Flashbacks
"You should've never been shot, man," Malik whispered, shaking his head. The whole situation was crazy. One minute they were celebrating Arell's success, the next they were rushing to the hospital, praying Kenny would make it.
His mind drifted to Arell. Geoffrey had called earlier, concern evident in his voice. "Arell's been hitting you're stash hard," Geoffrey had said. "He's smoking, and that's not something he does. I'm worried about him."
Malik frowned. Arell had never been much of a smoker, just the occasional joint to unwind. But this... this was different. It reminded him of that time back in Chicago, years ago, when things had gotten rough.
Chicago, Summer 2007
The sun beat down on the cracked asphalt of the basketball court, the heat rising in shimmering waves. The sounds of the neighborhood filled the air: kids shouting and laughing, the rhythmic bounce of basketballs, and the smooth flow of Tupac's "Dear Mama" drifting from a nearby boombox.
On the sidelines, a group of men huddled around a set of dice, their low voices punctuated by occasional shouts of triumph or dismay. Further down the block, sharp-eyed lookouts kept watch while others conducted quick, discreet transactions – the daily business of survival in a neighborhood forgotten by most.
But the real action was on the court. A crowd of kids, most around 13 years old, had gathered to watch an intense game of one-on-one between Arell and Tavares.
Arell, lean and quick, his oversized Warriors jersey hanging off his skinny frame, dribbled the ball with a confidence that belied his years. Across from him, Tavares, slightly taller and more muscular, crouched in a defensive stance, his eyes locked on Arell's every move.
"You ain't got nothing, shorty," Tavares taunted, a grin spreading across his face. "I'm bout to send you home crying to your grandmama."
Arell's eyes narrowed, but a smirk played at the corners of his mouth. "Talk all you want, big man. I'm bout to make you look stupid out here."
The crowd "oohed" in appreciation of the verbal sparring. Kenny called out, "Show him what you got, Rell!"
Arell started his drive, his sneakers squeaking against the worn court as he feinted left, then quickly crossed over to his right. Tavares bit on the fake, stumbling slightly, and Arell seized the opportunity. He drove hard to the basket, elevating for a layup.
But Tavares recovered quickly, his longer arms stretching out to block the shot. The ball ricocheted off the backboard, and both boys scrambled for the rebound, their bodies colliding with a thud that drew sympathetic groans from the onlookers.
As they played, the signs of poverty were impossible to ignore. The rims on the court were bent and missing their nets. Most of the kids wore hand-me-down clothes or knockoff sneakers. In the distance, the boarded-up windows of abandoned buildings stared down at them.
But on the court, none of that mattered.
The game continued, each boy giving it their all, neither willing to back down. The trash talk flew as fast as the ball, but underneath it all was a mutual respect, a shared understanding of what it meant to grow up in these streets.
As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the court, Arell made his move. With a series of quick crossovers that left Tavares spinning, he created just enough space to launch a jump shot. The ball arced through the air, seeming to hang there for an eternity before swishing through the makeshift net.
The crowd erupted in cheers and good-natured ribbing. Arell raised his arms in triumph, a wide grin splitting his face. Tavares shook his head, but there was a smile there too as he extended his hand for a grudging but respectful dap.
"Good game, shorty," Tavares admitted. "But don't get too big-headed. I'll get you next time."
Arell laughed, high on the rush of victory. "You can try, man. You can try."
As the crowd began to disperse, heading home for dinner or to continue their hustles, Arell noticed a older teen he didn't recognize lurking at the edge of the court. The guy caught Arell's eye and beckoned him over.
"Yo, little man," the teen said, his voice low. "That was some game. You got skills."
Arell, still flushed with victory, nodded. "Thanks, man."
The teen reached into his pocket and pulled out a small baggie. "How about a little celebration? First one's on the house."
Arell hesitated, his eyes fixed on the white powder in the bag. He'd seen enough to know what it was, and he knew he should walk away. But the adrenaline was still pumping through his veins, and a part of him, the part that was tired of always being the good kid, the responsible one, whispered that maybe, just this once, he could let loose.
He reached for the bag...
