Tag Archives: flash fiction

The Teacher – Part 2

THE TEACHER – PART 2

 

She held my hand as I drove down the main street.  Her mahogany brown eyes shifted to a light brown color as the sunlight shone into her face through the passenger side window.  “Seriously baby,” she flicked her hands through her hair as she stared curiously into the visor’s mirror.  “Do you like it?  I think she cut it waay too short.  I mean, look at it.”

She turned her head to the side.  I glanced at her with my face scrunched up like an old man sucking on a lemon, “well… now that you mention it…”

She pouted, “see, I knew it!  Ugh!”  Her arms folded over her chest like a napkin as she poked her bottom lip out.  Her pulchritude was unmatched, even in her childish display.  “Turn around!  We are going back!”

I stifled my laugh as she sat in her seat.  Her eyes narrowed in my direction.  I couldn’t keep up the charade any longer as I blurted out a sea of laughter like waves crashing into the shore.  “Baby, you know I am only kidding.  Your hair is lovely, sweetheart.  I like the short haircut.  You’ve got like…” I quickly looked in her direction, then refocused on the road, “a Halle Berry type thing going on.  And you know how much I love Halle.”

“Gee, thanks.  I’m glad that my haircut reminds me of my husband’s crush.”

“Baby,” I said, smiling as I reached for her hand, “if Halle were on the side of the road right now, I wouldn’t stop for one second.”  She pushed her lips to the side of her mouth as if to show that she didn’t believe me.  “Alright.  Maybe I would ask what was wrong, but that’s it.”

“Yeah, that better be it.”

I looked in the rearview mirror.  My son sat in his toddler seat as he flew a toy airplane through the air, blowing his lips to mimic the sound of a jet engine.  “Jr, who are we picking?  Mommy or Halle?”

“Mommy!” he shouted forth with a snaggle-toothed smile.  His mother’s feminine features dominated his young, bright face.  With each blink, long eyelashes fluttered like butterfly wings on the edge of his eyelids.  A tiny cluster of beauty marks gathered together on his right cheek, and the natural arch of his brows looked as though they were professionally done.  The only features he received from me was my broad, flat nose and full lips.  He had my attitude wrapped up in the softness of his mother’s countenance; and for that, he would know how to get away with murder.

“See,” I said confidently, “there are two votes for mommy.  None for Halle.”

“Yeah, you two will say anything while I am in the car with you.”

“You know what?”  I wrestled the phone out of my pocket, “that’s it.  I’m going to snap a picture of you right now and–”

She laughed as I pulled my phone out and aimed it in her direction.  “Baby, keep your eyes on the road!  You are going to wreck!”  She lightheartedly pushed my phone away from her.

My son increased the volume of his jet engines, “vroooom, vroom!”

“Babe!  Stop, now.  You need to keep your eyes ahead!”

I glanced out the windshield.  “Baby, there is not a car anywhere near us, and besides, I have eyes all over my head.  Now, let me take this picture so I can post it on Facebook and let everyone else be the judge between you and Halle.”

“No!  Listen, I’ll take your word for it!  I won!  I look better than Halle, ok?  No pictures needed.  Now, would you please keep your eye on the road?  Please?”

I winked at her, then slid my phone in the compartment between the two front seats.  “Alright.  As long as I got my point across.”  We eased to a stop at a red light.  She grabbed my hand and leaned across my seat.  Moments later, I felt her lips brush against my flesh like a soft spring breeze.  “I love you, Mr. Jones.”

“I love you more, Mrs. Jones.”

The light just beyond us flickered from red to green.  I glanced at Junior in the backseat.  His airplane flew high in his right hand while he grabbed another fighter jet with the other.  “Baby,” my wife said as I slid my foot onto the gas.  Her hand moved to her belly at the same time, patiently, as if time was controlled by her motion.  “I think I am pregnant.”

I chuckled as our car inched into the intersection slowly like we were pulling a ton of bricks behind us.  “Well,” I looked in her direction.  Just beyond her window, an SUV headed straight for us like a flaming dart from the pit of hell.  My eyes widened as if I was trying to see the whole world at once.  My words caught in my throat like a piece of meat going down the windpipe.  I reached for her arm, knowing that I had to pull her away from the point of contact.  “My God!”

I yelled out, but before she could react, the SUV plowed into her side of the vehicle.  Instantly, I blacked out.

