Smoke & Mirrors: Four20 Bae

Prologue

“You’re an idiot,” I spat, and tossed a rock over the ledge.

“How could you?” I mumbled and kicked around a few pebbles beneath my feet.

Standing on Tower Hill, known as the highest mountain in Southern Illinois, I inhaled the crisp breeze soaring through the air. My eyes closed tightly as my hands rested inside of the pockets of the black dress pants I wore. No good could come from me looming so close to this cliff and feeling sorry for myself after delivering an epically awkward eulogy. This one would truly make the papers. But right now, I was flirting with the angel of death. One little stumble and I was a goner.

There were a few hikers on the trails below, who would find my lifeless body splattered somewhere across a rock.

Groaning, I wondered, what will folks say about me? Who will mourn my death? Who will give my eulogy? Nobody, that’s who. Why? Because I was a bastard. My father, Jesse Cromwell, was known to many in the small town of Lovett, Illinois for owning the largest cannabis cultivation center around. To me he was nothing, a distant memory I’d forgotten the moment I left his funeral this morning.

Well, that’s not entirely true. I wanted to forget him and that’s the reason why I been taking my frustration out on these poor rocks.

Jesse was what people would call a sometimey father. He would sometimes be around and at times I could go for months or years without seeing him. He did manage to give me his last name and the smug features he had. Granted, he sent me to an Ivy League school and paid my mother a nice child support check, but he didn’t earn the title as a father. A father was someone who spent time with you, taught you how to ride a bike, drive a car, and how to be a man.

On the other hand, I did learn that a man shouldn’t cheat on his wife and have a child his wife wouldn’t accept. That’s right, the late Linda Cromwell hated my existence. She didn’t want me anywhere around her or my sister. I never truly understood how she could forgive the man who cheated on her, but not accept me. I guess I’d never get closure, because Linda died in her sleep five years ago.

Her passing didn’t make me feel any type of way. I had read about her departure in the Lovett local newspaper. Remembering the day my mother called me up, she told me to read the paper. Usually, reading wasn’t my favorite pastime, but I did as I was told, and after reading the two-paragraph story, nothing happened inside of me. Maybe my emotions were turned off. Learning you were a mistake could do that to a person.

Although my mother reassured me throughout my life that she wanted me, I still didn’t fully trust her. She wasn’t innocent in the shit show called my life. She slept with a married man and unleashed this turmoil I had to endure for a good portion of my life.

My phone chirped in my pocket, alerting me I had a missed text message. Ignoring it, my mind drifted to the unforgettable eulogy I gave at Jesse’s funeral.

His sister, Tracy Cromwell, asked me to give the eulogy as soon as she saw me in the church parking lot, because his daughter, my half sister, was too distraught to speak.

“You are the only other option,” she told me. “I know my brother didn’t do right by you, but there’s more to the story than you know, honey.”

Her eyes were bloodshot and her cheeks pink. At first glance, it seemed she had been crying for weeks, and I saw the desperation trembling on her thin lips. I met my Aunt Tracy once, I believe I was thirteen years old, when Jesse brought me to his family reunion. She was nice to me. Offered me ice cream, made the other kids include me in their games. After that, I never saw her again. And that was the same day Jesse disappeared from my life.

Another reason I took a step back from the ledge. Not that I was considering suicide, but I’d read books and watched news programs where folks were so grief stricken that they accidentally fell to their death.

I used to wonderhow someone could actually slip and fall to their death. By doing what you’re doing, dummy … standing too close.

“Shit,” I muttered and took another two steps back from the scenic view.

Jesse’s funeral was so packed you would have thought a celebrity had died. Townsfolks, family, and friends were crammed into every inch of the two-thousand-square-foot church. My mission was clear—to see the old man one last time and tell him how much I hated him.

But once my feet carried me down the carpeted aisle and my eyes roamed over his wrinkled face, the tears I didn’t know I was holding inside broke through me like a broken dam. Sobs unknown to my own ears wept from my soul. I had to admit that we had an uncanny resemblance. Throughout my life, I never wanted to believe it, but on this day, staring down at his lifeless body, I could see it.

