Melvin's Full Moon

Jay texted me a little after midnight asking if I still needed a j-o-b. I couldn't afford to be picky. The hour of the request left me questioning the legality of the work though and I wondered what my parole officer would think of this late night appeal. My stomach grumbled and as if on cue, Jay texts “I’ll get you McDonalds, bro,” and that settles it. “Where at?” A few minutes later, I'm in Grandma’s monkey-shit brown 1991 Chrysler New Yorker, her Homer Simpson keychain knocking my knee as the potholes on Dequindre test the shocks. 

I see the phone light up again in the copilot seat. I don't pick it up immediately because my Grandma made all these rules about phones and cars and I don't want to cross her. She might be little but she scares me when she's mad. 

When I hit a red light next to a CVS, I pick up the phone and it's a picture of a morbidly obese man, dead and pantless in a Spencer’s style novelty t-shirt but I can't read what it says. He’s laying in the backyard next to a kids swing set that's seen better days. There's something coming out of his mouth and his eyes are unblinking, staring up at the lord.  

The effect this photo has on me is instantaneous. I am frozen. My mouth suddenly tastes like metal and I can hear my heart pounding in my ears. I'm scared to even have this picture, no, this evidence in my phone. What the fuck, Jay. I just got out and now he's getting me involved with something that's gonna send me right back in? Jesus, Grandma is going to kill me. And again, like he's reading my mind a text dings and he says “It's nothing illegal bro lol I swear.” 

I hear a honk from behind. I wonder how long the light has been green. How long I've been in this paralysis imaging the next phase of my life behind bars too. My foot presses the pedal as if making the decision for me and I'm on my way again.

When I pull onto Fenkle, the police lights illuminate the house I'm supposed to park at but I'm genuinely uncertain of the protocol so I just stay at my end of the street while I try to make up my mind on what to do. Everything I've ever known is bubbling up in my guts, telling me I need to get the fuck out of here. 

Chill is 18 and handsome in a green Jags jersey, leaning on the side of the building smoking a cigarette. We're talking about comic books. The next second there's gunshots and bright lights. Cops materialized out of nowhere. I'm running, Chill is running. I don't even know why we're running. We're young and scared and everything is so loud and bright and fast. I look next to me and nobody's there anymore but that's impossible because Chill was just there. Then I turn my head even further and he's down with his brains spilling out onto the cement. The blood is thick and syrupy. His brain is white. Elegently, I trip on my own legs and crash face first into the brick wall. A bunch of cops are jumping on top of me, pushing my face so hard against the building, my lawyer later asks me why I have road rash on my face. They're screaming and swearing and I pee all over myself.

“You good, Mel?” Jay taps on the window. His voice is muffled through the glass. He holds up the bag of McDonalds and takes a sip of my coke. 

“Yeah?” My hands hurt. I was gripping the steering wheel too hard. 

“What? I can't hear you. Open the door!” Jay’s smiling.  

I follow instructions and open the door. I'm good at following instructions. The light dances across his face. It's blue, red, and purple. His teeth are perfectly straight. They shine.

 “Yo, if this is too much for you, it's cool. Dead bodies ain't for everyone, you know?” 

I wipe my face and I realize I was crying and suddenly I'm really embarrassed. 

Jay reads my mind again. “Bro, it's okay. You’ve been through it. It's cool if you need to let it out. Just take a minute, if you need it, okay? In the meantime, I’m going to eat these fries though cuz they still warm.” He laughs and I can't help but laugh too and I step out of the car and pull myself up by the door frame. The car groans.

“I got you a 20 piece but don’t count them nuggets too close, you know? And here's a Big Mac, no onions. That's how you like it, right?” 

“Thanks, bro,” I say and I open up the Big Mac box and take a bite. This is only my second Big Mac since I got out. Grandma says I don't need junk food. 

“Okay, so here's the deal. This is called a scene and what we're doing is picking up a body for the medical examiner.”

“Was he killed?” I ask. I look at the cops standing around so nonchalantly.

“Na, the medical examiner takes all sorts of cases. Any time someone dies young or traumatically, we come out and pick them up.”

“Do you know how he died,” I ask as I take a big sip of my pop. I start to feel better. 

“He got some coke yesterday but turns out it had like, fentanyl or something in it, I don't know, I'm not a doctor. Anyway, his brother said he felt dizzy so he came out here for some fresh air. The brother hadn't heard anything for a while and came to check on him and found him like this. He called 911. The EMT pronounced him dead and now he's got a free ride to the M-E.”

“So what do we do?” 

“We gotta put Big Boy in a body bag and then we're gonna put him in the van.” He closes one eye and points to the van in the driveway. “That black van with the little white swishy symbol on the side? That's our ride. There's some stretchers in the back, so we were gonna lift Big Boy and put him on the stretcher. You think you can handle it? If not, it's okay.”

I nod my head and open my mouth and say yeah but no words come out. 

"Okay, let's go, Mel."

As we walk up to the scene the officers give Jay a head nod. “This my boy, Melvin. Had to call in the muscle,” and the officers smiled, chuckled and waved us into the back yard.

Standing next to the body taking a photo on an iPhone is a tall black woman in jeans and a white t-shirt. 

“Jay, this better be the muscle, ‘cause it's a full moon and we already got a call for a homicide on the East Side. Hi, I'm Shanda. I'm the investigator.” She reaches out her hand and shakes mine. 

“Melvin,” I say. 

Next to the body is a white body bag, already opened. Jay throws me a box of gloves and instructs me to put them on. I am instantly relieved that I do not have to touch this man with my bare hands. 

“What's in his mouth?” I ask.

“That's a foam cone. It's common for overdoses,” Shanda says. 

“Okay, Mel,” Jay says “I want you to roll Big Boy towards you. Just grab his arm and the back of his knee. I'm going to tuck the body bag under him. Then you'll roll him towards me and you'll grab the other side of the bag, okay?” 

As I roll Big Boy towards me, brown fluid pours out of his mouth and nose and I let out a disgusted groan as I step aside.

“Careful, you're in the splash zone,” Shanda says as she helps me push the man back towards Jay and pulls the bag.

“I'm going to get the stretcher,” Jay says “hold tight.” 

Shanda’s phone rings and she answers it with a professional, “Investigator Glover.”

I look around at the scene, dazed. A dead man once again lays in front of me. Two police officers a few feet away, ignore me this time as they banter back and forth. This rusty, crooked swing-set is somehow a prop in this poor man's final act. I look up at the moon, full and grand. How many scenes exactly like this one has it bared witness to?   

“It's beautiful, isn't it?” Shanda asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “I can't remember the last time I saw it like this.” I am truly awed by its beauty. 

Shanda asks “You think you can stick with us for the night?” 

“Sure,” I say. 

“After this we have a homicide followed by a motor vehicular accident due to a wrong-way driver. Full moons always bring ‘em out, Melvin.”