Present Day
Malik shook his head, dispelling the memory. That day had been a close call. If Malik hadn't shown up when he did, who knows what path Arell might have taken, it could have been laced for all he knowed.
Malik's eyes refocused on Kenny's sleeping form, the memory of that day in 2007 fading. But as he sat there, another, more painful memory surfaced. He sighed heavily, "That wasn't the only time..."
Chicago, Summer 2008
The oppressive heat of a Chicago summer hung in the air as Malik walked out of the corner store, a bag of chips and a soda in hand. It was all he could afford with the few dollars he'd scrounged up. His stomach growled, reminding him that this would likely be his only meal of the day.
As he turned the corner, a group of kids, maybe four or five of them, suddenly surrounded him. Malik recognized them from school, known troublemakers who always seemed to be looking for a fight.
"Yo, whatchu got there?" one of them sneered, eyeing Malik's meager purchases.
Malik clutched the bag tighter. "Nothing, man. Just some snacks."
Another boy shoved him hard. "Hand it over."
Before Malik could respond, a fist connected with his jaw, sending him stumbling backward. The group descended on him, fists and feet flying. Malik curled into a ball, trying to protect himself as best he could.
Suddenly, a familiar voice cut through the chaos. "What's up, pussy?"
Arell appeared out of nowhere, his fist connecting solidly with one of the attackers' faces. The boy stumbled back, blood streaming from his nose.
"Malik, run!" Arell shouted, dodging a punch and delivering one of his own.
Malik scrambled to his feet, and together, he and Arell took off down the block, the gang of kids hot on their heels. Their sneakers pounded the pavement as they ran, hearts racing, lungs burning.
As they rounded another corner, they saw a group of older men hanging out on the stoop of a run-down apartment building. Among them was Malik's uncle, Tommy.
Seeing the situation, Tommy stood up, his imposing figure causing the pursuing kids to skid to a halt.
"What's going on here?" Tommy's deep voice boomed.
The kids shuffled nervously, suddenly less sure of themselves.
Tommy's eyes narrowed as he recognized them. "Ain't y'all lil Jeffrey's boys?"
When they didn't answer, Tommy took a step forward. "I suggest y'all go home before I decide to shoot up ya daddy's crib. You feel me?"
The threat hung in the air for a moment before the kids turned tail and ran, leaving Malik and Arell gasping for breath.
Tommy turned to the boys, his face softening slightly. "You two alright?"
They nodded, still too winded to speak.
Tommy reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills, peeling off a few and handing them to Malik. "Get yourself something to eat, nephew. And stay out of trouble."
As Malik and Arell walked away, heading towards the park, Arell reached into his own pocket and pulled out the money Tommy had slipped him earlier.
"Here," he said, pressing the bills into Malik's hand. "You need this more than I do."
Malik looked at the money, then back at Arell, his eyes glistening. "Thanks, bro. I don't know what I'd do without you."
They had just reached the edge of the park when the sharp crack of gunfire split the air. Malik and Arell instinctively ducked, then turned to look back the way they had come.
A car was speeding away, the muzzle flashes from its windows illuminating the darkening street. As it passed, Malik and Arell saw bodies sprawled on the ground where Tommy and the other men had been standing just moments before.
For a moment, everything seemed to stand still. Then the screaming started.
Malik felt his knees give way, and he sank to the ground, his body shaking with sobs. "Uncle Tommy... Uncle Tommy..."
Arell stood frozen, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief. He felt the sting of tears threatening to spill over, but he forced them back. Looking down at Malik, he saw his friend broken, vulnerable in a way he'd never seen before.
Swallowing hard against the lump in his throat, Arell knelt beside Malik. He wrapped his arms around his friend's shaking shoulders, pulling him close.
"I'm here, man," Arell whispered, his voice rough with emotion. "I got you."
As Malik sobbed into his shoulder, Arell stared blankly at the chaos unfolding down the street. Sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder. People were running, shouting, crying. But all Arell could focus on was the weight of his friend in his arms and the burning in his chest as he fought to keep his own tears at bay.
In that moment, something shifted inside Arell. He felt a hardness settling over him, a protective shell forming around his heart. He couldn't break down, not now. Malik needed him to be strong.
