Jules #2
I thought about the night before. About the small, ducked-off house where Jade had been staying.
About Jade's apartment. The small kitchen.
Her kid asleep in the other room. The way she looked at me when I walked in, like she had been waiting.
I told myself the situation was simple. Temporary.
Necessary. But something about it had started to feel routine.
And routine was dangerous. Especially for men like me.
Because routine made things feel normal.
And nothing about that situation was supposed to be normal.
I baited my hook and swung my fishing rod back before throwing it out on the water.
The line cut through the air and landed with a soft splash a few yards off the side of the boat.
The water swallowed it quick, barely making a ripple before going still again.
We had my nephews, plus Enzi, out on the boat fishing today in the middle of the swamp, as he called it.
The air was thick the way it always was out here.
Humid enough to sit heavy on your skin. The smell of mud, water, and cypress trees hung around the boat like it had its own weight.
The sun had barely climbed over the tree line, but the heat was already building.
Enzi had been complaining about it since we left the dock.
It reminded me of when we were kids. Pops used to take us fishing every Sunday over the summer.
Didn't matter if it was raining, hot, or we were tired from running the streets the night before.
If it was Sunday morning, we were in a boat.
Didn't argue either. Pops wasn't the kind of man you argued with.
He always taught us how to be men. Didn't talk about it much; he just showed us.
Wake up early. Handle your business. Don't complain. Don’t embarrass your family.
And whatever problems you had, keep them to yourself unless they required action.
Men like Pops didn't believe in sitting around discussing feelings. They believed in endurance.
I rested my elbow on my knee, watching the line disappear into the water.
The swamp was quiet except for the buzzing of insects and the slow creak of the boat shifting with the current.
"Chi'lo, I'll beat yo ass," Noles said suddenly.
I didn't even look over. That tone alone told me exactly what was happening.
Noles loved fucking with him. Noles and Chi'lo had that type of relationship since Chi'lo was old enough to talk.
Noles fucked with him and fucked with him until he got mad and started cussing, leading to him getting in trouble.
They acted more like siblings than nephew and uncle.
Chi'lo stood near the front of the boat holding his little rod with both hands like he was concentrating harder than anyone else out there. "Man, leave me alone," he muttered.
"What you gon do if I don't?" Noles pressed. Chi'lo didn't answer. He just rolled his eyes. That alone made Noles grin.
"See," Noles said. "That look right there. That's the look that get yo ass beat." Chi'lo shot him a bird. That made Pierre laugh.
"Noles, you and Chi'lo start that bullshit, both ya ass goin overboard," Juste said, nipping it in the bud before they started. Chi'lo shot, mumbled fuck you, making Noles chuckle.
"See what I'm saying?" Noles laughed. "Disrespectful." Chi'lo shook his head and looked back at the water.
"Nigga quit spraying all that off. Ain't shit gon bite your ass," Pierre said suddenly, waving his hand in front of his face. Enzi had practically covered himself in bug spray. "Nigga smell like chemicals."
Enzi didn't even look at him. “Shut the fuck up," he mumbled. Pierre laughed.
"Y’all bullshittin’," I said, leaning back in my seat. "You ready to explain why we got they young ass out here on this boat? I'm ready to hear that. Make me feel good to know my kids aint the only problems here." I said, making Juste chuckle.
"Wassam?" Noles questioned, cutting his eyes over at the twins.
"Chiana went through them niggas phone and they been sexting like a mutha fucka," Juste said, letting out a laugh that sounded like he had been holding it in since he found out about what was going on. Pierre let out a laugh following his.
"Null Neph, y’all sendin pics of ya lil dicks and shit?" Noles said, holding back a laugh.
"Aint shit lil bout me, not even my pinky toe," Chi'lo said before he could stop himself with a frown on his face. I let out a deep laugh, and everybody else followed.
"Chi'lo, watch your mouth, man." Juste fussed.
"Whatever you lil niggas do, wrap that shit up, ya heard me?" I said, being serious in the moment.
"Man, them niggas not fuckin." Noles waved me off.
