The breeze that came through the fire escape window was no match for the July heatwave. I poked my prepubescent head through the window into the wrath of the summer sun. At least the sky was a pretty shade of blue and the sound of kids belting out “Tag! You’re it!” over the melody of the ice-cream truck was music to my ears. Next thing I knew, cars started rolling up to the curb down the block. People crossing to my side of the street in droves. Great, what summer activity am I missing out on now? A barbeque? Parade? Suddenly, the noise of the newly formed crowd was filled with the soulful cries of women pleading with others, but the words drowned in the commotion. Worried looks paired with racing feet kept the street buzzing like a protest.

My hands slowly rest on the windowpane not long before I flinch in shock from the sizzling metal cooking in the sun. I backed out of the window into the slightly cooler interior. My grandma fast asleep on the couch with her flowery nightgown waving in the air from our little cheap plastic fan on high. The poor machine was no use, at best it produced a breeze as cool as an exhaust pipe. As I motion towards her, I stop and think if disturbing her nap is worth an annoying lecture about how I always ruin her sleep. I return to the window to find the heart of the crowd still beating. More cars and more people arrive. I recognize the usual gang members from their sketchy disposition and color-coded bandanas. This could be a gang war brewing.

Then, a car that’s parallel parked opened its backseat right door. A bald, middle-aged man steps out with a tank-top and timberlands on. As soon as he closed the door, he fell on his back after a piercing sound silenced the borough. Anything alive with legs ran in opposite directions. Adults, kids, dogs, pigeons–you name it. I jerked my head back and ducked to the floor. Did this man just get shot? Was everyone waiting for him to arrive? Why would someone shoot him? Is he dead? These questions hijacked my every thought.

I looked to grandma still dozing off as if two gunshots weren’t just fired. The shots were quick and harrowing like birthday balloons popping without warning, yet, this time, the sudden fear was justified, and the stakes were real. The silence that followed was worse. No more kids yelling and ice-cream trucks blaring. No more chattering people or honking cars. See, at nine-years old, I already knew what death looked like on hospital beds and funeral homes. But I never seen such blatant violence outside of movies before. To have total control of someone’s fate with a pull of a trigger. For the rest of the day I did not return to the window. All there was left to see was pretty blue skies and blood-red sidewalks.

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