As the night wore on and the sirens grew closer, Arell held onto Malik, offering what comfort he could. But inside, he felt a piece of his childhood slipping away, replaced by a grim determination to survive, to protect, to endure.
Malik's thoughts drifted back to the present, his eyes still fixed on Kenny's sleeping form. He sighed heavily, remembering how that day had changed Arell.
"After that day," Malik murmured to himself, "Arell always held in his emotions. He became the caring one, always forcing himself to be strong for others. And slowly but surely, as he did it more and more, it became who he was."
Another memory surfaced, this one from when they were about 15...
Chicago, 2010
The sounds of shouting and the dull thuds of fists hitting flesh echoed through the dingy hallway of the apartment complex. Malik, Kenny, and Arell were heading to Devon's place when they heard the commotion.
As they rounded the corner, they saw Devon curled up on the floor, his drunk father looming over him, fists clenched.
Kenny started forward, but Arell held out an arm, stopping him. Without a word, Arell walked up to Devon, placed a hand on his shoulder for a brief moment, then stepped over him and into the apartment.
What happened next was a blur of violence. They could hear the sounds of a struggle, things breaking, and then silence. A few moments later, Arell walked out, his knuckles bloodied but his face impassive. Devon's father stumbled to the doorway, his face a mess of bruises, blood trickling from his nose.
Arell didn't say a word. He just looked at Devon, still on the floor, gave a small nod, and then walked away, heading back to his own apartment.
Malik's voice broke the silence of the hospital room. "That's why we always looked to him as the protector of the group. But when we were young, we didn't realize how much he had been suffering. It wasn't until prison that we realized..."
Cook County Jail, 2013
The concrete walls of the prison yard loomed around them as Arell, Malik, Kenny, and Devon sat in their usual spot. They were talking, laughing even, finding moments of lightness in the heavy atmosphere of incarceration.
Arell was in the middle of a story when he suddenly stopped, his eyes distant. "You know," he said, his voice low, "sometimes I wonder if all this was worth it. If we could've done something different, you know?"
The others fell silent, the weight of his words hanging in the air. After a moment, Arell stood up and walked away, leaving his friends to ponder what he'd said.
As they watched him go, Devon turned to the others. "Hey, have y'all ever seen Arell cry?"
Kenny and Malik looked at each other, then shook their heads.
"Nah, man," Malik said. "And he's seen more dead people than all of us combined."
They sat in silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts about their friend.
Later that day, Devon was walking through a different part of the jail when a tall, muscular inmate stepped into his path. Devon recognized him immediately - Von, everyone knew who Von was.
"Aye, where you from, little man?" Von asked, his tone challenging.
Before Devon could answer, Arell appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. He stepped between Devon and Von, his stance casual but his eyes hard.
"He's with me," Arell said, his voice calm but firm.
Von's eyes narrowed. "And who the fuck is you?"
"You tryna see," Arell replied, not backing down.
The tension in the air was palpable as the two men stared each other down. Then, almost simultaneously, they both swung. The fight was quick but brutal, both men landing solid hits.
When it was over, they were both breathing hard, sporting fresh bruises. But there was a glimmer of respect in Von's eyes as he looked at Arell.
"Aye, ain't you from the O?" Von asked, wiping blood from his lip.
Arell nodded. "Live right on the next block."
Von grinned. "Yeah, cuz I seen you before. You got heart, man."
They dapped up, the fight forgotten as quickly as it had started.
Back in the hospital room, Malik shook his head, a small smile on his face despite the heaviness in his heart. "Arell was always protecting us, always putting himself on the line."
He paused, thinking about the psychological toll it must have taken on Arell. While Malik didn't have the vocabulary to fully articulate it, he understood on a deep level that Arell's constant suppression of his emotions, his need to always be the strong one, wasn't good for him.
It was like he had developed a form of emotional armor, but that armor came at a cost. It isolated him, made it hard for him to truly connect with others or process his own feelings. He was always vigilant, always being ready to protect and defend.
Malik sighed heavily. "We relied on him so much, looked up to him as this unbreakable protector. But we never stopped to think about who was protecting him, who was there for him when he needed someone."
