Broken Roads

    I'm from where the roads are cracked, the sun seems to shine bleakly, and hope and opportunity are few. Survival is the motivation. I lived in a small white rusting house with my grandmother and brother Caleb, where dog barks echoed, and metal fences rattled. Screeching tires and blasting music filled the night. My granny was a tiny old lady but very capable, with a stern look and commanding voice. She had a brittle body but the heart of a lion. You were asking for it if you stepped to her. She would snap whenever she heard my brother and I arguing or fighting. 
    "Y'all better cut that mess out!" She yelled. "Get the shovels and start digging!"
Caleb released his grip from my shirt at the sound of her sharp and scratchy voice, and a tingling sensation raced down my spine. 
    "I told you, stop playin'," my brother said frustratingly. 
    No matter who was at fault, Granny made us dig holes in our tiny backyard and fill them back up until our hands were numb. My brother hit the ground with all his anger. He was tall, strong, and had an athletic build, unlike me, who was of average height and a bit skinny. After a few digs, he calmed down. It worked every time. A few digs would take all the pain away if we were mad or sad. It was like a meditation. It was where I could think clearly. 
   It wasn't uncommon to hear the crackles of distant gunfire; the only thing we could do was hope nobody got hurt. Especially someone we knew. We would sit in the living room at night to watch the news and see what damage had been done. 
    "At 9:30 p.m., James Smith was killed in a drive-by shooting. Police are working diligently to find the perpetrator," the news reporter announced.
   We were usually numb to news like that, but this time, we were in shock. Granny gasped, "Not James." She closed her eyes and shook her head. "Lord Jesus. Why do we always gotta be killing our own people?"
     James was a man who would come by and say hello from time to time with the brightest smile. He didn't deserve what happened. No one deserved to get shot down like that. I dug a few holes and looked at the half-moon that night. I wondered if I was in control of my path or if the road was already paved. News like that kept me inside; it kept me afraid. I liked to read and write. I started writing books as I got older. But my brother was fearless; he was always outside, playing basketball or hanging out with his friends. 
     He once told me, "I ain't afraid of no one; I'm too fast and strong. I'm too pretty to get shot."
     I looked at him as if he was crazy. 
     "Shut up," I said.
    "Nobody's gonna stop me from hooping; I gotta make it to the league," he said as he spun a basketball on his finger. 
He was always trying to teach me how to fight. He would put his fists to his face and say, "Put your hands up."
I stayed sitting.
    "Come on, you gotta learn how to fight." He started shadowboxing and nudged my head several times, which usually got me to stand up. Our shadow boxing always ended in me grabbing his legs.
    "Oh, you tryna wrestle. I can do that, too." 
    "What did I tell y'all about making that noise!" Granny barked. 
    Sometimes, I would gain enough courage and play basketball with my friend Liam; he was small and had thick glasses. We liked playing basketball, but we weren't any good. We'd go to a small park that was just up the street. It had a dingy court with chain nets. Some of the rims didn't even have a net. We would walk by and see if anybody was playing. If there were many people, we found something else to do. But this time, Liam was feeling good. 
    "There's too many; let's go to your house," I told Liam. 
    "Nah," he spoke passionately. "Let's go. If they start fighting, we'll leave."
Sneakers squeaked against the pavement as guys ran up and down the court. A speaker played music. Liam and I went to a side basket and shot the ball every time they ran down the opposite side. 
    "You're trash!" One yelled.
    "Pass the ball, this man can't guard me!" Another shouted. 
     The ball was shot from three and swished. 
    "Game! Get off my court!"

    They finished the game and sat by their bags laid on the ground as Liam and I continued to shoot. After a short moment, one of them walked to us and asked, "You guys tryna hop in? We need two." 
    "Nah, we're good," I said nervously. 
    He smacked his lips and said, "C'mon, we just need two; which one of you can shoot?"
    "We can't really shoot," I replied. 
    "C'mon man, let me see you shoot," he insisted. 
    I looked at Liam, and he shrugged his shoulders. I lifted the ball as if it weighed a thousand pounds and launched it over the backboard. A few of the guys sitting started dying of laughter. 
    "Ah, hell nah!" One yelled.
    The man's face cringed, "Damn. can you at least jump?" The man asked.
    I shrugged.
    "Can you touch the rim?" he wondered.
