Too many stills..........

I was asleep when my brother yelled up the stairs to my bedroom. "Mike get up!" When I asked what was wrong he said that DeWayne was out in front of the house and he’d been shot. I was dressed, downstairs, and outside within a minute.

There were 4 or five police cars already there and the yellow police tape was up. I went under it and crossed the street to see my friend of 13 years lying on the devil strip across the street. He was laying there alone the closest person to him was a cop some 5 feet away writing in a little notebook. Here was my friend lying hurt and no one was with him.

I got on the ground and held him. An officer came over and asked if I knew him, but I didn’t answer. I just held my friend. He had a small dot on the right side of his forehead. There was another dot half an inch away on the side of his temple. They were the entrance and exit wounds for the shot that hit his head. Both were maybe half the size of a pea. It didn’t look that bad, so of course he would be ok, but he was so scared. He wanted to get up but I tried to keep him still and calm. He was moaning in pain and all I could do was hold him and tell him that everything was going to be ok.

Well it’s not ok. It took me a while to scrub his blood off of my arms and hands, but I couldn’t get the water hot enough or use enough soap to get the stains out of my mind. I still see the dried sticky blood. I still hear his moans. I still imagine the popping sounds that my room-mates described as the gun shots. I can still see him in the coffin. I can still remember how I couldn’t speak at his funeral.

I am still waiting for him to call me at work and ask what time we are going out tonight………………………………..