Chapter 1 #3
The gray sweats were the only thing I was bringing with me and that was only because I needed clothes on my back when I left. If leaving without a thread on my skin was possible, then I would’ve. I wasn’t bringing anything with me from my time in jail, except her words.
“Just baggage I don’t need or care for.”
“Bet,” Kale responded, hopping into the passenger seat of the matte black Grand Cherokee.
Laike. I knew who was behind the set of wheels that was in front of me. I’d mentioned purchasing the Trackhawk once on one of the rare calls I made home and this nigga had it delivered straight to the parking lot.
Phweooooooeeeet. I whistled, rounding the truck to get a good look at my new muscle.
“This nigga don’t miss,” I whispered.
Ready to get the hell out of dodge, I kept my admiration to a minimum. There would be plenty of time to learn more about my ride and its capabilities. For now, I wanted to put my current view in my rearview. Home was heavy on my heart.
I’m counting down until you come home like you’re coming home to me.
“Buckle up,” with a grunt, I advised Kale while I slid into the driver's seat.
“Say less.”
Though I wasn’t sure who Kale had pumping through the speakers, the bass on the track sounded superior coming from the speakers.
I hiked it up a notch, bobbing my head as I accepted the iPhone that Kale handed me.
The plastic was still on the screen. With a nod, I placed it in the cup holder and put the truck into gear.
Huffington Mills was where I rested my head, but Dooley was home.
When I pulled into the gated community, making a pit stop at the security booth to give my name, contentment devoured me.
It had been six months too long since I’d crossed the barriers.
I vividly remembered the day that I surrendered my freedom.
The morning was as somber as it came as I pulled out of my subdivision. To be home again meant everything.
I wept the night that you went away, and I find myself on my knees praying for your safe return every day.
As I pulled into the driveway, the words that I’d read a hundred times and remembered so well replayed in my head. I silenced the engine and hopped out of the car with Kale on my tail. He’d occupied my space for four months before entering his first semester of freshman year.
I paused briefly before stepping up to my door, allowing the security system that Laike had installed to identify me and have a chance to read my vitals. If they didn’t check out, then utilizing a key was necessary. When I heard the locks turn, I rejoiced inwardly.
“I uh,” Kale started, scratching the back of his neck, “I kind of…”
“Got some shit to get into?”
“If you don’t mind. If so, I can just cancel and hang with you.”
“It’s cool, kid. I’m not sweating it. Just be safe.”
“I will,” he promised, scurrying off toward the garage.
Before I went in, I’d given him my Camaro to have. I wouldn’t need it, and I was certain I’d be in search of a new set of wheels by the time I touched down. Laike had already made that happen, so it wasn’t even on my agenda anymore.
I heard the roaring engine of Kale’s whip as I entered my home.
The freshness was welcoming. Just as I’d requested, Luca had refurnished every inch of my pad.
I walked into the newness that I’d craved the last three months of my bid.
The earth tones blended well with the dominantly black pieces and revealed that there was a woman’s touch involved.
Hers? I wondered but as quickly as the thought surfaced another did.
This nigga, I chuckled as soon as my eyes landed on the large box of magnums. It was next to the Welcome Home sign. It had Luca’s bullshit written all over it.
Bypassing the madness happening on the console table, I headed upstairs to the master suite. There was one particular place I had in mind. When I breached its surface, I peeled every piece of clothing from my body.
Shit. It felt good to be out of the gray sweats. I replaced them with a pair of basketball shorts and a tank. Finally, I could breathe again because for the last six months, I felt like I was barely staying afloat.
Your presence takes me under. I feel like I’m floating most times, but since you’ve been gone it’s felt like I’m underneath the water, drowning.
Like lightening, the words from the computer screen flashed before my eyes.
I’d been drowning, too, and until this very moment, I couldn’t catch my breath.
Being told when to shower, piss, shit, eat, hoop, and socialize was not ideal for a nigga who’d lived a limitless life.
Though I’d adapted, the entire ordeal felt like an outer body experience.
It was my first and my last time in that motherfucker.
I picked up the fresh grays from my closet floor and dumped them down the trash shoot in the hallways next to my bedroom. Upon my return, I entered the bathroom where I stared back at my reflection with a half-smile.
“Boy, you look rough,” I admitted, pulling at the bulkiness of my hair.
For six months, it had been growing like wildfire.
I refused to let the niggas in the barbershop cut it.
That task was one that only I could accomplish.
I was too specific and too particular about how I wanted my shit, and I hadn’t found a barber that could achieve the same results as me.
That’s why I’d been cutting my own hair since I was nine.
The first and last time a barber fucked my line over was my eight birthday.
For a year straight, I practiced and perfected my technique.
By November 28th of the following year, I was nice with it.
I pulled out the deep drawer and removed the cape, clippers, brushes, scissors, alcohol, and the rest of the things I’d need to get myself together because whoever the nigga in the mirror in front of me was, I didn’t recognize.
He was buried beneath six months of knotty, black hair – facial included.
“Alexa, play something I’d like to hear,” I called out to one of the white gadgets I had all around my home that made my life a lot easier.
When Meek Mill’s I Got the Juice blasted through the speakers, my smile widened as my head began nodding to the beat. All wasn’t lost upon. At least Alexa still recognized me. For now, I’d settle for that.
As I listened to the lyrics, matching them word for word in my head, I prepared my utensils. And though I promised to leave every and anything that went on within the six months, I was locked away in the past, there was something – or someone rather – that I simply couldn’t.
As I grew, so did my feelings for you, she’d written.
I gazed at my reflection in the mirror as I began to reveal the man behind the wool one stroke of my clippers at a time.
Lost in the thought, I didn’t realize just how long I’d been standing and chopping away until I was patting my face and neck with alcohol that stung, drawing me from the daze I was in.
My bare feet tapped the marbled floors of my bathroom, sending a chill down my spine. When I reached the glass shower, I turned the digital dial to six and a half. It was the perfect temperature. Not too hot or too cold.
Without hesitation, I stripped down a second time and stepped behind the glass barrier that kept water from exiting and cold air from entering.
The warm water hit my dark skin, forming a stream that slid down my body upon contact.
For the first time in six months, I closed my eyes while allowing the steam to rise up my nose and clear my airways.
I’d come to the realization long ago that I’d taken long, hot showers for granted all my life.
Not anymore. I was more than thankful for the peace of mind they brought me and the safety net having one in my home afforded me with.
There wasn’t a nigga in the whole joint that had tried me after I put the first one on his eyes in under five seconds.
I had barely slept on my bunk a full week before the bullshit started. But as quickly as it had risen, it settled. Niggas did not want the work that I had to offer them – inside or out.
As the beads of water tap danced on my skin, I considered the rest of my day’s events.
Before I did anything else, I needed some decent, uninterrupted sleep in the comfort of my own bed.
It was new along with the bedding on top of it, but I was certain I’d sleep like a newborn once my head hit the pillow.
My shower ended twenty minutes later and after four rounds of scrubbing. It was imperative that I removed all traces of the past six months, even from my skin. With a towel around my waist, I strolled into my bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed.