between. Like watching cars pass by. Like watching the stoplight turn green. Above them all, the drone of cicadas. School had just let out. Summertime in New Orleans. Central City. People don’t go outside unless they have to.
Korey sat on the front porch, legs swinging off, twisting a braid, safely in the shade and idling in a low level of misery. He’d love to be inside playing video games, but the AC was out again. Dad said no one could come by to fix it until tomorrow. Tonight would be terrible.
Only way to get any sleep was to take a cold shower, pat himself dry, but just lightly, then jump right into bed with just his underwear on. He hated to sleep like that in the same room as his brother but there was nothing for it. They’d sleep with their backs to one another.
Dad was at work until early evening, but he didn’t want them going out into the streets, period. Everybody knew. Summertime in New Orleans. There wasn’t anything good you could be up to.
He did get them a six pack of cucumber lime Gatorade the night before. Korey would stand in front of the fridge with the door open, head inside to cool off. It was hard not to just drink them all. But he’d learn not to waste that way. You learned fast when you didn’t have shit.
Finally, Dad came home, holding a big white bag from Rally’s for the three of them, a cardboard tray holding three Mr. Pibbs. They sat on the porch, eating, not talking. Up the block, a car peeled out, rubber skidding. A man passed them on the sidewalk, a brown paper bag in one hand. With his free hand, he waved to them. Korey and his brother just watched. Their dad waved back. Afterwards, the three of them went into the house and watched the television with the two big fans directly on them. Their dad fell asleep there. Korey took a shower and got into bed, two more fans, one on him and the other directed towards his brother’s bed. He kept the water running and was asleep before he could hear his brother finish.
That was the trick. You had to get to sleep fast.
“Summer” was almost over. It was late October. Their AC did get fixed, but it also never quite worked the same. Still, Korey could stay inside at least. AC and fan on at the same time was his new tactic. Now he could play video games. Less temptation to run around with the boys in the neighborhood. His older brother did, even though his dad told him not to. Korey never snitched. He wasn’t a snitch. Ever.
Down the street, a house had recently been renovated. Slow work. The summer. Everything was slow in New Orleans, and even slower in the summer.
“Slow motion better than no motion,” his dad would say.
But finally, the house was ready. Korey sat on the porch, drinking another Gatorade, legs swinging. The renovated house had their window shutters painted a fresh orange. Porch was green. Bright green. The family moving in was white. In Central City.
“Goddamn,” Korey had heard his dad say. “Ain’t that some shit.”
The family was moving in, and Korey saw a white boy about his height walking up the stairs with a big bazooka-looking toy gun in his hand. The white boy looked back at Korey and put his hand up. Korey gave a short wave back. Then the white boy went into the house. Korey went back into his own, thinking that toy gun looked very cool. He unpaused his video game and went back to shooting aliens.
Dad was at work again. Last week of summer. A hurricane was supposed to be there that weekend. You didn’t need to watch the news, it was in the air. The impending violence of it, almost sweet smelling, like a burgeoning romance. Korey and his family would stay.
Dad had already done all the shopping. Korey was on the porch, watching his brother and some friends from the neighborhood on the sidewalk. They were playing a song. Rap, of course. The chorus was repetitive and memorable and fun. The kids were dancing, laughing, teasing each other. Korey was grinning. He wanted to dance too. One day, he would, but for now, he watched. The boys were older and better anyway. Korey did some stuff in private, but he wasn’t ready to show out in front of the other kids. Best not to look stupid. One might not live that down. He’d wait until he was good enough. That was OK.
But Korey watched his older brother get into the circle. He was doing some kind of move that looked like he was moon walking, but sideways, legs writhing like a snake. At times, he spun on his tippy toes, almost in slow motion, never creasing the front of his sparkling sneakers. The move seemed to defy physics.
The other boys loved it, cheering, and Korey loved it too. How’d he learn that? Korey wanted to ask, but knew he’d be too embarrassed. The bass from the song seemed to match the street and the trees and trash cans and the cemetery across the street and the potholes and the neon cars and bikes that passed. It matched their haircuts and shirts and shorts and sneakers. Their skin and hair and lips and the fading and chipping paint on the buildings, their homes.
Their homes. Not so much the new one down the block. Korey looked down. The white family was packing up. They wouldn’t stay for the hurricane. Korey didn’t know why his own family never left. But soon after that thought, he realized there wasn’t anywhere for them to go anyway. Korey had never even stayed in a hotel once in his life.
He was looking down the block and saw the white boy. He had a bright blue backpack on. He held up his hand to Korey. Korey flipped him the bird, sideways, grinning. The white boy laughed. The mom ushered him into their Subaru. They had plastic taped on the back passenger window. Last week, someone had smashed it in. Korey’s older brother claimed to know who. They backed out into the street and drove away. His brother and the boys from the neighborhood danced for a while longer. Then it got dark. Dad came home. And it was time to hunker down. The hurricane would be there soon.
They sat in the living room. Korey, his dad, his older brother. Cardboard taped over the windows. Dad had cooked up a bunch of chicken. They had a triple stack of twelve pack bottled water. More bags of Zapp’s than Korey could count.
They filled the tub with water too. Outside sounded like they were in the Wizard of Oz. Crazy. Korey waited for the house to lift up and swirl into the sky. The electricity flickered, on and off. Something hit their front door. His older brother grinned at him and Korey grinned back.
His dad drank plastic cap whiskey he’d gotten from the Vietnamese bodega up the street. Ancient Age. He normally never drank in front of them but for a hurricane it was pretty much a sure thing. And it was the only time Korey and his older brother saw their dad laugh easy. Laugh at whatever. Tell them stories. And every once and a while, mention their mother.