———-

I woke up in sweltering, pitch-black darkness.  Sweat mingled blood dripped from my brow as my chin brushed against the top of my chest.  My hands were tied behind my back, and I could feel the wires slicing through my wrists.  My body weight shifted the position of the uneven chair I sat in.  “Rise and shine.”  His voice was deep and fragile as the heart of man.  His wooden cane knocked against the concrete floor as he stepped closer to me.  “Take that off his head.”

Moments later, one of his soldiers removed the dark hood from over my skull.  I squinted my eyes as the high voltage light bulbs lit the room a fluorescent white as if I was on the outskirts of heaven.  But I knew this was nothing like heaven and every bit like hell.  On the ground to the right, blood splatter decorated the concrete like exploded paintballs.  Various soldiers lined the walls, dressed in fatigues with their fingers sitting on triggers of automatic rifles aimed directly at me.  Black masks covered their faces as if they were scared to show me who they were.

Suddenly, a cold, hard fist smashed into my cheek with the weight of a bag of bricks.  Two more shots connected to my jaw in rapid succession.  The contact shot my face to the left and sent a spring of blood bubbling in my mouth like a fountain.  I spat out a thick glob of blood-soaked saliva.  It dripped slowly from my mouth like a molasses chain watch before it burst onto the cement.  I used my tongue to taste the residue.  It let me know that I was still alive.

“So, here we are.  This is what happens to degenerate leaders, Mr. Isaiah Jones?”  The man with the wooden cane planted himself in a silver folding chair that was positioned right in front of me.  With my head down, I slowly lifted my eyes towards him.

I spoke with every bit of resilience that I possessed.  I had been in situations like this before, and there wasn’t a time that I hadn’t made it out.  “Where is Seven?”

“Seven?”  He laughed.  “He wants to know where Seven is at.  His precious protégé.  The one that would rather die with you than fight with us.”  He clapped his hands once.  “Look up,” he said, smacking my thigh with his cane.  I gradually shifted my attention to the right.  The bright light beamed down onto me like I was center stage.  I waited a few moments until my eyes adjusted.

A thick glass window showed the inside of the adjacent room.  I squinted my eyes to get a better look.  I saw the faint image of a body swaying back and forth like strange fruit from a pole.  My cheekbones gyrated inside of my mouth.  My fist tightened like knots.  “Seven?” he laughed.  “Yeah, we had to teach that boy a lesson.  Turns out, he wasn’t as much of a killer as you expected.”  He leaned closer towards me.  The scent of Cuban cigars nicked at my muzzle.  “Guess you didn’t train him as good as you thought.”

Advertisements

The Teacher – Part 1

The Teacher – Part 1

 

His face was hard and cold like brick walls in the winter time.  I could tell he wanted to cry, but his soul had his tears frozen in their ducts.  A thick, luminous ray of moonlight shot through the window and highlighted the faint scar that ran from the bottom of his eye to the corner of his lips.  It protruded just above his skin like a caterpillar crawling along a tree branch.  My mind drifted away as it transfigured my younger face onto his body.  He had too much of his life ahead of him.

We sat on the couch; our knees brushed against each other like a paintbrush on a canvas.  His passionate gaze burned like a fiery meteor leaving a dragon tail across the night sky on its way to annihilate the earth.  His jawbones gyrated inside of his mouth like factory gears, displaying traits of the machine I trained him to be.  His fingers interlocked patiently, forming a semi-circle on his lap.  “You know you can leave,” I said, piercing through the silence between us.

My suggestion seemed to inflame him even more.  “I’m not going anywhere.”  I made a trap door beneath the couch in the living room.  It led through a burrowed tunnel, three miles east of my home amid tall, forest trees.  It would spit him out on the edge of Lake Tiache’ where he could hop into a speedboat and get away undetected as if he was never with me.  But he was stubborn.  He was my best soldier, and he said that he would go to the grave with me if it were necessary.  It was the type of loyalty that Jesus didn’t see in the hours before his arrest.

I exhaled.  The wind left my lungs with a thick sense of anticipation just as tiny flickers of light blinked outside like a swarm of fireflies.  Their black foot helicopter was silent, but I still knew it was just miles away.  Leaves crunched as men scurried around the sides of my house.  I had trained myself for times like this.  I could hear the slightest shift in the movement outside if I sat in complete silence, and right now, I was clothed in it.  They were trained better than that, I thought to myself.  It had to be their nervousness.  There wasn’t a man coming for me that I hadn’t taught how to kill.  Flawlessly.