"Fuck what that nigga talkin’ bout," Pierre said, pointing at Noles. "Wrap that shit up, don't be giving that mutha fucka out to everybody, and don't be no green ass trick." He preached.
"How bout y’all just quit sending the fuckin naked pictures how bout that?
" Juste said, motioning between the two of them.
"Or that," I put in, agreeing with him. My brother enjoyed this moment with his boys; I could tell by the look on his face.
He really wasn't even mad at them; he just had to play like he was because of the hell Chiana raised.
The twins sat across from us on the cooler, rods leaned against the side of the boat, while they listened to us go back and forth.
Chi'lo had his arms crossed like he was irritated with the whole situation, but every now and then, I could see the corner of his mouth twitching like he wanted to laugh, too.
The swamp sat quiet around us except for the occasional buzz of a mosquito or the slow plop of something moving under the water.
The sun had climbed higher now, turning the surface of the bayou into a sheet of dull silver.
Spanish moss hung heavy from the cypress trees around us, swaying slow every time the wind passed through.
The swamp had a way of slowing everything down.
Even the water moved different out here.
Thick. Quiet. It had weight to it. You didn't rush in places like this.
You sat, watched, and waited. We fished for the next couple of hours, talking shit and enjoying each other's company.
The boys kept arguing about who had the better spot on the boat, Chi'lo swearing the fish were deeper toward the bank while his brother insisted they were moving through the middle of the channel.
Pierre and Noles kept egging it on like they always did, turning every little disagreement into a full-blown debate.
"Ain't no fish over there," Pierre said, shaking his head. "You wasting your bait."
Chi'lo frowned harder. "You just mad cause I caught two already."
"You caught two baby ass fish," Pierre replied.
"Fish still fish."
Noles laughed. "That boy got you there."
Juste didn't say much. He sat near the front of the boat, rod resting against his shoulder, watching the water the way Pops used to. I reeled my line in slow and checked the bait, it was gone. "Damn," I muttered under my breath.
Noles heard it anyway. "You ain't caught shit all day," he said, grinning.
"I ain't trying to impress nobody."
"That sound like pussy talk." I didn't answer.
Just baited the hook again and cast it back out.
The line landed smooth on the surface. Time moving slow enough to notice it.
I sat there longer than I expected to. Just watching the water.
Listening to the voices around me. And for a minute, I almost forgot about everything waiting back in the city.
But problems didn't disappear just because you stepped away from them.
Eventually, the sun started dropping behind the trees.
The sky turned orange first. Then purple.
It got darker quick once the light started leaving.
Eventually, everybody went their separate ways.
Engines starting. Truck doors slamming. Headlights cutting through the dark.
I drove home alone. The road back through stayed empty at night.
The quiet in the truck gave my mind too much room to move.
It drifted where it had been drifting all day, back home to my family.
I pulled up in the front yard to see Nia sitting on the front porch.
She was smoking a blunt and writing in a journal as she rocked back and forth in the rocking chair she sat in.
The porch light above her cast a soft yellow glow across the front of the house.
She had a scarf tied around her head. One leg crossed over the other as the chair moved slow beneath her.
The smoke drifted upward into the night air before disappearing.
I watched her as she looked up to see that I had pulled up.
Our eyes met for a second. Then she turned her attention back to what she was doing, like I hadn't even pulled up.
That hit me in my chest harder than I expected.
I sat in the truck a minute longer with the engine running.
Watching the slow movement of the rocking chair.
The scratch of her pen moving across the page.
The glow of the blunt between her fingers.
She didn't look angry. Her face was neutral, and she was calm, like she had already accepted something.
I damn near growled in anger at the thought, because the truth was simple.
Women who still cared usually said something.
They argued and demanded answers. Silence didn't mean peace; it meant distance.
I watched her for a minute, thinking about our life from start to where we were now.
The first time I met her. The way she used to look at me like I was the center of her world.
The years that came after. The kids, the house, the routine.
Everything we built together. And somewhere along the way, that version of us had started fading.