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[center][color=red][h1]Lamarcus Hawthorne[/h1][/color][/center]
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[center]Interacting with: Adrienne and Demetrius Hawthorne[/center]
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The blow up mattresses were stained and were not deserving of their namesakes. Of the three inhabitants, two were up and about. To meet the 8 a.m. bus deadline, Lamarcus had to ready both of his young siblings before 7:30 so he could walk them to the bus stop before their transport arrived. Adrienne, Lamarcus’ younger sister--and the most dutiful of the trio--was up and dressed at five thirty. Demetrius was still sleep. Lamarcus kicked the base of the mattress where Demetrius slept,

“Get up, fat head. Time to get dressed.” Demetrius moaned his rejection,
“Can’a skip today? We ain’t even doin’ nothin’ in class.” Lamarcus’ silence provided Demetrius the answer to his inquiry. Reluctant and with some resentment, Demetrius rose and as morning zombies do, slogged a path to the bathroom.

Lamarcus was moving a tad slower this morning as well, tonight’s business with the Ones wore itself on the back of his mind. But tonight was tonight, not the present; Lamarcus tried to keep the things in front of him as near as possible. Whatever was in the future was out of his control and he tried his best not to bother himself with its inevitable consequences. To stymie his incessant worry, Lamarcus fired up the stove. A bowl, a whisk, some eggs. He cracked six eggs and plopped them into a bowl. A little water, some cheese, some pre-diced tomatoes. Into the skillet the liquid went.

In the “TV room” which was just what the kids called it--it was the main room of the apartment--Adrienne sat watching the news. Her massive afro extended and poofed so wide it looked like it was burdensome on her thin neck. Tangling with that monster was the first of ‘Marcus dreads each morning. It was 5:45. Demetrius had just finished showering and one could hear the bathroom faucet creak. The eggs were done. Demetrius didn’t like his scrambled, but he would have to deal with it this ‘morrow. A shout from the bathroom,

“YOU MAKIN’ EGGS AGAIN? I DON’T WANT NO EGGS.” picky. He was always picky, just like their father,
“He always actin’ bougie.” Adrienne conided to Lamarcus, a kiss of her teeth against her jaws,
“Yeah, well, you ain’t no better Miss ‘I only eat sandwiches with the crust cut off!’” a twelve year old girl penetrated Lamarcus’ gaze with pent up spite, a demon all its own.
“Shut up, ugly.” was all she could muster as retort. Games of wit were not ones she played. Lamarcus let her have a pity chuckle before he replied,
“Come on and eat so I can do that nappy ass hair of yours after.” she stuck out her tongue. On cue, Demetrius joined the other members of the house for breakfast.

As the secondary man of the house, Demetrius was charged with readying the table and assisting Lamarcus with any grunt work around the house. The senior Hawthorne thought setting the table would teach the young one some etiquette. Manhood wasn’t just about protecting and providing, one needed a sense of order as well. Both the young Hawthornes were blooming into adolescence: Adrienne twelve, Demetrius eleven. Boy trouble, girl trouble, bullies, bad influences--and with the way the city was now--drugs, violence. They only had their big brother to protect them, and he only had them and the Lost Ones to give him purpose. But of the two, only his siblings were tangible to him. He didn’t understand the Lost Ones, he was a cog. Invisible, nameless. Lamarcus--or Hawk as he was known on the streets--accepted it.

Adrienne and Demetrius both asked too many questions: what Lamrcus did for money, why he was always coming home so late, did he have a girlfriend, was he a drug dealer. They were all the right questions but Lamarcus always gave them the wrong answers. He came home late because he was ‘working’ long hours at the grocery store. He did have a ‘girlfriend’--the Ones. He didn’t deal drugs, he shut drug dealers down. The trio ate, forks clinking almost in sync. 6:45.

Demetrius attended to the dishes as he did every morning, grumbles beneath his breath. Lamarcus never loved it either, but ‘it was part of being a man’ their father used to say. Every chore their father didn’t want to do was part of ‘being a man.’ Lamarcus sat with Adrienne’s head between his legs as she returned to watching the news. Rubberbands, berets, and combs of varying sizes in his hands as he twisted, parted and pulled sections of her massive ‘fro into manageable sections before sectioning them into puffs. 7:10. He had become an expert at it. They had just enough time to get to the bus.

Out the door they went. The walk to the bus-stop was quick and uneventful. The three sat there until the bus came. Kisses, hugs, waves. A soft and playful pap on the back of the head for Demetrius before they both got on the bus and were off.

Now, Lamarcus would ready himself for tonight’s protection run.