Feeling all types of emotions, I had wondered, How can I weep or speak about a man who turned his back on me?

Aunt Tracy nodded her head toward the podium, and like a robot on auto pilot, I moved my weighted feet. Once I climbed the three steps and stood in front of the congregation, my hands became sweaty, and I aimlessly wiped at the few stray tears rolling down the sides of my face.

What do I say about a man I barely knew?Glancing over the audience, my eyes had landed on my sister, Jenny. She stared at me with a tear-stained face, her forehead creased in the middle, and I guessed it was a sibling thing, because I could read her thoughts.

What the fuck is he about to say about my father?

“Hard Eight.”

The memory faded as my eyes collided with an old friend, Malcolm Jacobs aka MJ.

I chuckled softly at the nickname he gave me when he beat me at his infamous dice games.

“Hey, bro!” I responded, dapping his outstretched fist.

He stood next to me and reared back on his designer loafers. “You’re up here considering suicide?”

Smiling, I told him, “Nigga, nah. You know I come up here to think sometimes and clear my head.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I knew I could find your fragile ass up here after that damn eulogy you gave.”

Exhaling, I rubbed at the tension headache I felt creeping in. MJ knew me better than most folks. We met at a dice game on an impromptu trip I took to Las Vegas. He took all my money that night, but I was so high off a brownie I consumed on the plane earlier that I was seeing doubles. He rushed me to the hospital after the game, when I walked into a pothole on the Las Vegas strip and earned the nickname fragile from him.

“Don’t remind me.” I snorted, still amazed at him taking the hike up the long hill. MJ and I didn’t hit it off right away, but now, I considered him a good friend. He owned a cannabis club called Blunt Minded Joint. That club was his baby. His pride and joy.

He’d made the trip down for moral support even though I knew he was busy as hell. He was one of the few people in my life who knew about the dysfunctional relationship I had with Jesse.

He pinched his pointy nose. “Let me see if I remembered it all,” he began with a chuckle. “‘Jesse Cromwell was my father. Yet, I didn’t know him well. Some of you want to hear me say, he was a great man, he loved his family, and he was a pillar in his community.’” Pausing, he side-eyed me. “Did I quote you correctly so far?” he asked with a devilish smile on his face.

I rolled my eyes.

“‘That all may be true, but to me he was just a man with flaws. I know he’ll be glad you all came out to see him one last time, but after today you lovely people will go back home, and Jesse will become a memory for some of you. But for me, he’ll always be a part of my life.’”

“Aight, MJ,” I blurted, becoming more upset by the minute at him rehashing my words. “I was there. I was the one who gave the damn eulogy, remember? I know what I said, man.”

“Sorry, bro.” He held a hand in the air. “For one, I just couldn’t believe you went up there. And honestly, I’m kind of impressed you didn’t slam his character harder.”

“It just didn’t seem like the right place to have a meltdown about what I wish he would’ve done or didn’t do.” Turning to face MJ, I revealed, “It’s exhausting carrying around all this hatred.” Pausing, I kicked another rock. “Actually, I don’t even hate Jesse, I’m just disappointed he didn’t fight for me harder.”

MJ nodded slowly, as if he was allowing my words to soak in.

“I get it, bro, but you have to forgive him.” He turned to face me. “Because if you don’t, this ache you have will eat you alive. Trust me on this.”

Massaging my neck, I responded, “It is what it is, man. I’m ready to move forward.”

My phone chirped again in my pocket, and this time I took it out and read the three-line text. It was from my Aunt Tracy.

A breath escaped my lips as I read the message for a second time. MJ must’ve caught on to my sudden mood change as I shoved the phone back in my pocket and stared out at the hilly mountains and blue skies.

“Who was that?” he asked. “Is everything okay?” he probed. “You look like you just read your death date.” He chuckled.

When I didn’t respond right away. He shouted, “Crimson.”

Just then did I snap from my trance to cut my eyes in his direction. My mouth could barely formulate the words when I stammered out, “J-Jesse left me the cannabis farm.”