Street Soldier 2 (16 page)
Authors: Silhouettes
She opened the car door and got out. Cars were zooming by us, and I couldn't believe we were parked near the highway, dealing with this dumbass shit right now. I got out and slammed my door.
“Will you get back in the damn car and quit trippin'!” I yelled.
Poetry kept on walking, ignoring me. I ran up from behind her, and yanked her arm. “Don't touch me!” she shouted. “Why don't you leave me the fuck alone and go kill some damn body.”
“I'ma kill yo' ass if you don't get yo' shit together. Now, stop fuckin' with me, Poetry, and get back in the car!”
“Like hell! I don't take threats like that too lightly and, fool, you'd better think twice ...”
As she rambled on, I picked her up by her legs and threw her over my shoulder. She kicked and tried to make me lose my balance, but it didn't work. I opened the car door, and dropped her on the front seat. I then kneeled down beside her, doing my best to calm the situation that I seriously didn't have time for. “Look, you ain't wastin' your time, all right? I'm feelin' somethin' good inside too, and if this was all about some pussy, you know I would've been gone. Just be patient with me on this. I'm still tryin' to deal with the loss of my mama, and it's normal for me to say what I would do to somebody under the circumstances. If it were you, you'd probably be threatinin' to kill somebody too. I don't know what I would really do, but I do know that I need you right now. You've helped me get through this and I ain't never felt for nobody in my life how I feel about you. I would never hurt you and I'm sorry for sayin' that bullshit to you. I said it out of anger and I was wrong for goin' there.”
Poetry sat silent for a while, then put her legs inside of the car and let me close the door. I got in on the driver's side, and drove us straight to Nate's apartment. I really needed his advice about what I suspected was going on with Raylo, but when I sat at his kitchen table and told him, I was surprised by his response. He touched my shoulder and recited Romans 12:19:
Do not take revenge, my friend, but leave room for God's wrath, for it is written: “It's mine to avenge, I will repay.”
“I get all of that,” I said to Nate. “But God don't be answerin' my prayers. He ain't got no love for a nigga like me.”
Poetry covered her mouth, and mumbled, “I can't believe you said that! Have I fallen in love with the devil? Are you crazy, Prince? After all you told me that you've been through, and you're still alive and not behind bars! How can you doubt that He been looking out for you? He could have given up on you a long time ago. You'd better recognize and pray for forgiveness, especially for saying something so stupid like that!”
“I'm afraid I have to agree with Poetry,” Nate said. “You have a lot to learn, Prince, but I thought you were much smarter than that. Stop takin' the bad from your situations and look at all the good. From what I see, you got your own businesses, you ain't wantin' for much, you got a smart and fine young lady in your corner, and you're alive. What more do you want?”
“I know that's right,” Poetry said, adding her two cents and snapping her fingers in the air. “Some people are so ungrateful, and I'm surprised at you, Prince. What more do you want?”
I paused before responding, then looked at Poetry and Nate both. “I want to see my mother. If something has happened to her, I want the people who hurt her to be dealt with.”
“Keep on praying for that to happen,” Nate said. “But don't go gettin' ahead of God, as you'll fuck yourself. Lay low, Prince, and eventually this situation will work itself out.”
“If you say so,” I said, standing to leave and stretching. Didn't get much help from Nate, and I should have known that he would preach to me about staying on the right track.
“In due time,” Nate said again while walking us to the door. “It will all work out.”
I seriously didn't know how it would work out, but as me and Poetry drove to Mama's house, I was hopeful that a turning point was coming soon. Seeing Raylo had my mind going a mile a minute and I had a feeling that things were about to get ugly. I decided to gather some of Mama's important things, just in case somebody started snooping around and stealing her stuff. Poetry had never been to Mama's house before, and I was glad to show her where I'd grown up. I showed her around our tiny house, and when I showed her my room, she laughed.
“You know what? I pictured your room looking like this. I didn't think it would be this clean, but I figured you had trophies on your shelves, pictures of scantily dressed women on your walls, and a whole lot of video games.”
“Yep,” I said, sitting on my bed. “My room has been like this for years. The only reason it's this clean is because of my mama. She used to clean it up for me all the time, and when I tell you I used to fuck somethin' up, I mean I really used to mess somethin' up. She'd come in, spraying Lysol and goin' the fuck off on me. I had some good times in this room and you have no idea how it used to go down in here.”
“Oh, I can only imagine,” Poetry said, sitting next to me. “I know your son was conceived in this room, and I assume all those broads you screwed in high school had the time of their lives in here, too. Do you ever think about what if you had pursued your football career? I saw many of the newspaper articles about you, and with all of these trophies, don't you think you could have seriously made it?”