I fixed my eyes on the young man beside me; his nostrils flared like tiny umbrellas.  His eyes widened like dinner plates as he tilted his brow forward as if it was weighted down.  His interlocked hands slowly released and formed boulder-like fists at the end of his arms.  His veins puffed up in his forearms as if he had just taken a shot of heroin.  Adrenaline worked the same.  “Everything is going to be fine,” I said as we waited in silence.  “Just don’t breathe the air.”

He didn’t respond.  Out of all my soldiers, he was the one who stayed glued to me like a disciple.  It wasn’t long that I realized he had slid me into the place that his father had never touched.  There was a bond between us, and although we never spoke the words, love flowed through us like rivers of forgiveness.  “I will kill them all,” he said in a voice that would have shaken the smile from a stone-faced statue.  His passion soaked words marched around the house like Goliaths in full armor.

I could’ve run.  All of this could’ve been avoided, but I was tired of running just to escape, only to have to run again.  I was tired of fighting, using my self-control to strike the men I trained, but not kill them.  If I wanted to, I could have ended their lives.  Every one of them that came for me.  Specs of dust fluttered along the moon’s glow, leading to a picture of my wife.  Her buoyant smile is what kept me afloat during the times I was too tired to pick myself up off the ground.  I couldn’t wait to hold her again, but I knew there was too much work left undone for me to meet her.

My five-year-old son sat beside her.  His snaggle-toothed smile was the most beautiful blemish I’d ever seen.  Fifteen years had passed since the accident, and the surgical scar on my chest was the painful reminder of the day I found out they were both gone.  The lone picture in the front room was all I had left of them.  The memories locked inside of my mind kept me from needing tangible reminders of how much they meant to me.

The footsteps outside moved in closer.  Shadows scurried past the windows like demons as the propellers sliced through the wind like a hot knife through butter.  I heard it all.  Every last thing.  The sounds on the roof proved that these troops lacked discipline.  Their anxiety got the best of them.  The meekness of my heart allowed me to remove all the traps and triggers that would have ripped the first string of men into pieces.

“They don’t have to die,” I suggested.

“They do.  They will die.  Each and every last one of them will die for this treachery.  I will make sure of it.”

His dark skin shone from his body like an oil-polluted African river full of blood diamonds.  I wanted to temper his aggression, but there was no need.  He knew that he could attack, but he could not kill.  Not them.  Not his brothers.  “Are you ready?” I asked while the men outside took their positions.  “They are coming in.”

“I’m ready.”

“Remember what I said.  Just don’t breathe the air and everything will be ok.”

Non-Verbal

I sat near the back of the library with my headphones on, writing verses to a spoken word piece.  I gripped my ink pen as the words bubbled inside of my mind and exploded onto the paper like tiny bursts of magnetic energy.  I flowed until I hit a writer’s block.  It forced me to relax my pen and lean my chair backward, balancing my weight on the two hind legs.

Just outside, there was a cluster of birds perched on the branch of a tree.  I removed my headphones and squinted at them as they fluttered their wings.  I imagined that they were in a deep conversation with each other, talking about the next place they were all going to arrive.  I thought it was amazing how animals could communicate non-verbally and at times, without saying anything at all but yet still be in sync with each other.   The silence of the library was loud enough to interrupt thoughts, but I liked it that way.  It was how I escaped the frustrations that plagued my life.  Solitude was the only medicine for me at times like this.

Just then, I heard someone clear their throat behind me.  I leaned forward in my chair; the front legs came crashing down onto the carpeted floor.  The noise I heard was soft like Q-Tip edges dancing into my ears.  I smiled.  I didn’t expect to see her there, but a part of me was happy that she showed up.  She was a figment of my imagination for the past year and the only times she felt real to me were the times that I saw her with my eyes closed.  She stood in front of me, cradling two books in her hand.

I could only see the one on top; “The Invisible Man” by Ralph Ellison.  I had just begun reading the same novel just a few days ago.  During the time we dated, she was always reading different books and honestly, if it wasn’t for her, I don’t think I would have ever picked up a book outside of the Bible.  We were a couple for half of the time we were enrolled at the same College, but now, she was a distant lover who had never been closer to my heart.

