IBO - Brian R. Lundin (100 books to read in a lifetime .txt) 📗

fact, I received a note from his teacher stating that she also observed this behavior. Malik is not a bad kid, but he needs his mother. I’m tired, Barbara, I love Malik and You, but I’m tired, I don’t think it’s fair of you to put the whole burden of raising Malik, on me and I certainly hope you’re not messing around with drugs. I found a strange looking pipe in your room, under the bed when I was looking for Malik’s shoes, so that I could send him off to school. Diane told me it was a crack pipe, she also said that crack is a drug, please don’t do this to me.”
Angrily Barbara said, “You should stay out of my goddamm business you had no right looking under my bed. Whatever the fuck I do is none of either of your business.”
Interrupting, Diane angrily said, “What the hell you mean it none of our business, we’re the ones who take care of Malik while you somewhere copping some john’s joint to buy a hit of crack and you should be ashamed of yourself for talking to your mother like that.”
Lill got up from the table with tears in her eyes.
“Barbara, I love you and only want the best for you and Malik,” Lill said leaving the kitchen with Diane.
As Lill was leaving, she saw Malik walking towards her and she knew he had overheard their conversation. Lill fluttered her eyes trying to remove the tears and she hugged Malik, and softly whispered, “I love you” as she left going to church. Malik looked in the kitchen for his mother; she was slumped down, legs wide open asleep in the chair. He went to the bedroom to get a blanket to cover her.
The arguments between Lill and Barbara became more frequent, Barbara was usually cursing and yelling at Lill but Lill never raised her voice or used profanity. Finally, Lill told Barbara, she had to either get off drugs or leave her house. Barbara left, leaving Malik as Lill and Diane’s responsibility. Malik lived with Lill and Diane until he was ten years old when suddenly Lill became very ill, most of the time she couldn’t get out of the bed, Diane, Barbara’s younger sister, took care of her and Malik. Malik was twelve years old when Lill passed away. Barbara did not attend the funeral and Diane told Malik that his grandmother had died of cancer, but Malik believed she died of a broken heart, that she died because of his mother. Malik turned his focus deeper into his books, and became an excellent student he graduated from grammar school at thirteen years old. Later that summer, when he returned home from the library his mother was there, talking with Diane and she had a little girl with her.
“Pack you’re shit, you’re getting the fuck out of here,” Barbara said.
“What right do you think you have coming back here after all this time, when Lill, rest her soul, and I have been responsible for Malik, you have no rights here,” Diane said.
“He’s my son! Bitch, fuck you.”
Diane disregarded Barbara’s comment and walked over to Malik. She kissed him on his forehead, and said to him, “Always remember Malik, my home is your home and if you ever need me, I’m here for you. Stay in school and make something out of your life.”
After Diane left, Malik packed his clothes and reluctantly left with his mother and the little girl. Outside the apartment Barbara introduces Malik to the little girl and told him,
“This is your little sister, Joyce.”
They boarded the bus and went to the Robert Taylor Homes housing project where Barbara had rented apartment 702. Going to their apartment Malik noticed that all the women his mother introduced him to were either too skinny or too fat and they all had that run down look of downcast eyes and lowered heads. When they entered the apartment, Barbara introduced Malik to his brother’s two boys who were twins, Ralph, and Benny appeared older than he was, and a younger brother named John.
“These are your brothers” Barbara said.
Suddenly, Malik had two older brothers and a younger brother and sister he never even knew of.
After drying himself, Malik wished he had accepted the sandwich Joyce offered. He pulled the covers back and climbed into his round bed. The warm covers made him feel safe. The snow was getting heavier and the Northwest wind blowing across Lake Michigan slightly shook his bedroom windows, that all faced the lake. As he lay in bed he thought about the night of the shooting, a night that seemed like a lifetime ago.
Business was slow on his corner, the snow was falling in large white flakes and the temperature was near zero. He blowing wind added to the cold. His dealer had told him that they were going to close the shop early because the weather was too bad. He pulled the collar of his coat up as dark, threatening clouds covered the sky and somewhere in the distance, a storm was brewing. As he walked past the bare trees he noticed that some of the branches were so heavy with icicles that they nearly touched the snow carpeting the deserted street, he pulled the collar of his coat higher.
