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Authors: Tysha

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Chapter 15
Is This Family Love?
Tara was loading the dishwasher when screeching tires echoed throughout her small cul-de-sac. It sounded like the car had stopped in front of her house if not in the driveway. She looked out the kitchen window to find headlights beaming down the length of her driveway. Seconds later, someone began banging on her front door, shaking the frame.
It had to be an emergency, and worry washed over Tara because Quincy was not home. She swung the door open to find her sister with a scowl on her face. Shy was obviously upset about something. Tara had a good idea about what.
“What in the hell is your problem?” Tara asked sarcastically.
“Funny, that's the same question I was going to ask you,” Shy spat.
Shy brushed past her sister in an uproar. She was full of venom and Tara was about to get bit. The sisters had their share of differences over the years but things had never dropped to the point of no return. There would be no coming back, no right turns, and no apologies to be made or accepted. Shy was incensed. She wanted to slap Tara on sight but also wanted to give her a fighting chance to defend herself.
“When did your heart get so cold? How can you live with yourself?” Shy demanded.
“What are you talking about?” Tara pretended not to know.
“Naw, bitch, we are so far past that point. You told Quincy to stay away from my boys and me? You've made that declaration before but I've never taken it seriously. Despite whatever is going on between us, you've always left the boys out of it, at least after you calmed down.” Shy stood with her fists balled against her hips.
“Look, Shy, I know you love him but Quincy is my son. He has a great future and I don't want anyone or anything distracting him.” Tara tried to sound reasonable. “Besides, he needs to stay away from bad elements, family or not.”
“Since when is Quincy and Jayden's relationship a distraction?” Shy snarled.
“Since it became apparent that my baby sister's household is breaking down,” Tara snapped.
Tara felt strong about her decision to separate Quincy from the bad air surrounding the McGee family. Relatives or not, Tara had to do what was best for her own family. She had asked Shy to let her raise Jayden shortly after Melvin's death. Tara could see back then that Jayden was special and would be able to write his own ticket in life. She thought that by taking Jayden, Shy would have an easier time dealing with the traumatic state Prince was in. Shy had refused to separate her boys or to allow Tara to have any say in their rearing. Tara felt Shy's strength was her greatest attribute and her biggest weakness.
“I never claimed to be a perfect mother. We all make mistakes, including you. You try to present yourself as flawless. My children are as loved as anybody else's. Prince, Jayden, and Princess are my world. I would die for them all. I've sacrificed my life for them so don't you dare stand there and judge me.” Shy was infuriated by her sister's snobby attitude.
“ Why is Prince locked up if he's so loved? You know this is your fault, don't you?” Tara said snidely.
“Tara, I'd be careful if I were you. Be real careful,” Shy warned. “We may be sisters but I will beat the shit out of you in your own house, trust that. Prince is no different from any other teenage boy struggling to survive, especially where we live. He's made some bad choices but so did you,” Shy said cunningly.
Shy and Tara faced each other with mixed emotions. Love versus hate. Looking into her sister's eyes, Shy knew they would never be close again. Tara had cut her too deep far too many times. Betrayed a number of hurtful times because Tara chose friends over sisterhood, Shy felt it was time to let go of their one-sided relationship. She was no longer going to be the only one putting forth effort to have a friendship. Shy was done.
Sisters knew things about each other that no one else would ever know. That's the way it was supposed to be. Shy and Tara were no different. Tara just had more secrets to hide.
“I'm all Prince has. Not you, our half-brother, your fake-ass husband, or anybody else who claimed to love my sons embraced him when he needed it. You and that judgmental asshole you're married to stood on the sideline watching and waiting for Prince to fall. If anything, you and his uncles failed him. The people in his life who mattered talked about him instead of talking to him. Prince watched his father be shot down and your resolve was to turn your back on him.” Shy wagged an accusatory finger at Tara.
“This is the problem, Shy. You get defensive when it comes to Prince,” Tara said matter-of-factly, as if she wouldn't do the same if Quincy were being degraded and insulted.
“No one else is protecting him. Prince is just as much your nephew as Jayden is. You need to remember that,” Shy exclaimed.
“I never said he wasn't. I love that boy. He's just not on the right road,” Tara replied with attitude.
“So instead of helping me you're going to leave him out there lost?”
“Face it, Shy, your son is a thug,” Tara barked.
“Fuck you, Tara!”
Tara got scared. She knew her words had gone too far. Shy was a mother lioness and Tara had no doubt that her sister would hurt her without a second thought.
“Shy, it's just that we feel—” Tara began.
“We feel? We feel? I knew Bruce's holier-than-thou stick in the ass was behind this,” Shy said angrily.
