The Blackbirds Read Free Page A

drop, and roll because she was messing with fire. The girl had second thoughts, especially when the girl saw Destiny standing there, motorcycle helmet clutched in hand like a weapon, shaking her head as if to say don’t even think about it.
    The girl with Marcus zipped her lip, kept the rest of her insults to herself, then took a dozen steps away and waited, did that as if to tell Marcus Brixton he was now in this battle alone.
    Indigo and Ericka held Kwanzaa back, pulled her away. Marcus Brixton called Kwanzaa
loca
over and over. She called him a
diseased motherfucker
and told him every night she prayed for his crooked dick to fall off. The argument moved with them until they were in the Baldwin Hills Crenshaw Plaza Bridge, a portal that connected the second level of Macy’s to the rest of the mall’s second level, a glass see-through bridge overlooking the Shaw and MLK Boulevard.
    Ericka and Indigo pulled Kwanzaa over to the side to calm her down.
    Marcus hurried away, the girl with him struggling to match his pace, being left behind.
    Ericka and Indigo held Kwanzaa back in a section that functioned as a waiting area for men who had grown tired of shopping with unruly children and inexhaustible women.
    Kwanzaa laughed the laugh of the ridiculous, the angry laugh shehad acquired recently, the laugh of a woman breaking down. She laughed like she wanted to break out the windows in Brixton’s Maserati after she had keyed it and put sugar in the gas tank, and maybe put a dose of cyanide in his Froot Loops. Ericka and Indigo kept her from chasing Marcus Brixton out of the mall. Then Kwanzaa screamed and marched in circles, chained to her emotions and memories.
    Destiny kept her Wayfarers on, kept her crinkly sisterlocks over most of her facial features. She bounced her helmet against her thigh as she walked behind her crew, staying behind them, even as she kept their pace. A teen girl wearing a T-shirt that announced NOTHING IS TH E NEW BLACK was recording the incident like she was a wannabe snitch for
World Star
.
    Destiny waited until the crowd had dispersed, waited until people had moved on with their irrelevant lives before she went to where her girls had reconvened. They were sitting on a leather sofa in the lounge area overlooking the pandemonium at the intersection of King and Crenshaw.
    Destiny stood in the floor-to-ceiling glass window, still bouncing her helmet against her leg, and scowled down on the thoroughfare they simply called MLK, stared out at what used to be a West Coast version of Chocolate City without the intense political awareness.
    She stared out just in time to be jarred. A well-known motorcyclist passed by, rocking her yellow Ducati. For a moment Destiny could hardly breathe. She wanted to scream at her past.
    Ericka went to Destiny, put a hand on her shoulder. “You okay, Destiny?”
    Destiny took a few deep breaths. “I’m okay, Ericka. Had a moment.”
    â€œWhat happened?”
    â€œI told Kwanzaa not to act a damn fool. Did you see how many phones came out and started recording that madness? I don’t need to be on social media ever again.”
    â€œWe don’t want Hulk angry. When Hulk angry, Hulk smash.”
    Destiny took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. “It all gets to be a bit much.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œBeing afraid. School. Work. My mom’s midlife crisis. My dad and his cancer. Being sick and tired of being sick and tired.”
    Ericka shifted, diverted her eyes. “How is Mr. Jones?”
    â€œDad is fine right now. I’m just worried. He will have to start radiation treatment soon. His PSA numbers are up and he has to get a prostate biopsy in a couple of weeks.”
    â€œBut he’s doing okay?”
    â€œWe should stop by there and get on Dad’s nerves for a while.”
    Ericka paused. “All of us stopping by at the same time might be a bit much for Mr. Jones.”
    â€œDad wouldn’t mind.