It had been a brutal winter. It snowed overnight and when the sun came out in the afternoon and melted the snow, the slush became frozen. In the evening when the sun went down and the temperatures dipped, the streets and sidewalks turned to ice and became slippery, making walking treacherous. A razor-sharp wind came across Lake Michigan absorbing the cold off its water and smacked him in the face. The wind shuffled, whined and generated an ominous whistle as it whipped around and through the breezeways of the high-rise buildings of the Robert Taylor Homes. Malik was hungry and he wondered if Joyce and his little brother had eaten. For a moment he thought about going to the bar-b-que house and getting some ribs tips for the family but the blowing, cold wind and snow soon erased that thought, he hoped his mother had cooked something, anything.
Malik was in a hurry to get out the cold as he walked south on dark and deserted Federal Street and past the desolate and tall reddish high-rise buildings with their open breezeways. The cold wind whipped through the breezeways and sent blasts of cold air out towards him. Malik pulled his coat tighter. Salt and sand crunched softly as he quickens his steps leaving his footsteps behind. The tall buildings stood out like ghosts waiting to haunt those who lived within.
As he entered the breezeway of his building at 5040 South Federal Street, he noticed the lights were out but he was not concerned because they were out most of the time anyway, especially in the winter, when the cold and moisture short-circuited the wiring. He just hoped the elevators were working; he did not look forward to dealing with the cold wind in the stairwell. 5040 South Federal Street was a sixteen story high-rise; there were ten apartments on each floor, and each apartment contained four people, usually a single mother or grandmother with three children.
Across Federal Street, an unlit parking lot was adjacent to the elevated railroad tracks. He watched as Malik hurriedly walked passed.

“Hey muthafucka, hold up,” a voice said from the parking lot.
As Malik started to turn to face the voice, there was a gunshot. Malik felt a burning sensation in the back of his right shoulder. He does not remember if the bullet spun him around or if he turned around to try to see his attacker, then another shot ranged out and he felt another burning sensation in his left arm that hung limp at his left side. The force of the last bullet knocked him against one of the walls. Surprisingly he did not fall, the wall in the breezeway held him up. He was astonished as he looked at the artistic patterns his blood was making on the fresh snow. Another shot ranged out and he felt a sharp pain in his lower back, as he slid off the wall and sat on the freezing cold concrete of the breezeway. The wind and the wet snow, which had covered his clothing, were biting cold against his skin and he felt numb all over as he slowly slid face down on the ground. His eyes had started to water and he wanted to crawl away, to do something, but he could not move. Malik saw a figure come out from behind the parked cars in the parking lot and started walking towards him, he tried to focus on the face of the figure, but could not it was too dark. He felt the hidden gunman standing over him. There was a long pause before the gunman pulled the trigger again but the weapon misfired. Malik felt only the cold wind and the blowing snow, he felt sleepy as he closed his eyes and waited for death to take him.
Malik awaken the next morning, tired. He had had a heavy troubled sleep, his body was sore, and he had a headache. He took a long hot shower, which helped his body, and he took two Excedrin for his headache. He remembered an old Russian proverb- there were dozens, maybe hundreds of them he’d heard in his Russian Literary class at Harvard that said: “Dwell on the past, and you’ll lose an eye; forget the past and you’ll lose both eyes.” Malik brushed his teeth and put the past behind him.
Joyce was in the kitchen,” Good morning big brother, how you sleep?”
“Fine Joyce, how you feeling this morning?” Malik asked.
“Fine, now that you’re home, ready for breakfast?”
“Yep,” Malik answered as he sits down at the table.
Joyce put a plate of bacon, eggs, grits, and toast in front of Malik and poured him a glass of orange juice, as she sat down next to him.
“You look tired,” she said.
“I’m ok; have to adjust to the time change.”
“What is the time difference?”
“Africa is eight hours ahead of us and I think my body is still on African time,” they both laughed.
“You should take it easy today, just relax, I’ll make us a good dinner, your favorite, red beans and rice, ham hocks, salt pork and cornbread, and how does that sound?” Joyce asked.”
“Great,” said Malik.
After breakfast, Malik logged on to the Internet and went to his favorite on-line chess sites, the Internet Chess Club or ICC. On the ICC, he could chess with players from all over the world. His chess rating was 1800, known in chess circles as an advanced player. Playing chess on his computer always relaxed him although he knew he could get better if he concentrated more. When he played chess the only thing on his mind was his next move, later that evening after dinner Malik and Joyce watched an old movie “Kill Bill,” over a bowl of hot, buttered popcorn.
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