“Possibly, but I didn't really have a passion for playin' football. I was damn good, but I was doin' it more so for the attention. It could've been my way out, but who knows. Can't look back on that shit now 'cause those days are long gone.”
I lay back on the bed and Poetry rested her head on my chest. “What about your sons, Prince? When are you going to see what's up with them? I know Nadine's mom has one of your sons, but you haven't put forth much effort to find him. Your other son still lives in St. Louis, don't he? Why don't you try to make a connection with him? I'm just saying this to you because every child needs their father. These boys don't need to be growing up without, and we both know how not having our daddies around has affected us. Don't let the cycle continue with you, and do what you can to stop it. I'm saying all of this to say that if we stay together, I can never have your kids. The second time I was raped and got pregnant, I did something to myself that messed me up forever. I don't have to tell you what it was, but it was illegal and my insides haven't been the same since.”
I kissed Poetry's forehead, thanking her for being honest with me. “I'll deal with the situation with my sons when I can. I promise.”
Poetry got off the bed and went to my computer desk. She turned on my computer, then looked at me. “What's Monesha's last name?”
“Thompson,” I said. She typed in something, and a few minutes later, she turned to me again.
“Voilà . Thank God for Facebook, huh? Do you know if she goes to SLU and if she went to West High School? I see some cheerleading pictures out here and some baby pics, too. Come look and see if this is her.”
I got off the bed slightly irritated that Poetry was doing this, but I knew how she was. I looked at the picture and it was definitely Monesha. I also looked at the boy who was in some of the pictures with her and with her parents. I didn't think he looked like me, but Poetry said he kind of did.
“Just a little, but you can never be too sure. Let's send her a message and see if she responds.”
“Come on, ma. I don't want to do all of that right now. Let's just lie back down and chill.”
“No, Prince. Let's get this over with so you will know. Besides, you owe it to your son; that's if he's yours.”
I shook my head and watched as Poetry sent Monesha a detailed e-mail from me, asking if the little boy was mine. She stressed that I wanted to see him and was willing to do my part,
if
I was his father. She asked Monesha to get back to me soon through e-mail, or by phone. After typing my cell phone number, Poetry hit the send button.
if
I was his father. She asked Monesha to get back to me soon through e-mail, or by phone. After typing my cell phone number, Poetry hit the send button.
“There,” she said, swiping her hands together. “All done and now we wait.”
I fell back on the bed and Poetry crawled over me. “I thought we came here to pack up some of your mother's things. It's getting late and I'm getting tired. Do you want to stay the night here, or come back tomorrow?”
“Let's stay. I'll gather some things in the mornin', then we can go.”
Poetry got underneath the covers with me, and as she talked my ears off, I finally fell asleep. I dreamed that God had answered my prayers, and in my dream, He had let me know exactly where Mama was. As expected, it wasn't good and I jumped up from my sleep in a sweat. I stared at the wall in front of me, fearing to close my eyes again.
Chapter Twelve
The Truth Will Set No One Free
Poetry was still at Mama's house asleep. I had gone to McDonald's to get us some breakfast, and when I got back, I woke her up. The dream I'd had weighed heavily on my mind, and something about today didn't feel right to me at all.
“What time is it?” she asked while stretching her arms. “I slept so good last night and was out like a light.”
“It's a little after eight. My bed may be small, but it is comfortable. I already called Nate to ask him to open the laundromat for me, but once we get done here, I need to go check on a few things over there.”
Poetry nodded and got off the bed. She headed for the bathroom. “I know you don't have any extra toothbrushes around here, do you? And where can I find a face towel?”
I opened a linen closet, giving her a face towel. “As for a toothbrush, you may have to use your finger. Don't have any extra ones, unless you care to use mine.”
“Ughhh, that's nasty. My finger will work just fine.”
She went into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. I headed for the kitchen, and sat at the table to eat my hotcakes and sausage. When Poetry came into the kitchen, she sat on my lap and puckered for a kiss.
“That was quick,” I said. “Did you get them teeth and that tongue good?”
She squeezed my cheeks together with her hand. “Nah, but you don't care.”
We kissed and she was so damn right. I didn't care and the excitement I always felt inside during our intimate moments like these made me smile.
Poetry wrapped one of her arms around my neck and started feeding me the pancakes. I opened my mouth and chewed. “What do you be thinking about all the time, Prince? Like when you just smiled, what was on your mind? You rarely show your emotions and I be so puzzled when I see you spaced out and in deep thought.”
I shrugged, as I was never one to wear my emotions on my sleeve “I be thinkin' about us a lot. About how happy I am to have you, more than anything.”
Poetry kissed my cheek then stood up. She playfully twisted her hips and jumped around. “Prince got a girlfriend, Prince got a girlfriend ... finally, y'all, Prince got a girlfriend!”
