Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
AHKEEM
I circled the block in my Range Rover in search of a familiar face. It was odd as fuck looking for my father, Kareem. We had the same fucking face, so it was like I was looking for myself.
“I swear, cousin, he was right there the other day.” My cousin, Quanni, pointed to the front of the corner store where she last saw my father.
The nigga was like a ghost most of the time.
He would have these random times where he would be around and accessible, and then he would disappear.
Last time I chopped it up with him before he played the fuck out of me about my mother’s house, I got him right with a few dollars and a cell phone just so I could reach him.
The nigga used that same cell phone to tell me he wouldn’t be holding up his part of the agreement, then ditched it. Before I gave it to him, I made sure to share his location with me just so I could find him when he disappeared, but the nigga was smarter than I thought.
My cousin Quanni called me the other day telling me she ran into him, but I was so busy with convincing my wife not to fucking leave me that I couldn’t pull up.
I could’ve pulled up the next day, but I had been balls deep in Jazzlyn since I got her back at the penthouse.
Hell, I damn near had to pry myself off her just to link with Quanni.
Having my wife back and being in each other’s good graces was something I didn’t take for granted.
“He peeped you?”
“Nah. I made sure not to walk up to him.”
I gave my family strict orders not to engage with my pops if they did see him.
The minute he made contact with anyone, he was sure to disappear for even longer.
The nigga was running from life, and he felt like his family would hold his feet too close to the fire to get his fucking life together, so he avoided us. Only until he needed something.
I couldn’t front. Every time he asked for some bread, I shot it his way.
Before he let the bottle take over his entire life, me and my pops had a great relationship.
Kinda like the one I had with Saphir. Whenever I caught him, I just gave him whatever he needed because I always felt like it would be my last time seeing him.
“His ass probably walking the block with a fucking bottle of?”
“Cousin, there he is right there!” Quanni pointed out the window.
Sure enough, Kareem was strolling out of the corner store with his brown bag in hand. I drifted my car right in front of him, hopping the curb in the process. I killed the engine before hopping out. As soon as he noticed it was me, he went to running down the block to get away from me.
“Kareem, I swear to God, if I gotta crease my fucking Js to run after you!” I warned him as he stopped at the intersection, waiting for the perfect opportunity to run into incoming traffic so he could cross the street.
I peeped he wasn’t stopping, so I took off after him.
The nigga was 53, but all the liquor he consumed had his ass light on his motherfucking feet.
Once he realized I was coming straight at him, he pivoted and busted the corner.
I continued after him, and our chase lit up the whole block with laughter and people encouraging him to keep running so I wouldn’t catch him.
Mostly everyone knew who we were. I grew up nearby, so they were able to witness the rise and fall of my father.
This wasn’t the first time I chased his ass down the block, but I was fixing to make it my fucking last.
He grew winded, and once I caught up, I snatched his ass up by the back of his neck. This shit looked wild as hell for me to be his son and manhandling him like that, but that was our dynamic now.
“Why the fuck I always gotta run you down, huh?!” I pushed him up against the wall of a nearby building.
“The fuck you popping up on me like you fucking I.C.E or something?!” he snapped back. We were close enough for me to smell his foul breath and the liquor that coated his tongue.
“The fuck you running for? You ain’t illegal, nigga!”
Quanni finally got to where we were, and she stood in the middle of the block with her hands on her knees, trying her best to catch her breath. She was on the chunkier side, so keeping up with me and my father was a hassle, but cuz made that shit happen.
“Y’all niggas run fast as hell!” she panted out.
Once Kareem noticed her, he smacked his lips. “Your fat ass ratted me out. I fucking knew that was you trying to hide behind that light pole the other day.”
She stood up straight and marched over to me and my father. “Excuse me?! I ain’t fat! I’m big boned.”
“You’re a big, fat-ass snitch,” his drunk ass slurred out while mean mugging Quanni.
I shook my head, shaming him. “Listen to how you fucking sound. You’re 53, and you’re running from your only son.”
“I don’t wanna talk, Ahkeem!”
