On You (On Everything #6)

Chapter 1

Amir

“Hello, welcome to the Grand Spotlight Events Hall.”

“Can you tell me where to go to find the Banks birthday party?”

“Yes. Down the hallway and through those large double doors, sir.”

I followed the direction that the lady at the counter sent me, lugging four big ass pink gift bags filled with shit I randomly picked up at a Target a couple of hours ago.

I don’t have children and haven't been around many, so I don’t know how to shop for one.

Especially a little girl. Facts are, I’m only here because Crew personally invited me to his daughter’s party, since he’s always crediting me for saving her life.

To him, it was a shame that I hadn’t officially met his daughter, and she was named after me.

Where I didn’t know how to mix in with children, I didn’t want to offend Crew because he and I had become pretty cool over the past couple of years.

He hired me when he could’ve been at war with me, so appreciation was a two way street with us.

I saved his daughter’s life, and he saved mine by taking out people that were determined to kill me.

Usually, on a Saturday morning, I’m sitting out on my patio, letting the sun peeking through the clouds touch my skin to rejuvenate my body.

On my father’s side, the Quran teaches you not to worship the sun or the moon, but instead to worship Allah, because he is the one who created them both.

But to my mother’s side, the sun meant something different.

Black culture feels that the sun feeds our skin, deepens our melanin, and was something we should worship like it was holy.

I grew up confused as hell, torn between two meanings for the same light, and that was only a glimpse of how torn I was as a child.

When I walked through the double doors, it felt like I’d stepped out of a building and onto the boardwalk of Coney Island.

There was actual wood under my feet, sand lined up against the wall, and a small children’s sized Ferris wheel spinning in slow circles over the mock pier.

Of course, all of it was an illusion, scaled down to fit inside the massive banquet hall, but I’m sure to the kids, this was the actual Coney Island.

Or Amira Island, according to the sign hanging from the ceiling.

The air smelled like funnel cakes, popcorn, and sugar.

Those same smells I remember creeping up my nose when my grandma would sneak me off to Coney Island to have a day away from my father and brothers, because she knew I needed it.

She would tell Mecca that she was taking me to go clean her backyard and pull up weeds for her, so of course, he had no problem with me being a fuckin slave.

I was the son he dotted on being a hard worker.

The words that only impress men and not an elementary aged child who shouldn’t really know what hard work is.

That’s why, looking around, I was blown away by how all out Crew and Pernelle had gone for their daughter’s birthday party.

Mecca often preached that birthday parties are a waste and to save the money to celebrate your entire life at your funeral.

Ironically, he died at one. It should’ve been a full circle moment for him as he took his last breath at the cemetery where he would soon be buried.

“Amir. Hey! You made it!”

Pernelle walked up to me, son on her hip with a big ass smile on her face.

“How are you doing, Pernelle?”

“I am fine, and thank you for the gifts, but we told you that you didn’t have to bring us anything. You are the guest of honor today, and just your presence is enough.” Pernelle adjusted her son to her other hip as she reached for the bags.

“I can sit them down for you. Let me know where they go.”

“Just over there near the fake funnel cake stand.”

She pointed across the room.

“Damn, I was kind of hoping that the funnel cake stand was real.”

“Oh, trust, there will be funnel cakes served here shortly. We didn’t drop the ball on that. Especially with her daddy loving sweets the way he does.” Pernelle and I shared a quick laugh before I felt two fingers press up against the back of my neck.

“You flirting with my wife nigga?”

I turned around, and there was Crew with a smirk on his face and his hand raised to dap me up.

I didn’t kick it with the nigga every day, but we spent plenty of time together getting street business handled.

Crew and Hov filled my pockets for handling things they didn’t want to touch anymore.

Once you are a street nigga, going clean isn’t as easy as some would hope, and that’s where niggas like me come in.

I’m not a family man, and I don’t have kids to worry about missing, so killing and taking lives for street gain, didn’t pain my morals as much.

“Let me help you with these bags, then get you a drink at the bar over here, my guy.”

We started off to the other side of the room.

“Thanks, man, but I’m good on the drink, I like my mind clear at all times these days.”

“Nigga this is a kid’s party, it’s okay to relax and take it easy right now. Shit, there aren’t even any windows in here. No one can pull a move on us today. I made sure of that. You can let that long curly ass hair down.”

I laughed at this nigga.

“I promise you, I appreciate it.” I crossed my hand over my chest.

“But I can relax just fine with a cup of water or fruit juice.”

“Alright, alright, no pressure.” Crew raised his hands in the air.

“I tell you what, I am excited as hell about those funnel cakes your wife told me you had.”

“You and me both.”

We dropped the bags on the side of the table, where at least a hundred gifts were spread across.

My four bags probably had the cheapest shit in them, but I don’t think she was in need of anything.

