The Fix 2 (3 page)

“Yup, me.” Li'l Monk reached down and gripped the waist of Pain's jeans. In a display of his brute-like strength, he yanked with so much force that Pain was lifted off the ground as Li'l Monk tore his pants off. It only took one of his massive hands to wrap around both of Pain's ankles and push his knees to his chest. The way Li'l Monk had him positioned, it looked like he was about to sexually violate him, but Li'l Monk had a violation of a different kind in mind. “Since you like to stick your friend in women, uninvited, I'm gonna stick my friend in you uninvited.” Li'l Monk jammed the gun roughly in Pain's ass.

The moment Pain saw Li'l Monk he felt the stop clock on his life began to tick. He knew that he was going to die, but he had no idea how horribly.

“Please, don't,” Pain begged.

“Did you show Marty mercy when you and your boys raped her?” Li'l Monk asked.

Pain was silent.

“I thought not.” Li'l Monk pulled the trigger, covering his hand in blood and shit.

It had rained all night and most of the morning, but at long last the sun was finally trying to peek out, though only in spurts. Considering how brutal the winter had been, a little rain wasn't too bad. It signaled farewell to winter, and hello to the coming spring.

Persia sat, elbows on the table, and chin resting on her knuckles, watching the leftover raindrops trickle down the classroom window. She imagined herself outside, splashing in the puddles left behind by the rain, like she used to as a kid, but instead she was stuck in fourth period math class. Had this been a few months ago, when Persia was still attending Martin Luther King Jr., she'd have likely ditched, but this wasn't public school, it was St. Mary's and her parents were paying a hefty sum every month for her to attend the prestigious Catholic school. In addition to the tuition, they had to pull some serious strings to get the school to let her in after her brief fling with the NYC public school system. When Persia was allowed to reenroll in St. Mary's, Father Michael had made it very clear that he would be on her ass this go-around. If she messed up, not only would give her the permanent boot, but she wouldn't graduate on time with the rest of her classmates. This was her last and final shot.

It had been a wild year for Persia. She had attended private and Catholic schools all her life, so just before senior year she convinced her parents to let her transfer to public school. She had been attending school with the same circles of people for eleven years and desperately wanted a change of scenery. Her parents were against it, but Persia made a very convincing argument. She had always gotten good grades and never had problems in school. She just wanted to spend her final year of high school in a more relaxed environment. Reluctantly, they agreed and that was the beginning of the end.

At the beginning, public school was a dream come true for Persia. The teachers weren't as strict, the work was easier and she got to see her friends from the old neighborhood every day. Up until the time she was five, Persia had lived in Harlem with her mother, Michelle, and her biological father, Face. Face was one of the biggest drug dealers in Harlem, and a man of great respect on the streets. The hood loved Face, but no one loved him more than his little girl. Instead of tricking his money off on cars and jewelry like his friends, Face had made sound investments, one of them being the huge house he had moved them into in Long Island City. Persia was afforded all the things that her parents never had, including a top-dollar education in a new school. She missed her old friends from Harlem, but still got to see them on the weekends. Face busted his ass day and night in the streets to make sure Persia and her mother were taken care of, up until the day he went to prison for killing a man. It was in self-defense, but with Face's rap sheet it was easy for the jury to paint him as a monster. They wanted to give him the long walk, but Face's lawyer was able to plead him out to fifteen to twenty-five years.

When Face went to prison, it left their family incomplete. Persia and her mother, Michelle, weren't hurting for money. Face made sure of that, but him missing from the picture still created a void in their lives. A few years into Face's bid, that void was filled when Michelle married a man named Richard and moved him into their house: the house Persia's father had bought. Richard wasn't a hustler like Face; he was a square dude, who taught history at the local university. He treated them well enough, but it didn't stop Persia from resenting him. She felt like he was trying to take her father's place, and could never bring herself to give him a fair chance.

While Persia's mother Michelle was busy playing homemaker with Richard, Persia was enjoying the newfound freedom of public school. Persia chose Martin Luther King Jr. because that was the school all her old neighborhood friends attended. When she hooked up with Karen, Meeka, and Ty it was just like being back on the block, only they were older now and into “big girl” things. Persia found herself skipping school to run through Harlem with her girls, smoking weed and chasing men. It didn't take long for Persia to get so caught up in their lifestyle that she started losing sight of her own. Her grades were slipping in school, and she became more detached from her family. She was on the fast track and her life, already spiraling out of control, took a nose dive when she met Chucky.

Chucky was one of the older dudes who got money on Karen's block. All the girls wanted to get with him and when he started dating Persia she felt like she had finally arrived. Chucky was fine, had money, a nice ride, and status. He had it all, including an undercover drug habit. Persia, being as naïve as she was to that lifestyle, didn't see the signs until it was too late, and Chucky had pulled her down the rabbit hole with him. Persia had smoked weed with Karen and them, and had even taken pills a time or two with her white friends Marty and Sarah, but it was Chucky who turned her on to the darker side of drug abuse. Persia was naïve, but she wasn't stupid, and she understood that drugs were wrong, but she loved Chucky so much that she was doing whatever it took to keep him, including dancing with the devil. The first time Persia wrapped her lips around a crack pipe, she knew without question that she had hit rock bottom.

In the end, Persia's misguided love for Chucky had cost her dignity and almost her life when he left her to die in a crack house. Persia remembered it as vividly as if it had just happened.