    I stared at the red rim, and it looked so far. I would have needed wings to reach it. I bent my knees, jumped as high as possible, and barely hit the net. 
    The man looked disgusted and said, "You're black and can't jump! Can you play football?" 
    I shook my head.
    "Can you rap?" 
    I didn't say a word. 
    "You better start spitting bars or something." 
    Being in high school and being bad at sports or fitting in was embarrassing. I always wondered why I wasn't athletic or cool enough. You were either a ball player, rapper, or gangster. There was no other road where I was from. People didn't believe there could be. 
   "Anthony!" Liam shouted from behind in the school hallway to get my attention. His backpack shuffled as he jogged down the hall until he was beside me. "Anthony," he said, out of breath. "Did you hear about the school poetry competition?" 
    "No."
    "You should join it. Whoever wins gets to go to a state competition; if you win that, you get five thousand dollars."
Five thousand sure did sound like a lot of money; hell, I never thought I'd touch five thousand unless I could jump or write raps. Money was fictive; it was something I could only imagine or see in movies. Flashy cars and big houses were only things I dreamt of. I knew I was a decent writer, but it was only something I'd do when I was bored.
    "I don't know, I don't write poetry," I said doubtfully.
    "I've read what you write; you're good," Liam said confidently as he nudged my shoulder. "All you have to do is submit one poem; what's the worst that could happen?"
I tried to think of another excuse, but there were none. He was right; what was the worst that could happen? As soon as I got home, I thought of an idea and wrote a short poem on my school laptop, something about space and its dancing stars. I loved thinking about space and how vast and majestic it is. Its mysteriousness intrigued me; the chaotic stillness was absorbing. 
    I submitted the poem, not thinking much of it. No way did I think I could win. A week later, the results were in. Over the loudspeaker during morning announcements, the principal announced who came in third and second, neither of which was me. I was pretty bummed out because I thought I would at least get third. 
    Then, the principal named the winner. "Congratulations to Anthony Brown for winning the school poetry competition; he will be given a chance to win five thousand dollars at the state competition."
    My heart dropped, I couldn't believe my name was said, I could have sworn it was a dream. The entire class turned their heads to the back where I sat, most of them with surprised looks. I couldn't help but smile from ear to ear. It felt like I had finally accomplished something. I wanted to stand on the highest peak and repeatedly yell, "I did it! I did it!"
    After class, Liam jumped on my back and pushed me around, all excited. "I knew you could do it! I knew you were a magician with the words!" 
    We laughed. 
    "We have to celebrate," Liam said. "Let's go to my house after school; I gotta show you the new T.V. I got. Flatscreen." 
    I looked at him with wide eyes and said, "flatscreen?" 
    "Flatscreen," he confirmed. 
    He didn't have to say a word more.  
    The bus stop was a good walk from his house, not too far, but a decent exercise. About halfway, the gurgling sound of a muscle car appeared behind us. We didn't think anything of it until the car pulled up, slowly rolling down the road beside us. The driver's side window rolled down, exposing the bumping music playing. The car looked full, and they all had mean looks. 
    "Aye, cuz!" the driver spoke.
    Liam and I kept walking in silence, trying to pretend they weren't there.
    "I know you hear me talking to you, boy! You know these streets ain't safe, right?" 
    We paid no attention.
    "We can protect some mothafuckas like you," the man proceeded. "You tryna have a car like this?"
    He finally realized that we weren't going to budge. 
    "Square ass niggas," he cussed. "I like your shoes; what size are those?"
    I had enough and slightly released the cap of the built-up tension and anger in my body.
    "Leave us alone, dude!" I snapped in annoyance. 
    He glanced at his colleagues and sped in front of us. I thought they were gone until the car came to a screeching halt. Two of the gangsters hopped out and stomped their way to us. One looked to be in his late twenties, but the other was not much older than us. Liam and I stepped back and looked at each other worryingly. 
    "You tryna get socked!? Both of you, give me your shoes."
     Liam instantly stripped his shoes off, but I stood with a sturdy demeanor. 
    "Watchu tryna do?" the man said as he approached me. 
     I look him in the eyes with a furious stare.
     "It's not worth it; just give him the shoes," Liam said, but I stood straight with a lion's mane. 
     "You better listen. Handle my light work." He gestured to the other guy, who looked frightened.