I grabbed her arm, pulling her back on my lap. “You silly,” I said, blushing. “My girlfriend better hurry up and eat before she get left.”
Poetry quickly put the sausage in her mouth, then took a bite of one of the pancakes. “Ooooo, I almost forgot,” she said, jumping up again. “I need to go check the computer to see if Monesha responded.”
She ran off to my room before I could say anything. I guess I wasn't as hyped as she was, so I stayed at the table, finishing my food.
Poetry didn't come back until about ten minutes later. She stood in the doorway and cleared her throat. I looked in her direction, but she didn't say anything. All she did was motion her finger for me to come to her. I guess I didn't move fast enough and that's when she said, “Come here. You need to read this.”
I got up from the table and followed her into my room. I pulled my chair back and started reading Monesha's response to the e-mail Poetry had sent on my behalf.
Prince “Pretty Boy” Perkins, it's always good hearing from you and what a surprise. There isn't a day that goes by where I don't think about you and all of the fun we had during high school. I never got a chance to apologize to you about giving you a STD, but now is my chance. I'm sorry, and I know what I'd done angered you. I also know you spoke to my father about my baby, and as I sat there that day, listening to him go off on you about handling your responsibilities as a father, I could have killed myself. I didn't have the guts to tell him that I'd had sex with three boys in one week, and didn't really know who the father was at the time. I chose you because I liked you and I knew you'd be making big dollars some day. Forgive me, again, for being so confused, but I started going to church and decided to get my life on the right track. After all, I do have a beautiful son who changed my life in so many ways. That son, however, is not yours and he has a great relationship with his biological father. I regret stressing you with this situation and my hope is that it has not hindered your life in any way. Thanks for the e-mail, Street Soldier, and let me know if you ever have time to do lunch with a friend.
I took a deep breath, relieved in so many ways. Something that wracked my brain was now behind me, and all I could do was look at Poetry and thank her for having the courage when I didn't. “Give me a hug,” I said to her.
She stepped forward while I sat in the chair and eased my arms around her waist. She kissed the top of my head, then backed up. “You better not go have lunch with her and, when I delete this e-mail, no need to reach out to her again, right?”
“None. Even though she's lookin' damn good, I'ma keep my hormones intact.”
Poetry pulled me up from the chair. “Uh, she's cute, but sista girl ain't got nothing on me. Now, let's get started so we can get back to your apartment and release some of the energy we didn't get a chance to release last night. Besides, I'm kind of feeling the washing machine thingy again. We can put an
OUT TO LUNCH
sign on the door and close the blinds.”
OUT TO LUNCH
sign on the door and close the blinds.”
“You know I'm always down with that, so let's get moving.”
As Poetry cleaned off the kitchen table and threw the McDonald's bags in the trash, I went into Mama's room. I opened her drawers, pulling out some of her jewelry that was still there. I was surprised Raylo's punk ass hadn't taken any of her things to the pawn shop, and my suspicions about him were growing by the minute. I stood for a moment in a trance about my next move. Poetry didn't have to know what my intentions were, and even though I appreciated the advice Nate had given me, I guessed neither of them really knew me too well. I had it all planned out in my head. I was going to some of Raylo's hangouts today to go find him. I was going to lay it all on the line for him, and if he looked me in the eyes and admitted to doing something to Mama, no doubt about it, I was going to kill him. Jail time or not, he had to be dealt with.
Poetry knocked on the door to get my attention, snapping me out of my thoughts. “What did you say?” I asked.
“I said, where is the trash dumpster at? I need to go throw this trash away. When I come back, I'm going to help you get a move on it. You've been standing there for several minutes and haven't done much. What's on your mind?”
“Nothing much.”
I looked out the window in front of me, seeing the trash can we used to take our trash to the dumpster in an alley. The trash can was next to our garage that was barely still standing. “Take it out to the blue trash can out back. Be careful 'cause the grass is pretty high. I don't want no snakes to jump out and bite that ass.”
“Don't play. Ain't no snakes in the hood, and if there is one back there, you will never have to worry about me coming over here again.”
Poetry took the trash out and I watched through the window as she tiptoed over the tall grass and made her way to the trash can. Her face was twisted and she frowned as she opened the can and dumped the bag into it. She hurried back inside and I heard her wash her hands in the kitchen. When she came back to my mama's room, she was fanning her nose.
“It really, really stinks back there. I almost threw the hell up and somebody needs to take that nasty trash to the dumpster.”
“Was it that much in there? I didn't think it was a lot of trash in there.”
“It was only a small bag in there, but that shit stinks. Smells like something died back there.”
As soon as those words left Poetry's mouth, my head snapped to the side. “What did you say?” I asked her.