Korey tried not to look too eager to hear those parts. Whenever he did, his dad would notice and clam up. Stop talking. Change subjects. Or depending on how in the cups he was, get mad. But if Korey and his older brother stayed quiet, just listened, looked down at the floor, anywhere besides their father’s eyes, he would talk. Go on a bit. So they learned to let him. Learned to let that magic elixir he drank do its work. And just be there for their dad. Korey only had one picture of his mom. He kept it in a shoebox under his bed.
The roof started to shake. Wobble, like Jell-O. The three of them looked up. Their dad laughed and they laughed with him. Then the light went out for the rest of the night. Dad lit a candle and put back another shot of whiskey.
Korey woke up and was still alive. It felt like a coffin in their house. The air was completely stale. His dad and older brother were still asleep. Beads of sweat on their faces. His felt sweat on his own brow. He got up and opened the window and the door. A nice cool breeze came inside. The aftermath. He stepped onto the porch. It was a beautiful day outside. They were still there. They were still alive.
The sunlight came into their house. Dad snoring in the middle of the living room. The kind of snoring that is good. The kind that lets you know things will be alright.
The street looked a wreck. A huge branch from the tree in the front yard had been split off and laid across the street like a giant dog had played fetch with it. Debris all over the place. Everything dewy. There wasn’t anyone anywhere, but Korey could hear the birds again. He couldn’t remember ever hearing them before, or maybe he’d never paid attention. That day, it sounded very pretty to him.
He put on his shoes and went outside. He knew he wasn’t supposed to go out right away after a hurricane. It wasn’t the weather you had to worry about, his dad had told him. There was always some lawlessness post hurricane. From people. And from police too. But the street seemed so serene. So peaceful. On the sidewalk, he looked up and down the block. Nobody anywhere. Like some kind of apocalypse. Like his video games, in the times where everything was quiet and you just walked around, an explorer in the world, looking for treasure, ready for anything.
Korey went down the block and came to the renovated house, the white family’s house. They’d boarded up their windows too. Wood panels, not double cardboard like what his dad had put up. There was a banner hanging limp off the top of the porch. A flag from somewhere Korey didn’t recognize. Korey saw the front door was banged up. And just slightly ajar.
Korey looked back at his own home, down the block. He was just wearing his white Air Force Ones and shorts, no shirt. He twirled a braid with one hand. He walked up the stairs onto the porch of the white family’s house and pushed the door open. He heard nothing. He stepped inside.
The first thing he noticed was how many pictures were on the wall. And not even all of them. Many were scattered on the floor, shaken off by the storm. There was a couch that looked like no one ever sat in it. It had a colorful flower pattern on it. Purple and yellow.
In the kitchen, a spice rack. Korey checked them out. So many. And wild sounding stuff too. What was cumin? His dad only really used three or four, ever. For anything. For everything. Korey hadn’t ever complained. He opened the fridge. He didn’t recognize a single thing in there.
The hell is kombucha? Korey popped it open, tried it, spit it out.
He went up the stairs. One of the few buildings on the street that had two floors and wasn’t an apartment complex. There was a complex the other way down the street. He had a friend there. He didn’t say much, but some nights he’d sit with his dad, have a beer, share some wings. He wasn’t from New Orleans, but he seemed to fit in fine. Fenton was his name.
There were three rooms up there, and one bathroom. Korey went into what he could tell was the kid’s. He recognized so much. Posters on the wall. Pillows with Pokémon printed on them. The kid had a nice bed, much nicer than Korey’s. Big TV, multiple video game systems. Shoes. Not any ones Korey would ever wear, but a lot of them.
Painted on the wall, a giant tree, birds and squirrels and fruit in the branches. Korey could imagine being up there with them, having fun.
Just at that moment, the light flickered on in the room. Korey hunched like the roof was falling in. But that was it. Electricity. He didn’t have to be scared. There was a rack of video games and Korey scanned through them before picking one. He popped the cartridge and put the disc into the game system and watched the screen light up.
He almost gasped in surprise. This was the real thing. Super Nintendo. A library of games all at his fingertips. Or his thumbs, he should say.
Metroid. Starfox. Final Fantasy.
Oh! He’d heard about this game. His dad had told him, in fact. Magic. Espers. Fairy creatures that fell in love with humans and humans who fell in love with fairy creatures. And in this world, those creatures and humans fought to preserve that love, fought to preserve a world where that love could even exist.
The window of the bedroom had been blasted out. Korey pulled the comforter off the bed, shook the glass off. He laid it on the floor and sat down Indian-style. A beautiful melody began to play as the game began.
Korey pressed Start.
Hours went by. He was completely immersed in this whole world. The music was magnificent. He read every word bubble. Memorized every character’s signature move. He’d collected so much gold. He’d beaten so many bad guys. Korey had never had so many girls blush at him. He was buying all kinds of boots and swords and helmets.
He heard something downstairs. First time he’d looked off the screen in a while. He hadn’t noticed the sun had gone down. How much time had gone by? He stood up, scared now. He was alone and he knew his dad would be mad at him for this. Going over to the top of the stairs, he could hear more. People talking. He knew it wasn’t his dad or his brother. Why would it be? So who then? His skin was all electric. He hurried back into the room. He looked frantically around for a place to hide. He saw the white boy’s bazooka toy. It was stupid, but he picked it up, and crouched in the corner of the room.
He heard feet coming up the steps. The voices still. Korey was sweating again.
The door opened wide. Standing there was the white boy. Korey had the bazooka aimed at him. The white boy put his hands up in the air, and then he started laughing. Korey grinned at him, one eye shut, aiming.