“He's my husband, Shy,” Tara said almost apologetically.
“He's a hypocrite, Tara.”
Tara had to admit that Bruce was a dictator. She usually had no say in the decisions he made regarding their family. Tara ultimately went along with what he wanted to keep him from going upside her head. Bruce was a mean person, plain and simple. Tara liked her big house and luxury car so she dealt with her husband's shortcomings. There was no way Tara could maintain the lifestyle she was accustomed to on her own.
“But he's still my husband,” Tara replied.
“And he's not Quincy's father,” Shy countered with bitterness.
Tara felt as though the air had been knocked out of her. She was exasperated. Tara never thought Shy would ever play that trump card. Shy had Tara at a loss for words.
“If you want to keep that piece of information between the two of us, I'd rethink my position on keeping our boys apart,” Shy threatened.
“How dare you?” Tara cried.
“How dare you treat my kids this way? Like they're throw away parts of your life. You want to act like an enemy, so be it. You fuck with mine, you had better be ready to stomp with the big dogs. I'll protect mine by any means necessary. That includes cutting my sister off at the knees.” Shy was ready to go to war if it meant taking Jayden's pain away. “You can't fuck with me, dear sister. I'm not that bitch to be fucked with, remember that.”
Shy stormed out of the house, leaving Tara standing in shock. Tara was speechless. She felt on the verge of having an anxiety attack. If her secret were to surface, her entire world would be destroyed. She had been dependent on someone her whole life. Tara was not like Shy; she didn't have the strength to be a single parent. As far as Bruce knew, Quincy was his son. Tara vowed to take her secret to the grave and that is what she had every intention of doing.
Tara feared the repercussions would be more than she could bear should Bruce ever discover the truth. The impact on Quincy's life would be irreversible. She had to figure out a way to change Bruce's stance on keeping their son away from his cousins. Tara sat down and stared out the window as tears streamed down her cheeks. Memories of that regretful time in her life washed over her. If only she could reverse the hands of time, she would have made better choices when she was younger. All Tara could think of was all the if only's and what ifs. She'd cheated on Bruce after he joined the Marines and left for basic training. She'd slept with at least five men in a six-week period. Based on probability, Bruce could not be her son's father. Truth be told, Tara wasn't sure who fathered her only child. For the sake of everyone involved, Tara selfishly went with a lie that best fit her own needs. Bruce was able to provide for her and the baby. He was a mediocre husband but a good father and wonderful provider. Tara's life was comfortable and she wanted to keep it that way.
Chapter 16
Recoil
Once he accepted his reality, Prince got in line with the program and abided by the rules as outlined. Shy had pointed out the wasted time he spent fighting an unbeatable opponent. The rules were set in stone way before his stay behind bars and they would remain in effect way after his release. Prince agreed with his mother's logic and canned his rebellious attitude. Life had become much easier since doing so. The appearance of surrender to the system got the staff off his back and the teachers on his team. The weeks had crawled by at a snail's pace. Prince was finally adjusting to having his civil liberties temporarily taken away and time was passing a little faster without incident.
“Mr. McGee, stay behind after class. I'd like a minute of your time,” Mr. Karl requested. Karl Wilkins IV didn't look much older than his students. To bolster a rapport with the kids, the teacher allowed them to address him by his first name. It was Mr. Karl instead of Mr. Wilkins for the at-risk teens.
“Yes, sir,” Prince replied.
An hour later, Prince sat in the empty classroom, waiting to hear the reason for keeping him behind.
“I've been seeing great improvement in both your work and attitude, Mr. McGee.”
“I promised my mom I'd do better,” Prince responded.
“It makes me wonder why you weren't regularly attending school before trouble found you,” Mr. Karl pondered.
“Things are different on the streets.” Prince lowered his eyes when he spoke. He was trying to make changes but had to adjust his thinking one step at a time.
“It's obvious to me that you are very intelligent. You have great potential, but for some reason, you're selling yourself short,” Mr. Karl tried not to sound preacher-like.
Prince had no response to the compliment. He was so used to the negative things people had to say about him that flattering remarks made him uncomfortable. Prince gave the young black man a smile. He sat half paying attention to the encouragement his teacher was trying to offer him.
“I gather life hasn't been easy for you. I'd like you to keep in mind that only you control your future. There is a different world waiting for you somewhere outside of Youngstown. You have to believe in yourself,” Mr. Karl said sincerely.
“Yeah, I hear you, man. I mean yes, sir,” Prince corrected himself. He didn't want his teacher to feel disrespected. “My mom says the same thing. I'm working on changing my life. I want my mom and brother to be proud of me.” Prince began gathering his things. “Good looking out, Mr. Karl.”