“I said, it smells like something di ...” She paused. “No, not that kind of smell, Prince. It was a smell like ... like, I don't know.”
I rushed past Poetry, making my way through the backyard and to the trash can. Poetry called after me, but kept her distance. I could already smell the strong stench in the air and it was the same smell, but even worse, that I had smelled each time I came to Mama's house. Raylo claimed it was the next door neighbor's barbecue, but I should have known that no barbecue that I had eaten had ever smelled like that. I raised the lid on the trash can, and whatever the awful smell was, it damn near burned my nose. I removed the trash bag Poetry had put inside, and that's when I saw the other bag. Inside was a bunch of dirty papers, and underneath that were two dead rabbits that somebody had put into the can. Maggots and flies were all over them and I hurried to close the can to take it to the big dumpster in the alley. Poetry yelled from afar, “What is it?”
“Dead rabbits,” I said as we both sighed from relief. “I'm gon' take the trash can to the dumpster. I'll be right back.”
I rolled the trash can down the alley, then dumped it into the big dumpster. It still had a horrible-ass smell, and I couldn't believe that the trash can had permeated the air as it had. I looked for some strong cleaners when I got back to the house, but the only things I found were some bleach and Pine-Sol. For now, it had to do. I put on some rubber gloves, and Poetry went outside with me. She watched as I scrubbed the trash can, still frowning from the smell. At this point, she was covering her mouth.
“I'm sorry,” she said, coughing. “But it still stinks out here. Hurry up, Prince, so we can go inside.”
I hurried to wash the can and couldn't agree with Poetry more. The smell was still in the air, and as we made our way toward the house, something triggered. I turned and looked at the garage. “Go inside,” I said to Poetry. “I'll be there in a minute.”
Poetry followed the direction of my eyes, looking at the garage too. “Ma ... maybe you should call the police, Prince. I don't have a good feeling about this.”
Neither did I. My stomach was turned in knots and the way my heart was racing, I didn't like what I was feeling. I slowly walked to the garage, and when I lifted the door, I almost fell backward from the horrible stench that was coming from inside. Mama kept my grandfather's old beat-up Chevy inside that she could never get to work. Rust was all over it, and the garage was cluttered with items my mother had kept of her parents when they died. I lifted my shirt to cover my nose that was burning. I assumed Poetry had already run inside, and when I noticed part of a plastic bag sticking out of the trunk, I backed away. I blinked the water from my eyes, so afraid to open the trunk to see what was inside. The smell was already a giveaway, but I staggered backward as my gaze at the trunk kept me in a trance. Poetry snapped me out of it when she grabbed my arm.
“Prince, please call the police. Let's go inside, baby, okay?”
I backed up, still staring at the trunk. I had a strong feeling about what was inside, and my whole body was weakening by the minute. I staggered inside of the house and dropped back on the couch. Poetry was saying something to me, but I was completely zoned out. I reached for my cell phone in my pocket and called Nate. “Would you do me a favor?” I said softly.
“Sure, man, what's up?”
“Would you make your way to my mama's house as quickly as you can?”
“Uh, sure. Is everything all right?”
“No. Don't think so.”
“Let me close up the store. I'll be there as soon as I can.”
I hung up and sat like a mannequin, as I was so afraid to face my biggest fear. Mama was dead, killed by the hands of a man who had destroyed our lives and claimed to love her. This wasn't how it was supposed to be, was it? A slow tear rolled down my face, and I regretted that I hadn't dealt with this situation between Mama and Raylo a long time ago. As her son, I could have done something. I should have been man enough to put some fear in Raylo, so he would stop putting his hands on Mama. I felt as if I had let her down. He viewed me as a punk who would never do anything, and those were the exact words he'd said to me after we got back from Ernie's house that day. Now, more than ever, I was determined to show him what was really up with me. And this time, the pleasure would be all mine.
As I sat zoned out and making plans in my head, I could no longer make out anything Poetry was saying to me. Her voice was so loud, and I wasn't trying to hear it. I leaned forward and dropped my face in my hands. “Please!” I screamed. “Shut the fuck up! Damn!” Silence fell over the room.
When Nate showed up, I reached out to give him the keys to the trunk.“Do me a huge favor and check to see what's up with that plastic bag in the trunk of that car in the garage. I can't do it, Nate, and I'm afraid it may be ...”
Nate snatched the keys from me. “I understand. I'll be right back.”
I didn't want to see Mama dead and stuffed into a plastic bag, but the visual in my head was already there. It took awhile for Nate to return, and when he came back inside, I lifted my head to look at him come through the door. Our eyes connected and his stare, as well as blank expression, told me everything I needed to know. He used his shirt to wipe the sheen of sweat from his forehead then two words left his mouth. “I'm sorry.”
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