Authors: Tracy Brown
Criminal Minded (4 page)
I left my sister crying at the top of the stairs as I grabbed my shit and took it downstairs. I threw everything on the couch, walked to the coat closet, and pulled out the suitcase at the bottom. As I filled it up with all my earthly possessions, I could hear my moms apologizing to Wally.
“Wally, I’m sorry. He’s getting out. Wally … please talk to me …”
She was pitiful! I picked up the phone and called a cab to take me to my grandparents’ house. Olivia waited outside with me until the cab came. I hugged her tight and told her to call me if that bastard so much as frowned at her. It broke my heart to leave her there, but I had no choice.
The year was 1990, and I was officially on my own.
forbidden fruit
Papa sat in his favorite
chair—a
green leather recliner in his
study—and flicked the long ash dangling from his Pall Mall cigarette into his ashtray. He had been so deep in thought that he momentarily forgot he was smoking. I sat across from him on the loveseat amazed at how a grown man could sit with his legs crossed at the knees and still manage to look masculine. I prayed that someday, I would have half of the class my grandfather had. Papa was smooth; there was no denying that.
chair—a
green leather recliner in his
study—and flicked the long ash dangling from his Pall Mall cigarette into his ashtray. He had been so deep in thought that he momentarily forgot he was smoking. I sat across from him on the loveseat amazed at how a grown man could sit with his legs crossed at the knees and still manage to look masculine. I prayed that someday, I would have half of the class my grandfather had. Papa was smooth; there was no denying that.
But, at that moment, Papa was pissed. Despite his always-calm demeanor, I knew that he was angry. I could tell by the way he kept shaking his head with his eyes closed. He was trying to make sense of my mother—his daughter—and her decision to throw her firstborn out on the street.
My grandmother had immediately picked up the phone and called my moms every name in the book when I showed up at their doorstep with all my earthly possessions.
“Nadia, what kind of mother are you?” my grandmother had asked. “This boy saves you from getting the shit beat out of you and you respond by kicking him out?”
My mother tried to explain the unexplainable. “Mama, Lamin is a worthless, lazy child. He’s almost seventeen years old and do you think he has sense enough to go out and get a job so he can help pay some bills around here? No. All that he’s done is eat up my food and
watch my TV like he fuckin’ owns the place. Now Wally is here helping me out with the bills and Lamin thinks he can mess up the good thing I got going? I don’t think so!”
watch my TV like he fuckin’ owns the place. Now Wally is here helping me out with the bills and Lamin thinks he can mess up the good thing I got going? I don’t think so!”
“Nadia, you sound like a damn fool,” my grandmother said. I had never heard my grandmother cuss so this was a new experience for me. “
You
don’t pay no bills your damn self! The United States government pays your bills, buys your food—”
You
don’t pay no bills your damn self! The United States government pays your bills, buys your food—”
“Mama—”
“Shut up, Nadia! I’m doing the talking now,” Grandma yelled. “You ain’t
never
had a job in your whole life, and you got the nerve to criticize Lamin? He’s a child, Nadia. He’s your son. No matter how much of a disappointment you turned out to be, your father and I never threw
you
out. We never asked
you
to pay your own way. You got a lot of nerve, Nadia. A lot of fuckin’ nerve!” Grandma had slammed the phone down in my mother’s ear and gone to her room. She hadn’t come out since.
never
had a job in your whole life, and you got the nerve to criticize Lamin? He’s a child, Nadia. He’s your son. No matter how much of a disappointment you turned out to be, your father and I never threw
you
out. We never asked
you
to pay your own way. You got a lot of nerve, Nadia. A lot of fuckin’ nerve!” Grandma had slammed the phone down in my mother’s ear and gone to her room. She hadn’t come out since.
So I had been summoned by Papa to sit with him in his quiet study. And that was all we had been doing, too. Sittin’. Neither one of us had said a word in the past ten minutes. I had moves to make. The last place I wanted to be was sittin’ in my grandfather’s study. While I waited for him to gather his thoughts, my gaze fell upon some pictures on top of the bookshelf in the corner. They were black-and-white portraits of Papa and Grandma in their younger days. Even in the old days, Papa was a fly nigga. In one photo in particular, Papa’s hat was dipped so far to the side that I wondered how it managed to stay on his head.
While I contemplated the hat issue, Papa lit another Pall Mall. He exhaled the smoke and spoke at last.
“Lamin, when I was growing up in Marietta, Georgia, back in nineteen …” Papa stroked his chin and looked up at the ceiling as if the year he was trying to recall was written up there somewhere. I hated his stories about the days of old. All that shit was before my time.
“ … Thirty. Yeah, around 1930,” he continued. “I must’ve been about nine or ten years old. My father sat me down and described to
me what his childhood had been like. Back then, my father and his brothers were sharecroppers, and the South was one of the worst places for a black man. The only place a black man could be himself was in his own house.”
me what his childhood had been like. Back then, my father and his brothers were sharecroppers, and the South was one of the worst places for a black man. The only place a black man could be himself was in his own house.”
I couldn’t help wondering how this history lesson tied into my dilemma with my mother. I hoped that Papa wasn’t planning on taking a slow stroll down memory lane.
