NYU Black Renaissance Noire Winter 2014 - Page 126

I had sprinted across the lawn and into the house to get a plastic bag in which to slip my fallen comrade before I thought to survey the area for the perpetrator. There was no one in the front yard, no one in the back yard, no one in Jeff’s yard. I buried it/him in a shallow grave on the far side of the garage, which divided my house from the David’s on the other side. Several healthy legustrum bushes separated my detached garage from theirs, so the area was private and away from the rabbits’ warren. When Janice returned from choir practice, I told her what had happened. “Pop! Then, another pop, and he was lying there in the grass. Janice, he had no right to fire into my backyard! We have a right to live here! I’m going over there and tell Jeff this time he’s gone too far!” “William Brandon Jarrett!” Janice placed her hand on my arm. Get a hold of yourself!. He told you he was going to put a stop to the rabbits. “It’s not his yard!” by now I was mumbling. 124 “It’s not his yard, but maybe that’s just what he did. You should have spoken up for yourself. Come in the house now. You’re trembling” said Janice as she led me back into the house. After that night, I didn’t go sit on Jeff’s deck of an evening to listen to his war stories or his stories about Comity Grove or his stories about his old customers. I’d made up my mind not to say anything to him, until I could find a way to bring up his trespassing on my property. “As a matter of fact, we’re not moving. We’re staying right here, even if it means taking a new job,” I said to my father. Evening and the full moon stood gua