And there she was, not in a post on social media or a lyric in one of his raps, but on the sleeve of a movie case, almost like fate. Tell Me Nothing, starring Aliyah Gavins. The case sat on the entertainment center across the room. The plastic caught the light and flickered, reflecting the trembling flame.
Kelvin clutched a book of matches at his side while one burned in his hand. The fire inched down the stick in a beautiful blur. A single spark, and the whole trailer would go up.
His fingers glistened, wet with tears and snot. The blood on his shirt grew cold and clung to his chest. He stuffed a greasy napkin up his nose to stop the bleeding. The edge brushed against his split lip every time he sniffled. He tried not to gag when he swallowed.
His mom and her boyfriend slept in the other room, which was supposed to be his that weekend. They locked him in their room after he got between them at dinner. A fight broke out, and he made the mistake of standing up for his mom. They both beat him for it. The humiliation hurt more than anything.
The moon shined through the blinds and illuminated their bed like tinsel. A can of lighter fluid lay on the floor behind him. Gas ended up everywhere, soaking the carpet, the blankets, and his favorite skate shoes. He held the match over the bed without moving a muscle.
That was, until he saw her.
“Aliyah?”
A shiver ran up his spine. Her name stole what little breath he had left.
The fire crackled as it slipped from his fingers. He turned his wrist at the last second, his hand opening under it. The stick fell awkwardly, but he closed his fist around it before it could escape. The flame went out with a sharp hiss.
He never asked why his mom’s boyfriend had the movie. He just grabbed it and took off.
He found it still in the player. Some blood smeared on the button to eject the disk. His nose bled through the napkin, dripping on everything he touched. A few smudges marked where he snapped it into the case.
He cut a hole in the screen to crawl out the window. The rottweilers next door barked at him, rattling their cage. Music played in the distance. Somebody drove through the trailer park with their stereo blaring. He didn’t recognize the song, but he liked the bass. The air felt warm against his face once he started down the block. The palm trees rustled in the wind.
“Straight up out the trash bin,” he said to himself, kicking a pebble, “That’s just how it has been. Fast food bags, greasy wrappers, and napkins. Gasoline, matchsticks. Still, your boy’s rapping, jumping back in. Shoutout to Aliyah Gavins. Lights, camera, action…”
He walked all the way back to his dad’s without looking anywhere other than forward. That night, Aliyah became more than a muse. Through the noisy streets of Los Angeles, she watched over him, his guardian angel.
May – Three Years Later
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