Chapter 18 #4
Auntie Renee waved her off, then kissed her cheek before flopping into a chair next to me.
“Heeeeeeey, nephew!”
“What’s good, Auntie?”
“Nothing but the rent! I thought that was your nice ass car out there! I swear every time I see you, you’re in a new one! It must be nice to be a billionaire.”
“Money ain’t everything, auntie.”
“It is when you’re broke! So tell that shit to another billionaire … not my broke ass!”
“Renee…” Mama Rose warned her.
“I’m just saying, Mama. I love the Lord, but I’d also love a Benz, a lace front that doesn’t lift, a man with good credit and on who doesn’t lie! And if God’s trying to send all that? I’ll open the door myself!”
Mama Rose shook her head.
Auntie Renee focused back on me.
“But look at you! You get more handsome every time I see you! You got your daddy’s good ass hair and jawline, but your mama’s resting bitch face.” She rolled her eyes.
I laughed.
“Where that ol’ bougie sister of mine at anyway? I swear, Mama failed her somewhere between perm number four and them damn veneers. Walking around like she invented etiquette!”
“If anybody failed at perm number four, it was you,” Mama Rose chimed in. “I still got the picture from Easter ’78 when you looked like a microwaved poodle.”
Those two stayed flaming each other. If a person didn’t know them, they’d swear they weren’t mother and daughter.
Auntie Renee clutched her chest dramatically. “Wow! Mama, just yesterday, you told me I was your favorite.”
“And I meant it. But I also tell my plants they’re all gonna grow tall—that doesn’t mean I ain’t got one still struggling on the windowsill.”
We all laughed.
“Well, we all know who your favorite of everybody is!” Auntie Renee narrowed her eyes at me with a smirk. “I’m sure she fixed your plate too, huh? Probably had it tucked in the oven with a handwritten note and a kiss on the cornbread.”
Mama Rose stood and grumbled, “Lord, let me go fix this girl a plate, so she can get the hell out of my house.”
“I just got here, and you’re already trying to put me out!
It’s ‘cause you know I’m right! I might be your favorite daughter .
” Auntie Renee whipped her head at me with a serious expression, then added, “ And you can tell ya’ mama that.
” Then she continued her rant. “But you make Imanio’s and Dess’s cornbread thick and mine look like communion! ”
Mama Rose glanced back.
“That’s ‘cause every time you come over, you got a new cleanse, a new man, or a new lie! I never know if I’m feeding you or your alter ego!”
“Not too much, Mama!”
I laughed.
Auntie Renee pointed at me with her red press-ons. “And don’t you be laughing, Mr. Bentleys one for me, one for Dessign, and one for Naji.
She slid the bag across the table.
“Now take this food, drop it off to the girls, and take your tail on back to that demanding job of yours before it puts more wrinkles on that pretty forehead.”
I grinned, grabbing the bag. “Yes, ma’am.”
“And tell Dess I said hey, and I love her. And… that she better get her behind over here to see me soon. I don’t care if she rolls in that wheelchair, gets towed, hitch a ride on the back of a FedEx truck, or Uber with a ramp—just tell her to get over here.
She finds a way to the nail salon and make sure she catches a happy hour every week, so I know she got GPS and motivation! ”
I cracked up.
“As for your wife,” she said, her tone softening, “Imanio, I know this is just an unfortunate situation for you as it is her but hug her like she’s your wife … not your burden. You might be the one who brought her into that house, but it’s up to you to make sure she doesn’t feel trapped in it.”
Her words hit me deep.
I nodded slowly.
“And next time you stop by,” she included, “bring her too. I expect her sitting right at this table with a smile—not looking like a kidnapped ghost with good posture.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I kissed her cheek, grabbed the bag of food, and headed out.
I was halfway to the car when I heard someone call out, low and unsure.
“Manio?”
I turned and squinted at the figure.
“Lil B?” I said in a shocked tone.
Lil B, short for Benjamin, was a nigga me and Chi used to run the streets with back in our childhood.
Just like Chi, he was solid—but somewhere along the line, he drifted; took a few wrong turns and let the weight of the world sit too long on his shoulders.
It had been over ten years since I’d seen him face-to-face, but the streets?
They kept me updated. And not in a good way.
He stood at the edge of the sidewalk, head slightly bowed, hands shoved deep into his pockets.
He looked thinner than I remembered—always a slim nigga, but now?
He looked damn near hollow. His dingy shirt hung off him…
baggy and damp with sweat. And his jeans?
Faded, torn, and barely clinging to his waist. They looked like they’d seen more pavement than comfort.
Lil B’s once-sharp fade was now overgrown, patchy in spots, like he hadn’t been near clippers in months.
The shoes on his feet were dirty, leaning inward like they’d long given up on supporting him.
