Chapter 2
The gates to the prison slid open slowly, like they weren’t ready to see me leave, like seven years of my time and my rap career weren’t enough.
I stood there for a second, taking it all in.
I was a free man, and I’d be lying if I said the air didn’t taste different out here.
I stepped through the gate with two trash bags, a parole packet, and silence.
I didn’t know what was next. I wasn’t walking out the same man that walked in. Everything had changed.
“Don’t bring yo’ black ass back here, Lo,” one of the COs yelled out behind me as I trekked across the street.
I didn’t answer, didn’t look back. There was no need.
That knucklehead version of me that went in at twenty-five was long gone.
When I got here, I was just an angry nigga that cared too much about what other niggas thought of me.
I cared so much that I let it dictate me right into a damn concrete box.
That version of me was dead. I’d buried him somewhere between year two and countless trips to the hole.
I wasn’t coming back here ever again, and I didn’t need a correctional officer to remind me of that.
“Remember the little people when you are back on top, Lo!” the same CO called out, and I waved him off.
Getting back on top of the music industry was the furthest thing from my mind.
The industry, my label, my friends, my fans, they’d all abandoned me and moved on years ago.
I’d already come to terms with that. This next part of my life didn’t include music, and I was cool with that.
“Quae Lo! Quae fuckin’ Lo!” My sister Jessica’s loud ass screamed out my old stage name. I looked up to see her jogging toward me with tears in her eyes.
“Jess,” I called as she approached. She didn’t wait for an invitation to pull me into a hug.
I stood there, stiff at first. Then I let myself relax into it.
I didn’t know how much I needed to feel the touch of someone who loved me.
It felt good. Jess was all I had. After our mom overdosed when we were kids, we got tossed into the system—different houses, different cities—until Jess aged out and fought to get custody of me.
She was barely eighteen, barely surviving, but she did it.
And I’d been trying to repay her ever since.
“You still my little brother under all that beard and muscle, or nah?” She stepped back and looked at me.
“Still the little brother that will mush you in the face,” I joked as I thumped her on the forehead and pushed past her.
“Boy, bye. You haven’t mushed nothing in seven years. You probably a weakling. Don’t get fucked up.” She laughed while pushing me on the shoulder.
“I see you kept my baby looking nice.” I walked over to my candy-apple red 2018 Dodge Challenger with black rims, windows still tinted dark as midnight. I walked over slowly, my fingers brushing across the surface. There wasn’t a scratch on her or a smudge out of place.
“You waxed her?” I asked.
“Yep, me and your nephew did every other Sunday,” Jessica replied. “Told you I would not let your lil’ car fall apart. It’s been chillin’ in the garage, waiting on you.”
“Straight?” A tightness worked its way into my throat, but I swallowed it down.
This car was the last thing I bought before I lost it all, right after I signed my record deal, dropped my first single, and got that advance.
I thought I was up forever. I bought the car, then I bought Jess her house a few weeks later—a little three-bedroom, ranch-style home in the good part of Azalea, big enough for her and my nephew.
I remembered her crying when I handed her the keys.
I thought I was setting us both up for life.
I didn’t even get six months to live the dream out before it all went left.
One night out literally changed everything for me.
I lost everything, but Jess never folded.
My big sis never switched up. She sent letters, put money on my books, and showed up when I felt too ashamed to look her in the face.
No one else bothered to care. I turned and looked at her as she stood with her arms crossed and a smirk on her face.
“I guess that means you’re driving,” she said, tossing me the car keys.
I didn’t waste any time making my way to the driver’s seat and sitting down.
I gripped the steering wheel, hesitating.
I was back behind the wheel of my car. It almost felt surreal.
I remembered feeling like the man in my city when I dropped fifty racks on this in one day.
“You good?” Jess climbed into the passenger side. She must have noticed my hesitation.
I nodded slowly. “Yeah. Just,… damn. I didn’t think I’d ever sit here again.”
“Well, you are, baby bro. Take it all in.”
Silence sat between us as I started the car.
The engine rumbled to life beneath my hands.
For a second, I just sat there, trying to remember how to drive or how to get around the city.
I was sure a lot had changed. Shaking it off, I put the gear in drive and pulled off from the curb, letting the memories of me pushing my car through the city guide me.
