Brick by Nicholas Brown
I had never given much thought over that boy I killed. It was around ten years ago, back when I was seventeen and still sold pot on Jefferson Street. But for some reason, I still remember that day with almost perfect clarity.
It was cool for a spring day, around the lower sixties. The sky was speckled with fluffy grey clouds. I remember the sun seemed awfully bright that day, at least when it could struggle through the white barrier that confined it to the sky. There were also a lot of birds chirping. Almost an unusual amount. I like birds, don’t get me wrong, but not when there are a lot of them.
My walk to Jefferson was a nice one. I stopped by my nonna’s house on the way, because it had been a few days since I had seen here. She invited me in for tea, but I declined, said I had to get going. She told me to come over for dinner, said she heard I got my acceptance letter in the mail yesterday and wanted to make me something special. I told her I would, gave her a kiss, and left.
The air was crisp that afternoon, which was a nice relief from the humidity of the past week. It blanketed the town, and draped over you like a wool poncho. But that day you could breath.
I got to my usual spot, a back alley between a three-story office building and a Shell gas station. I liked how no one in that part of town knew me; I didn’t have any allies, but I also didn’t have any enemies. Not that I made many enemies. I was, and still am, a pretty easy going, well-mannered guy. You just always have to be careful when you do the things I did. Actually, you just have to be careful. One day, when I was a year younger, some dude was walking through the street. It was midday Tuesday, just around lunch time. The man came out of the office building, minding his own business. Out of nowhere, a new car barreled down the street and hit the guy. I mean, sent him flying. He hit the ground thirty yards away, and skidded to a stop. The guy’s mangled body was pronounced dead at the spot. The driver stopped, then peeled out. Don’t think they ever caught him. Not sure it would've done any good, anyway.
So I got to my usual spot around noon. I didn’t always get there at noon; it’s not safe to have a routine. But that day I did. I saw one of my usual costumers walking past the alley. When he was twelve, his family was evicted from their home, and he had to move out here to live with an older cousin. I heard his dad ended up killing himself. He didn’t know anyone in town, so he started smoking pot. That’s how I met him. He’s a really smart guy, too.
I nodded to him inconspicuously, but he pretended not to see me and kept walking. I knew he saw me. That should’ve irked me, I’m told, but it didn’t. Instead, I was curious. I peeked out from the alley, and looked at where he came from. Just an empty street with some decrepit brick shops. Jefferson runs through the old part of town, too. I walked down the street, and in one of the alleys, I saw a kid in a black sweatshirt and faded jeans, hands interlocked at the middle of his waist.
I started walking towards him, and he stiffened up a little. When I got within a few feet, I noticed his eyes darting back and forth. They were hazel, too. I always like the name Hazel. Thought to myself that if I ever had a daughter, then that’s what I would call her.
He asked me if I was looking for Mary. That made me giggle a little, which kind of upset him. He looked a frustrated, and I knew he was a beginner. He asked me what the hell I was doing there, and I told him I was just looking around. Then he told me to beat it. I asked him if he was selling pot. A tiny bead of sweat formed right above his nose, and he feverishly wiped it off, then shifted his weight onto his other foot. He told me he didn’t know what I was talking about. His lower lip quivered. Then I showed him a bit of the dope I was carrying. He eased a little, slumped his shoulders some, then stood right back up, looking determined. I asked him to please move his operations elsewhere. He forced a laugh, then told me to **** off through his teeth. I shrugged, and continued walking through the alley. I could feel his hazel eyes following me.
The alley ended where it bisected another, and I turned right. I saw that someone left the fire escape ladder down on the two story building that the kid was standing near. I climbed up, and walked to the other side of the roof. I peered down over the ledge, and saw the kid pull out a cigarette and light it. His hand was shaking as he put it to his lips.
The bricks that created the ledge were weather-worn, and the mortar was crumbling in some of the spots. Just to my luck, one of the bricks right above the kid was starting to come lose. I took off my shirt. I really like taking off my shirt. I used to be chubby as a kid, but in high school I started to work out a lot and built myself a physique. I wouldn’t say I’m vain, just proud.
I put the shirt over my right hand and poked gently at the brick. It started to rock a little. I looked down and saw the kid still smoking. I waited for him to finish. I picked up the brick with my shirt still over my hand and climbed back down into the alley. Then I walked to the corner, where his alley bisected the one I was in. He was midway between my position and the street. I took off my shoes and carried them in my left hand. I started walking over to him. When I was about fifteen paces away, I gathered my speed. He heard me and turned around. As I jumped in the air, I noticed a look of horror begin to seep into the surprise on his face. I cracked the brick on his forehead, and landed in a roll to the left of his corpse.
As I sat up and began to put my shoes on, I noticed I had stepped on a piece of glass as I was walking down the alley. It was just a little piece, but when I pulled it out, the bottom of my foot started to bleed through my sock. I put my shoes on, and made a mental note to clean it up at the gas station when I got back to my spot.
The rest of the day was pretty slow, so I decided to pack up early. I texted my mom, told her I was leaving my friend’s house, and that I was going to nonna’s.
I knocked on my nonna’s door a few times before she answered. She gets very focused when she cooks. It’s the Italian in her. She was born in Venezia, and moved here when she was five. She taught me Italian when I was young, as I was still learning English even. Said it was important for me to know my heritage. I have to say, there’s something magical about Dante in Italian, something you just don’t get in English. Richard Howard once said that all translations are paraphrases. Maybe that’s it.
As nonna opened the door, I could already smell the chicken parmesan baking in the oven. She knew it was my favorite.
After dinner, we sat around the table and chatted. Nonna brought out a bottle of her favorite marsala and poured me a glass. After a couple drinks, I got a little light-headed.
I stayed and talked with nonna until around eleven. She offered to drive me home, but I insisted on walking. We kissed our goodbyes, and I left the warm comfort of her home for the cool tranquility of the street.
I always had an affinity for night. Some of my favorite memories were centered around night. Catching fireflies with my sister as kids, watching fireworks with my friends during the summer festival. When we had family parties at my Uncle Glen’s house, we would always have a two-on-two tournament. He had a large property outside of town with a long driveway. We’d park cars around his basketball hoop, making a half court, and turn the headlights on. I would always play with my dad. When you weren’t playing, you’d sit on a car hood and watch. We’d scream and yell and cheer. My mom always cheered the loudest for me.
That night, I slipped into my house through the back door that my mom leaves open when I’m out. I locked it and hovered upstairs to my room. I took off my shirt and pants, slipped underneath the covers, and closed my eyes. That night, I dreamt about Venezia.
It’s funny how years later I still remember that day. I was just watching TV, and saw some guy on a cop show beat a woman to death with a brick. After the show, there was a really funny commercial with a talking peanut butter jar. It made me giggle.