Amira seemed to be having a birthday party like celebrity kids.

Those over the top events where the kids get plenty of shit that they don’t need, while there are kids across New York who probably don’t get reminded that it’s their birthday.

Even though I grew up rich, I used to be one of them.

“Amir, I appreciate you coming to celebrate Princess P, man. We can’t believe how old she is. I know I probably tell you too much, but I appreciate you bruh, and to me, you are family. You got my loyalty forever.”

He stared across the room, and I followed his gaze, seeing him look at his beautiful little girl in the fluffy pink tutu with a crown on her head.

“Thanks, man, but you know it’s no big deal to me. Shit, you niggas paid me back times ten when I think about that era. Y’all got rid of a virus I thought was incurable if you know what I mean.”

“I know exactly what you fuckin mean, my boy, but let’s go over to this bar so that I can get drunk enough in this mutha fucka for the both of us.”

I followed Crew over to the bar, weaving in and out of the kids and adults moving around the party.

I noticed some eyes on me from people who probably never expected to see me around.

That’s a reason why I didn’t want to come here, but at the same time, fuck what anyone thought.

Crew was right, and we came in the clutch for each other.

What’s understood doesn’t have to be explained when it comes to our street ties.

Crew got a drink from the small bar set up, and we were having small talk about all the shit they had to offer at the party, when I felt a small body come in between us. Crew looked down, and so did I, noticing the princess with the crown and the tutu now tugging on his shirt.

“Daddy. Are you going to watch me ride the Ferris wheel?”

He picked her up from the ground, throwing her in the air.

“Of course, Princess P, but real quick, I want you to meet someone.”

“Who?”

“Your Godfather, Amir.”

I squinted my eyes because I didn’t know I had that title.

“Godfather bro? You for real?”

“Yeah, man. Actually, you, Godfather number two. Don’t tell that nigga Hov yet though. Nigga might get jealous and pull his gun out.”

“My Godfather daddy? Does mommy have another boyfriend, daddy?”

Crew smacked his lips, and I chuckled at her question.

“Hell nah. Amira, don’t ever say anything like that again. You're trying to kill your daddy, girl. Godfather means he will look out for you forever. Even when mama and daddy can’t.”

“Oh, like Uncle Hov?”

“Just like Uncle Hov.”

Crew kissed on his daughter’s cheeks and then let her down so she could run around and play some more. I found myself dapping the nigga up again.

“Yo, I’m touched, bro, but I can’t be referred to as her Godfather. It goes directly against my beliefs.”

“Oh, damn, I didn’t realize that.”

“Yeah, the Quran says that Allah neither begets nor is born, meaning God doesn’t have children or parents.

Instead, we look at the entire Muslim community as the protectors and support system for all children in the community.

So I got you and your daughter without a title.

No disrespect to you because it is an honor for you to think of me that way. ”

“Nah, bro, I get it. None taken. Your word is good enough for me, and I always understand anyone’s beliefs that are different from mine.

Shit, I practice smudging and a lot of people think it’s pointless, but I know what it does for me.

So, whatever brings you peace, my boy.” He lifted his glass before taking a sip.

I can admit that lately, I’ve been battling listening to my beliefs in my head because they were taught by my father.

I often asked myself were they really my own beliefs or something he pressured me into believing.

When I was a kid, every single day before we could go out and play, we had to read from the Quran for at least twenty minutes.

My brothers always skimmed through it just to be done and go fuck around, but I read and studied it because I always wanted to impress my father.

My grandma always told me Allah was in my favor because of my knowledge of my religion.

Back then, I didn’t see what the favor was, and I’m still struggling to find it as an adult to this day.

The longer the event went on, the more people showed up, with bags, gifts, and even cash, they were handing straight to the birthday girl.

After seeing the gifts, I realized I may have spent $300 at Target, but I was still being shown up by everyone here.

I got in my head and told myself I would just give baby girl another few hundred to go spend on what she wanted.

Though I knew she wasn’t hard up for money, I’m the guest of honor, and I need my gift to mean just as much to her as everyone else’s, especially with him putting me on the level of Hov, who just brought a Mini pink golf cart through the door.

I dismissed myself out the double doors just as they started to serve food to the guests. I peeped that some of the pizza they were serving had bacon, some had ham, and some had pork, so I already had my eyes on the cheese pizza. That and the funnel cakes, of course.

When I stepped out of the front door, I jogged over to my car, passing up a car I thought I was going to have to up my gun on because they were just sitting there.

After staring through the windshield, I saw the pink bags in the backseat which let me know that they were here for the party, so I relaxed.

Something I never get to do and have never done since the day Allah gave me life.

Being the last Quatar in NewYork wasn't easy, but shid, somebody has to do it.