Relapse

by Will Karn

Damien stood, hood up, ski mask down, 22 cal pointed at the kid's head. He didn't remember his gun being so heavy. Damien smacked him with it again, his brow was busted, leaking down his face, pooling onto the snow, dyeing it a cruel red. Still winded by the chase, he turned away to catch his breath; the cool winter air pierced his throat. Kelvin wanted some time with the kid anyway, a muffled shriek echoed down the ally.

"End this mother fucker D."

A week had past since he came home to his mother's limp, soulless body, slumped on the sofa. The court had ordered him to stay with his closest relative. As Damien walked up the steps of Uncle Morgan's two-story home in Highland, a suburb of Philadelphia, he realized that he was far from south Philly. He rung the doorbell it sang a little jingle he hadn't heard in years. He had remembered going to Uncle Morgan's after his dad abandoned him and his mother. Leaving them with nothing but debt and rent.

"DAMIEN, how are you holding up son?"

"I'm cool, where do you want me to put my shit?"

"Here lemme take those, you go sit down and get comfortable, watch some TV or something." He walked in to warm inviting living room, and was shocked by what had to be at least a 60 in plasma screen displayed over a crackling fireplace.

"Damn uncle howed you manage to pull this crib."

"I worked for it," chuckled Uncle Morgan. "I am sorry for what happened to your mother, and you can stay here for as long as you like."

"She wasn't conscious enough of the time to call a mother, and I turn eighteen in two months, don’t worry I'll be out soon."

They sat down for dinner, both silent. Damien played with his food he hadn't had much of an appetite since the day his mom died. He started thinking back on the look on her face, her eyes screaming but her face remaining paralyzed. He could see the pain, and the thought that his heroin had done this to her made him sick to his stomach. This is what he sold people, he gave them pain and death for ten maybe fifteen bucks a pop, but nonetheless its money. A sudden vibration snapped him back to reality, he reached in his pocket and flipped open the phone.

"D."

"Wasup JJ?"

"Not much, how's the boondocks?"

"Man, I need to get to Philly."

" Were holding it down for the meantime. Me and Kelvin are about to recop if you want in."

"I got some money left over but I'm not about to be around to help distribute."

"That’s not a problem me and K can handle your load, but once you get back you owe us."

"I got you, don’t worry."

"I'm out."

He hung up the phone to see that his uncle was staring him right in the eyes, a cold stare.

"How could you of all people sell the shit that killed your own mother, living off another persons addiction, its pitiful"

"If not me it will just be someone else coming up, its easy money."

"Money," exclaimed Uncle Morgan "that’s all you care about, there's money in an honest days work. Why would you risk getting arrested or dieing for a few dollars?"

"Arrested, dieing," chuckled Damien "I'm untouchable nothing can touch me, cops don’t even go to South Philly for the donuts."

"Your foolish Damien, when you live here, you are going to go to school, even if it is for two months."

"Whatever."

"You have choices in life, me and your mother came from the same home, you start school tomorrow, so clean your dishes and go to bed."

Damien went to bring his bags upstairs, and get settled in to his new room, which was close to the size of his old apartment. He pulled out a Ziploc bag filled to the brim of Philadelphia's finest herb, and a strawberry Philly. He began breaking up the weed. It was the top of the line, making the tips of his fingers become increasingly sticky making a rather simple task more difficult. He split open the swisher, and let the guts spill out the window. He began to lick the swisher hoping to put an end to the day's problems. He was focused, engulfed in the task at hand. The ganja was ground up and evenly distributed throughout the Philly, Damien picked up the blunt carefully and started to flip it. The taste of tobacco tickled his tongue. He climbed onto his roof, sparked the blunt, and laid back on looking at the stars. His mind wandered. It could be because he was blazed, but he had an epiphany, and wasn't sure he wanted to push weight for the rest of his life. He took the last hit off the roach, put it out and went to bed.

The next morning Damien took the bus to his new school, Highland high. It was a small school, clean campus, no metal detector, and no cops, it seemed to good to be true. All the kids seemed afraid of him as he walked through he halls. He could tell they were looking, and he felt out of place wearing baggy jeans, pea coat, and a Philies cap. He looked down at his schedule.

