Memoirs of an Accidental Hustler

by J. M. Benjamin

  “If y’all want to get these school clothes you better have your behinds at the car by the time I get my pocketbook and car keys,” my mom said to us.

  My mother had been working really hard these past months to provide for the four of us. Living in the projects with our grandmother allowed her to save money and get an education since public assistance only made my grandmother pay six dollars a month for rent, half of which my mother paid, along with paying for groceries and the phone bill. I had been hearing my mom talk about moving out of the projects and into a bigger place. Although it sounded nice, I had become fine with where I was, and I didn’t want to leave the projects. This had become my new home and I had become used to it.

  Downtown Newark was the place to shop for black people in Jersey; it was like 125th Street in Harlem, New York. Though downtown looked like a nice place to shop the rest of the city was known to be rough when it came to drugs and violence, worse than where we lived, probably because it was twice as big as my town. The way they described it kind of reminded me of my old neighborhood back in Brooklyn.

  “I’m going to tell you right now, Kamil and Kamal. The two of you are only getting five outfits apiece. I don’t have a whole lot of money to be spending on y’all clothes just ’cause you trying to keep up with the latest style. And all you getting is one pair of tennis shoes, and one pair of dress shoes, is that understood?” she asked, as if we had a choice.

  There were so many stores to choose from, but the ones that we wanted to go into were the ones that my mother was walking right by.

  “Ma, can we go in Express?” I asked as we almost passed by the store.

  “Kamil, what did I tell you? I’m not out here shopping for any name-brand clothes; I’m out here to get you clothes to put on your back regardless who names are on them. I don’t know why you kids go crazy over wearing somebody else name on the back of your behind.”

  “All right, Ma,” I said, blowing hot air.

  “I know you didn’t just get smart,” she shouted “Kamil, don’t get cute and make me knock your behind down in front of all these people. You not too big to get your butt whipped.”

  Embarrassed, I just remained silent. It had been a long time since my moms had talked to me like I was a two-year-old, threatening me with a beating.

  The shopping spree ended, and Kamal and I were going back home with nothing we wanted, from shirts all the way down to sneakers. Everything was wack, but there was no way we were going to hurt our mom’s feelings, especially knowing how hard she worked just to get us what she had. We both sucked it up and accepted the fact that things were different and we were now among the less fortunate.

  CHAPTER NINE

  It was Labor Day weekend, and two days from now would be the first day of school. As usual, the community was cooking out in the field. Kamal was still in bed. He was out front all night kicking it with this sixteen-year-old girl from around back. She was cute, but not cute enough to make me stay up all night talking.

  “Kamal?”

  “Huh?”

  “Mal!”

  “What, yo?”

  “Yo, I’m going over to Ant’s to see what’s up.”

  “Yeah, a’ight, I’ll be over there in a couple of hours. What time is it now?”

  “A little after ten o’clock.”

  “I should be up by one. That shorty had me out there talking all night, playing games, beating me in the head about nothin’.”

  “Yeah, I heard you creeping in early this morning like you were a burglar kid.”

  On my way to Ant’s crib, I heard a horn beep. When I turned around, I saw a candy apple red Benz 190E with deep dish gold hammer rims and a gold grill, with a tan leather rag top and tinted windows. Nobody had to tell me who it was. Even though I had never seen the car before, it only fit one person’s style I knew, and that was Mustafa.

  “Mil, it’s me, Mu. Get in!” he yelled over at me.

  I lit up at the sight of Mu. I hadn’t been that happy to see another man since the last time I went to see my dad for his birthday. I wasted no time climbing into the Benz.

  As soon as I got in Mu drove off. “What up, kid? How you been?”

  “I’m a’ight,” I replied, revealing how happy I was to see him. “Man, I thought I’d never see you again, Mu. I didn’t know what happened to you after I read the papers about the Fourth.”

