Remind Me Again

Prologue

“It’s crazy we used to play at this same park as youngins’. Terrorizing the block and shit,” Dre commented.

Squeals and laughter from kids rang through the air, while Heavy leaned against the back of Dre’s heavily tinted, coke white Benz. Their exclamations of joy cut through the muggy air, reminding him just how young they weren’t anymore. How nothing was the same anymore.

“Nigga, you ain’t heard shit I said,” Dre claimed, turning to face him.

Heavy’s eyes were glued to the young girl with a huge, yellow bow in her head, holding an amass of curls.

She was following behind a much taller boy, who helped her onto the swing they’d been waiting their turn for.

Her face lit up just as bright as the sun that resurfaced after an unexpected rain shower.

His mind wandered to his younger sister, and the young woman she’d matured into in his absence.

“Nah, I heard you,” Heavy replied, not trying to reminisce about the past.

It didn’t have shit to do with his future, but everything to do with the predicament he was in today.

“So, what’s good? I know you ain’t trying to be done with this shit.

” Dre wasn’t inquiring. His words were spoken like a statement.

A false one that Heavy couldn’t agree with because he was trying to be done with a lot of shit.

The late nights, the fast money, the trips upstate and behind bars.

The ‘shit’ came easy to him. A little too easy and that’s why he’d gotten caught slipping.

Comfortability made a mothafucka feel entitled.

It built a false sense of control, when really, they never were.

Not in Heavy’s case. Three years of his life had been in the palms of other people’s hands while he missed birthdays, anniversaries, graduations, deaths he still hadn’t accepted, and money he couldn’t make back.

If he didn’t decide to be done now, then when? Heavy had been a free man for a month, and he was slowly falling back into the same routine. Some shit was just easier. Not better, but effortless.

“I been thinking about it,” Heavy replied.

Dre waved him off. “Yeah, a’ight. Ain’t shit to think about, for real, bruh. All this money we touching? You gon’ give all this up and do what?”

Familiarity was dangerous. Dre didn’t see the risks or hadn’t experienced them the way Heavy had.

His lens on life was a bit blurry, while Heavy’s vision was clearer now that he had a glance from the other side.

Even if he tried explaining that there was another route, or something better, it wasn’t urgent enough for Dre.

Again, comfort had him believing he was good where he was at. Heavy thought the same until he wasn’t.

“Nigga, not get locked back up,” Heavy vented.

He’d been flying under the radar of the police for years, until a nigga who felt like he wasn’t getting enough, switched up and started singing.

Eliminating one rat out of his circle was one thing.

Heavy handled that before he was sentenced.

He didn’t need anything else circling back and touching him.

Moving differently now that he was out wasn’t a choice.

At least not one he wanted to willingly make.

Heavy and Dre spent years putting themselves and their niggas in position to be where they were today.

In Dre’s eyes, those three years was a cakewalk.

Time went by and money still piled up, but Heavy couldn’t get that time back.

The pressure to stick to what he did in his sleep was weighing on him, but not more than the adjustments he knew he needed to make.

He felt it now in ways he couldn’t ignore.

“I feel you, bruh. You walked that lil’ ass time down, though. What’s the real issue?” Dre asked, truly wanting to know.

They’d been friends since thirteen and had done so much dirt, crossed many milestones, and reached levels they used to only dream about. So, Dre couldn’t understand why he wanted to give it all up.

Heavy would never admit it aloud, but he was nervous about not having enough time to just live and enjoy life.

He’d gotten lucky to not have any significant run-ins with the laws and not have any significant losses, but that all changed when he was locked up.

His time spent away had him looking at life differently.

Heavy wanted to appreciate it more. Before then, he was just enjoying the life the lifestyle provided him.

In his mind, now, there was a huge difference.

“Before I went in, Gramps told me to be mindful about the shit I’m out here doing. The impression I’d leave behind if something were to happen to me,” Heavy said, recalling his late grandfather’s words.

Dre’s head shook, thinking of the old man who was as cool as a fan. “Mr. G stayed dropping that real shit on us.”

“Yeah, and back then I heard him, but I wasn’t really listening. Why switch up what’s working?” Heavy’s question was rhetorical.

The way he was moving may not have been broken, but it needed an update for sure. Like a well-run machine, it did what it was supposed to do, but it required maintenance to keep it that way. Heavy knew there was a better way to move now, and he wasn’t going to settle when it’d cost him everything.

