Jason Reynolds: ... for the rumble to stop before picking our heads up and poking our heads out to count the bodies. This time there was only one. Sean. I've never been in an earthquake. Don't know if this was even close to how they are, but the ground definitely felt like it opened up and ate me.

Things that always happen whenever someone is killed around here.

Number one. Screaming. Not everybody screams, usually just moms, girlfriends, daughters. In this case it was Letitia, Sean's girlfriend, on her knees, kissing his forehead between shrieks. I think she hoped her voice would somehow keep him alive, would clot the blood. But I think she knew deep down in the deepest part of her downness she was kissing him goodbye. And my mom, moaning low, not my baby, not my baby, why? Hanging over my brother's body like a dimmed light post.

Number two. Sirens. Lots and lots of sirens howling, cutting through the sounds of the city, except the screams. The screams are always heard over everything, even the sirens.

Number three. Questions. Cops flash lights in our faces and we all turn to stone. Did anybody see anything, a young officer asked. He looked honest, like he ain't never done this before. You can always tell a newbie. They always ask questions like they really expect answers. Did anybody see anyone? I ain't seen nothing, Marcus Andrews, the neighborhood know-it-all, said. Even he knew better than to know anything.

In case you ain't know, gunshots make everybody deaf and blind, especially when they make somebody dead. Best to become invisible in times like these. Everybody knows that, even Tony flew away.

I'm not sure if the cops asked me questions. Maybe. Maybe not. Couldn't hear nothing. Ears filled up with heartbeats like my head was being held under water, like I was holding my breath. Maybe I was. Maybe I was hoping I could give some back to Sean. Or maybe somehow, join him.

When bad things happen, we can usually look up and see the moon, big and bright, shining over us. It always made me feel better. Like there's something up there beaming down on us in the dark. But the day before yesterday, when Sean died, the moon was off. Somebody told me once a month the moon blacks out and becomes new and the next night be back to normal. I'll tell you one thing, the moon is lucky it's not down here, where nothing is ever new. I stood there, mouth clenched tight enough to grind my teeth down to dust, and looked at Sean lying there like a piece of furniture left outside, like a stained-up couch draped in a gold chain. Them fuckers ain't even snatch it.

Random thought. Blood soaking into a t-shirt, blue jeans and boots looks a lot like chocolate syrup when the glow from the street lights hit it. But I know ain't nothing sweet about blood. I know it ain't like chocolate syrup at all.

In his hand, a corner store plastic bag, white with red letters, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you. Have a nice day. In that bag, special soap for my mother's eczema. I've seen her scratch until it bleeds. Pick at the pus bubbles and flaky scales, curse the invisible thing, trying to eat her.

Maybe there's something invisible trying to eat all of us as if we are beef. Beef gets passed down like name brand t-shirts around here. Always too big, never ironed out, gets inherited like a trunk of fool's gold or a treasure map leading to nowhere. Came knocking on my brother's life, kicked the damn door down, and took everything except his gold chain. The the yellow ...