“What?” I could feel Jess watching me from the passenger seat.
“Are you gonna let me help you this time, or you still tryin’ to find your own way?”
I swallowed hard, not wanting to answer. We’d had this conversation a million times.
“Jess, I just don’t feel comfortable staying with you. I’m a whole grown ass man.”
“You bought the house, Quade.”
“Don’t matter. It’s yours,” I shot back.
“Where are you going to go?”
“I told you about the transitional housin’ program. They have a room waiting for me.”
“That’s nonsense. I have space for you at my house. It’s only temporary, Quade. A man knows when to accept help from his village.”
I sighed. She was right. Staying with Jess would be better than rooming in some boarding home with a bunch of men I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have to look over my shoulder in defense every night.
“I just want to help, lil’ bro. All we really have out here is each other.”
“Okay, but only because my parole officer is already breathing down my damn neck. Said I need steady work, a support system, and no infractions.”
“Well, your support system already handled your job situation. You start with the Northside Rehab Program next week.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You got me a job?”
“Yep, construction. I know you got certified in there.”
“Nah, Jess. I don’t need a handout. I can find work.”
“I know you can. I just… It’s Ronald’s business.”
“You want me to go work for the nigga you fuckin’.” I shook my head. Ronald was her newest baby daddy. I remembered her telling me on a visit that her new boyfriend was in construction.
“Ronald’s not just some nigga I’m fucking.
He’s your niece’s father and a good man.
You know that.” She shoved me in the shoulder.
“He owns the company, and he understands where you’ve been because he’s been in your shoes.
The program is city-funded. The pay is good, and they help you clean your record. ”
“I don’t know, Jess. I don’t like being some charity case.”
“Let go of that ego. You’re not a charity. This will be good for you. You get to build shit that matters.”
“Build shit that matters… What that mean?” I glanced between her and the road.
“They rehab homes for the low-income and disabled.”
“What’s the catch, man?” I shook my head. I didn’t want a handout from my big sister or her boyfriend, but I knew Jess wouldn’t let it ride, and I needed a damn job.
“You gotta talk to people. Might even have to smile,” she joked.
“I ain’t smiled in seven years, yo.”
“Then you overdue, baby bro.”
“I’ll think about it,” I told her as I merged onto the highway for this nearly two-hour drive back to Azalea.
“That’s a start.” She smiled, and I nodded. I wasn’t rich anymore. I wasn’t famous. Hell, I wasn’t even clean on paper, but I was free.
I pulled the Challenger up to Jess’s house and instantly knew something was off. They had tied balloons to the porch railing, and the curtains were pulled back like someone was peeking through, waiting for my arrival. I glanced over at Jess, who was suddenly suspiciously quiet.
“Nah…” I muttered, pulling into the driveway and throwing the car into park.
I knew damn well Jess hadn’t thrown me a party.
I didn’t want to spend my first day out surrounded by a bunch of fake ass folks pretending they missed me, when most forgot I even existed.
I sat in the car for a second, the engine ticking quietly.
I could feel Jess staring a hole in my face.
“You just gonna sit in the car?” she asked.
“Yeah, you didn’t say shit about a party.”
“It is a gathering with nobody that doesn’t live here,” she said, laughing. “Your nephew thought we should decorate, so don’t break his little teenage heart, please. Come on inside.”
I smirked. Jess always was extra, so I couldn’t really blame my nephew for being just like her. I sighed as I rubbed the back of my neck.
“Jess, if I walk through that door and see a bunch of motherfuckers—”
“It’s not,” she said, heading up the stairs. “It’s just my tribe. No extras.”
I nodded, still tense and nervous.
“Aight.” I swung open the car door and climbed out, following her up the steps and through the front door.
“Welcome home!” The shout hit me like a wave, and I glanced around at the faces standing in my sister’s living room with smiles. My nephew and a buff nigga holding a baby were all standing there, waving at me. This was Jess’s tribe, alright.
“Uncle Quade!”
“Zy!” I shouted as my nephew rushed over to me, showing all his teeth. He was taller than I remembered. His hair was in a neat set of locs, and he had the nerve to have a chain around his neck like he was grown now or something.
“In the flesh. You done got buff, Uncle Quade. Those prison workouts must hit different.”