I fixed my mouth to utter my thoughts, but she slid her finger into the middle of her lips, urging me to keep them to myself.  She took a seat next to me and glanced at my phone to see what music I was playing.  She winked and grabbed one of my earbuds and slid it into her ears as she flipped open one of her books to the page she had marked.  Silently, she began reading, bobbing her head to Nas as he asked us, “whose world is this?”

She glanced at me, then shifted her vision towards my paper, prompting me to pick up my pen and get to writing and with that, I followed suit.  The ink pen effortlessly stroked the lines of paper like a paintbrush, seamlessly picking up where I left off.  She slid her hand on top of mine as her eyes moved peacefully back and forth across the page of her book.  She told me everything I needed to hear and never once moved her lips to say it.

Breeze Rawlons((The Beginning)) Pt 1.

Bumpy and Hush had been close friends since High School.  They were sort of outcasts to the rest of the school because of their appearance, so they gradually transitioned into loners.  Bumpy got his name because of the inexorable amount of acne that was plastered on both of his cheeks and his forehead.  It was a bizarre sight to look at, and you were bound to lose your appetite if he sat near you at the lunch table.

Hush was a step up from him appearance wise, though.  He had Alopecia Areata, and because of that, he wasn’t able to grow any facial hair.  The spot where his eyebrows were meant to be were completely bald, and he didn’t have an ounce of hair above his lip like most of the other boys in our grade.  But that wasn’t it; the reason everybody called him, “Hush,” was because he wasn’t able to bring his voice above a whisper.  Nobody why he spoke with such a low volume and as far as we could tell, it wasn’t due to another medical condition.  It was just that he hated talking too loud.

I watched them from a distance, and they always kept to themselves and accepted the fact that they were outcasts.  In my opinion, between the two of them, Bumpy had the hardest time with it.  He was much more of an extrovert than his counterpart, but Hush?  He had no complaints about it at all.  It fit his demeanor entirely.  Quiet.  Sneaky.  Always thinking.  I would’ve given a week’s worth of lunch food to know what was going through his mind, but by the way he looked at everyone, it didn’t seem like it was anything that could’ve been spoken out loud.  His glare, the way his cheekbones gyrated whenever somebody disrespected him.  He just had an eerie vibe about him; a reclusive personality mixed with a short temper and that was never a good combination.   It was blatantly clear that he was headed for a life of crime.  Sometimes, that life has a way of choosing you, no matter what your will is.

I glanced down at the murder scene; one man was beaten senseless to the point that he was hardly recognizable.  His face was smashed in and bloodied; cheekbones were broken as well as every other bone that would have kept his countenance in place.  His fingers were chopped off, making it much more challenging to identify the victim.  This was all at the hands of Hush, and I knew it, even though there was no evidence pointing to him, I knew his calling card.  Once he wanted to get rid of you, his aim was to get rid of you and make it seem as if you never existed.  That way, whenever we were fortunate enough to find a body, there was nearly no way to identify who he was for sure.  He even went as far as knocking each and every last one of his victim’s teeth out to keep us from checking it against dental records.

I glanced down at the bloody, pulp of flesh smeared into the ground as another detective bent down next to me.  “They really did a number on this guy, aye?”

I took a puff of my cigarette and blew the smoke into the night air.  It fluttered around us like a cloud before it disappeared, “Yeah.  No doubt about it.”

“Any clues?”

“None.  None that I can think of.”

“Sheesh.  This is the third body we have found like this in the past two weeks.  I’ll tell you what, we better find something here, or else, heads in the department will start rolling.  After that, it will be better if one of us are one of these dead men that are popping up around the city.”

He tapped me on my shoulder and then stood up to walk back towards the other police officers.  I blew another cloud of smoke into the air as I looked up to the sky.  Damnit, Hush – I said to myself – what are you up to now?

The Irony

“No, man!  I am telling you right now that these youth are runnin’ roun’ here don’t know how to act!  They walk around with… with their pants hangin halfway down their behinds, showing off their underwear and all that, then wonder why the police are always harrassin’ them and whatnot.  They don’t have no respect!”

“Yeah, that sho’ is right,” his friend chimed in as their car approached a yellow light.  “They are so brainwashed by that old music and everything else that they don’t even know it.  They do whatever the music says.  They do whatever those old, no-good videos tell them.  Sellin’ drugs and um, disrespectin’ women and everything.  It is a cryin’ shame the way they can’t think for themselves.”