     "What are you waiting for? Pull the strap out on these fools!"
     The young man whipped out a pistol and pointed it at my face. His hands trembled as he looked at me with remorse.
     "Now take his shoes!"
     The teenage kid looked at the man, then back at me, and screeched, "Give me your shoes!"
     I was ready to go out right then and there, with my pride and all. I looked past the barrel to his eyes. I saw the fear as he hid behind the gun, his fear of life. I was surprisingly calm. Out of everything that did scare me, a gun to my head did not. I finally put my pride aside and flipped my shoes off. They were my nicest shoes too, a pair of old, red and white Jordans.
    It felt like I had been brought back to reality, and the road ahead was a dark path with no prosperity; there was nothing to look forward to. For just a moment, there was light. I thought I saw a future, but who was I kidding? I was just a poor boy who lived at the bottom of the barrel. No one from the bottom made it out; the sunshine was too far. So, out of everyone, how would I be the one to escape? 
     Liam and I silently played video games on his new T.V. for a few hours before it got dark. 
    "Forget about those guys; when you win that five thousand, you'll be flexing on everybody," Liam said as I left.
    I huffed with a soft smile and walked home. I dug and dug, but it didn't work. Usually, when the shovel hit the ground just a few times, my frustration left. But no matter how many holes I dug, I still felt miserable. My thoughts were scattered, and I felt empty. 
     School lunch was usually my favorite time, relaxing my mind and talking to Liam. But the gloom from the previous day carried over and suffocated my mind. I stared at my food; the chatter and shouts from the students were drowned out as I hid within myself.
    "Anthony," Liam spoke. "Anthony!" 
    I broke from the trance and looked up.
    "You alright?" He asked. "Are you sick?"
    I shook my head and said, "I'm fine."
    "Have you started writing?"
     I shook my my head again. 
    "Why not? You know the competition is this weekend, right?"
    I sighed and shrugged.
    "What do you mean?" He asked, "Are you not going?"
    I scrunched my lips and replied bluntly, "Nah."
    "What?" he said in shock. "What are you talking about? You're just going to give up? It's five thousand dollars."
    I smacked my lips and said, "I don't care about that."
    Liam looked at me like a disappointed father. "Fine. Just give up."
    My head drooped back down.
    "Your trippin," said Liam.
    "Leave me alone," I told him.
    "Yeah, whatever." Liam stood and left. I didn't see him for the rest of the day. I saw nobody but the floor. 
    Everything felt a little different walking home that day. There were a few more cracks in the road, the air was heavier than usual, and the sun was dimmer. I got home and plopped on my springy bed, face planting in my pillow. After about an hour, Granny called me into the living room. I wiped my tired eyes and stumbled into the living room, where Granny was putting her shoes on.
    "Caleb's in the hospital," she said. 
    My face turned pale, and my heart skipped a beat as every possibility flooded my mind. Not my brother, please, not my brother, I thought. 
    After school, Caleb rode home in one of his friend's cars. This time, His friend got pulled over and wanted to hide his weed and gun. 
    Caleb always asked his friend, “why do you always carry that around man?”
    He always said, “you know I need it for protection. Shit, you need one too.”
    Caleb looked with frustration.
    “Relax, you know I’m not a criminal.”
    A criminal he was far from-just a kid backed into a corner. 
    They went on a high-speed chase that ended in a crash and broke my brother's leg. All that mattered to me was to see my brother breathing. His leg was wrapped in a cast and elevated on a pillow. His face was bruised, and one of his eyes was bloodshot. 
     I couldn't stand looking at him in this condition; it was like a part of me was damaged. 
   Granny rubbed his face as I stood behind. She stepped aside, and I walked up. We dapped and held our hands together.
    "Looks like I'm not untouchable," he said and laughed through his nose. He grimaced from the pain. 
    We stared into each other's eyes; I winced, trying to look at his beat-up face. 
    "I'm proud of you," he said. "You inspire me."
    The tension in my face let go. I had never heard him say something like that to me. I always looked up to my big bro; he was my hero, someone I wanted to be. But now, it was him who admired me. 
    "Really?" I asked. 
    "Of course, I'm tryna be strong like you."
    My face warmed, and my breathing shook. My watery eyes swelled, but I tried everything I could to not release the floodgates. Once my brother's tears began to flow, I couldn't hold it any longer. I squeezed my face and cried hard. He pulled me in, and we hugged everlastingly as I sank into his arms. 
