CHEVY
The lighter flicked on, letting its amber flames sizzle at my blunt.
I inhaled the smoke, holding it in my lungs before releasing it into the air.
I sat outside the Laureaux home, debating if this invite was a setup or if Bobbie was trying to save face.
It took me a few days to decide whether to accept or not, but shit, why not?
After taking a few more pulls, I got out of my car and strolled up to the door. I rang the doorbell, waiting for someone to answer. When the person opened it, I wasn’t surprised to see they had maids.
The first thing I noticed was that the house was full of money, but was loveless as fuck. The only reason I knew was that at one point, it was how I lived as well. I stepped further into the foyer when Bobbie came from a side room to greet me. “Mr. Calloway.”
“What’s up?” I said dryly.
I could tell he was expecting a different reaction, but for people like him, I didn’t have anything to give. He pointed toward the back of the house, “Let’s go to my office.”
He led the way as my eyes landed on everything around me. From the awards, pictures and all of the décor. When we got to his office, he sat first, then I. He pulled out a cigar, lit it, then focused on me. “I know that you are fond of my son, Braylen, and—”
“You mean Beans,” I corrected him.
“Braylen,” he paused. “I know he hangs with your crew, but my son needs to be around like-minded people like him. I’m not sure the image he’s portrayed to you all, but that boy is—”
I shook my head before waving my finger. “Let me stop you right there. First, he’s not a boy, and you’re saying that tells me all I need to know about you. Have you ever considered the image you claim he’s putting on for my crew and me is truly who he is?”
He laughed. “I know my son.”
“And I know him too. You think I didn’t see those awards back there?
The nigga is smart, but he’s broken, and if I had to guess, it’s because people like you and your wife made him the way he is.
Niggas don’t come from their mother’s womb angry.
They’re taught, or something happened in their lives to make them feel that way.
You call me here for what? To try and convince me to do some shit that you knew I wouldn’t agree to before you called me?
Frankly, Bobbie, I don’t give a fuck about you,” I said as I stood up to leave.
“Given away at birth. Went from home to home. Only to land in the hands of a racist who just so happened to have your grandfather in his pocket. June Chevy Calloway, a father, a husband, a leader, and a fucking killer. A Black man who leads other Black men, showing them the light, but his light is only a flicker away from being gone. Mr. Calloway, your grandfather has power, but I have more, so please sit the fuck down!” he barked.
I scoffed as I leaned in on his desk. My story was no longer to be hidden, and the more people knew, the more they tried to use it as a weapon against me.
That shit was dead to me just as my grandparents were.
I was all of those things he said, but the one thing he forgot to mention, I was going to remind him of.
“You think because you know my story, judge, that’s supposed to scare me?
A man who locks niggas up like animals, giving them sentences they don’t deserve.
A man who has a wife who controls him like a fucking puppet.
She has ruined not only you but also your son.
I saw the pictures out there. The way she grips his shoulder tightly is because if, for a second, he made the wrong move, her hand would go across his face.
A man who married a woman who abused his child, all the while he’s locking up niggas he considers animals when he lives with one.
Bobbie muhfuckin’ Laureaux, a father who doesn’t know his own seed, let alone have a relationship with.
The man who allowed his dick to control the situation.
Now, while you do know much about me, the one thing you failed to mention is that I’m a muhfuckin monster, and I honestly don’t care who you are.
I’m going to be on your shit like a nightmare.
I’ll do time for my family, unlike you, who would rather serve a bitch like Fiona than protect his son from an animal that didn’t birth him. ”
I lifted from the table to leave. “Fiona will not stop until you’re dead!” he shouted, “And I need my son to come back to me.” he then softened his tone. “I found out I’m dying, and I need to rectify all of this before anything happens to me. I need your help,” he pleaded.
I knew what it was like to want to get your shit in order before death found you.
It was around this same time last year that I had made peace with my leaving this earth.
However, being a savior to a man who destroyed his child would be me forgiving Clark, Cynthia, and Wonder Bread ass Matthew.
God was working on me, but he hadn’t gotten far enough for a forgiving heart.
I didn’t even bother to turn around and look at him.
“Fix your own shit, judge, because death waits on no one. Beans, he’ll be straight.
Now I have a better understanding of why he is the way he is.
The people who were supposed to teach him how to love taught him nothing but hate.
Fiona, I’m not worried about her because her days are fucking numbered,” I finished and walked out of his office.
On my way out, I grabbed one of the frames off the wall because I knew I would need it when Beans and I went head-to-head.