Free Insurrections by Rion Amilcar Scott

library—was the first time since maternity leave that she had to cancel story time. Phil was nearly a year old. She called that morning, as she would many times after that, following a long night in her Southside townhouse. She felt so sick, she told her boss. In those days, it was always a party. Passed bottles and joints. Her husband one night laid out a line of white powder and made it disappear inside his vacuum-cleaner nose. Joan observed him like a scientist day after day, and he was the same man going off to his job at the Public Works Department and coming home to play with Phil before welcoming the neighbors fordrinks and a card game. One night she closed her eyes, blocked her right nostril, and disappeared a coke line that burned the space inside her face just beneath her eyes.
    All those books, she thought the next morning, debating whether to go to work or to stay home. How could I possibly stand the scent of all those books?
VI
    In Marcy’s basement, they crowded around the glowing television set. Marcy sat on Casey’s lap for a bit before moving to the floor. Naked body parts and nondescript faces writhed about the screen. Soon, though, the sound of fucking smothered all speaking, except the words Kwayku dashed off as he sat on a beanbag chair in the corner laughing a raspy laugh and slapping his thigh. The group barely heard him, engrossed as they were in the sweaty gyrations on the television screen. Kwayku took his hat from his head, leaned forward, and placed it on Marcy’s. She clutched the brim and pulled it down.
    This looks good on me, she said. Don’t you guys think so? Everyone responded with mumbled, distracted affirmatives. There was a figure on the screen who was more penis than man.
    He call that little thing a dick? Kwayku said, pointing at the screen. He unfastened his belt. The metal buckle jangled. That ain’t a dick. He unbuttoned his pants and clawed at his zipper, pulling it down slowly. Marcy stared, her mouth open. Casey leaned forward. Wayne frowned. This is a dick. He shoved his hand into the opening at his crotch.
    Kwayku! Wayne yelled.
    Kwayku eased his hand out of the opening, leaving his penis inside. He laughed and pulled his zipper up. It sounded as if he was barking.
    Man, he said in a gruff growl, I was just joking.
    Kwayku boy, Marcy said, shaking her head and smirking a bit. You’re out of control.
    Wayne stood. Man, I’m getting the fuck out of here before I see some shit I don’t want to see.
    Casey also rose. Yeah, man, I’m out of here.
    Kwayku nodded at them. Peace out.
    Rich, you coming? Wayne asked.
    Man, we watching the show, Kwayku said.
    Yeah, we watching the show, Richard mimicked.
    My parents aren’t gonna be home for a couple hours, Marcy said.
    I gotta get home, Wayne said. What are y’all staying here for?
    Aww, these niggas want to ruin our good time, Kwayku said, rising from the beanbag. Richard rose too. The group ascended the staircase, making their way to the front door, Marcy at their backs.
    You guys don’t have to leave, Marcy said again as the boys stood outside her front door.
    So, um, yeah, uh, I’ll see you in school tomorrow, Ms. . . . um . . . What’s-her-name’s class, Casey said.
    Behind him Kwayku and Richard mumbled to each other. Richard bounced the basketball against the concrete before throwing a mock shot to an imaginary basket.
    Bye Casey, Marcy said, leaning toward him. The edges of their lips collided. She hugged Wayne, Richard, and Kwayku, and the group walked off.
    Somewhere during the silent stroll, Kwayku noticed that his head was bare, and he let out a howl.
    Damn, I forgot my hat at Marcy’s house.
    Get the shit tomorrow, Wayne said.
    Naw, dog, I need my hat. Rich, come back up the street with me.
    Why don’t you call her and have her bring it to school? Wayne asked. But it seemed Kwayku and Richard were halfway up the street by the time