    We stayed for a couple more hours and then said our goodbyes. I didn't go to school the next day; Granny let me stay home and have a long weekend. I spent most of the day in my room, thinking. I could faintly hear Granny on the phone, talking to someone, frustrated about a medical bill. 
    "I can't afford this; five thousand is too much," I heard her say. "Payment plan?" 
My mind raced until I thought, The state poetry competition. That was exactly it! All I had to do was win the competition, and the five thousand was ours. I jumped out of bed and grabbed my laptop. The competition was the next day, so I was going to have to work at it from day to night. I opened a blank page and stared at it for what must have been an hour; it felt like an eternity. Usually, I already had an idea, but I couldn't think of anything, not even a sentence. 
I was getting frustrated, and my palms were sweaty. I thought, Of course, out of all the times. When it's most important, I can't do it; I can't write. 
    I slammed the laptop shut and paced around my room, rubbing my eyes and grabbing my hair. After a while, I grabbed a shovel and started digging when the sun was still high in the sky. I dug an uncountable number of holes and filled them back up repeatedly until the sun hugged the horizon. I dug and dug, but it wasn't working. 
    My hands were numb; they became numb after the first few holes. I gripped the shovel with great force. Schik, schik, schik. My teeth grimaced as I dug into one spot until a full moon showed. I made a hole so big that it covered half of my body. Schick, schik, schik. . . I finally stopped. I scrunched my eyebrows as I looked around at the hole I had made, surprised at how deep it went. It was like I gained my consciousness back. 
    I peered at the full, gleaming moon; its shine had never been so bright. My eyes squinted, and at that very moment, an idea popped into my head. Flowing sentences formed beautifully in my mind. I climbed out of the hole and left the large pile of dirt; I couldn't lose a single line. 
  I took one massive breath as I looked at the blank page and spread my fingers like a pianist about to play a masterpiece. Click, click, click. My fingers never moved so fast; I slashed at the keys like a painter with his brush, chaotically flicking paint at a canvas, at times, softly guiding the colors, producing soft strokes, eventually creating an elegant piece of art. 
  The next day, in the late afternoon, I grabbed my laptop and rode the public bus to a private school where the competition was being held; thankfully, it wasn't too far.
   I saw the school a few times before, but only briefly, whenever I drove past or walked by. My eyes glistened as I walked onto the school campus, in awe of how big and modern it was. I thought I was in the wrong place for a moment; I couldn't believe it was a high school. I would be set for life if I went here, I thought. Maybe I was being a bit dramatic. 
    I noticed a group of people walking into one of the buildings and followed them into the bright auditorium. Parents and their children, dressed in formal attire, engaged in conversation with other families. A few parents and kids looked at me as if I didn't belong. I wore a black hoodie, gray sweatpants, and some beat-up sneakers. They probably thought I was a homeless kid trying to find shelter. 
   I didn't think it was going to be as big of an event as it was. The prize money was five thousand dollars, but I had never been a part of something like this, so I didn't know what to expect. I sat in one of the far back chairs, away from the socialization, and fiddled with my hands; the butterflies in my stomach were beginning to kick. One of the event organizers walked to me. 
    "Excuse me," they pressed. "Are you supposed to be here?" 
    I nodded. 
    They gave me a surprised look and asked, "Are you a spectator?" 
    "I'm a writer," I said. 
    They gave an even more surprised look. "What's your name?" 
    "Anthony." 
    "Last name-"
    My principal, Dr. Moore, swooped in and said, "he’s my student." She had a curly afro and sharp facial features. 
    "Okay, well, I'm going to need him to sign in." 
    "Yes, we're going to do that right now." Principal Moore fake smiled.
    The organizer glanced at me once more and left. 
    "Where's your family?" Principal Moore asked. 
    "I came by myself."
    Principal Moore looked concerned as if I was her own. "Okay, let's sign you in."
    We walked to a small table that was beside the stage. 
   "He's signing in," Principal Moore told the person sitting at the table. 
   "What is your full name?" 
    I told them my name, and they marked it off on a sheet of paper with a list of the contestants. 
   "Okay, I've got you checked in; you will be in the last seat." They pointed to a line of seats on the stage. "The event starts in five minutes."