“Aye, Mr. G never wanted you in the streets to begin with,” Dre said, chuckling.

Heavy smirked. “Hell nah, but he ain’t leave me out here blind either.”

George, affectionately known as Mr. G and Gramps, could’ve let Heavy fail from the jump, but he already felt as if he’d done that with his son.

Giving guidance and being a father figure to his grandson was no sweat off his back.

When Heavy did get locked up, Mr. G reminded him that there was always more.

There was always going to be more money somewhere, more weight to push, more women to bed, and trips to take, but there was only one him.

Heavy wouldn’t get to experience anything if he was dead or in prison.

“Dude would literally give us the game and then be like ‘But that’s on y’all. If you niggas wanna ruin y’all lives, go ahead,’” Dre said, mocking Mr. G’s tone.

Heavy chuckled, lowly. He missed his old man like crazy.

Getting the news that he had passed while he was locked up was a blow to the heart Heavy didn’t think he’d experience.

Not from a death at least. In his mind, his grandfather was supposed to live until he had his first kid and a wife.

They were supposed to be out at the park while Mr. G pushed his great-grandkids on swings and they talked about the new pool he was getting installed for them.

Heavy’s chest tightened, knowing he’d never get that experience.

Mr. G didn’t leave him empty-handed. Heavy came home to a shit ton of money, properties he could flip, land to invest in, and a community center his grandpa owned.

Telling his grandson to be on the straight and narrow and not giving him the tools to get there wasn’t how Mr. G rolled.

If he wanted you in a position to succeed, he made sure you had the resources.

The problem was, Heavy didn’t have the slightest idea how to get the ball rolling on so many ventures.

And as a man, not knowing his next move ultimately made him fall back into what he knew best.. . the streets.

“Shit just feels different now. I’m trying to be on something else. Getting this quick money is cool, but I want a family. A woman to come home to. Kids needing me to help with their homework and all that.”

Dre gave him a blank stare. His head cocked slightly to the left. “How old is we?”

“Nigga, we still young,” Heavy calmly replied.

“Exactly. You talking like one of these old head niggas who ain’t got shit going for themselves and their days are numbered.”

“Man, whatever.”

“Nah, I hear you. I’m with whatever you decide to do, but I ain’t giving this shit up no time soon. I respect yo’ decision, though, cuz,” Dre jested, patting Heavy on the chest with the back of his hand.

Heavy pushed him away. “Yeah, a’ight. Hand all this shit over and be laid up in the crib rubbing my mothafuckin’ feet together.”

“You do that shit now,” Dre said, laughing. “But for real. If you trying to start a family and shit, I know the perfect girl.”

Heavy gave him a ‘yeah right’ expression. “Who?”

“Sky.”

“Sky, who?”

Dre laughed. “My sister, nigga.”

“Hell nah.”

His words came out so coolly, Dre didn’t take offense, but Heavy meant them.

“For real, bro. You a good nigga. I know I ain’t gon’ ever have to worry too much about her with you. Shit, we family already. Might as well. She need to sit her ass down anyway.”

Heavy heard what he was saying but wasn’t listening.

What he wanted to tell Dre was that Skylar wasn’t his type at all.

They were grown now, damn near thirty, but he remembered her casually telling him she had a crush on him when they were sixteen.

Heavy never paid her any mind, considering her his lil’ sister just as much as she was Dre’s.

“I’m good, bro,” Heavy concluded, as a van pulled up a few spots down. A group of rowdy teenage boys hopped out in gym shorts, ready to hoop. Had he not had somewhere to be in the next hour, Heavy would’ve run a game or two with them.

“Aye, what’s up, Heavy?” one of the boys said, walking over to him.

Heavy chucked his head upward as they slapped hands. “What’s good, Rick?”

“Nothing much. Bouta run these niggas out here.”

“You ain’t nice like that,” Dre teased.

Rick sucked his teeth. “I’d dog you, cuz.”

“Never. I used to embarrass niggas.”

“Used to.” Rick smirked, bouncing the ball between his legs. “When you ready to lose, you know where to find me.”

“This lil’ nigga,” Dre said, laughing. “Catch me next week and put some money up.”

“That’s a bet,” Rick said, then focused on Heavy. “Aye. I ‘preciate what you did for me and my family. Thank you.”

Heavy nodded. “It’s all love, lil’ bro. Just make sure you keep them grades up so I can watch you on the big screen one day.”