Welcome to Braggsville by T. Geronimo Johnson

Author:T. Geronimo Johnson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins

Chapter Thirteen

Why?1, 2, 3

Chapter Twenty-1

A week after the Incident, it looked like Sheriff was correct in his prediction that matters would be well right settled. During their last meeting, he told Daron, I’ll tell you how the inquest’s gonna go: The cause of death is asphyxiation. One person will testify that he climbed up there voluntarily. About twenty-plus witnesses will testify that the young man was not moving when they arrived and that they attempted to render aid, but it was too late. Sadly. The EMTs will corroborate this. One person will claim that the deceased was alive until the men arrived, and that he was whipped. The coroner will testify that there were no marks to indicate that he was struck by a whip, and it will be ruled an accidental death and the Chans—Changs, I mean—can bury their boy. The only thing left will be for the Feds to call their play. That was how it went.

It had been a long week. Terror-stricken by the prospect of being charged with Louis’s murder, Daron considered running away, and might have, had not the attorney his father hired finally convinced him that the inquest was intended to determine the cause of death, and that he, Daron, would not actually be on trial. Without his friends around, his father made it plain that he thought Daron was an idiot for putting his dick in this blender, of all the blenders in the free world. Worse yet, Daron was instructed to cease contact with his friends, especially in public, because, Everything you do will be deemed conspiratorial—and public means online.

(Ceasing contact had felt like one of those errant instructions adults barked to fill space when they didn’t have a legitimate answer. Daron would not have believed that a conspiratorial stink was so easily raised, but there was that couple celebrating their twenty-fifth anniversary in Waffle House who asked the waitress to take their photo. She of-course-honeyed and pushed the magic button once their sausage mustaches were arranged. In the background of this festive scene Daron and his friends hunched over their menus. It’s a moment he remembers clearly because Louis is counting on his thumbs as he liked to, listing the different ways hash browns could be served. When this photo made its way to TV, print, and Web, the caption was, The Comanches Plot. Rush Limbaugh called it a modern Indian massacre, an assault on tradition and family values. After that, Daron knew he would find no solace in common sense.)

He had never before ceased contact with anyone. He had never ceased anything. The embattled ceased. The Jews and Palestinians ceased. But after receiving that text message from Candice, after two days of pining, he felt better, overcome by a mood he could never have predicted—relief. Relieved to no longer worry about Candice liking Charlie, or Charlie liking Candice, or Candice being comfortable, or Candice finding something to eat that isn’t fried, or that everything his mom did was countrified. Knowing

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