But it was his eyes that hit me the hardest; they carried a kind of tiredness that sleep couldn’t touch.
Lil B didn’t just look down bad—he looked worn, like life had been tugging at the hem of his soul for years, unraveling him thread by thread.
But it was summer, and that kind of heat peeled a person’s pride back.
No hoodie to shield him. No shadows to blend in with. Just him… exposed and hoping no one looked too close.
“What’s good, man? Long time,” he said.
I stepped closer and slapped hands with him.
“Hell yeah. How you doing? You good?” I asked, voice low, but real.
He nodded a little too fast. “Yeah, yeah… just hot out here, ya’ know? Just trying to stay cool.”
I looked him over again. Lil B wasn’t just hot, he was hurting.
“But yo, check you out. I didn’t think you’d remember my broke ass.”
I cocked my head. “Nigga… how could I forget? You were the only eleven year old I knew who ironed his damn do-rag like it was part of the school uniform.”
“Dawg, I was trying to get waves so bad I almost steamed the soul out my scalp. Still ended up with a swirl in the back and a permanent crease line.”
We shared a laugh, but it was short-lived.
Lil B’s eyes dropped to the concrete like it held the rest of his pride.
“Yeah. I, uh… I been seeing you on TV and all that—poppin’ yo’ shit.”
He scratched the back of his neck, then looked back up.
“I’m proud of you, man. You one of the niggas who actually made it outta all this and did something major with yo’ life.”
“Yeah. Just know, everything that glitters ain’t gold… or gain.”
He nodded slowly. “I figured. Ain’t too many of us smiling for real these days.”
“Yeah. Real talk.”
The pause between us stretched long, like both of us were remembering two different versions of the same struggle.
Yeah, I had money, respect, power, my face on blogs, and my name in rooms I once couldn’t even pronounce.
But behind all that shine was exhaustion, paranoia, and a damn near permanent frown.
Fame ain’t never healed what was broken in me.
And the money? It made shit louder, not better.
I’d been smiling for cameras but frowning in mirrors, and sleeping in luxury sheets, but wrestling with demons that didn’t give a damn how soft the thread count was.
Lil B was still standing there, waiting. And just like that, I blinked and came back to the block.
“Look, I hate to even ask, man,” he mumbled, “but you got a few dollars I could hold? I ain’t trying to get high or nothing. I’m just… just trying to get me something to eat.”
Without hesitation, I pulled out my wallet, reached inside, grabbed a twenty—then paused, swapped it out, and handed him all the hundreds I had on me instead. Eight, to be exact.
With me being a billionaire, I didn’t carry much cash—especially not when I went to the hood.
Nah, I didn’t look at all black niggas in the hood as thieves, but truth be told, the niggas who stayed in those parts were the boldest to rob a nigga in broad daylight.
But most niggas, in that area anyway, knew better than to fuck with me.
However, there were a couple of dumb muthafuckas.
And if one did run up and actually managed to take something—before I took their life—all they’d get was a few hundred dollars and a fast pass to hell.
Lil B’s eyes widened like I’d handed him a second chance—I probably did. That kind of money could be life-changing for someone in his shoes—if used wisely.
“Don’t waste it on nonsense,” I advised. “And don’t let me regret giving you this. Get you some food, a haircut, and something clean to wear. Not because of how people see you… but so you can see yourself again.”
“Damn, bro. You a real one… always have been, though. I—preciate you, man for real. I been trying to get on track. I swear. I just… I need a real shot. A job or something.”
I pondered on an idea.
“I actually could use someone over at one of my buildings. Janitorial stuff. Light maintenance. It ain’t the dream job, but it’s a paycheck. You good with that?”
Lil B looked like he might cry. “Hell yeah, I’m good with that! That’s better than anything I got right now.”
“Where you staying?”
“With my moms,” he answered, with a hint of shame.
“She’s still over on Myrtle and 3 rd ?”
“Yup.”
I nodded. “Cool. I’ll swing by probably…
Tuesday, when I get off. I’m usually off no later than 6:00, unless I run into something unexpectedly.
Make sure you’re there. We’ll talk more about the position then.
But when I see you next time, I need you to come correct.
Present yourself like you really want this shit—clean cut, clear-headed, and ready to work. ”
“I do! I do, I swear! And I gotcha!”
I stared a second longer, then nodded again—slow and solid.
He pressed his hands together, not quite clapping, not quite praying.
“Thank you, man! You don’t know how much this means!”
I clapped him on the back. “I do. Believe me, I do.”
He stepped back, still holding the money like it might vanish.
I gave him a final nod and turned to head out.
The past doesn’t always let go easy, but sometimes, just sometimes, you can reach back and pull someone forward with you.