2. Travis “Trench” Sinclair
Travis “Trench” Sinclair
I gripped the throttle as I waited at the starting line.
My mind focused on the race I was prepping to run instead of the madness going on in my life.
I looked over at my opponent for the night.
The goody-two-shoes role I was used to playing faded away, and my true self came alive at night.
When the flag girl dropped her arms, we took off, and the wind hit my face, almost suffocating me.
As we continued down the road, we lined up neck and neck before I noticed my bike pulling farther ahead of his.
Refocusing on the race, I noticed I was coming up on the designated finish line.
With a thousand dollars on the line, I was looking forward to my payday.
Although I didn’t need the money due to my family ties, it felt good to earn money off of my own talents.
When I won the race, the biggest smile spread across my face.
It took the nigga a minute to cross the finish line, but he was a man of his word and gave me my money.
“Good race,” I lied as I accepted his cash.
“That’s a fuckin’ lie,” the guy chuckled. “If it was a good race, it would’ve been closer than that.”
“I’m glad you know the truth. I guess I should say better luck next time.”
“Don’t hold yo’ breath.”
He got back on his bike before driving away as my homie, Roscoe, also known as ‘Scoe, came over to me. We’d been friends for about two years, and in that short amount of time he knew me better than anybody in my family.
I came from money, but I didn’t act like it.
I hated everything from the uptight ass attitudes that my uppity ass family had, to the PWI schools I was forced to attend growing up.
I understood there wasn’t any glitz and glamour of the hood, but I preferred being around my own than trying to pretend to be something I wasn’t.
“Not you runnin’ these nigga’s pockets tonight,” ‘Scoe boasted.
“You know I don’t play when it comes to this racin’ shit,” I asserted as I placed my winnings in my wallet with the rest of my money. “Ain’t nobody fuckin’ with me when it comes to this racin’ shit.”
“I don’t know they said some nigga named H used to be dominatin’ before you showed up on the scenes.”
“I bet that nigga ain’t gonna show his face around here because these my streets now.”
“I’ll put out some fillers to see if I can get you a race with that nigga, Trench. I’m surprised you’re out here racin’ tonight. When I last talked to you I thought you had some gala shit to attend with yo’ folks.”
“You know I hate them shits, but they really fucked up when they tried to play matchmaker. I ain’t tryna marry no uppity bitch they set me up with.
Plus, I want my kids to be one hundred percent melanin and knowin’ my folks, they probably were trying to set me up with some white girl.
I ain’t no Carlton Banks ass nigga. I know I’m black and damn proud of that shit, so my lady will be black too. ”
“I can’t see yo’ ass with no snow bunny either, cuz. I just hope they don’t trip out on yo’ ass when you make it back.”
“And if they do I’ma get a room with the money I just won. I ain’t tryna be dependent on their asses but I gotta time that cut off just right.”
“Not cut off.”
“Hell yeah! I ain’t gonna just stop fuckin’ with them completely just to where the control they think they have is cut off.”
“I feel that. Aye, look, I’ma get up with you later. I gotta get back to my babies and baby mama.”
“Bet.”
We dapped up before dispersing; I loaded my bike on the back of my custom-painted Toyota Tundra truck.
Once I made it to the storage unit, I parked my Suzuki Hayabusa under lock and key before heading home.
On the ride home, I wasn’t ready for what was probably waiting for me.
Although I was twenty-five, my parents still treated me like a child.
That infuriated me, but I took it to the chin because I didn’t want to risk being cut off.
“Travis Fitzgerald Sinclair,” my dad’s, Bruce, voice boomed as soon as I set foot inside.
“Ah fuck,” I cursed as I shook my head.
“Watch yo’ mouth,” my mom, Tiffany, chastised as they appeared in my view together. “Where the hell are you comin’ from?”
“Hang with some friends,” I answered as I took my shoes off at the door.
“At this late hour?” My dad countered.
“Yeah, because there’s only a few things you can get into at this time of night. Between a girl’s legs or some kind of trouble.”
“I wasn’t with no girl, nor did I get in trouble. However, I’m twenty-five years old, and I don’t have to tell you where I’ve been. I’m a grown man.”
“More like a growing man,” my dad corrected.
“Because last time I checked we still funded yo’ whole life.
Even after you went to college and got your degree in business, you’re still livin’ at home with us.
And a grown man keeps his word, and you didn’t this evenin’.
Had me and your mom lookin’ like fools to our friends. ”
“Whoa, let’s fix that lil’ statement of yours.
The only reason y’all fundin’ anything is because y’all got all these stipulations for a nigga.
If it ain’t y’all way then it ain’t the right way.
In what world would that be fair? And for the last time, I ain’t marryin’ no fuckin’ white bitch just to appease y’all! ”
“Travis!” My mom’s voice roared. “Bruce, go to the room. I’ll handle it from here.”
My dad walked past me, but I could tell by the look on his face he had some shit to get off his chest. With my mom really running the show, he did as he was told and retired to his room.
Once I was sure he was in the room, I walked past my mom and went to the kitchen.
After I grabbed a water bottle out of the fridge, I turned to face my mom, who was standing in the threshold.
“Lay it on me,” I sighed before taking a swig of my water.
“Travis, you have to know that me and your dad only want what’s best for you,” she reasoned.
“No, y’all want to control me. And when I leave and never return, I want you to know that’s the reason.”
“Don’t say that. All we want is for you to take over the shoe store for us. We have to trust that you’ll be able to handle it once we’re gone.”
“Y’all want me to run a store that caters to black people but not be in touch with my blackness.”
“That’s not true!”
“Yes, it is. I don’t run or shy away from my blackness.
I know that I’m a nigga and I know these white folks will only see me as that.
No matter if I marry a white girl or not, I’ll never be on the same level as them.
I’m not like you and dad, and that’s not necessarily a bad thing.
It’s just something I don’t want to do. Hopefully one of these days, y’all will respect that, but until then I’m going to bed because I have to be at the store in a few hours. Unless y’all fired me.”
“No, we didn’t fire you.”
“Good, I guess. Good night.”
“Good night, baby.”
There was no point in giving that conversation any more life.
It truly was like beating a dead horse. My parents really lived in the mindset that it’s their way or the highway.
Everything I spoke tonight was truthful, no matter how much they hated to hear it.
The time was coming for me to leave this nest because I didn’t want to follow their path for me.
Racing was the only escape I had, and cooking was my real passion.
I hated working at the sneaker store, living by all their uppity-ass rules, and not being able to live the life I truly wanted.
“Son,” my dad called out right as I walked by.
“Yes sir?” I backpedaled to their room door.
“We really do want what’s best for you.”
“Nawl, y’all want what y’all think is best for me. It took me some time to realize that, and now that I do, I have the mindset of it’s cool… until it ain’t.”