Beyond Poetry by Nathan Jarelle

Author:Nathan Jarelle [Jarelle, Nathan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Beyond Poetry
Published: 2021-06-08T22:00:00+00:00

Don’t get misinformed by the uninformed.

Miseducated fools swim together

Like a school of dumb fish

waiting to get eaten

by the sharks of their oppressors.

—LEONARD G. ROBINSON JR.

Eight

Junior appeared in the lobby of Children’s Hospital, lagging onto Casey’s shoulder, swollen, crying, and bleeding from his mouth. He was aided by a desk nurse who quickly summoned for a gurney. Knots lined atop Junior’s forehead and scalp like anthills, and his eyes looked like golf balls with slits for his red eyes. There was a gash on the bridge of his nose, and his lips were bloody and puffy like undercooked sausage links. Missing a sock, the toenail on his right pinky toe was snapped back to the cuticle. He struggled to make his way onto the gurney. Wincing, whining, writhing in pain, he held onto Casey’s hand before a team of hospital staff whisked him away into Intensive Care, breaking the hold.

Aching all over, doctors administered Junior extra-strength Tylenol. When that failed, they gave him morphine to slow down his restlessness and anxiety. Within minutes, his pain subsided, and he was out. When Junior awoke an hour later, he was surrounded by his parents, Casey, and a police detective. Still out of it, Junior could barely keep his eyes open as Sandy tried to talk to him. His jaw and head throbbed, and the room was spinning from the combination of drugs and the four-on-one ass-kicking.

“Junior? Baby?” Sandy leaned over him. “Honey, can you hear me?”

Nodding his head in response, Junior winced as his headache suddenly grew worse. He cried again which also made Casey cry.

“Honey? This is Detective Engram. He needs to ask you about what happened, OK? I need you to talk to the detective for us. Can you do that for me?”

Slow and more precarious than the first time, Junior nodded again.

“Hello Leonard, I’m Detective…”

“He prefers Junior!” Casey interfered. “Please, call him Junior, sir.”

Irritated, the detective exhaled as both Senior and Sandy looked at one another, surprised by Junior’s big sissy.

“Very well.” He fake-smiled. “Junior. I’m Detective Engram with the Philadelphia Police. I need to ask you some questions about what happened earlier. Can I get you to talk?”

Junior sluggishly extended his arms so Casey and Senior could hoist him up in bed. He grunted in pain. Through the slit in his gown was a large scrape across his back from where he had fallen to the asphalt. With his right hand, Junior reached for the controller to his bed to raise himself to speak with Detective Engram. Meanwhile, the detective jotted notes on Junior’s injuries onto a clipboard. Sandy offered him a sip of ice-cold water to help him wake up.

“I can come back tomorrow if you guys think that’ll be better?” Detective Engram said.

As Sandy went to speak, Casey beat her to it.

“Give him a damn second, OK?” she hissed as she straightened Junior’s pillow. “The kid just had his brains beaten out of him. He’s in a lot of pain, Detective.”

Sulking and impatient, the detective backed into the corner of the room as Junior’s family tended to him.

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