  “Nothing ain’t happen to me, li’l bro. That was something light. Got a battle scar out the deal,” he said nonchalantly, referring to his gunshot wound I had read about in the newspaper. “Other than that, I just been out of town on vacation, layin’ low, that’s all. Always remember, Mil: when the spot is hot, find somewhere else to chill out until it cools down. That’s one of the rules of the game.” He dropped one of his many jewels I had become used to him dropping on me. “I bet jokers been getting locked up left and right since I been gone, right?”

  “Yup, you right,” I responded.

  “I just got back from Virginia Beach. My son’s mother lives out there, so I went to go chill with them for a little bit,” Mu told me.

  “How old is your son?” I asked, not knowing that he had any kids.

  “He just turned two years old this past August. That’s why I was down there so long, celebrating with my li’l man. Where’s Mal? This has gotta be the first time I ever seen you without him.”

  “He’s still in the bed, ’sleep, tired from talking to this shorty named Crystal who lives in the back.”

  “Yeah, I know her,” Mu said. “Tell him to watch himself ’cause she plays a lot of games.”

  “That’s what he said too. Why did you come back from Virginia if you were enjoying yourself down there?”

  “Because a vacation is just what it’s called: a vacation,” he started out saying. “You can vacate one area to get away to another to relax, but after you’ve relaxed you have to return to the reality of your life. Vacations don’t last forever.” He broke it down to me, then finished up by saying, “Besides I had to get back so I could give you and Mal this trunk full of gear I got for the two of you. What? You thought I forgot, kid?” Mu asked, smiling at me like he just bested me at a game I thought I was going to win.

  “Nah, I just thought that you were too busy, but I knew you didn’t forget.”

  “Young buck, let me explain something to you. Never make a promise that you can’t keep. Always do what you say you’ll do, no matter what.”

  Now I knew why everybody respected Mustafa: because he not only talked the talk, but he walked the walk. I had already decided that I wanted to be just like him when I got older.

  When Mu opened the trunk, I couldn’t believe my eyes. All I saw were boxes and boxes of sneakers and bags and bags of clothes piled on top of one another. Nikes, Adidas, and Reeboks were the names on the sneaker boxes, along with the sweat suits to match. In other bags were all the latest jeans, A.J., Cotler, Oslo, Vasco, and the freshest shirts, Le Tigre, the ones that all the known hustlers wore, and underneath all of that were two leather goose-down jackets, one white with black fur and the other black with black fur around the collar.

  Mu had gone all out for Kamal and me.

  “Oh, junk, Mu, you took care of us on the gear tip,” I said excitedly. “Wait until Mal sees this. He’s going to flip.”

  “Didn’t I tell you I was gonna have you two lookin’ the flyest in school?” he said back with a proud expression on his face, knowing that the mission was accomplished.

  “How’d you know our sizes, though?”

  “Come on, young buck. I’ve been shopping for myself for a long time and I was once your age, and your size, so it didn’t take a genius to figure it out. But if I was off then let me know and I’ll go exchange whatever needs to be exchanged.”

  I was too busy tripping off all the fly gear that I didn’t realize we were in a driveway. “Where are we?” I asked, curious.

  “We’re at my house.”

  “I thought you lived in the projects,�
� I said, a little puzzled.

  “Mil, you got a lot to learn, young brother. I grew up in the projects, I’m from the projects, and I get money in the projects, but I don’t live in the projects anymore. Another rule to live by,” he said. “A word to the wise: never lay ya head where you shit at. You wit’ me?” Mu asked, making sure I followed.

  “Yeah, I’m wit’ you,” I said, nodding my head.

  “Close up the trunk. You might as well come inside while I snatch something up right quick.”

  When I walked through the door, I was mesmerized. Mu’s crib was laid out, looking like something straight out of the TV show Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. He told me to take my shoes off by the door, but I didn’t know why until I got past the hall. There was wall-to-wall carpet everywhere.

