​Chapter 11: A Bad Man’s Reflection

I stepped out of Kirk’s Chevelle, the night air heavy, thick, sittin’ on my skin like guilt.

He sat there, engine hummin’, hand restin’ on the wheel.

"You good, nigga?" he asked, all screw faced.

I smirked, fake as hell. "You already know, bro."

Kirk ain't buy it, but he ain't push neither.

He just nodded, reachin’ for the shift. "Aight. Try not to ruin nobody else’s life tonight, huh?"

I felt that shit cut deep.

I dapped him up anyway, slappin’ the roof of the car as I backed up.

He peeled off.

And I stood there, watchin’ his taillights disappear.

I turned to the house.

Took a deep breath.

And stepped inside.

The house was quiet, just the low hum of the radio playin some Sade in the kitchen.

I followed the sound, seein’ my mom sittin’ at the table, foldin’ laundry, lost in her own world.

She looked up when I walked in.

"Hey, baby. You eat?"

I shook my head. "Nah, I’m good."

She nodded, foldin’ one of my dad’s shirts, takin’ her time.

I pulled out a chair, sittin’ across from her.

I don’t know why, but I needed to hear somethin’ real right now.

"Ma," I said.

She hummed, still foldin’.

"You think you a good person?"

She paused.

Sat the shirt down.

Then looked up at me, really looked at me.

"I think people got the ability to be good or bad, Joe. But it’s easier to be bad."

I swallowed. "Why?"

She exhaled, sittin’ back. "‘Cause bein’ good takes work. Takes patience. Takes sacrifice. But bein’ bad? That’s just givin’ in."

She let that sit for a second before addin’, "I try to be good. But not for no reward. Just ‘cause it’s right."

I nodded slow.

"Why you askin’?" she pressed, eyes squintin’ like she already knew somethin’ was up.

I licked my lips, lookin’ away. "Just wonderin’."

She ain’t believe me.

But she ain’t push.

Instead, she reached over, grabbin’ my face gently, pressin’ a kiss to my forehead.

"You my baby. I pray you stay good."

I ain’t say nothin’.

Just let the words sit in my chest, heavy as fuck.

Then she stretched, gettin’ up.

"Now take the damn trash out," she muttered, headin’ to the bedroom where my pops was waitin’.

I sat there for a while.

Thinkin’.

Then I got up and did what she asked.

​

By the time I got back to my room, that itch was creepin’ up my spine, crawlin’ under my skin.

Damn. I’m really gettin’ hooked on this shit.

I pulled out the pipe, turnin’ it over in my hands.

All I had to do was spark it.

One hit. Just one.

Then—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

I froze, grabbed my knife..

Turned toward the window.

Kiesha.

I sighed, runnin’ a hand over my face before openin’ it up.

She climbed inside, all smiles, smellin’ like lotion and hair grease.

"Wassup, boy," she grinned. "I know you ‘bout to hit some of that rock before you go to sleep."

I ain’t answer right away.

Somethin’ about her bein’ here for this shit made me uneasy.

But I ain’t wanna make it weird.

So I just exhaled. "Yeah, I was ‘bout to."

She plopped onto my bed, pullin’ her knees up. "Aight, then. Pass the pipe, nigga."

I lit up and we went to Niggadise together.

​

We laid there, staring at the ceiling, still floatin’.

For a long time, neither of us said nothin’. Just high af, listening to some Nate Dogg.

Then Kiesha broke the silence.

"I don't wanna sound like a J or nun," she said, her voice low, almost drowned out by the music. "But... you got some for tomorrow?"

I blinked slow, brain still swimmin’. "Nah. Ain’t got the money. Don’t get paid till next week."

She rolled onto her side, grinnin’ at me. "Nigga, I know when we get paid. I got money."

I turned my head, brows raisin’. "Forreal?"

She nodded, pullin’ some cash out her bra, flashin’ it like a magic trick.

"Just one condition," she said. "I wanna come with you when you get it."

I smirked. "Damn, you tryna be my lil’ partner in crime now?"

She giggled. "Nigga, I BEEN your partner in crime. Now let’s make it official."

I chuckled, noddin’.

"Aight. Bet."

I reached for the money, snatched it up, then glanced at her.

"Let me hold an extra twenty," I said, tucking the bills in my pocket.

She frowned. "For what?"

I rubbed my jaw. "Gotta pay that Mexican nigga back."

Her lips pressed together, like she ain’t like that.

But she still handed it over.

I stuffed the cash in my pocket, layin’ back, starin’ at the ceiling.

Then, outta nowhere, I said, "Kiesha, we gotta make a promise."

She turned her head toward me. "What kinda promise?"

I swallowed.

"We can’t let this shit change us," I said. "Can’t let it separate us. Can’t let it destroy our lives."

Kiesha was quiet for a second.

Then she nodded.

"I promise."

I turned my head toward her.

"Promise."

We locked pinkies, holdin’ it for a moment.

Then we both exhaled, sinkin’ into the bed, the high still lingerin’ in our bones.

I hoped we meant it.

But how was I to know what our future would be?

All I could do was hope for the best.

Commercial Break