Page 20 of Lyric Squared

It was obvious that he was one of the ones you hated crossing paths within uniform. On the street, they’d have anentirely different demeanor. The badge and gun made them feel superior. With or without my tool I was the same nigga.

I watched as they forced a shivering Kale onto the hood beside me. Seeing his wrists cuffed behind his back broke something deep within me that I don’t think could ever be repaired. The tears that stained his face, and the sound of his low whimpers were daggers to the chest.

“Chin up,” I demanded, “Whatever it is, it’s mine.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologized.

“It’s cool. Big bro got you. Just keep your mouth shut.”

“Okay.”

I watched intently as the flashlights darted across the car. Within a few seconds, a clear baggie was lifted into the air. Dangling it, a chuckle surfaced.

“Well, look at what we have here, Staples,” the cop on the passenger side called out to his fellow officer.

Squeezing my lids together, I groaned inwardly. Even from my position, I knew what the bag consisted of. I didn’t have to be any closer and neither did I need it in my possession to determine its contents.

“Pure cocaine,” one of the police from the other vehicle sang as he slid out. “Pure cocaine.”

I drew blood, gnawing at the inside of my lip. When I reopened my eyes, Kale’s orbs were on mine. Refusing to reveal my apprehension, I smiled in return.

“It’s aight, lil’ bro.”

“Which one of you does this belong to?”

“If you would’ve run the tags before you pulled us out and cuffed us without reading us our rights then you’d know whose it is. Do your job. We’re not going to do that shit for you,” I spoke to the one asking the question.

“You’re going to do well in jail,” he returned, giggling uncontrollably.

“I’m well wherever I plant my feet,” I assured him.

“Brinks.”

My name being called snatched me from my thoughts. Since the night they’d happened a year and a half ago, the events replayed in my head like a broken record. That night was one I could never forget. Not only was it my first offense, but it was the push that Kale needed to keep himself on the straight and narrow and his head in the books.

It had changed the trajectory of both of our lives and as much time and money it had cost me, hearing Kale’s excitement for college and his future in basketball on the line made it all worth it. The gun and ounce of coke that were found in the car had gotten me sentenced to a year, but with good behavior, a hell of a lawyer, and drug programs, my time was sliced in half.

“Yeah?”

“It’s your time,” the CO informed me.

I stood to my feet while simultaneously scrubbing the memories of the small holding cell and the one I’d stayed in the entire six months from my head. When I walked out of the doors, I wanted the six months of wasted time to be a blur that was so complex, my mind couldn’t fathom what it must represent. This was my very first and my very last prison stint.

Every inch of my six-four frame stretched until I heard my bones crackling and popping. Without haste, I proceeded out of the cell door that was slowly opening to accommodate my new status. I was officially a free man but until I was on the outside it wouldn’t register. Through one door after another and thenthree gates too many, I hit the pavement. It was identical to the concrete that I’d just walked across to get through the gates, but the shit just felt different. It was the one that commemorated my emancipation.

“That’s what the fuck I’m talking about.”

Kale’s words hit me dead in the chest. The smile on his face as he beat his chest a few feet away from me caused my cheeks to rise as I shared the same sentiments. Reunited and that shit felt so fucking good.

“Lil’ bro,” I dragged.

“You out that bitch,” he cheered, clapping his hands as he circled the spot he’d just stood in. He’d entered his first year of college but flew home for the day to make this moment happen. I could’ve had either Laike, Luca, my aunt, or uncle to scoop me, but Kale wanted this moment. He deserved it, so it was his to have.

After three full circles, his balled fist went up to his mouth as he blew a heavy, unsettling breath into the small space between his palm and fingers. The tears that slid down his face were evidence of the relief he felt seeing me again. Because not everybody made it out.

“I’m out that bitch,” I agreed, “and my stomach touching my fucking back.”

“Then let’s fill it. You ain’t got nothing? A bag? A piece of mail? A letter? Nothing?”