“You sho’ is right, Hank,” the driver said as he slid his foot onto the break, “It’s like.  They can’t think for themselves.  They are mindless robots, and it is a crying shame that this is what we have come to as a people.”

It was nearly two o’clock in the morning, without another car in sight as their vehicle slowed to a stop when the light turned red.  The three men inside the car were all in their mid-fifties.  Grey hairs coated their beards like silver wires as they reflected on how dumb and brainwashed this generation was, while they waited for a green light to tell them when to go.

#BlackStar

Words are Flowers

“I don’t know, man, I mean, I know things aren’t right between me and her Mama right now.  This married life is hard, but I love that little girl like she was my own.”

“I know you do.  They way your face lights up when you talk about her says it all.”

“Yeah man, I don’t know what it is.  Sometimes, I sit and think she looks just like my sister.  I mean, she does a little bit, but what I’m sayin’ is she looks like she was-”

“I get what you’re saying, bro.  I totally understand.”

The two of them spoke quietly among each other as they sat in the front room watching football one Sunday evening.  They were brothers and even more than that; they were best friends, and there wasn’t much that they don’t know about each other.

“Has she called you Dad yet?”

“Nah, she hasn’t.  I mean, it’s only been a few years, and I don’t expect her to anytime soon.  As a matter of fact, I don’t expect her to at all.  She knows I love her, and I know she loves me, so that is all that matters.  For real.”

He dipped his chip into the bowl of melted cheese, sprinkled with beef and jalapeños.  The brothers usually got together to watch the games on Sunday afternoons after church except for this time; his Step-Daughter wanted to come to his apartment.  He and his wife split up not too long ago, and they wanted to work things out, but as of right now, there was too much to work out under the same roof.  Suddenly, she walked into the front room as the two men looked up.  He finished chewing his chip and spoke to her.

“Hey sweetheart, is everything alright back there?  Is something wrong with your DVD player?”

“No, Dad.  I just wanted to tell you that I love you.”

She smiled and turned around, her long ponytail swinging back and forth with each step her 9-year-old body took away from them.  Her step-father continued to look in her direction even after she disappeared down the hall and closed the door to her room.  “Are you alright?” his brother asked curiously, but there was no response.  There were only silent tears rolling down his blank, stony face.

The Unfortunate Reality

“Alright, Monica, push!  Push!”

She let out a scream that would’ve shaken the graves of those who passed away.  It was her first child, and she didn’t know what to expect.  When the doctor came in with a needle the size of her finger, she waved it off, “You have to stick that in my back?  No, I’ll pass.”  The epidural would’ve saved her from a multitude of pain, but she wasn’t privy to it.  As a matter of fact, she rarely saw the doctor throughout the pregnancy so it was a tossup as to whether or not the child would be born without any difficulties.  Her mother passed away when she was five, and it left her father to raise her on his own.  At the time, he was twenty-three, and he was so caught up in his own life that he didn’t make time for her.  Luckily, she had a grandmother who was older but still willing to take custody of Monica to keep her from going into the foster care system.  She had seen first-hand the effects that could have on a child, so she did what she had to do.  Her name was Janice Carter, and she was her father’s mother, but Monica only knew her as Mama.

“Push, Monica, Push!  That’s it, keep it going!  Good job, Monica, good job!”

In the hospital room, the nurse stood beside her and held her hand as she used a towel to wipe the sweat from her forehead.  “You’re doing great, Monica.  Just keep going.”  She coached her from the side and as a two-time mother herself, she knew the pain the Monica was going through and did her best to ease it all.  Trey, the child’s father, stormed out in an unbelievable rage the day he found out Monica was pregnant.  The scene wasn’t how she expected it to go at all.

“Trey?  Hey, baby.”

“Whassup, Monica?”

She walked to the couch as he sat, watching Sunday football with a burger in his hand that she just prepared for him.  They were both nineteen years old, and Janice passed away two years before, but she left her the house that she paid for before she died.  Janice was living in a three bedroom house with no mortgage, and the only thing she had to pay for was the monthly bills, something she could manage as a cashier in a department store.  “Do you like the burger?”  Trey didn’t turn to look at her when he answered, “Yeah, it’s straight.”

