on the floor. “Maybe it’s just the chickens that get shot. And the cows.”
I sit straight up. “Who’s gonna shoot a cow? They don’t do nothing bad.”
Kee-lee don’t answer for a while. “Who’s gonna shoot a little boy?” he says. “They don’t do nothing bad neither.”
Chapter 10
IT WAS KEE-LEE’S idea. Sneak out tonight and get Moo Moo’s car. Ride it around town. Come daylight, take it to the park and wash it. That way Moo Moo would know we ain’t forget about him.
Moo Moo always kept his keys in the glove compartment. And he never locked his ride. So when we get to his car at two o’clock in the morning, it’s sitting there just like always—unlocked, waiting to hit the streets again.
Kee-lee’s mom’s got more sisters than I got fingers. Most of ’em live around our way so we ain’t have to go far to get to his Aunt Jessie’s place. Soon as we there, we see the tree they planted in Moo Moo’s name. It’s skinny, but there’s plenty of white flowers covering it. And right at the roots, there’s a bronze plaque with a picture of Moo Moo sketched on it. He’s got his arms folded and one foot on his car fender. Kee-lee did the picture. It looks just like him.
I’m reading the plaque. Kee-lee’s in the car, gassing the engine. Moo Moo woulda been mad at him for doing that. “Shirlee’s my sweet thang,” he used to say. “Can’t be rushing her, getting her all hot and bothered.”
Kee-lee guns the engine again. I open the passenger door and tell him to quiet down. He smoked a little something on the way over, so he ain’t in his right mind. “I’m doing this for my cuz,” he says, too loud for this time of night.
“Shhh.”
He puts the car in park, steps out and shouts, “Moo Moo!”
“Get back in, Kee-lee.”
He slaps his chest. “Moo Moo!”
The upstairs light in the house comes on.
“I ain’t forget about you, man!” He lays his face on the roof of the car. For a minute, I think he’s gonna cry. “Never gonna forget you, bro.”
The window goes up. “Who that?” A woman in a purple scarf’s got her head stuck out the second-floor window. It’s Aunt Jessie, Moo Moo’s mom.
We get in the car.
“Get out! That’s my baby’s car!”
The car’s backing up and headed for the tree. “Turn! Turn the wheel!”
Kee-lee can’t drive. He’s only been behind the wheel a few times when Moo Moo was giving us lessons. The car jumps off the curb. The back wheels are in the street, and the front wheels are in the grass, kicking up dirt. Kee-lee shifts gears without putting on the brakes. My chest bangs into the dashboard. He puts the car in reverse, right when his aunt runs up to the car and points to him through the window. “Kee-lee. I’m gonna kill you, boy!”
He guns the engine. Black smoke comes out the tailpipe. The car flies across the street backward, heading for a blue SUV. Kee-lee stops the car cold, and him and me almost go out the back window. His aunt’s following us, saying for him to get out the car. I’m staring out the other window, hoping she don’t recognize me. Kee-lee shifts gears. His aunt curses. I hold on to the seat. The car jerks forward; speeds backward. Stops. Kee-lee shifts gears again, driving up the street with his aunt banging on the trunk, running behind us, begging us to stop.
When we get to the park, Kee-lee gets out from behind the wheel, shaking. I’m thinking it’s because all the driving made him nervous. But he says it’s because he’s still high. “And my hands won’t do what my head tells ’em to.” We step out the car and sit in the dark under a broken streetlight. “You lucky you ain’t dead, Mann.”
“It was fun,” I tell him.
He’s lying on the ground, looking like he’s gonna be sick. “I ain’t doing that no more.”
I lean on Moo Moo’s ride and wonder what he’s doing right now.
Kee-lee and me remember a lot of things about Moo Moo. Like the time we played football with him and
I sit straight up. “Who’s gonna shoot a cow? They don’t do nothing bad.”
Kee-lee don’t answer for a while. “Who’s gonna shoot a little boy?” he says. “They don’t do nothing bad neither.”
Chapter 10
IT WAS KEE-LEE’S idea. Sneak out tonight and get Moo Moo’s car. Ride it around town. Come daylight, take it to the park and wash it. That way Moo Moo would know we ain’t forget about him.
Moo Moo always kept his keys in the glove compartment. And he never locked his ride. So when we get to his car at two o’clock in the morning, it’s sitting there just like always—unlocked, waiting to hit the streets again.
Kee-lee’s mom’s got more sisters than I got fingers. Most of ’em live around our way so we ain’t have to go far to get to his Aunt Jessie’s place. Soon as we there, we see the tree they planted in Moo Moo’s name. It’s skinny, but there’s plenty of white flowers covering it. And right at the roots, there’s a bronze plaque with a picture of Moo Moo sketched on it. He’s got his arms folded and one foot on his car fender. Kee-lee did the picture. It looks just like him.
I’m reading the plaque. Kee-lee’s in the car, gassing the engine. Moo Moo woulda been mad at him for doing that. “Shirlee’s my sweet thang,” he used to say. “Can’t be rushing her, getting her all hot and bothered.”
Kee-lee guns the engine again. I open the passenger door and tell him to quiet down. He smoked a little something on the way over, so he ain’t in his right mind. “I’m doing this for my cuz,” he says, too loud for this time of night.
“Shhh.”
He puts the car in park, steps out and shouts, “Moo Moo!”
“Get back in, Kee-lee.”
He slaps his chest. “Moo Moo!”
The upstairs light in the house comes on.
“I ain’t forget about you, man!” He lays his face on the roof of the car. For a minute, I think he’s gonna cry. “Never gonna forget you, bro.”
The window goes up. “Who that?” A woman in a purple scarf’s got her head stuck out the second-floor window. It’s Aunt Jessie, Moo Moo’s mom.
We get in the car.
“Get out! That’s my baby’s car!”
The car’s backing up and headed for the tree. “Turn! Turn the wheel!”
Kee-lee can’t drive. He’s only been behind the wheel a few times when Moo Moo was giving us lessons. The car jumps off the curb. The back wheels are in the street, and the front wheels are in the grass, kicking up dirt. Kee-lee shifts gears without putting on the brakes. My chest bangs into the dashboard. He puts the car in reverse, right when his aunt runs up to the car and points to him through the window. “Kee-lee. I’m gonna kill you, boy!”
He guns the engine. Black smoke comes out the tailpipe. The car flies across the street backward, heading for a blue SUV. Kee-lee stops the car cold, and him and me almost go out the back window. His aunt’s following us, saying for him to get out the car. I’m staring out the other window, hoping she don’t recognize me. Kee-lee shifts gears. His aunt curses. I hold on to the seat. The car jerks forward; speeds backward. Stops. Kee-lee shifts gears again, driving up the street with his aunt banging on the trunk, running behind us, begging us to stop.
When we get to the park, Kee-lee gets out from behind the wheel, shaking. I’m thinking it’s because all the driving made him nervous. But he says it’s because he’s still high. “And my hands won’t do what my head tells ’em to.” We step out the car and sit in the dark under a broken streetlight. “You lucky you ain’t dead, Mann.”
“It was fun,” I tell him.
He’s lying on the ground, looking like he’s gonna be sick. “I ain’t doing that no more.”
I lean on Moo Moo’s ride and wonder what he’s doing right now.
Kee-lee and me remember a lot of things about Moo Moo. Like the time we played football with him and
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