by a bitch I went to high school with and her goons beat me down.
I sighed, licked my wounds and went to the bar for another Corona. I thought about dying on my feet and becoming a man in this world, instead of continuing to live on my damn knees.
Three
I woke up to the aroma of breakfast coming from the kitchen. Either my moms or aunt was cooking. They both were wonderful cooks. I glanced at the time. It was ten in the morning. I slowly got out of bed, nothing to do for the day but job hunt.
“Vincent, breakfast is ready,” my moms shouted.
“I’ll be wit’ y’ all in a minute.”
I walked into the bathroom and looked at my reflection. My battered face from last night’s fight stared right back at me—a blackened eye, a slightly swollen lip, yeah I was a piece of work. Some parts of me still hurt. But I knew I was able to get through the day.
I turned on the water and thought about my glory days. I remembered wanting to be a boxer and was training at a gym on Northern Blvd. I was nice and my pops was supportive. He always encouraged me to have a back up plan in case I didn’t make it professionally. That meant keeping my ass in school and my face deep in the books, getting an education. Pussy and being stupid got in the way of me going to the golden gloves when I was seventeen. I got drunk and high with these two bitches the night I was supposed to leave on a flight to Chicago. My trainer was furious and barred me from his gym until I could get my act right. I never did.
Eight years later, I still had the physique of a boxer but my knuckle game was a bit rusty. My dreams were forever gone. I got dressed and went downstairs to enjoy breakfast. My mother was washing dishes and my aunt had left for work.
“Good morning, ma,” I greeted, giving her a kiss on the cheek as she stood over the sink washing dishes with her back to me.
“Hey, sweetie did any one of them jobs called you back yet?” she asked.
“Nah, not yet,” I answered.
“Don’t worry, you’ll find something.”
“I hope so. I can’t be sitting around the house all summer that’ll be irritating.”
“Be patient. Good things will come your way,” she said. “Oh, Chandra called early this morning. She wants you to call her back.”
“What did she want?” I asked.
“She didn’t say. Call her back right away.”
I sighed. Even though I was dead broke and she had a job making six hundred dollars a week that bitch wanted money. She’d have to wait.
“I’ll call her back later.”
My mother turned herself away from washing dishes and noticed my face. “Ohmygod, Vincent. What happened to you?” she shrieked.
“I got into a fight last night. It ain’t nuthin’ ma,” I said.
“What do you mean, you need to be careful, Vincent. I already lost your father. I don’t wanna lose you too.”
“It was just a fight.”
“Nobody just fight anymore, Vincent. Everyone wants to shoot each other.”
“Might as well. The world’s coming to an end anyway.”
SLAP!
I didn’t see it coming. My mother caught me unexpectedly, “You watch your mouth, Vincent and stop having this negative attitude about life. You think about the Lord and He will guide you.”
“Ma, you didn’t have to hit me like that…damn, you should’ve had my back last night. It would’ve been a fair fight then.” I soothed the side of my face where she slapped me,
“Vincent, hush your mouth and eat your breakfast. I don’t want you getting into anymore fights and talking silly.”
I nodded, saying nothing.
My mother was a beautiful woman, fifty-six years old and still didn’t look a day over forty. She worked at the hospital for thirty five years and was looking forward to her retirement. She was always there for me and I love her.
I heard the doorbell.
“I got it ma,” I said and went to see who it was. I smiled when I saw Spoon standing at the door.
“Spoon, what’s good?” I quickly opened the door and hollered.
“Came to talk to you,” he said.
Spoon did a three-year bid at Clinton after the arrest in Long Island. I owed this nigga my life, because he had taken the heat.
He got right back on them streets with Tyriq hustling after coming home. Three years didn’t stop him from becoming a paid man in the hood. He was a born to be a hustler. He was respected and feared in the streets, but we had love for each other like brothers.
“Come in,” I said.
Spoon walked in and laughed when he saw the bruises on my face.
“I heard about that thang last night,” he said chuckling.
“You should see the other guys’ faces.”
“What, they injured their knuckles?” he joked.
“Laugh, but I’m ready to get at their bitch-asses. Coming at me for a ho.”
“Calm your ass. You don’t need to get at anybody. I heard you were doing your thang, calling her trash and all,” he laughed.
“Spoon, you should’ve seen the look on her face when I dissed her, it was priceless. Like I’m supposed to kiss her ass cuz she’s fuckin’ a baller. Yo I remember back in high school when Mel and them ran a train on her in the bathroom. She’s trash fo’ real.”
“You would still fuck that thang,” Spoon said.
“Hells yeah…her body is hmm…banging.”
“C’ mon Vince, you a working man … you know her thang. I ain’t saying you ain’t classy but Sharice always been about fuckin’ niggas who doing their thang. You ain’t about to spend a dime on that bitch.”
“You right, I was a working man.”
“What happened?”
“Laid-off as of yesterday…”
“Sorry, that thang hurts my nigga.”
“Shit happens, right?”
“You’ll be back on your feet doing your thang at a new job.”
Spoon then looked around the place and his mood turned somber. “Vince, Thomas got murked last night,” Spoon sadly informed me.
“What,