The announcer on the television spoke up as the play just began.  Monica reached into her pocket and pulled out two pictures to place them on the table.  After a few moments, she realized that Trey wasn’t going to look at them from there, so she picked them up and set them on his lap.  He stopped in mid-chew and glanced down at them, speaking will a full mouth.  His voice was muffled, “What is this?”  She was nervous because she didn’t know how he would take it but she knew the truth had to come out eventually, “These are sonograms.  We’re um; we’re gonna have a baby.”  She had been dating Trey for almost a year and even though it was off-and-on, it was still the most consistent relationship either of them had.  Monica smiled at him as she waited for a response and suddenly, she got it.

Trey smacked the small photos off his lap as they fluttered to the ground, “Pregnant?!  Nah, I… I don’t know why you’re tellin’ me that.  You know I pull out every time we don’t use a condom.”  She exhaled, hoping that it didn’t go this way, but she knew it was a slim chance that it wouldn’t.  She sat back on the couch as seclusion saturated her facial expression.  He slammed the plate down on the table, nearly shattering it as the top bun of his burger flew onto the floor.

“Nah, nah, I know that ain’t mine.  You’ve been cheatin on me, Monica, huh?  You’ve been messin’ around with somebody else, and since they got you pregnant, you’re tryin to pass it off as mine?”

“Trey, stop trippin’.  You know I ain’t been with nobody else.”

“I know?  I know, huh?  All I know is that I never came inside of you so how is this baby mine, huh?”

“Trey, it’s yours!  I haven’t been with anybody else!  You’re the only dude I ever been with!”

Tears began to well up in her eyes as Trey paced back and forth, his nostrils flaring with both fists balled up as if he was ready to punch through a wall.

“Whatever, Monica!  You can tell me anything you want to!  Oh, I guess the dude I saw you at the grocery store with ain’t nobody, huh?  Go and tell him that you’re pregnant!”

“Grocery store?  Trey, I told you that he worked there, and I asked him where the vegetables were!  That’s it!”

“Whatever!  Look, I ain’t stayin’ here for this!  I’ma let you go and find the real father of that baby and tell him the news because it ain’t mine!”

He looked down at the sonograms that laid spread out on the floor and when he reached down to grab one, he ripped it into pieces and flung them into the air like confetti.  “And don’t call me until you get all this situated!  I’m done!  For real!”  He stormed out of the house and slammed the door behind him, the vibration knocked pictures off the wall as Monica buried her head into the couch and cried out loud.  It was an acute pain that she hadn’t felt before, the precise stabbing of small needles into her heart as she was on the verge of hyperventilating.  Suddenly, she felt a cool and calm spirit around her.  “It’s gonna be alright, Monica,” the voice said as she looked up with teary, reddened eyes.  She calmed her breathing and sat up as she looked to the floor to grab the two pictures that were still intact.  On the back of them, she wrote, “Monica and Trey’s baby,” and placed them on her table.  The truth was the truth, no matter what Trey said.

Inside the hospital, she pushed again but this time, the baby was fully out as the doctor suctioned the fluids out of his mouth and patted him on the back until his first cries came out.  “There we are, theeere we are little boy, you’re fine, you’re fine,” the doctor said as he passed him to the nurses to they could quickly clean him up.  Monica was out of breath and suddenly, the pain she had seconds ago seemed to all be worth it once she realized her baby boy had come out unharmed.  “Can I… can I see him?” she asked, still trying to recollect herself.  “Of course!  They are just cleaning him and then they will bring him right to you.”

They walked over with her baby boy and placed him in her arms as tears rolled down her face.  The nurse that was by her side continued to coach her, “Just hold him close to your skin for a while so his body temperature can regulate.  Yes, that’s it, right by your bosom.”  Monica held him close and kissed him on the cheek as he relaxed, his eyes moving around aimlessly like he knew he was no longer in the comfort of the womb.  “Do you have a name for him?” the nurse asked as she admired them.  “Yes.  His name is Allen.  Allen Travelle Taylor.”  From that day, she always held him close to her and when Trey came to visit his son in the hospital, Monica rolled her eyes at him.  He hadn’t contacted her at all for the entire length of the pregnancy, but Monica didn’t want her son to grow up without her father around, so for his sake, she told Trey what hospital she was in.  When he came in, his hair had grown out and was on the verge of locking up.  His pants sagged just below his waist, and he had all types of jewelry hanging from his neck and around his wrists.  During the last nine months, Monica had gotten word that Trey started selling drugs to make extra money.

