Page 62 of Lyric Squared

“I agree. Collin’s actions have been nothing but outstanding.”

“Wasn’t Chauncy’s in the beginning?”

He cut deep, reopening wounds that I’d patched up over therapy and the duration of our brother’s sentence. There wasn’t a follow-up for his statement. I didn’t have a rebuttal. Silence was my only defense because we both knew that he was accurate, and he meant well – although his statement was brutally honest.

“Listen, all I’m saying is don’t settle on our account ‘cause we’re coming behind any nigga and any broad that dare to fuck with you,” he continued after a few seconds.

Laike shrugged as he sipped from his cup and then dug into his garlic potatoes. Nodding, I took the hint and continued eating the food that was left. I knew that everyone meant well around me and wanted what was best for me. It was just difficult recovering from such a huge blow, it didn’t matter how long ago it was. What everyone else saw as a simple task, for me was much more complicated. I wouldn’t apologize for my hesitancy or my choices. I’d made enough bad ones already.

SEVEN

Leaning against my ride,I listened to the most beautiful sound ever known to a hustler. The sound of the hood. From the children running around to the mothers calling for them because the streetlights had come on and it was time to come home.

From the random, unrelatable words that some of the prostitutes chanted as they walked up and down the street, hoping someone would stop them to the whispers of the nightlife insects as the sun set. From the chatter of the niggas that lined the block to the cries of the babies with empty bellies or tired eyes.

From the sound of the corner store’s bell to the screeching of tires up and down the pavement. From the giggles of the women that walked past the niggas that lined the block wishing onewould pay them some attention to the continuous slamming of car doors.

I loved it. I loved it all. Dooley is and would always be home. It flowed through my blood and wouldn’t stop, not even after I was underneath the dirt. It balanced me. I appreciated Huffington Hills for the knowledge it instilled in me, making me a downright, dirty dog in the streets. And not the filthy kind one would consider but a genius. A mastermind. One that could outsmart, outrun, outlive, and outshine any nigga that ever walked Dooley’s streets – including the politicians and police. Though I was a nigga from the hood, I was blessed with the same education as presidents and the people that appointed them.

My aunt and uncle only accepted the best of everything for me, bringing sheer balance to my world. As well as I could eyeball a bad batch, I could solve a trigonometry problem just by looking at it. I was the best of both worlds.

Glancing at my phone, I happened to catch the moment the numbers after the nine hit fifty. It was going on ten and the urge to call it a night reigned supreme over all else. I stretched my arms as I stood straight up, my knees locked and a grunt evaded my body.A nigga getting old as shit, I thought as I tapped the button on the fob to start my engine.

Just as I opened the door, I heard a familiar voice on side of me.

“Can I go with you, Ken?” Deidra, one from around the way, asked while stopping near the door that I’d just opened.

“Nah. Keep going where you were already going,” I suggested.

“I was going right here,” she informed me, rolling her neck in the process. Her brown skin and silky hair were flawless – always had been.

“To ask a question you already know the answer to?” I chuckled, sliding into my truck with one hand on my steering wheel.

“You’re fresh out, Ken. I’m sure no one has swooped you up yet.” Folding her arms, she frowned and tilted her head as if I owed her an explanation. I didn’t but Dee was aight with me, so I gave her one anyway.

“Somebody already beat you to the punch.”

“Who, so I can find her and beat her ass,” she asked, looking around as if the person I was speaking of was near.

“She’s not out here, Dee.” I chuckled.

“You just keep breaking my little heart,” she groaned, overly dramatic as she always was in conversation with me.

“Better yours than hers, baby girl.” With my right shoulder, I shrugged.

“Oh, this one must be special.”

“The most special,” I admitted.

“Well, maybe better luck next time, huh?” She was still hopeful, but there was no use for the small glimmer she was holding onto.

“There won’t be a next time. There’s an entire block full of niggas. Take your pick,” I reminded her, pointing at the corner where there was a cluster of niggas kneeling and playing dice.

“You’re my pick.”

“I’m not available, baby girl.”

“For how long?” She chuckled. “Almost everything has an expiration date when niggas like you are involved.”