“My father was a hard man. He made me work from the minute I was able to. He was hard on me, and he never said ‘good job’ or ‘I’m proud of you.’ All he did was tell us what to do, and goddamn it you’d better do it right. I feared my father. But I respected him. He did his job as a man, and my mother never had to work outside the home. She stayed home and took care of us kids and my father worked his fingers to the bone from day to night.
He sat me down that day and told me what his life had been like, and all the shit he had to go through to survive and to take care of us. After he told me all of that, he looked me right in my eyes. I’ll never forget what he said. No matter how old I get, I still remember exactly what he said that day …”
I wished Papa would tell me what the fuck the man said already!
“He told me that he wouldn’t change one thing about his life. Not one thing. Said he wouldn’t be who he was if one situation in his life had turned out different. Then he told me that he was hard on me so that when the sun was shining in my life, I would appreciate its light.”
Papa sat back and looked at me like he had just quoted Socrates or something. I wondered how the hell I was supposed to interpret that story. Was there a lesson in there somewhere? The expression on my face must have revealed my thoughts because Papa rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and spelled it out for me.
“Lamin, Nadia’s fucked up. I know she’s your mother and she’s my daughter, and it ain’t nice to say that about family. But fuck that. Nadia is a damn mess. But you gotta go through fire in order to come out refined. Right now, it’s dark. But when the sun shines, you’ll appreciate the light.”
I loved Papa. In a lot of ways, he was the father figure that I was missing in my life. I loved his philosophy about life. He always found a way to see a silver lining in the clouds. Eventually we got around to the subject of school. I told him I wasn’t going back, and I was fully prepared to plead my case. To my surprise, Papa didn’t argue with me. “School ain’t for everybody,” he told me. “You’re gonna be a grown man pretty soon, so it’s time for you to start making your own decisions about your life. But, make sure you know what you’re doing, and that the decisions you make are the kind that you can live with.” He gave me a serious look. “I ain’t gonna sit by and watch you amount to nothing like Nadia and Eli. You find a way to make some money, since you don’t want to go to school. Figure out what your talents are, and use ’em to your advantage.” I thought for a fleeting moment about my dream of being a director. Papa rose from his seat, walked over to me, and extended his hand. I shook it. Smiling, he said to me, “Sometimes, children have to be examples for their parents. You do what you gotta do to show your mother that you’re a survivor.”
I was determined to do just that.
Without Lamin at home, things were not the same. I felt deserted. First Curtis left and then Lamin. Wally’s control over my mother disgusted me. I didn’t know what kind of power he had over her, but she was not the woman I grew up admiring. Suddenly, she was this dependent, needy woman who seemed to bend over backwards to keep his stupid ass happy. I hated him. Not just because he had turned my mother into some unfamiliar person, but most of all because he was the reason my brother was not there to look out for me.
I had never been on my own. I had never had to worry about anything as long as Lamin and Curtis were there. Even now that they were gone, I guess I was still a little spoiled. I had never cooked a meal
for myself. My mother made sure that was taken care of. I didn’t even know how to work a washing machine or how to put a relaxer in my own hair. All of these things had always been done for me. Suddenly, I was faced with the reality of how pitiful that was. And I was scared. I was scared that without Lamin … without Curtis … somehow I was alone. That’s when I began to cling to my mother like never before. She was the only person left to take care of me.
for myself. My mother made sure that was taken care of. I didn’t even know how to work a washing machine or how to put a relaxer in my own hair. All of these things had always been done for me. Suddenly, I was faced with the reality of how pitiful that was. And I was scared. I was scared that without Lamin … without Curtis … somehow I was alone. That’s when I began to cling to my mother like never before. She was the only person left to take care of me.
Since I was on my own I decided to do whatever I had to do to get by. For me, the most obvious option was to hustle. I began sellin’ weed at the age of seventeen, buying weight from this cat named Smoke in Park Hill and servicing clientele in Mariner’s Harbor, West Brighton, and New Brighton. Most of the cab drivers in Shaolin were under my thumb so I made deliveries to whomever, whenever. I made a decent profit, and that was all I cared about.
A couple of times on my trips to the Harbor I ran into Zion, and we would chill out, drink a couple of forties, and catch up on each other’s comings and goings. By then, Zion was really gettin’ paper. I could tell by the fact that his wardrobe grew more and more impressive as the months went by. He was a flashy dresser. Always wore bright colors and crisp footwear without a smudge on them. Zion knew I was doin’ my thing on the weed tip, and a couple of times he copped a bag or two from me. But it seemed like he was feelin’ me out … tryin’ to see if I was worthy of his time or his trust. Sometimes he asked my opinion on certain scenarios. He would describe a situation and ask me how I would have handled it. I gave him my point of view and Zion seemed to take it all in.