“Yo, whassup, Monica?”

“Allen is right there.”

He walked over to look at his baby boy, but honestly, he wasn’t interested in him, and he still hadn’t accepted the fact that he belonged to him.  He stuck his finger inside the incubator and smiled at Allen, but quickly left his side and stood by Monica.  He reached out for her hand, but she snatched it away, “What do you want, Trey?  I thought you were here to see the baby.”  He smiled arrogantly, “Yeah, I did come for that, but I came for you, too.  I miss you.  I miss what we had.”  She sucked her teeth, “Trey, get out of here with that, for real.  You dissed me nine months ago and after all the morning sicknesses, the cravings, and everything else I had to go through BY MYSELF, you wanna come back around?  Nah, I’m not goin’ there with you.  There is your son.  He is the only reason we will ever need to communicate with each other.”  He reached out for her hand,

“Come on, Monica.  You know you-”

“Trey, get out of here before I call security!  I’m not playing with you!”

His nostrils flared, the same look he had when she told him that she was pregnant and with that, he left the room without once looking at his son.  Monica refused to let tears fall from her eyes over him as Allen moved around in his incubator.  He deserved more than what Trey was going to give him, and Monica knew it but for now, she was only focused on raising her son to the best of her ability.

 

FIFTEEN YEARS LATER

 

“Mama!  Mama!  Where is the ketchup!”

“It is in the refrigerator!”

“Where?  I don’t see it, Mama!”

The two of them yelled back and forth from the kitchen to the front room until Monica sighed and got up, “If I come in there and grab that ketchup, I promise I am going to pop you upside your head!”  She walked in as Allen stood with the ketchup in his hand and a broad grin on his face.  He burst out laughing as soon as he saw her.  Monica shot him a look of disgust before she charged at him.  She was thirty-four years old, but she still looked as though she was in her mid-twenties and people had a hard time believing that she was the mother of a 15-year-old boy.

She still lived in her grandmother’s house, but now, she worked as a supervisor at a call center and made well over enough money to keep her and her son happy.  Allen was a good kid for the most part, but she saw a lot of Trey in him.  His temper, mainly, was what she worried about the most.  He was always getting into fights at school and with children around the neighborhood.  His father came close to laying hands on her when she was younger, but he never crossed the line.  With Allen though, it didn’t seem that he had that kind of restraint when it came to other people.  The two of them had an air-tight relationship and even though he didn’t have a father figure in his life, he still had a good grasp on what it was like to be a man.  His teacher, Mr. Weston, did much to structure him as much as he could, and he recognized Allen as a bright student during the parent teacher conferences.

“Allen is really a smart kid, Monica.  He just gets mixed up with the wrong crowd a lot of times, you know?  Bad company corrupts good morals, so all of the good things you are teaching him at home sort of gets washed away when he comes around these group of kids.”

That was what he said each time Allen had gotten into trouble at school, and he was on the verge of being kicked out of Madison High School if he kept up his behavior.  Trey had only seen Allen twice in his lifetime, once at the hospital and then once again when Allen was five.  Allen said that he had no memory of his father and even though Monica tried her best not to talk bad about Trey in front of his son, Allen still drew his own conclusion.  He was a mirrored image of his father, same thick eyebrows and dark brown eyes.  His hair kinked up the same way Trey’s did when he started growing it out, and Monica would shake her head at how much the two of them resembled.  At times, it scared her because she felt that somehow, she had gone back in time and started life as a teenager all over again.  Those thoughts only lasted for split seconds, though, and she hated when it happened.

Trey continued to be a dope dealer since the day he left the hospital and for a while, he was making a lot of money.  Monica would hear how he was driving new cars almost every other week and flashing pockets full of twenty dollar bills and tossing them up at the strip clubs like they were dollar bills.  Ten years after Allen was born, Trey was robbed by a group of other men and the ended up shooting him in the legs.  The doctors thought he would be paralyzed, but amazingly, he regained his ability to walk after extensive rehab sessions.  He had a limp, but it was better than strolling along in a wheelchair.

Back at the house, Allen was preparing to leave.  “Aight Mama, I’ma be back later on.”  He grabbed his bag and headed to the door,

“Wait a minute, boy!  Where are you going?  Don’t play with me.”

“Mama, I’m going to Ricky house right down the street.”

“Ricky?  Is his Mama gon’ be there?”