With that being said, Karl watched as Prince walked out the classroom door. He was not done with his best student. Not by a long shot. Karl Wilkins IV had lost his only son to senseless violence eight years ago. Not long after, he and his wife divorced and Karl fell into a deep depression. Therapy and soul searching led Karl to his life's calling: saving at-risk boys within his community. Teaching had become his saving grace. Prince was the first student he encountered who reminded him of his deceased son. Mr. Wilkins felt a strong connection with Prince. He could see success in Prince's lost soul. Karl knew it was his responsibility to help Prince heal from what ailed his young heart.
Shy helped make her son's stay comfortable by making every visiting day, writing letters, and sending encouraging greeting cards. Parents and grandparents were the only people allowed to visit inmates so Shy allowed Prince to call home daily. The support Prince received made him a target on the inside. On more than one occasion, Prince had his personal items stolen. He'd even been jumped by fellow inmates during lunch. There was no other reason for others to hate on him. Prince could only reason that his fellow inmates were jealous of him. He spent most of his time alone. Prince knew the rules of the street carried over into the inside so he trusted no one. At times, he didn't even trust Raequan.
Prince was bothered by his best friend's inconsistent attitudes toward him. He understood Raequan being upset that the judge gave him a longer sentence but it wasn't Prince's fault. Raequan had a record, Prince had none. In spite of it all, Prince remained loyal to his partner in crime.
After lunch, Prince joined in on a pick-up game of basketball. He and Raequan were on opposite teams. Nothing was at stake but the boys played hard to be slated the winner.
“What's up with all the hacking?” Prince shouted.
“Man, shut the hell up and play the game,” Raequan barked back.
Prince dribbled the ball down the court, stopping at the top of the key. He searched for an open man as Raequan tried to steal the ball. Unable to find a teammate, Prince squared up and took the jump shot over Raequan's head. Prince hit the three-pointer with nothing but net.
“Hell no, dude stepped over the line, that ain't no three,” Raequan said angrily.
“Whatever, man, don't hate the player, hate my game,” Prince mocked. “Just play the game, nigga.”
“Fuck you, trick,” Raequan snarled.
Raequan was intent on winning the game. He was fed up with Prince and his superior attitude. He now had his hand on the ball. He saw a clear path for a layup and charged ahead. Raequan pushed forward with his left shoulder down when Prince stole the ball and took off in the opposite direction. The team's power forward chased after Prince. Prince made it to the hoop and went up for a dunk. His shot was hacked from behind and he was hit with a hard foul. Prince went down with a loud thud. He grabbed his right arm, curled up into a fetal position, and rocked from side to side in obvious pain.
“Bro, get'cha punk ass up.” Raequan laughed deviously.
“Fuck you, man, you broke my arm,” Prince said through clenched teeth.
“Get help! Call the CO over here,” Rex, a cool, tall white boy, instructed.
“You wrong, Rae, this ain't shit but a game. Your slimy ass meant to do that shit,” Tyrell voiced. He was a young thug with prison in his future.
“That's dat bullshit right there. Raequan, nigga, you ain't shit,” Sam snarled. Sam was a natural-born criminal with hatred in his heart for people like Raequan. He knew his type. Raequan would sell his own momma up the river at the drop of a dime if he'd benefit from it.
“What are you trippin' about? You don't even like dude,” Raequan countered.
“That doesn't have shit to do with it. Anyway, we like him more than your bitch ass,” Tyrell declared. He too had distain for Raequan. The two had crossed paths on the streets and Tyrell knew what Raequan was capable of. Prince was supposed to be Raequan's boy and he had just broken his arm over a meaningless basketball game.
Prince made it to his feet with help from Rex and Sam. He was still gripping his arm and in excruciating pain. Prince and those around him heard the bone crack when he hit the floor. At the time, Prince was in too much pain to recall how the incident happened. He put it on pause until he could see the replay clearly, in slow motion.
After having his arm X-rayed, set, and placed in a cast, Prince was back inside his cell asleep. The doctors had given him a shot of morphine for the pain when he first arrived in the emergency room. When he returned to the facility, the detention center nurse gave Prince two Percocet pain pills. The medicine put him out like a light. It would be his first full night's sleep since being locked up.
 
 
“Hey, Jackson, my boss wants to see you,” Baldwin announced. He was Raequan's least favorite corrections officer.
Raequan immediately followed Baldwin down the long corridor. It wasn't the first or second time a staff member woke him in the middle of the night. Raequan may have been a menace to society but there was a method to his madness. He had made a deal with the devil and was playing an award-winning performance.
