3. Kenyon
3
Kenyon
M y morning started early, dealing with the contractors renovating the apartment complex. I hated micromanaging people, but they were behind schedule, leaving me no choice. The news played in the background with weather updates, traffic reports, and a feel-good story about a rescued dog. I was more focused on sifting through invoices and swapping the dirty money with clean rent payments. By now, I had this shit down to a science, so it wasn’t hard. Just tedious as fuck, half listening to the television until I heard a familiar voice.
“Turn that up,” I called to Jackie, who was working on the front today.
Syd's father, John Jackson, was front and center, launching his anti-corruption campaign on the live broadcast.
Convenient for a nigga running for office.
I leaned against the desk as John vowed to clean up the city and eliminate corruption. These were big promises, the kind politicians loved to make, especially when that pledge wouldn’t have a leg to stand on if voters knew him like I did.
“Our city deserves better,” he said, his voice firm and steady. "It's time for a change. It’s time for transparency and accountability. Together, we can build a future free from corruption.”
He paused, scanning the crowd, before bringing up a topic sure to pour in votes. “We need to think about the children and families of our city. Every day, I see hardworking parents struggling to make ends meet while their kids dream of a brighter future. These families deserve to know that their government is working for them, not against them.”
I chuckled, listening to him advocate for children he didn’t know but couldn’t give the same energy to Sydney. Sadly, that was one of the milder skeletons in his closet, considering he was guilty of accepting bribes and making under-the-table deals, but that’s politics.
The bell on the door dinged, jolting me back to reality.
“Kenyon,” Uncle Leonne smiled.
“What’s happenin’, Unc?” I stood up and walked around the counter to shake his hand.
“Good things, I hope.”
“You know it. How was the trip?”
“Smooth, how I like it. I’m going to check in on your mother later. Will you and Kross be joining us?”
“Nah, we’ll let you ‘old heads have that.”
“ Old ?” Uncle Leonne repeated. “I’ll show you old.”
I raised my hands, and he moved into a defensive stance. “I don’t want no smoke with you, man.”
Leonne smiled and gripped my shoulder. Now that Pops was gone, he made it his business to look out for us.
“How are you really doing?”
“I’m good. Why are you so worried about me?”
“Your father always did.”
His admission garnered a sideways glance. I wasn’t sure if that was true or if Unc was trying to bridge the gap between us like he always did.
“What was he worried about me for?”
“He always said you were the hardest book he ever tried to read. What did he mean by that?”
“You’d have to ask him.”
Grief filled Uncle Leonne’s eyes, discussing his longtime friend that way, but I didn’t have time to be sad about it. Right now, I had other shit to handle because I promised Sydney’s grandfather I would come to his birthday party tonight. I prided myself on being a man of my word, so I finished here, then went home and showered before driving to Sydney’s parents’ house.
As I made my way up the familiar path to Sydney's house. I couldn't help but glance toward the old oak tree in the yard of my childhood home.
I rang the doorbell, and shortly, John answered the door, surprised to see.
“Kenyon, I didn’t know you were joining us this evening.”
“Had to bring Pops his gift.”
“Right.”
“I caught your press conference earlier. Anti-corruption?”
“Well,” he started, then smiled to gather his words. “It’s never too late for a fresh start. I hope I can count on your vote.”
Wiping the smirk off my face, I replied, “That depends on you.”
We engaged in a brief stare-down. My presence annoyed John because it reminded him of where he had started. Syd flew down the hallway, doubling back when she realized I was at the door.
“Hey, Keyes.”
“Sup Syd.”
“C’mon. Papa has been asking for you.”
Dragging me through the crowded house filled with people dancing. I expected nothing less from a Jackson family function.
“Happy 21 st Birthday.” Sydney rolled her eyes, but Curtis chuckled at my comment.
“Kenyon! It’s good to see you again.”
“Thanks for the invite.”
“You are family. You’re welcome here anytime,” Curtis assured me.
“I appreciate that.”
“Open your gift, Papa,” Sydney suggested.
Curtis playfully shook the bag before digging inside. His eyes grew three sizes, pulling the box out.
“An Original Airfix Aston Martin DB5 James Bond Edition!” Even at eighty, you could feel the excitement in his voice, “How the hell did you find this?”
“It wasn’t easy, that’s for damn sure.” Curtis wasn’t listening to anything I said. He was still in shock, staring at the James Bond-themed packaging.
“Man, you’re gonna have to come by and help me with this,” he suggested.
“I got you, and when you’re ready for the afterparty, let me know,” I whispered, but Sydney had ears like a bloodhound.
“Oh, I will.”
“Alright, that’s enough. I’ll go put this up.” Sydney held the box against the fabric of her blue dress before heading down the hall.
“When I’m eighty, I’m trying to be like him.” I chuckled, peering back, watching Curtis two-step as I followed Sydney.
“You would.” Sydney turned for the kitchen to oblige her grandfather’s request, and I followed. “His girlfriend is here. Mom is not happy about that.”
“Mom has to relax sometimes.”
She sucked her teeth because she knew all too well about her mom’s controlling ways. Sydney spent many afternoons pacing my bedroom, complaining that Catherine wouldn’t let her grow up and be her own person.
“She needs to but won’t. All they care about is Dad’s campaign.”
Sydney came from a long lineage of politicians, from judges to lobbyists and congress members.
The celebration was in full swing. Cousins chasing each other around the house, and aunts and uncles deep in conversations. Sydney eventually emerged, forcing her mom to dance with her so she could stop shooting daggers at Curtis’s new girlfriend. Finally, the food was ready, and Sydney’s aunt, Carline, took it upon herself to bless it.
“Amen! Now, let’s eat!” Carline announced.
“Umm, Sydney. Make that man a plate,” Aunt Carline fussed.
“It’s just Keyes,” she frowned while I played hurt.
“Hell, I thought you all would be married by now,” Aunt Carline continued, making Sydney so uncomfortable that her cheeks grew red.
“Or at least have a baby.” Another relative chimed in, and if looks could kill Carline’s slow turnaround, it would’ve done it.
Sydney held herself together long enough to rush out of the living room.
“Really Samantha! We need a zipper for that big ass mouth!” Carline stewed.
“I don’t think a zipper would hold,” Mrs. Jackson scolded.
“What did I say?” Samantha asked, looking around the room in confusion.
“I’ll check on her,” Mr. Jackson volunteered, maintaining the fa?ade of a good father in front of his family. However, Mrs. Jackson grabbed his arm and pointed to me instead.
“Kenyon.”
Hauling myself to my feet, I found Sydney in her old bedroom. It still looked and smelled the same.
“I don’t need a pep talk,” Sydney sniffled, trying to appear stronger than she felt.
“What do you need right now?”
“Nothing. Just go home.”
Stepping closer, I reached out again, wrapping my arms around her in a gentle embrace. Sydney resisted at first, pushing against me, but I held on tight, refusing to let her go.
“I’m sorry, Syd.”
And slowly, almost gradually, she relaxed, her resistance melting away.
“Maybe me not having kids is a blessing,” she mumbled, wiping her tears with the back of her hand, “I can’t even raise myself. What do I know about raising a kid.”
“You don’t have to do that. Especially with me,” I reasoned.
“We both lost something that night, Keyes, but I let you live in your delusional world. Let me live in mine.”
Sydney ran her palms across her face, erasing any evidence of the tears because Samantha didn’t know how to mind her fuckin’ business. I was able to let most shit roll off my back because wallowing never solved one problem. It was harder to do when this time, hating ass nigga saw my car and ran Sydney off the road, changing her life and mine. They paid the price, but it didn’t bring back what we lost.