He looked at his phone again, Arell's number still on the screen. The weight of all these memories, all these realizations, made the need to reach out to his friend even more urgent.
As Malik waited for Arell to pick up the phone, another memory surfaced, one he hadn't witnessed personally but had heard about years later. It was a moment that revealed a side of Arell that few had ever seen...
Chicago, 2010
The night was unusually quiet in the projects. Most people had retreated indoors to escape the biting cold of the Chicago winter. Snow fell softly, covering the cracked sidewalks and rusted playground equipment in a deceptive blanket of white.
Arell, just 15 years old, walked alone through the deserted streets. His hands were shoved deep in the pockets of a jacket that was too thin for the weather, his breath forming small clouds in front of his face. He had no particular destination in mind; he just needed to be out, away from his apartment, where his Grandmother and Aunt were arguing.
As he passed by the local community center, long closed for the night, he noticed a small shape huddled against the building's wall. Drawing closer, he realized it was a dog - a pitbull mix, by the looks of it. The dog was emaciated, its ribs clearly visible even in the dim light of the streetlamp. It shivered violently, letting out a small whimper as Arell approached.
Arell crouched down, holding out his hand for the dog to sniff. "Hey there," he said softly, his voice gentler than anyone who knew him would have believed possible. "You lost, buddy?"
The dog lifted its head slightly, regarding Arell with wary eyes. After a moment, it stretched its neck out, sniffing Arell's hand before giving it a tentative lick.
Arell's face softened, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He noticed the dog didn't have a collar. "No home, huh? Yeah, I know how that feels."
He sat down next to the dog, ignoring the cold seeping through his jeans from the snow-covered ground. The dog watched him for a moment before inching closer, seemingly drawn to the warmth of his body.
Arell reached out slowly, giving the dog time to pull away if it wanted to. When it didn't, he gently began to stroke its head. "You're a tough one, aren't you? Surviving out here on your own."
As he petted the dog, Arell began to talk. At first, it was just idle chatter, commenting on the weather or the quietness of the night. But gradually, words began to pour out of him, things he'd never said aloud to anyone.
"You know, sometimes I wonder what it would be like to just... leave," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Just walk away from all of this. Find somewhere where nobody knows me, where I don't have to be strong all the time."
The dog had fully relaxed now, its head resting on Arell's lap as he continued to pet it.
"But I can't," Arell continued, his voice cracking slightly. "They need me. Tavares, Emry, Courtney, Angel, Malik, Kenny, Devon... they're counting on me. I can't let them down."
He fell silent for a moment, his hand still moving rhythmically over the dog's fur. When he spoke again, his voice was thick with emotion.
"But it's so hard sometimes, you know? I'm tired. I'm so damn tired of being strong, of holding it all in. I just... I wish someone could be strong for me, just for a little while."
A single tear escaped, rolling down Arell's cheek. He didn't bother to wipe it away. Instead, he looked down at the dog, which was now looking up at him with what seemed like understanding in its eyes.
"At least you get it, huh?" Arell said with a sad chuckle. "You don't expect anything from me. You're just... here."
They sat like that for a long time, Arell talking softly to the dog about his fears, his doubts, his dreams - all the things he could never say to his friends. As he talked, more tears fell, silent streams that he finally allowed himself to release.
Eventually, Arell's voice trailed off, and he sat in silence, one hand still absently petting the dog. The snow had stopped falling, and the first hints of dawn were starting to lighten the sky.
With a deep sigh, Arell wiped his face and stood up. He looked down at the dog, which was now wagging its tail slightly.
"Thanks for listening, buddy," he said. Then, after a moment's hesitation, he added, "Want to come home with me? It's not much, but it's warm, and there's food, and my Grandmother loves dogs, I'm sure she'll let you stay."
The dog stood up, its tail wagging more vigorously now. Arell couldn't help but smile.
"Alright then, let's go home."
As they walked away together, Arell felt lighter than he had in years. For one night, he had allowed himself to be vulnerable, to show weakness. And the world hadn't ended.
Back in the present, Malik blinked back tears as he remembered hearing this story years later. Arell had kept that dog, naming it Lucky, until it passed away just before they went to prison.