SnareA length of hide or gut stretched across a drumheadLet no man pull you low enough to hate him.MARTIN LUTHER KING JR.I was fast asleep. Moms and Pops were out at a gig, and my brothers and I had gone to bed in the room we shared, just like always. Juan was three years old and Peter Michael was still a baby. They were in bunk beds while I had a single bed all to myself.A teenager who was a distant relative was babysitting us for the first time in that duplex. When my parents had asked if he’d mind keeping an eye on us for a few hours that night, he smiled and said he’d be happy to.In what felt like the middle of the night, I awoke to find myself being taken into the next room. It was the dining room that Moms and Pops had made into their bedroom by placing a mattress on the floor. I looked up into my babysitter’s face, but he wouldn’t return my gaze.Why is he bringing me here? I thought sleepily, not suspecting a thing. I hoped I hadn’t wet the bed again—something I’d done a few times lately.He sat me on the mattress in the half light that shone in from the hallway, and then he told me we were going to have a good time.I rubbed my eyes with my fists and yawned.“I’ve got something special to show you,”