From the beginning it had been one of the worst days of Persia's life. She had just gotten the news about her best friend Marty's death. That coupled with the rift between her and her mother because of her bullshit in the streets had pushed Persia to an all-time low point. She tried to reach out for Chucky but he was too busy running the streets to take her calls, so Persia was left alone with her grief and it consumed her. That night, at Chucky's aunt's house, was the first time she had ever smoked straight-up crack, with no chaser. Persia had been doing hard drugs with Chucky for months, but it was mostly snorting coke and smoking laced blunts, but she promised herself that no matter how far she went, her lips would never touch a crack pipe. In her state of mind her promise had gone out the window and she had her first real dance with the devil.

Smoking crack out of a pipe was the most intense high Persia had ever felt. It was almost like she had stepped out of her body and was watching herself hit the pipe from across the room. She was so out of her head that she had to go into the bathroom and splash water on her face. That's when all hell broke loose.

Persia heard gunshots first. It sounded like someone had just let off a cannon in the middle of the living room. When she gathered up the courage to investigate, she saw men in masks swarming the house. They were gunning down anyone they came across without hesitation or question. Persia locked herself in the upstairs bathroom, listening through the door at the sounds of gunshots and screams, which were getting closer by the second. Persia wasn't sure how long she had been pressed against that door, but it seemed like forever. She listened intently for the sounds of voices or footsteps, but heard none. All was silent. Persia let out a deep sigh of relief, knowing she had once again dodged a bullet. Still leaning on the door, she looked up at the wreck staring back at her from the bathroom mirror. It made her want to cry, but she wasn't sure if she had any tears left. Even if she did, who still cared enough to wipe them? She decided that after that night, she was getting her shit together.

Someone jiggled the bathroom door and her breath got caught in her throat. They had found her! Persia thought maybe if she just explained to them that she didn't have anything to do with what was going on they would let her go, but they she thought of how remorselessly they had been when gunning down Chucky's aunt and her boyfriend and decided that they weren't men who could be reasoned with. There was no way she planned on dying in a crack house.

That was both the scariest and the most enlightening day of her life. Her literal fall from grace had been the best thing to happen to her in months. It was while lying on that cold concrete, in severe pain and thinking she was going to die, that Persia made a promise to God that if she lived, she was going to get her act together. God accepted her wager when He sent the kind soul who found Persia and took her to the hospital. To that day she had no idea who it was who rescued her, but she would be forever in their debt, and one day the opportunity would present itself to thank them.

Persia's road to recovery was a long and difficult one. The physical pains of withdrawal were so bad that she wouldn't wish them on her worst enemy, but they failed in comparison to the mental scars left behind by the whole ordeal. Ironically enough, when things were roughest, it was Richard who was there to help her get through it. He was there to listen when she felt like talking, and to talk when she needed to be encouraged. He even footed the bill for her to be treated in an outpatient program at a private treatment facility to spare her the embarrassment of anyone finding out what she'd been through. After the way she'd treated Richard all those years, most men wouldn't have bothered, but Richard was there to help her put the pieces back together. Persia still didn't accept him as a replacement for her father, but she developed a whole new level of respect for him.

A sharp whacking sound against her desk snapped Persia out of her daydream. She looked up to find Sister Francine standing over her, cold blue eyes glaring at her, and tapping her infamous three foot ruler against her meaty palm. Even before Persia had been a student at St. Mary's the first go-around, she had heard stories about Sister Francine and that ruler. They said she wielded it with the grace and skill of a samurai.

“Ms. Chandler, would you care to share with the class what it is out the window that has you so fixated that you're ignoring today's lesson?” Sister Francine asked in her snooty tone.

“Ah, it's nothing. I guess I was just daydreaming. I'm sorry,” Persia said, hoping her apology was enough to send the old crone back to the front of the class and out of her face. It didn't.

“Daydreaming won't get you a passing grade in my class, Ms. Chandler. Knowing the work will.”

“Yes, Sister Francine. You're absolutely right. I'll be more attentive,” Persia told her, still trying to take the high road.

“Of course I'm right, which is why I'm the teacher and you're the student, a student who is with me for the second time at that. Maybe you feel like you don't have to pay attention like everyone else because you know the work already. Is that it, Ms. Chandler, are you a know-it-all?”

Persia looked up at the nun, feeling her temper swelling. Sister Francine was goading her. For as bad as Persia wanted to slap fire out of the old bag, she knew that would definitely get her booted out of school and possibly brought up on charges. Grudgingly, she swallowed her anger and simply answered, “No, ma'am.”

“Oh, but I think you do. So since you know the lesson plan so well, why don't you get up and solve the problem on the board for the class?” Sister Francine challenged.

“I don't think that will be necessary, Sister Francine,” Persia said barely above a whisper.

Sister Francine leaned with her pale knuckles on the desk and glared at Persia with her cold blue eyes. “That wasn't a request, Ms. Chandler. You can get up and solve the problem in front of the class, or I'll write you up. We both know what a demerit would do to your delicate record at this point, don't we?” She held a piece of white chalk up in front of Persia.

Persia sighed, before plucking the chalk from Sister Francine's fingers and getting up from her chair. The walk from her seat to the blackboard was like walking the Green Mile, on her way to the electric chair. Persia could feel the eyes of every student in the room locked on her. “Don't fuck up, don't fuck up,” she repeated to herself, taking short quick breaths. As she approached the board, her eyes floated across the riddle of numbers, letters, and decimal points, Sister Francine had scribbled on the board. When Persia raised her hand she noticed that it was sweating so bad that the chalk had begun to stick to her fingers. She looked over her shoulder and saw Sister Francine was watching her, smirking smugly. Taking a deep breath, Persia made the first few stokes with the chalk. When she placed it back in the tray, just beneath the blackboard, she turned around and gave Sister Francine a half smile. It took her less than twenty seconds to solve the problem, and embarrass the nun in front of the class.