3. Rayzor #2
I heard him, understood that shit, but sometimes the days grow, and the pain still shows.
The emptiness, answers that I always sought, gets further out of reach, but I gotta keep pushing, taking L’s on the chin and creating my own narratives.
I’ve had to live with this variation of life to make shit work with me.
It doesn’t make it easier, but it’s tolerable.
“It’s more options out there, bro. Choose something else.”
He sat up.
“Can I go back to my room now?”
I dropped my head onto my folded hands as I massaged my temples.
“Nah, gon’ pack this up. I’m taking you to the crib.”
“Why? I thought I was staying the night.”
“I got an early day.”
He jumped up and started roughly throwing his shit into the bag. “Oh, so now you got an early day after finding out what I’m doing. This some bullshit,” he mumbled under his breath before storming out the living room.
I collapsed back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling, thinking about how he was following my path. It never dawned on me that it’s a possibility. I didn’t want him turning out like me. He couldn’t see it, but this lifestyle wasn’t given to me. Shit, it was chosen.
Maleek sat in silence with headphones on the drive back. I wasn’t pressed for conversation because I knew that after tonight, he’ll go quiet on me. I’d let him come around.
When I pulled into the driveway, his ass barely let the car come to a stop before hopping out and taking off inside. I stayed in the truck, watching him through the rearview. He didn’t even look back at me as he slammed the front door.
He reminded me so much of myself as a jit when I got upset.
I got out the truck, walking into the house behind him.
The metal door creaked as I pushed it open. The smell of lemon Pine-Sol and lavender Fabuloso perforated through the air, reminding me of childhood. The days where Ma would scrub the floors and walls until the spot was clean.
“Get out,” he told me.
The house still looked the same. Like a time capsule with modern upgrades. Plush couches, pictures along the walls, a TV stand, sheer curtains, wooden blinds. I stepped back into time. It was bittersweet.
“Take yo’ ass to bed.”
I stepped in front of the pictures of my Pops from back in the day. It captured his youth, afro, at a cookout wearing a big smile with a beer in his hand. It was one of Ma’s favorites of him.
“You ain’t supposed to be in here,” Maleek told me.
“I’m making sure yo’ ass ain’t trying to dip out since you got a secret life and shit.”
He smacked his teeth and rushed off to the back of the house.
I stepped slowly, taking in the space I used to live in. Hadn’t been inside since seventeen. It’s crazy how you could be removed from something, but it always felt like home even if you weren’t always welcomed.
I stood in front of my folks’ wedding picture. I was there, three, maybe four, in a small tux. My parents both had smiles on their faces. Ma had her bouquet in one hand and me in the other. Pops had his arm around her. We looked like the perfect family.
That’s when I noticed that all my pictures had been replaced with ones of Maleek. That shit did something to me. She removed me figuratively and physically. She hated me. Her son she birthed. At one time, we were the best of friends.
She made me a memory.
“Why are you in my house?” her voice echoed through the living room.
“This used to be our house, remember that shit, Ma?”
“Yeah, well, that’s been a long time since.”
I nodded.
“Didn’t I tell you to stay away from my son? I don’t want him ending up like you.”
“End up like me?”
“Yes. You.”
“Shit. If I can recall, somebody told me you’re the reason I ended up like this.”
She pushed past me, dropping her purse on the couch. She didn’t even look back as she rushed into the kitchen. I followed her. She stood over the sink with her arms stretched out across it.
“You need to go.”
“Nah, I need answers.”
“I don’t have anything to say to you.”
I pulled the chair from underneath the table. “Nah. You got a lot to say to other mothafuckas that you need to be telling me.”
She turned around.
“Why are you coming around here stirring up trouble?”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.”
“I’m just trying to get answers, Ma.”
“Well, I don’t have any for you.” She walked pass me, leaving out the kitchen.
“That’s wild because he told me to ask you.”
I heard her heart stop.
“He.”
“He said he put me in my position and to ask you who he was.”
She rushed over to me with softer, watery eyes like she wanted to cry but couldn’t. Something was there. Fear, sorrow, hurt. Something stronger than the both of us. That shit had me shook.
Her hand was inches away from my face as her eyes bounced around mine. It looked like she wanted to caress my cheek, but she couldn’t.
“You have to leave, Courtland.” She ran away, but I got up, chasing after her.
“Who is that nigga, Ma? And what the fuck is he talking about?”
“I don’t know anybody connected to you other than Maleek.”
“You know that nigga, he said Theresa. He wore a suit, bald headed with a thick goatee. I don’t know him, but he knew me and he knew we don’t talk like that.”
She swiftly turned on her heels, face harder than a few seconds ago. Back to how it was when she always sees me.
“Don’t get me mixed up in your shit. It must be a crazed fan or something, but you need to go, Courtland. I’m not saying it again.”
When I didn’t move, she stepped closer.
“Now!” she yelled.
I wanted to say something back but didn’t know what.
I headed to the door, my hand twisting the knob.
“I’m gon’ say this shit and leave it alone.
If you got anything to do with what the fuck happened to me in any sense or form, Ma, whether good or bad, I’m on yo’ ass.
I mean, it’s gotta be something because you woke up one day hating me.
Yo’ own son. You must’ve done it for a reason.
Don’t let me find out why.” I left out, leaving that with her.