Down With the King of the South 2

by Diamond Johnson

  “Yeah, whatever! I’m serious, Ma. You can’t have no boyfriend. Any nigga you even thinking about bringing around, they gotta go through me first. Personally, I feel like any other nigga is not even worthy of you, to begin with. So, if that nigga wants your number, tell him to walk his ass over here and knock on this door and try to ask me for it! You tripping,” he angrily said, right before he resumed the game and got right back to playing.

  “Jashae! Jashae!” my name was called, snapping me out of the trance that I’d temporarily gone into.

  I found myself doing that a lot these days. At some of the oddest moments, I would remove myself from reality and think about moments and conversations that I had in the past with my son. If I wasn’t doing that, then I was having dreams about him. Dreams where I swore that I could smell him, feel him, and sometimes at night, it felt like he was in the bedroom with me. I could feel his presence throughout my entire home.

  I wasn’t better; I pretended that I was better in front of family, but truth be told, I was still hurting. I still felt like all of this was new to me, and I hadn’t come to grips with the fact that my baby boy’s eighteenth birthday was a few weeks ago, yet he wasn’t here to celebrate it. As if losing my son wasn’t enough, I had to find out from Miami that the grandchild I thought I had on the way wasn’t even happening. The grandchild that I thought was going to be a piece of my son that I had lost wasn’t happening. My body was numb.

  For the first time in my life, I wanted to physically hurt somebody. Thoughts, voices, and hurt were all telling me to find Taylor and strangle that bitch to death, but even after I did all of that, my hurt and pain would still very much still be there. My son would still be gone, and the grandchild that I wished for still wouldn’t be mine. For the sake of my freedom and Taylor’s life, it was only right that I leave well enough alone. There would never be anything that she could say to me that would make what she did okay. I had painted an entire nursery, which took me days to complete. I had spent thousands on clothes, shoes, diapers, and just everything that I felt my grandchild should have. I had an order for a crib, a rocking chair, and other furniture on the way, which I had to call a couple of days ago and cancel since no baby would be coming into my home.

  Two nights ago, I found myself in my room with a bottle of pills in my hand, and every thought of just ending it right there. That was the reason why I was in the middle of this circle seeking help. It was pretty much a recovery class for parents who’ve lost their children. Whether it was from natural causes, gang violence, whatever it was, we all shared pretty much the same story.

  My grandmother was actually the one that had come to me about this class. When she came to me with it, I swear she was pretty much just demanding that I go. I had every excuse in the world not to go, but this was one of those times that she wasn’t taking no for an answer, so here I was, with her sitting right beside me. We were in a circle, and there were moms and fathers who each wore the same heartbroken look on their faces as I had.

  “Sorry,” I called out to the instructor.

  It was him calling my name back to back, trying to get my attention. He was an older black guy. If I had to have guessed, I would say that he was in his mid-sixties. When he opened up almost an hour ago to the class, I found out that twenty years ago, he’d lost his daughter. Sadly, she was jumped by a group of girls, and because she’d fallen and hit her head on a brick that was on the floor, she died hours later at the hospital. He talked about using drugs for years after losing his daughter. He talked about failed suicide attempts, and he also talked about how it had been twenty years, and some nights, he still cried himself to sleep. I could only see why he offered this support group.

  “If you don’t mind me asking, what were you thinking about?” he asked.

  He was standing in the middle of the circle, and he walked over to me. I could feel all eyes on me, and I hated it.

  It was like my body screamed, “Look at me! I’m weak.”

  I knew that I and everyone else in this room were pretty much in the same boat, but still, I hated the eyes. Plus, I wasn’t looking my best. I wore black tights with a pair of slides on my feet and a hoodie with the hood over my head. I thought of the hood as my shield. I felt that it helped to hide me, even though it probably didn’t. I didn’t know if everyone else was cold, but I was freezing. I had my hands pulled inside the bottom on the sleeves that I wore, and my hands were securely wrapped around myself in an attempt to warm up.

  “Vonte, my baby. That’s all I think about these days,” I let him know, and he nodded.

  I felt my grandmother’s hand touch my back, and she moved it around in a circular motion.

  “Only if you feel up to it. Would you mind sharing with the class with what happened to Vonte? If it’s too soon, Jashae, you don’t have to,” he said.

