Before Calvin Goes        

               Calvin greeted me as I opened the door to his old room, turning from the computer where he sat, his long hair tied back in a ponytail and a smile on his lips. In the corner sat a shaded figure. A du rag ordained the top of his head and his black skin contrasted only slightly with his baggy sweatshirt. He looked relaxed leaning back in his chair, I nodded at him and he smiled and nodded back. I thought his appearance was appropriate considering Chicago is the premature death capital of the world.

               “Do you have any liquor?” the figure asked. I felt this was a polite gesture of him. Partly because I was an obvious alcoholic and obviously did have liquor and additionally because it would mean I would get to talk to my cousin alone.

               “Yes.” I said, “Underneath the sink in the bathroom there’s some vodka.”

               He nodded again and, rocking upwards, strolled out of the room. Silence lingered in the air as I looked into Calvin’s eyes.

               “I told Joey we should cut your hair.”  I said, breaking the stillness, although other than a flicker in his eye he remained unmoved. “But he said, ‘It just wouldn’t be Calvin.’-”

               Calvin made no reply other than to smile. We remained in the quiet for a bit until finally with a grimace he spoke,

               “How are my mom and Sam?” he asked. (Sam being his younger sister)

              I searched for an answer. I looked at his hands and noticed that they were not as dirty as they had been at his funeral.

               “Your mom’s taken to drinking,” I said solemnly. Calvin sighed,

               “That’s a shame.”