The Retreat by Dijorn Moss

silent.
    The next two hours were spent in unbroken silence. The music must have worked a nerve with Will since he turned off the stereo. The Cadillac devoured the miles as Will sped along the 5 Freeway.
    â€œWhat got you into jazz music?” Chauncey asked.
    â€œIt relaxes me. It’s the kind of music you can take on a ride like this and cruise all along the coast without a worry in the world,” Will replied.
    Chauncey’s mind went to the park. To him, jazz was like the rap music that had those thugs in a trance. It was demonic music to Chauncey. It was a form of music that promoted violence and greed. He did not understand how Will managed to escape its influence and how he found jazz music soothing.
    â€œYou ever listen to gospel?” Chauncey asked.
    â€œNo, not really. I mean, I heard a few songs from Kirk Franklin that were cool.”
    â€œYeah, well, Kirk Franklin is a little out there. I’m talking about some James Cleveland, some, ‘I don’t feel no ways tired,’” Chauncey sang.
    â€œThat sounds like something the slaves sang on the ship,” Will said.
    â€œBoy, you don’t know nothing about music. James Cleveland had a lot of jazz influence in his music.”
    â€œI just don’t like being sold on some fantasy about a life that is better than this one.”
    â€œWhat’s wrong with going to a better place?”
    â€œNothing, it just reminds me that not even God can provide you with a peaceful life in this world. He has to wait and promise you something when you die.”
    Chauncey had not encountered someone like Will. He seemed to be resigned to the idea that nothing good came out of life. That we live in a constant ebb and flow; one minute we are the victim, the next minute we are the assailant.
    â€œI mean, you can’t possibly think that all there is for you is robbing folks. Is that all you think you’re meant to do with your life?”
    â€œI don’t know. I don’t know what I’m meant to do. All I know is that this is what I’m good at and this is the hand that I was dealt, so I’m going to play it until it’s time for me to leave the table.”
    It was absolute hopelessness that Chauncey heard in Will’s voice. He did not know what to say. What could this young man have possibly experienced that would give him such a grim view of life? “Well, God is good, and you shouldn’t let the devil make you think that there is nothing to live for.”
    â€œI believe that there is a God. I just don’t think He’s good, at least not in my neighborhood. As far as living, I’m only living for the moment.”
    â€œWhat about your family?”
    â€œMy mom is an addict. My dad is always in prison. If you add up the amount of time we have spent together outside of prison, I think it would total about six months. I got my brother and sister, but at the rate I’m going, who knows how long I’m going to be here.”
    Despite Chauncey’s resentment toward his brother, he knew that his brother did not want to die without making things right with his family.
    He knew that right now Henry was in that hospital bed fighting with every ounce to live. The problem was that Chauncey believed that he would eventually return to his habit and betray those who believed in him. Henry had betrayed Chauncey too much for Chauncey to believe in him.
    Will, on the other hand, did not seem to want to live. It was like he wanted to be released from this curse called life. Maybe that’s why he spent his nights feasting off of the devil’s pie. The God Chauncey served believed in giving people life, and life more abundantly. But, at the same time, the enemy’s sole purpose was to steal, kill, and destroy. He thought that there were people who would find death a more compassionate act than life.
    The car returned to silence and they merged onto Highway 101. They were now only a few