Bullets In A Cold Winter Breeze

Chapter Twelve Dalyla Who

**Trent POV** 12/23/2001 (Sunday, 12:45 P.M, CTZ)

The brisk winter breeze mingled with the sheet of compact snow covering the ground should be enough to replace our young minds with sledding, building snowmen, snowball fights, or some shit like that. Nevertheless, staying alive is the only thing plaguing your mind when living in Chicago. Actually, that's false. That's the only thing that's been on my mind. To anybody who's not born here or not insane, that's what's on their mind. For people who have been here their entire life, it's just a daily routine, not something they usually fret about or even think of. At this point, I wouldn't be surprised if they can't even hear the constant gunfire.

Meanwhile, my belief that I'll be melted by bullets before any snowmen will be liquefied by the sun's heat. That's what keeps me plastered inside the warm house. This is the only thing I give the woman upstairs credit for. She does keep this mothafucka blazing.

Though the house is cloaked in scalding temperature warmth, the tenderness fever is nonexistent. The fact that Christmas is only two days away, and I don't feel the holiday spirit or love, is sketchy at best. There isn't a single glimmer of a Christmas light on the entire block, and in this house, I've yet to see a tree or a present. Not that I'd be getting any gifts from this household anyway. I'm an outsider in their eyes. Which has earned me the nickname square.

The fact that I jump from the terrorizing showers of bullets gives me yet another nickname I'm not fond of. Chump. Like how am I a chump for jumping from life-ending threats? Especially when they're right outside these very windows! My most diminutive favorite nickname is "farm boy." These idiots believe everyone from Kansas throws bales of hay for fun.

These idiots think the only way you live in the city is if you're in constant shootouts and your neighbor doesn't own a shotgun. When the reality is, if they ever got out of their neighborhood and drove some out of their city, they'd see just how much farmland Illinois has. On the way here, I saw more corn than I ever have. However, that doesn't matter to them. They think I'm stupid. And since they claim I don't know anything, my other derogatory name is green. I don't get it. How am I a color?

As if being from Kansas isn't offensive enough, the fact that I had both parents (even if it was my step-mom) of the middle class makes their resentment for me even more profound. Due to my grandma's tiny house, the move has been a borderline unmanageable adjustment. The house is cramped because of the other three kids who live here and have been since they were two. My alleged cousins that come from some part of my biological mother's side. However, I don't think barbarians would claim these assholes.

My parents' disappearance is the only reason I occupy space in the Chi. However, with the cops having no leads after three months of searching, I'm 89% sure they've been murdered and buried. It's a shitty thought, but I realized a few months back my father and Shae's parents weren't the people I'd thought. It's unknown to me exactly what they were into, but since they both disappeared on the same day, it's more than likely some heavy-duty drug shit.

My chosen mother, Ms. Edelman, also disappeared with my father, which furthers my notion that he was into some high-level shit. This then raises my suspicion on if he was in cahoots with Shae's parents before or after the shooting from kindergarten. The only thing that doesn't make sense about them being drug dealers to me is the money. We were doing well in Johnson County but not thriving with the wealthiest. Also, heavy-duty drug dealers don't keep their kids in regular school. I struggle to make sense of it all.

Still, I allow my mind to travel no further than this. The reasoning for keeping their ambitions from me will always be unknown, and since I can't speak to them, I won't allow my mind to fester on them for long. As my eyes continue to get opened to new dilemmas, I've come to comprehend I don't know a damn thing. Cause even with this household, I don't have the slightest idea of what sort of hell is happening inside. Actually, I do know one thing; this chaotic house refuses to allow me real time to mourn my losses. They all just keep telling me I need to simply put it behind me "cause niggas die everyday, B." Whatever the hell that means.