“Mom, I’m leaving now,” seventeen-year-old Marcus called, standing before the high-rise apartment’s cream-painted door.

“Wait, hold on. Where are you going?” Mom replied, rushing out of the kitchen.

“I’m just going bowling with a few guys,” he said, looking slightly down at her.

“Do I know these guys?” she asked, holding his light brown eyes with her dark brown ones.

“No. They are just some guys from school.”

“If you’d told me before, I could have driven you there.”

“I know, Mom, but I could also go in for my learner’s license too, but with Dad gone,” his voice broke off.

“Give it time, son. You will get your license when you are ready,” Mom said, walking closer and touching his cheek.

He nodded.

“Now, off you go, be careful and be back home by ten.”


“Ten, and don’t argue,” she replied before kissing him on the forehead.

“Okay, Mom,” he said, nodding and turning, opened the door and left the apartment.

A black and white high-top Nike graced his feet. Long black fleece pants, a matching long sweater, and a white shirt on the inside completed his outfit. His Low Taper hairstyle, although two weeks old, was still well-kept.

Marcus, his little brother Michael, and their Mom moved to Dale Crest, a small city outside of Brampton in Ontario, a little over three months ago. About six months before the move, their dad died in the line of duty.

Marcus took the bus and train to the bowling alley, and tonight, laughter, without sadness, escaped him. Therefore, when it was time to leave, he hesitated. So he jumped at it when one of his classmates said that his fraternal twin brother, Matthew, would pick him up in thirty minutes and could give him a drop home. So, he rode shotgun because he was the first person to be dropped off.

As they drove, Matthew, glancing over at him, asked, “what car do you drive? “

“My mom has a minivan, but…”

“But that’s not your speed. I got ya. Well, check what this baby can do.”

Then, before he could reply, Matthew accelerated in the black Mazda 3, and in the darkness around them, no other car was ahead of them.

Marcus opened his mouth to speak when sirens appeared behind them.

“I’m dead,” Matthew said.

“Why do you always have to speed?” his brother asked from the back seat, which he shared with two other friends.

“If I get another speeding ticket, Dad will take away my car,” he exclaimed, slowing the car before bringing it to a complete stop on the road’s shoulder.

“Marcus, Marcus, do me this big favour, and I’ll help buy you a car you like.”

“What?” Marcus asked with a laugh.

The red and blue lights were quickly advancing towards them.

“Change seats with me. You don’t have any speeding tickets, right? He’ll probably only let you off with a warning.”

“No, Matthew,” his brother said, “and you do know that Marcus is Black, right?”

“Here’s different,” he said, unbuckling his seat belt, “come, quickly, before the cop gets here.”

“Michael, no.” his brother said.

“When last did you hear of police brutality on Black people here?” Matthew asked.

“No, Matthew and you better put back on your seat belt before he writes you a ticket for that, too.”

“Please, help me out, buddy,” Matthew pleaded.

“I can’t do that,” Marcus said.

“Then you can find your own way home if I get a speeding ticket,” he hammered out.

“Matthew, stop it,” his brother spitted out.

Help, o Lord, Marcus silently prayed, licking his lips.

Marcus’s phone vibrated in his hand, and he answered it immediately.

“Mom, don’t hang up. I’ll need you to come and pick me up in a few minutes.”

All four teenagers jumped when a loud tap came on the driver’s side window.

The End

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