“Ain’t nobody asking you to fucking talk. Just sign these fucking papers.” I reached into my back pocket and pulled out the contract Abraham drew up for me. It was fairly simple and stated that my father would be relinquishing ownership of the house to me.
The money I spent on the rehab I put him in a few months ago went to waste because the nigga was dunk off a 40 ounce he was toting around.
He snatched the contract and acted like he was actually reading the shit.
I knew he wasn’t because he didn’t even flip the cover page to actually get into the terms of the contract.
All he was looking at was the law firm’s letter head and logo.
“Man, I’m not signing this shit!”
I took in a deep breath to keep from knocking his two front teeth loose.
I ain’t wanna do my pops bad, but he was making it hard to continue sparing him.
In his mind, the roles were reversed, and I was now raising him while he ran wild in the streets.
I would do anything to get him back to the man he was when my mother was alive.
“Kareem, sign the fucking papers or I’m gone fuck you up.”
Taken aback by the threat, he screwed his face up at me. “I’m your father; you ain’t mine.”
“Then start fucking acting like it. Why the fuck I gotta chase you down like the Feds just to speak two words to you?”
“I already know what you wanna talk about, Keem. I’m selling the house. That’s final.”
My eyes narrowed at him as my jaws tightened. “Ma rolling in her grave behind this shit, but you so fucking drunk, you don’t even realize it.”
“You don’t even need the house!” he argued. “Don’t you and your wife live in TriBeCa or some shit?”
“That ain’t the fucking point. Before my mama died, she told me not to sell her house. I’m just trying to do right by my mama, son.”
“Get over it, Ahkeem.”
I still had him hemmed up by the stretched-out collar of his shirt, so I gripped it tighter, causing his eyes to bulge.
“Get over it? Nigga, you the one on the fucking bottle letting life kick your ass because your wife died. You telling me to get over it? It takes everything in me to not fuck you up after you played with my fucking time and money.”
“Ahkeem, I’m selling the house to move to Louisiana.”
I turned my top lip up at him. “Louisiana? What the fuck? Now your drunk ass just doing shit. You don’t even have family down there. I’m the only motherfucka’ you got.”
Family was scarce for us after my mother passed and my sisters moved away.
That was why we took my mother’s death so hard.
Quanni wasn’t even my blood cousin. Her mom was really close to mine, and we grew up together.
Although my relationship with my father was touch and go, him wanting to leave for Louisiana only made me feel more alone.
My mother was gone, my sisters moved away, and now the only other immediate family member I had was planning on dipping out on me too. The shit was fucked up.
Drunkenly, he shook his head mad aggressively.
“No, you’re not the only motherfucka’ I got.
I met this lady friend during rehab, and she told me she has a house in Louisiana that her father left her.
She says she’s gonna need some help fixing it up, and you know, I’ve always been good with my hands, so in exchange for the handy work, she’s gonna give me a place to lay my head.
I always taught you to never go nowhere without money, so I need to sell the house so I can support myself in Louisiana.
I’m really trying to let go of Julianna. It’s been ten years since she died.”
I was all for my pops trying to get his shit together, but it had been ten years of him trying and failing.
Each time he landed on his ass, I had to be the one to fish him out of the bullshit he ended up in.
From the day my mama took her last breath, I went from always focusing on her to now having to always focus on my father.
Not once in that timeframe was I ever a priority, nor did anyone think to check on me.
I lost the most important woman in the world, but I couldn’t grieve because my father made it all about him.
My wife told me that at some point, it became a choice for me to prioritize my father and his bullshit over my grief, so I couldn’t continue to blame him for how I was feeling.
But if I didn’t look out for him, who would?
The only other person willing to deal with his shit was my mother, and she was gone.
My sisters ain’t want no parts. I felt obligated.
I let go of him and took a step back. “This you moving on from my mama? With a lady friend you met in rehab?” I chuckled.
Clearly, I didn’t take shit he was saying serious.
He was a broken record at this point. I reached into my front pocket and pulled out a stack of blues.
“How much you need to hold you down in Louisiana? Gimme a number.”
“Thirty thousand,” he quickly shot out, hoping to get over on me again.