Men?

We were invincible, or so we felt. Running through the parking structure, with its high ceiling, rows of cars, watched over by halogen lights and the night watchman, with his khaki suit and badge. Sitting in his office, watching his television screen. Silence buzzed, like the hum of lights, interrupted by our footsteps, the crunch of distant tires and the sound of our jangling pockets,.
“This way,” Abdul said, waving with his hand, and hooking a right around the corner. In the distance the sound of rats echoed off night time walls, while long shadows spread from our feet. “You have done this before?”
“Chill man, Me, n’ Hector were here a week ago, its legit.” In the distance a car horn sounded. “Relax man.” Abdul said, pulling his hood over his head and calming his walk down. Its right around here somewhere. We passed by tall concrete columns, large deep cracks and traffic cones. The kind we would steal if we had time, or the balls.
Beneath us, the ground was hard and hollow and caused are footsteps to sound through darkness and artificial light. Our pockets rattled loudly, as we carried our entire lives, or how we chose to define ourselves. Sounding like glass, small change, crinkled money and our wallets. Each containing our drivers licenses, with the words provisional in small black lettering. Faint drops of water were not far off, intensified by the whir of an elevator and the start of a motor that could have been near by but might have been above us. Every now and then, Abdul would smile back at me through his bricks of stubble that he grew out, because he said it made him look older. “Real men don’t get carded,” he said, in late night conversations, before we went to bed.
We glided through lines of parked cars that smelled like gasoline, air freshener and stale exhaust, while two old women strolling by saw us and gave us dirty looks. “Fuckin’ bitches” said Abdul, while the women turned away whispering something. I stood with my hands in my pockets, not saying anything, hoping I looked intimidating, while he waved us on. Down a narrow stairway that smelled like piss and motor oil, crouched on stairs that Abdul said were too dark for anyone to ever see. While silence was deep and ominous, obscured only by the sounds of our lighter, deep exhaling and quiet conversation.
“So did you hear about Trisha Callahan?” Abdul said in his quietest voice.
“Nah, man, what happened.”
“Fucking, Kirk Muldoon left her out by the mall naked man.”
“Hah, that sucks dude, Trisha is kind of a slut though.
“Yah I know.” Abdul said, taking another hit, letting long trails of smoke waft out of his mouth.
“Kirk’s an asshole too man”
“He’s kind of cool.”
“No man, he sells eighths of shwaggy shit for like sixty.”
“What a dick.” I said, choking on smoke.
“Yah, don’t pick your shit up from him.”
“Where’d you get this.”
“Him.” We both laughed, I eased against the wall, drifting off inside myself, while conversation became quiet. In the distance footsteps echoed.“Relax man, you are too high strung.” Said Abdul snatching the pipe from me. He smiled a bit, I smiled back at him, thinking about my sleeping parents. The feet passed over us, and Abdul took another hit. “I told you this place was legit.” I nodded, grabbing my hood, tucking myself away. “Hey!” a voice called, not far off. We looked up and saw the outline of a man. “Shit!” I said grabbing the pipe, away, still lit, while glowing red ash scattered on the floor. The man began to walk down the steps, his badge bouncing with light. Both of charged upward, with nowhere else to go. Running like hell past him, while his fingers managed to snatch hold of my arm with the pipe dangling loosely in my hands. I turned, quick and broke free, as the pipe fell to the floor and shards of glass scattered everywhere. The sound of feet pounded behind us, as we raced through vast emptiness, breathing hard. The man called out behind us. His body thick and too slow to catch us. We kept running until we were outside and down the block.
“That was some shit, that was some real shit.” Abdul panted.
“Jesus man, that guy was nuts.” I gasped, clutching my chest. We walked for a while after that, not saying anything. Watching as rows of houses passed us by, with their pastel siding and manicured lawns. Before long, we were in front of my house. Inside the den light was on. We stared at each other for a while, not saying anbything.
“You broke my pipe homey, you know my brother is going to kill me.”
“You almost got us busted dude.” Abdul smiled, and rubbed his hand over his beard.
“That’d be some shit if we did, huh. That, that was some man stuff right there. The stuff legends are made of.”
“I guess,” He smiled and looked down at his watch, “Shit man its twelve-thirty, I better get my ass inside.”
“It’s the weekend.”
“Yeah, but I was supposed to be back like an hour ago.”
“ oh ok.”
“ Shut up, dude. Asian parents.”
“Fuck your Asian parents.”
“Fuck you, man.”
“Fuck you, punk assed bitch.” We both laughed.
“Crazy night, huh.”
“Word, it was definitely some real shit right there. We are men tonight”
“Yeah,” I said, feeling his words vibrate in my chest.
“Yo man, I seriously got to roll. Give me a call tomorrow, we will chill or something.”
“I will dude.” Abdul waved goodbye, and walked quickly down the street. I walked up the steps and quietly turned the knob of my front door. The inside of my house smelled like stale dinner, potted plants and cigarettes. From the den, I heard the television. I hoped my father had fallen asleep watching it. I crept around the corner and saw the top of his bald head. If I get away with this, I am invincible, I am perfect, I thought.
“Chris?” my father said, in his deep low voice. Shit.
“ Yeah?”
“Come in here.” I did, listening to the sounds of the floorboards and my own fate. My mother sat next to him, saying nothing. Tight lipped, her eyes focused on the television screen. On the screen was footage of the twin towers burning, while stock reports rushed across the bottom. This was interrupted by footage of a woman in tears, followed by a news reporter straining not to cry. “What’s up?” I said, turning to my mother, hoping my eyes weren’t red. Her face was streaked with tears.
“Your aunt called tonight.” my father said in a flat voice.
“Oh?”
“She was very upset Chris. She was crying.”
“Why, what happened?” I said, feeling the muscles in my face tighten.
“Your cousin was killed today.” My mother said.
“Jesus,” I said. My mother nodded.
“From now on things are going to be very different. Very different indeed.