Long Way Down

by Jason Reynolds

I stood in the shower the next morning after Shawn taught me the first rule, no crying, feeling like I wanted to scratch my skin off scratch my eyes out punch through something, a wall, a face, anything, so something else could have a hole.

Smoke like spirit can be thick but ain’t supposed to be nothing solid enough to hold me.

How do you tell water ain’t nothing funny about drowning?

IS IT POSSIBLE for a hug to peel back skin of time, the toughened and raw bits, the irritated and irritating dry spots, the parts that bleed?

I replied, choking down me choking up, I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know what to do.

MY STOMACH was aching, the quaking world in the bottom of it, and it wasn’t long before I could feel myself splitting apart.

a bank robber, would steal air from the world if he could get his hands on it.

Shawn’s face a candle, melted wax, flame flickering out.

And I felt like the cigarette meant for him was burning in my stomach, filling me with stinging fire.