He exhaled,

“Yes, Mama.  She will be there.”

“Boy, if I call around there, and she is not home, I am coming over there with a switch, and I am lighting you up right in front of yo’ little friends.”

He laughed and kissed her on the cheek,

“Aight Mama, beat me with a switch, aight.  I got it.  Any other method of abuse you got for me?”

She playfully swung at him, but he eluded her and ran to the door,

“I’ll be back, Mama.  I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

When he got far enough away from the house, he looked inside of his bag to make sure he had everything.  A black Glock 9 and a few bags of weed was what he needed for the trip he and Ricky were about to make.  Ironically, he followed in the same footsteps of his father except he started at a much younger age.  He was influenced by the wrong crowd, and when the music videos showed him what it was to be a man, he figured he needed to step into his place as well.  He made it over to Ricky’s house, “What up, fam?”  They shook hands as Ricky spoke,

“Chillin.  You ready?”

“Yeah, let’s roll.”

They headed to the West side of town to make a drop.  Allen knew that it would be dangerous because they were going on unknown territory but he wasn’t scared at all.  In fact, Ricky was the one who was calm, and it was just because Allen was there.  As they rode to the West Side, Allen glanced at his phone.  “My Moms is calling, man.  She is about to snap once she finds out where I’m at.  She probably called your mom first.”  Ricky drove his car with one hand on the steering wheel, “Yeah.  Don’t answer that, though.  Just wait until we get back.”  Allen slid his phone back in his pocket, and twenty minutes later, they arrived on the West Side of town.

Both of them were unfamiliar with the area, but they knew where they needed to go.  Little did Allen know, Trey lived on the same side of town, but Allen wouldn’t be able to pick him out of a lineup, let alone identify his relation to him.  “Aight, you ready?  The house is right there,” Ricky said as they were parked on the street.  “Aight, Let’s go.”

They both got out of the car and headed towards the house as Trey walked down the sidewalk with a limp.  He was still on edge since the time he had gotten shot and even though it was almost ten years ago, he never forgot the moment it happened.  A group of young boys, close to the ages of Ricky and Allen, were the reason he had to walk with a limp.  As they approached him, Allen put his hand near his waist.  In unfamiliar territory, he always wanted to be ready to pull out if it came down to it.  Trey tensed up as they inched towards each other’s path, “Whassup, little nigga?” he said as he stopped in the middle of the sidewalk to block their path, “Yall don’t belong over here.  I can tell.  What’s up?”  Allen glared at him, but before he responded, he realized that something was off about him.  It was like he was looking in a mirror and watching an older version of himself right in front of him.

Ricky spoke up, “We ain’t here to see you, so watch out.”  Trey didn’t budge, and when Ricky shoved him back, Allen snapped out of his trance and pulled his gun out, “Look, we ain’t come here for all that.  We just trying to see Snap, aight?”  In Trey’s mind, flashbacks of the fateful night he was shot twice by the group of boys began to replay in his mind.  He looked down the dark barrel of the gun, oblivious to any detail of Allen that might have told him that they were related.  It was all erased, and the only thing he could focus on was avoiding being gunned down again by a group of teens.  As Allen pointed the gun at Trey, he froze again.  He saw his own eyebrows, lips, nose and eyes on the face of this man in front of him.  His eyebrows wrinkled up but to Trey, he sensed hesitation.  He is not going to shoot me, he said in his mind.  He had been living a street life for a while, and he knew when somebody was going to shoot and when they were bluffing.  Allen wasn’t bluffing by any means, but seeing his features on another man bugged him out completely.  Slowly, he began to wonder if the man standing in front of him was his father.  Before he could react to his thoughts, Trey pulled the pistol from his waist and as Allen was on the verge of yelling for him to stop.  Pow! Pow! Pow!  Trey emptied his clip into Allen as Ricky ran from the scene.

Blood spilled from his body as he laid on the sidewalk, gasping for air.  Trey stood over him and shook his head, “Not this time, little nigga.  Not this time.”  As Ricky sped off, Trey turned around and limped away from the scene of the murder.  Allen laid there with his eyes wide open; chest covered in blood as his gasps for air slowly ended.  If you are not being a father to your son, you are killing your son.

 

If you liked this story, or any of the short stories I have posted, please take a moment to check out the kickstarter page for my upcoming novel, “Strange Fruit in the Concrete Jungle.”