“Come back in an hour, Baldwin. Jackson, have a seat,” the night shift staff supervisor directed. His job mostly confined him to a desk. The $9.85-an-hour position did not compare to his last job. Mr. Roberts was once Roberts, the crooked undercover police officer who killed Melvin McGee in front of his ten-year-old son. Since the highly publicized scandal that rocked the city, no one would hire him. He had to take whatever he could get.
Holding the dead-end job was both humiliating and emasculating for the man but he had to live. The menial position was all he could find. Loss of his position of authority within the department dried up his side cash flow as well. Even his drug connections quit dealing with him. In the past, Roberts was a high-level drug dealer, earning hundreds of thousands of dollars; unfortunately he was a horrible money manager. What came in immediately went right back out. Roberts had very little saved when his career fell apart. His wife had divorced him years before his life had fallen completely apart. After public opinion pinned him as a common criminal, his kids became ashamed of him and cut all contact with their father. They moved across the country to escape the shame of sharing his name. The house was foreclosed on, cars were repossessed, and family and friends turned their backs on him.
In the years since being thrown off the force, Roberts lived off various women, and pulled robberies and every single-minded hustle in between. Roberts was able to wiggle his way into his current position seven months ago. His life was slowly returning to a sense of normalcy but memories of that fateful day haunted him. He blamed all of his misfortunes on Melvin. Roberts often fantasized about exacting revenge on the dead man. Payback was only a dream until the seed of his nemesis was sentenced to juvenile hall. If he couldn't make Melvin pay for every bad mistake, poor decision, and immortal sin, he'd have to settle for the next best thing. Torturing and breaking the soul of Melvin's son had become Roberts's new life's mission. Making Prince's life a living hell was his obsession.
“You went over and above today, Raequan. You're even more ruthless than your father was in his glory days.” Roberts laughed.
“Don't talk 'bout my pops. Just pay up, bro,” Raequan griped.
“Here you are.” Roberts handed over Raequan's reward. “You've earned this Bellaria pizza, my man.”
“True dat,” Raequan joked.
“Why'd you do your boy like that?”
“Shit, we all gotta get it in,” Raequan replied, taking a bite of pizza. He had no conscience and no qualms about double-crossing his god brother/best friend. When Roberts stepped to him, Raequan instantly knew who he was. Prince kept newspaper clippings of Roberts. Prince, much like Roberts, had a mission one of retribution. Raequan kept that piece of information to himself. It might serve him well in the future.
“Give the little nigga a couple of days before getting at him again. Spread a rumor that he's snitching on everybody, including you. That's how he scored less time than you,” Roberts suggested.
“Shit, I got that. It's probably true anyway. You know some of these dudes are gonna try to get at him,” Raequan warned.
“Let them. I want him to get a beat down, a serious beat down,” Roberts replied through an evil smirk. “I won't reveal myself to him until the time is right. If you play the game long enough, we might get more time added to his tab.”
Raequan nodded his head as he bit into the pepperoni and mushroom pizza.
This fool's tripping. How long does he think he can hide out in this office before Prince spots him? Prince will beat his ass on sight,
Raequan thought, shaking his head.
That boy will do a life sentence just to watch this fool die. I should tell on him myself.
 
Monica sat on her bed with the phone cradled between her ear and shoulder while she flipped through the cable channels. It was her favorite time of day, she was home alone and talking on the phone with Prince.
As his deep voice sang in her ear, Monica looked at the wall calendar. In three short weeks, Prince would be home and Monica's world would make sense again. Everything would be back on track.
“So, what's up, girl? What you into?” Prince asked with a grin.
“Nothing, boo. School was boring, as usual, and my mom's is still on my case about everything under the sun. Of course my perfect, prissy-ass sister still can't do any wrong,” Monica whined.
“Baby girl, if you wanna start with the complaints, I can holler at you later,” Prince warned his young girlfriend.
“Naw boo, you right. I'm good. You down to the last turn, boo. I can't wait to see you. It's some bullshit that your mom is the only visitor allowed to come see you. I want to see you so bad my body aches. I miss you so much.” Monica sniffed.
“You don't miss me, girl, you just miss my backstroke,” Prince joked.
He heard the sadness in Monica's voice. She was feeling like she didn't belong, like she was being punished just for being born. Prince understood her pain; it was the same anguish he was forced to live with, day in and day out. It was only one of many similarities Prince and Monica shared.
Both of the seventeen-year-olds were the oldest of a set of twins. They were born on the second day of a new year at the same hospital. Their parents had been high school sweethearts. Prince and Monica felt like their existence on the earth was a mistake. Their lives had been filled with heartache and disappointment. Prince and Monica shared a bond that could never be broken. They had an unspoken understanding that no one else could never understand.

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