STATISTICS-MR. DERMAN

SPANISH 1-MS. SANCHEZ

PHYSICS-MR. DONG

LANGUAGE COMP. -MRS. FENNEY

GOV.-MR. THORTAN

BASKETBALL- COACH STILLER

The thought ditching intrigued him; it wasn't to late to catch the L train back to Philly. Quickly the thought passed, he took a deep breath and opened the door to his first class. Statistics was not the best thing to start off his first day of school. Damien shuffled into class, looked around the room to see nothing but an undersized, lonely desk strategically placed front and center.

"Mr. Barlow I presume?" asked Mr. Derman. He was heavy set, wearing a stained button up shirt, clip on tie, thick horn rimed glasses.

"Call me D."

"Alrighty Mr. D how would you like to help me with this bell curve equation?"

"Why not."

Mr. Derman started to explain the concept of standard deviations and T and Z scores, and it made sense. He found himself slowly pulling out the notebook his uncle had given him. Amazed, thinking that he was never going to put that newly purchased school supplies to proper use. After Stat was over the day seemed to rush by. The other classes didn't interest him as much, but they were not painful to go to. As Damien went home he couldn't get statistics out of his head, he began putting everything into a mathematical equation. He loved it. The homework had challenged him. His eyes stared deep into the textbook. Focused, he began to jot down notes slowly he conquered the workload. He felt accomplished a feeling generally generated from counting his money. Then what had become a nightly tradition, he flipped and burned a blunt on the roof then proceeded to bed.

The week had gone by and Damien was starting to get the hang of school he even started to befriend some of the kids at Highland, although most of his free time was spent studying for finals. He wanted to bring home at least one B for his Uncle, and was feeling good about it. No guilt, and no stress. He was flipping through his government book when he felt a familiar vibration, he dug in his pocket and flipped open his phone.

"D," Kelvin said softly.

"What's good?"

"I got something to tell you."

"Huh?"

" JJ got clapped by some stick up kids, shot twice in the chest, and left dead in the street.

"…."

" I'll keep you posted, I'm out"

"Be easy."

Damien hung up the phone and sat in silence. The guilt was back, he felt responsible, his mind started to spaz. If I were only there I could of stopped them, I would have had his back. He lie in his bed and let a single tear run down his cheek.

Finals came and went. Damien had just gotten out of school and started his walk home it was especially cold, record low for Philadelphia. The sun was hiding behind the mob of clouds. He watched as the last leaf on the maple tree in his front yard dance away with the frigid wind, leaving the tree vulnerable, fully exposed. Damien walked up to his room to see his phone on the desk, he picked it up and saw 20 missed calls from Kelvin. Obviously urgent, he called him back.

"Wasup?"

"I found the motherfucker who got JJ, lets get him tonight."

"Who shot him?"

"A kid named Marcus who lives down on 62^nd, apparently his cousin runs west Philly or something like that."

"I'll be there in 30."

"Aight, bring heat."

Before Damien even had a chance to respond, he heard the dial tone. He put his papers down, and grabbed his hoodie and the ski mask from his bag. Then he reached in his drawer and pulled out is 22 and put it in his waistband. He walked out of his door to see his uncle waiting for him.

"Now I heard what you were talking about doing and you have come so far, please don’t throw that all away, and there's other ways of getting this kid."

"This is the only way I know," Damien said.

He handed his uncle a sheet of paper and left the house. Uncle Morgan flipped it over to see. "It is a pleasure to have you in my class your curiosity is inspiring, you earned this A. – Mr. Derman."

The lights all blurred together, thoughts racing through his head, every part of his being told him to turn around. He pushed a little harder on the gas hoping to out run his conscious.

Damien met Kelvin outside his apartment. Night had taken over; he was cloaked by the darkness. He had not been in South Philly since his mom's death. He watched as the crack heads wandered around aimlessly, lost in there own worlds.

"D, welcome back."

"Kelvin, where is he?"

"Right down the block, that’s where that bitch slangs our dirt."

"Lets get him."

They walked towards the corner Kelvin said he would be at, and sure enough they saw him. Damien pulled his ski mask over his face and they stared to creep up on him. The kid must have spotted them because he started to run, but it didn't take long to catch up to him, he ran into a dead end alley.

"End this mother fucker D."

Damien stood over him, cold. His 22 cocked back, and pointed at his face. He looked at the kid and saw those same screaming eyes. So he turned his head and squeezed.