  “Have a seat in the living room,” he said, pointing to the right. The living room consisted of a six-piece leather set, with a red calypso carpet, a sixty-inch big-screen TV, with an entertainment system that had a Panasonic stereo system, a Atari 2600 game set, and a bunch of game cartridges, along with a full shelf of cassette tapes. In the middle of the room was a glass table with magazines placed on top, stacked neatly on the left side, and on the other side he had a Quran book. On the walls he had all different types of paintings, and a couple of African-looking masks and statues to match, with spears in the corner. Just from the looks of his living room, you could tell that he was living large, and living single, too.

  “You want something to drink?” Mu yelled from the kitchen.

  “Nah, I’m good.”

  “Come here for a minute. I wanna show you something.”

  I got up and went into the kitchen to see what he wanted to show me, and as I entered the kitchen, it was as though I had just walked into Fort Knox. Mu had dough stacked up on the table so high I couldn’t even see his face.

  “You see this right here?” he asked, pointing at all the money in front of him. “This is from being smart. This is what’s gonna get me outta the streets. I’m about to get out the game, kid, and open up a couple of businesses out here and in VA, so I don’t gotta be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life wonderin’ when they comin’ to take me down. The name of the game is hit ’em and quit ’em. You gots to make the money and not let the money make you, ’cause ain’t no longevity in this game, baby boy.”

  Mu was always dropping jewels on me and I was always absorbing what he said because he always made sense when he rapped.

  “Yeah, I’m going to open up a clothing store right downtown, and a Laundromat, right there in the hood, and a unisex beauty salon/barber shop for my baby moms ’cause she does hair down there in VA. Security! That’s what it’s all about, security!” he repeated. “Soon as I put this up we outta here. Go back in the living room and wait for me.”

  * * *

  It was almost one o’clock by the time Mu and I pulled up into the projects. Heads were turning in the field when they saw Mu’s Benz roll up.

  “Look at everybody sweatin’ your ride, Mu,” I said to him, glad to be in the passenger’s seat.

  “Mil, I don’t get caught up in all the hype. Those people don’t give a fuck about me. If I was pushin’ a Gremlin or a Pinto right now, nobody would be lookin’ over here. If I got killed today they’d forget my name tomorrow. I’d be just another statistic, that’s all, and another brother would be right there to pick up where I left off. The game never changes, only the players, remember that. Yo, I can’t stick around, but what are you gonna do with the clothes in the trunk? You know you can’t take them home,” he said as if reading my mind.

  “I’m gonna take everything to Ant’s house like me and Mal always do. Let me go get Mal right quick.”

  “All right, cool. I’m gonna pull around to the side so everybody not in ya business. I wouldn’t want ya moms or grams to hear nothin’.”

  Kamal and Ant were in the field. I could see their mouths open ready to ask a million questions.

  “Yo, whose piece is that, Mu’s?” Ant asked when I got out of the Benz.

  “Yeah.”

  “I knew it,” Mal yelled. “That piece is dope!”

  “Yo, I need you to come help me, Mal. Mu got us some gear.”

  “Word?”

  “Ant, we need to keep this stuff in your crib.”

  “Man, I’m gonna start chargin’ you niggas for storage, all that shit you got at my crib,” he said, joking. “I knew that anyway. Let’s get y’all stuff.”

  After splitting everything down the middle, Mal and I ended up with three pair of sneakers, three sweat suits, six pair of jeans, six shirts, and a leather goose down jacket apiece. With the gear we had, I knew it was going to be a good school year.

  CHAPTER TEN

  It was the first day of school and I had been up since six o’clock that morning, ready. Man, the summer flew by. In spite of all the new gear Mal and I got from Mustafa and my moms, we still decided to do like everybody else when school started back up, which was to rock our old gear, and then bust out with fresh gear the following week.

  “Monique, Jasmine, Kamil, Kamal, come eat your breakfast,” my grandmother yelled. “I want all of you to be finished eating and out the door by seven thirty. I don’t want to find out that any of you were late for your first day at school, you hear me?”