    Shortly after, the host on the stage podium announced, "I need all of the contestants to come on stage. Everyone else, please find a seat. Thank you, we'll begin shortly."
    "Oop, look at that! Good luck!" 
    I fixed my gaze upon the tall stage and was brought to the time I was at the court, staring at the high rim. Only this time did it feel like I could reach it. 
    I sat in my assigned seat with my laptop in my lap and tried to copy the other contestant’s straight posture, puffing my chest out and mimicking their nonchalant faces. It was refreshing seeing a few other black kids on stage dressed in nice suits. It reminded me that I belonged. The crowd's chatter stopped once the announcer spoke. Only about half of the auditorium was filled. 
    "Thank you everyone for joining us tonight."
    I didn't hear what else the host said. I was too much in my head trying to control my nerves. The auditorium darkened, and light filled the stage. The host called up the first poet, who spoke with much passion. I was still in my head, so I couldn't pay attention to what they were saying, but I caught a few beautiful lines. 
    Each contestant performed their piece, one by one, until it was my turn. 
    The crowds applaud fizzled out.
    "That was excellent," the host spoke. "Let's all wish the judges luck."
    The crowd laughed. 
    "We have just one more student," said the host. They introduced my school and name. 
    The crowd clapped quickly.
    I took what was the longest walk of my life to the podium. A few whispers in the crowd broke out as I stood. I adjusted the microphone and took a deep, shaky breath. My heart pounded like a drum.
    I cleared my throat and softly spoke, "Broken roads." my words trembled. I cleared my throat again and stood silently, staring at my poem. I was ready to call it quits as my fears overwhelmed my soul. The world was caving in on me until I saw Liam and Granny walk in from the corner of my eye. I felt revived and became possessed like I was no longer in control of my body. The crowd, except for Liam and Granny, disappeared, and I shined. 
    "Broken roads, broken roads," I spoke with passion. "Am I trapped on a broken road? From the cracks like a rose, my petals corrode. No, I will grow. I will grow legs and arms, but it's empty where I go. I go, but the sun never shows. Am I not in control? Am I trapped on a broken road? As I go, I know the road is not my mode. I stand in darkness, like a toad on a Lily pad. Can I not jump to the next? The next and the next. I bend my knees and spread my wings. I see the distant sky. Nothing stops me from reaching high. I know I can go far. I know I can touch the stars."
    The crowd stayed silent; I couldn't tell what the verdict was. Then, after a short moment, the audience gave a thunderous applause. It sounded as if the entire auditorium was jam-packed. Liam shouted with all his lungs, and I saw Granny's proud smile. I wanted to pay my brother's medical bill, but it didn't matter if I won or lost because I found my road. I discovered my shine, and with that, my help to my family is priceless. 
    "Wow, that was brilliant," the host spoke as I sat in my seat. "We will now allow some time for the judges to pick the winner."
    "That was good," the contestant sitting next to me said. 
    "Thanks."
    We waited patiently until the host climbed back onto the stage with a folded slip of paper. They cleared their throat to get everyone's attention and read the name on the slip. "The judges have come to a unanimous decision. Congratulations, Anthony Brown!" Everyone applauded. Liam screamed so loud. People around him must've thought he was a lunatic. I won, and it felt good, but I knew actual winning would be me continuing down this new path I created. I took a picture next to a large check, then went to hug Liam and Granny. 
    "How'd you know I was coming?" I asked Liam.
    "I went over to your house, and you weren't there, so I had a feeling you'd be here."
    "Why didn't you tell me about this?" Granny asked.
    I opened my mouth but couldn’t think of words to say. 
   "It's fine baby," Granny said. She pulled me in and gave me the tightest squeeze, taking the air out of my lungs, but I didn't care. "You know I love you. You can tell me anything."
    "I love you too," I let out with the bit of air I had. 
    Principal Moore walked up with a smile. "I know you're very proud of him."
    "Absolutely," Granny gushed. 
    "He's very talented; I can't wait to see what his future looks like. I'm glad he has people like you two around."
    I looked at Liam and then Granny. Words could not express my appreciation for the people who care about me. That's why I'm here. The path is mine to conquer; I'm at the top of the highest mountain. I've already escaped, and the sunshine is glorious. The road is mine to pave.
    I couldn't wait to share this moment with my brother.