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She goes to stop him and he shoves her and she falls backward to the floor. Milk goes flying. I run over and punch him in the legs. “Youhit my mama!” He pushes me away and moves toward the door again and my mama’s back on her feet, moving fast. He whips around and slams her with his arm, right up near the throat, and she hits the wall.
    â€œMama!”
    I don’t know which way to turn, but now he’s gone and my mama’s on the floor and I run to her side. “Mama, Mama! Mama, you all right?”
    She takes me in her arms. Holds me there, the two of us on the floor. “Beanie,” she says, softlike, right in my ear. “I wish you hadn’t seen such a thing, son. I wish you’d never seen such a thing.” After that, she didn’t say nothin’ more. She just cried softly and held me for a long, long time. Rocked me. We held and rocked each other.

“THINK BEFORE YOU SPEAK, SON. DON’T JUST SAY EVERY LITTLE THING THAT POPS INTO YOUR HEAD. YOU GOT TO LEARN TO GO DOWN IN THE DARK AND BE ALONE WITH YOUR THOUGHTS.”
03
SHE WAS GOING TO EDUCATE ME IF IT KILLED HER
    When I was in the eighth grade, I got home one day and walked in and saw my mother dressing. She had a sliding door on her room, and it was open, and she hadn’t heard me coming. When she looked up, she saw me there, my mouth hangin’ open, my eyes big as spotlights. I was looking at her chest. One of her breasts was gone. There was a huge scar in its place, like a square.
    She slid the door shut. I walked over and slid it open again.
    â€œMama, what’s wrong? What happened to you?”
    â€œClose the door, Beanie.”
    I couldn’t move.
    â€œDid you hear what I said, son? Close the door.”
    I backed out, dazed, and did as I was told. I went into the kitchen, looking for my grandma. She was sitting there, her glasses on her nose.
    â€œGrandma,” I said. “What’s wrong with Mama? She…her breast…she cut. ”
    I was crying by now. I was trying to hold it back, but I couldn’t help it. My whole body was shaking.
    â€œWipe your tears, boy. Be strong.”
    â€œBut what’s wrong with her? She sick?”
    â€œGo ask your mother, Bernard.”
    I went back. Knocked on her door.
    â€œCome in,” Mama said. She was finished dressing.
    â€œMama,” I said. “I have to ask you something.”
    â€œWhat is it, Beanie?” She was acting like nothing happened.
    â€œWhat’s wrong with your chest?”
    â€œNone of your business,” she said. She said it gentle, but I knew she meant it. She gave me that look of hers—the one that went right through you—and fetched her bag. She worked for the Evangelical Hospital. She was a supervisor, in charge of personnel, and she was working lots of overtime back then. “Now go do your homework. And clean up your room. And I’ll see you when I get home.” She kissed me on the forehead, gave me a little pat onthe backside, and moved toward the front door. “Mother!” she hollered toward the kitchen. “I’m gone.” And off she went.
    I went back to the kitchen and looked at my grandmother. She could see the hurt on my face, but she wouldn’t tell me nothin’. People in my family keep things to themselves.
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    Sometimes, late in the day, after my mother left for work, I’d sneak off and hook up with my friends. I knew every inch of my neighborhood, all the way from 74th and State to 59th and Loomis. I knew every yard and every alley and every boarded-up house. I even knew all the dogs, and I knew which dogs could jump what fence. You had to know this shit, because there was always guys looking for trouble, guys who got their kicks crackin’ heads.
    There was this one old building at 67th and Morgan where my friends and I liked to hang. People lived upstairs, but the basement was abandoned. Landlord’d be puttin’ locks