Eventually, he came right out and asked me why I was hustling rather than finishing my last year of high school. I told him I was having some trouble with my mother and I left it at that. When he asked me where I was stayin’ at, I told him I was living with my grandparents and invited him to come check me at my new home. He came
over the next day. Olivia was also there that day, and for the first time I noticed how she perked up at the sight of Zion. When I told her that Zion was coming over, she ran to the mirror and started fixing her hair and putting on lip gloss. I was beginning to realize that my sister had a crush on pretty boy Zion. I wasn’t happy about it, either.
over the next day. Olivia was also there that day, and for the first time I noticed how she perked up at the sight of Zion. When I told her that Zion was coming over, she ran to the mirror and started fixing her hair and putting on lip gloss. I was beginning to realize that my sister had a crush on pretty boy Zion. I wasn’t happy about it, either.
When he arrived, Olivia ran to answer the door, and her sugary welcome made me sick to my stomach.
“Hi, Zion!” she said with a purr. “It took you long enough to get here.”
Zion looked at me and I could tell that he was aware of Olivia’s not so subtle flirting. He smiled politely at her and said, “Wassup, Olivia?”
We gave each other a pound, and he followed me into the living room. To my dismay, Olivia came, too.
“Zion, what nationality are you?” she asked. “I can tell you’re half black, but you must be mixed with something else.” Olivia all but drooled over Zion’s bronze skin and wavy hair, and I fought the urge to vomit.
“My pops was black and my moms was Panamanian,” Zion explained. I noticed that he referred to his parents in the past tense and I made a mental note to ask him about that later.
“Well, that’s a very attractive mixture,” Olivia said. My baby sister was trying to mack!
“Excuse us,” I said to her. “This is grown men’s business we’re talking here.”
Olivia looked at me like
Nigga, please!
“Well where are the grown men, Lamin?”
Nigga, please!
“Well where are the grown men, Lamin?”
“Olivia, shut up. Why you wanna sit in here with us, anyway? Zion don’t want you.” I didn’t mean to be so mean, but she was getting on my nerves.
Zion chuckled, and I could tell that Olivia was embarrassed. “Fuck you, Lamin!” Olivia stomped out of the room, and I was grateful.
“Sorry about that,” I told Zion. “She gets a little beside herself sometimes.”
Zion smiled. “Nah, it’s all good. Who would mind having a pretty girl like that around?”
The look on my face in response to that comment can only be described as menacing. I knew that I was overprotective of Olivia, but I couldn’t help it. Zion read my thoughts since they were written all over my face.
“Lamin, I ain’t mean no disrespect by sayin’ that. Word. I was just being honest. You ain’t gotta worry about me tryin’ to get with your sister. You got my word on that.”
I was relieved to hear him say that. “I’m like a pit bull when it comes to my sister,” I explained.
Zion laughed. “No problem. I can understand that. But, out of curiosity, why are you staying here instead of at your moms’ place?”
I told him the story and he listened in silence. When I was done, he offered one simple comment. “Good thing you got your grandparents to fall back on.”
This was my opportunity to inquire about Zion’s upbringing. “Not to get in your business, but what’s the story with your family?”
Zion shrugged his shoulders. “My story is simple,” he said. “My pops was a Black Panther …”
“Word?” I was impressed by that piece of information. I had always admired the Panthers.
“Yeah,” he said. “He met my moms after she came to this country from Panama. They fell in love, had me, and that’s where shit started to go wrong. When I was like two years old, my pops and some other Panthers shot two police officers in Harlem. They all got two times life—two consecutive life terms. But my pops never got a chance to serve out his sentence. Somebody stabbed him in the neck while he was in prison, and he bled to death. They claim nobody found his body until hours after it happened. So my moms couldn’t handle the pressure. She started using drugs and eventually she OD’d on heroin. I got put into foster care when I was four years old since no family members stepped up to take me, and I got bounced around from home to home until I wound up out here. That’s my story.”
Zion said all of this so matter-of-factly that I didn’t know whether to feel sorry for his misfortune or to admire his strength. He changed the subject. “I know you’re sick of makin’ that
small
change hustlin’ dime bags of weed.”
small
change hustlin’ dime bags of weed.”
I wondered where this conversation was headed. “Money is money as far as I’m concerned,” I said.
“Nah,” Zion said, shaking his head. “There’s a difference between fast money and slow money. Big money and little money. Long money and short money. It’s all a matter of what kind of money you want to make.”
I nodded my understanding. “That makes sense.” I waited for him to continue. I didn’t know Zion that well. But I knew enough to figure out that he was going somewhere with this conversation. I was curious to find out exactly where that was. Despite the fact that I was comfortable at Papa and Grandma’s house, I knew it was only a matter of time before it would be necessary for me to move on.
Zion continued. “I branched out from Street. I’m doing my own thing now. Why don’t you stop fuckin’ with weed and come get money with me? I been watching you, analyzing your business, and how you run it. I could use a partner, and I don’t fuck with a lot of niggas like that. You’re just about the only one I would like to have as a partner.”
I let his words sink in. “What do I have to do?” I asked.
“Let me show you the ropes on the street for a while, and get your feet wet before you dive in,” he said.
I agreed. I decided that Zion and I had a lot more in common than it seemed. My parents weren’t dead, but they had sure deserted me, forcing me to find my own way in life. Things had to start looking up for us, and I was more determined than ever to make it happen.
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