Page 33 of On You 2

“Yeah, I’m good. But who are you?”

“I’m just someone who knows your mother, Erika.”

“You know my mama? How?”

“From back in the day when I was younger.” I kept the shit vague. “But what’s your name?”

“Rami.”

“Rami, huh?”

The name made my chest tighten a little because it was way too familiar to my family and me.

“I had a cousin named Rami. He was my father’s age and his favorite cousin. He got murdered about fifteen years ago, though.”

“Oh, dang, that sucks.”

“Yeah, we all have to leave here someday, right? Where's your mom at?”

“At work.”

“Oh. You out here by yourself?”

“Yeah, but I ain’t supposed to be. My mama left me with my older brother Khalil, but he left to go make some money or whatever.” He bounced the basketball against the sidewalk once before catching it back against his stomach.

I frowned at his response because this wasn’t the kind of neighborhood where you leave kids wandering around alone. Too many niggas standing on corners with nothing to lose, too many addicts floating around, and too many crash outs looking for somebody weaker than them to prey on. The perfect example was those little niggas who just tried to take his ball.

“Do I know your dad?”

“I don’t know. I think he lives in Cuba or some shit.” He scratched the side of his face before continuing. “My mama said she lived there for years before she moved to America, cleaning houses.”

“The American dream,” I muttered under my breath. I hated that the woman who is my mother spent her life cleaning up after mutha fuckas, even if it was my family. That shit didn’t sit right with me, and honestly, never would. I had to get her out of that situation. Only, approaching her was scary as fuck to me for some reason.

“So, your brother left you out here by yourself?”

“I mean, kind of.” He shrugged.

“He told me to stay in front of the stoop and play basketball until he came back. He said it wouldn’t take that long, but that was hours ago.”

“How old are you?”

“Eleven, just turned eleven two weeks ago, and you don’t know where your brother at?”

“Nah, he may be at some projects he always goes to.”

“Projects?” I rubbed my beard slowly.

“Yeah.”

“I’m sure there ain’t nothing good he could be doing over there.”

“Not at all. Mama always telling him not to go over there, but he doesn’t listen. Khalil likes money and wants a lot of it. He always says he wants to own a house like the one’s mama is cleaning one day.”

“Well, I hope you know money can be made in other ways that ain’t always illegal. It’s a big world out there, and plenty of opportunities to make it out of the hood.”

“Oh yeah?” He looked over toward my car parked against the curb. “What do you do? I see your car. A 1972 Mustang, right? That shit is nice.”

I glanced toward the car myself to buy time before answering.