  The bell didn’t ring until 8:15, and we weren’t considered tardy until 8:20. It only took us about twenty-five minutes if we walked, since we lived on the west end and our school was on the east end. What my grandmother didn’t know was that with our mopeds it only took us ten minutes to get there, and fifteen if Monique, who knew we had the mopeds and didn’t tell, wanted us to drop her off. My grandmother took Jasmine to school, so we didn’t have to worry about her.

  “We’re not going to be late, Grandma,” we all promised, smiling at one another.

  “Good morning, everybody,” my mother said as she came in, buttoning up the top of her blouse.

  “Good morning, Ma,” we all sang.

  “Ma, you’re looking good this morning. You sure you’re going to work, and not on a hot date?” I asked, sparking a smile out of her.

  “Boy, knock it off. You don’t get paid to be no comedian,” she shot back at me.

  To tell the truth, that was the first time that I had seen my moms in the morning since the summer had begun. By the time I woke up, she had already gone to work or, on the weekends, she was always asleep from working so hard. It was definitely good seeing her that particular morning, though it was only for a couple of minutes. My mother kissed all of us, snatched up a piece of toast along with the mug of coffee my grandmother had waiting for her, and then she was out the door.

  * * *

  Everybody was standing outside in front of the building waiting for the bell to ring when we rode up. We knew Black and Shareef were somewhere around because their bikes were already chained to the bike rack.

  “NPP in the house!” we heard somebody shout from behind us, knowing that those somebodys had to be Black and Shareef. That was the name we had made up for ourselves in the hood. New Projects Posse was what it stood for, but we weren’t a gang. Well, technically we were, because a gang was considered to be two or more people who come together, and we were definitely deeper then that, but we were more of a neighborhood gang who just had each other’s backs in and out of school. Every neighborhood had one.

  “What it is?” Black said, giving me a pound and a hug.

  “It is what it is,” Mal answered.

  “Chillin’,” was all I said.

  “Yo, where y’all was at this morning? We waited for y’all in the front for a minute,” Black said.

  “Probably getting their last kisses and hugs from their moms and grams, like they’re going to the army or something,” Shareef said, laughing at his own joke.

  “I got ya army right here,” Mal replied, grabbing the front of his jeans.

  “You know I don’t play them dick jokes, Mal.”

  “B
oth of y’all buggin’,” I interrupted. “If you can’t take a joke, don’t joke.”

  They both looked at each other, and then turned on me at the same time. “Shut the hell up!” they both said in unison, and we all busted out laughing.

  * * *

  So this is junior high, I remember saying to myself as I took it all in. It looked a lot like elementary school to me, only a little bigger. The card that the guidance counselor gave me said at the top HOMEROOM: ROOM 114. As I walked down the hall, I spotted it. There were about sixteen desks in the class and about twelve people in the class scattered about. I found a desk in the back and grabbed a seat.

  “Hello, my name is Ms. Chiles. C-h-i-l-e-s. For those of you who are new here at Maxson, I’d like to welcome you.”

  Just as Ms. Chiles was about to start her next sentence, she was interrupted by the opening of the classroom door. “Please come in and have a seat.” Ms. Chiles gestured. The girl walked in. It was someone I knew. I remember not being able to hold back my smile. It was Lisa Matthews.

  “Excuse me,” she said. “I had a problem finding the class.” She took the first available seat.

  “It’s all right, Ms. . . .”

  “Matthews. Lisa Matthews,” she told the teacher.

  “It’s all right, Ms. Matthews. You’re not the first student to ever do that, and I’m sure that you won’t be the last. I’m just glad you could make it. Better late than never,” Ms. Chiles teased. “Now, as I was saying,” she continued as she repeated her speech.

  I didn’t get to speak to Lisa in homeroom because she broke out as soon as the bell rang, probably to get a head start on finding her next class, not wanting to be late again. I had hoped that she was in some of my other classes so I could kick it to her. The last few weeks of summer I didn’t get to talk to her because so much had happened around my neighborhood.

  There were only about six people in my metal shop class when I got there, and neither Mal, Reef, or Black were any of them, but when I took a second glance I saw that there was someone in the class worth seeing. It was Lisa.