  Everyone in the room had pretty much shared their stories on what happened with their kids. Not to be rude or anything, but within five minutes of being there, mentally, I’d already checked out. Thinking about my son, I looked at all the eyes inside the room, which were all looking back at me, and I cleared my throat. I hadn’t even started talking yet, but a tear had already managed to fall that I didn’t even bother to wipe away. I felt so vulnerable, and when I got ready to talk, I looked down at my feet, which were in desperate need of a pedicure.

  “Almost three months ago, I lost my son to a severe asthma attack that he had in the middle of the court at his championship game. Basketball was everything to him for a lot of reasons. He always used to tell me that basketball was the way that he would be able to tell me to quit my job one day and take care of me the same way that I took care of him for seventeen years. My son ate, slept, and breathed basketball. If there was ever a worry of mine when it came to losing my son, you could say that I worried a lot about other young boys who didn’t have the same promising future as him, and we all know that jealousy can make a person do some crazy things.

  “My son would constantly tell about some of the things that boys would say to him when they saw him out, at school, just anywhere. It was me who taught my son how to ignore it, even though I knew that he would fight if it ever came down to it. I taught Vonte a lot of things over the years. Since he was a day old, I would look him in his eyes and tell him that I would never let anything happen to him.

  “I was thirteen when I had Vonte with not a single dollar to my name, yet I was making big promises like that. I took that same mindset with him as he grew up. I’m not that big, but I felt like it was my job to be my son’s protector. Talk about a promise that was broken. If I could just get that look out of my head from when he had the asthma attack, I probably wouldn’t be hurting so much right now…” I paused for a second, bit down hard on my lip, and could feel the tears flowing.

  “My son was scared. My baby was scared. I remember asking over and over where was his gym bag, which had his asthma pump in it, but it’s like it just disappeared into thin air. People think that I’m hurting just because I lost my son, but this shit is mental too. I’m living with the fact that I did this to him. I’m punishing myself every day for this. Everybody keeps saying that they want the old Jashae back. The goofy one who laughed at everything. The one who was always smiling. Honestly, I want her back too, but when my son died, pieces of me left with him.

  “Tomorrow is signing day, and this day meant a lot to both me and Vonte. I’m not asking for anything. The only thing that I want for everyone in this room to do is to simply pray for me because I need it,” and with that, I broke down.

  It wasn’t just my grandmother coming over to console me. I swear, everyone in the room had come over to hug me, touch me, pray for me, or just to assure me that everything was going to be alright.

  Later that night

  “Shae, you sleep?” my grandmother asked and walked into the bedroom that I was sleeping in.

  I’d just dozed off maybe two minutes ago. Looking at the clock on the wall, I saw that it was a little bit af
ter eight at night. I was sleeping over my grandmother’s house because after leaving the support group, I was pretty much a complete mess. She didn’t trust me to go home by myself, so she pretty much insisted that I come home with her. Ever since Mahogany had come to my rescue a few months ago after I’d taken the pills and fell asleep in the tub, I swear everybody had been treating me like I needed to be in a straight jacket.

  Yes, I was hurt; at times, my body felt like I’d been run over by a truck because the pain that I felt seemed to take up every inch of my body, but I had no plans to harm myself. Right now, I was in Vonte’s old bedroom that he slept in when he was here. The lamp was on, so when she walked into the bedroom, and I turned around to look at her, I could see her perfectly. She had a sneaky look on her face, which let me know that she was up to no good.

  My grandma was in her night clothes, which just consisted of some long pajama pants with the matching long sleeved shirt. Ever since I could remember, my grandmother had taught me the importance of maintaining my hair, especially at night, so it was no surprise that she was walking around with a bonnet on her head as well.

  “I was falling asleep, ma. What happened?” I asked, not even sitting fully up in the bed.

  I hoped that she was getting ready to leave, but something told me she was about to say something that was going to annoy the hell out of me.

  “Miami is out front. Tell him to come back?” she asked.

  Although it was a question, the way she said it was more like a statement. As if she was just warning me that she was getting ready to tell Miami that he could go ahead and come inside the room.

  “What? Ma, no! Tell him I'm sleeping. Damn, why would you do that? I look crazy!” I fussed and sat all the way up in the bed.

  “Girl, hush! I’d given him my phone number a while back, and he said that he’d been calling you earlier, but you weren’t answering, so he called me. I told him you were here and that it was okay if he came over. Talking about you look crazy! Why you care about your appearance if you don’t like him, remember?” she shot back with that same smirk on her face.

  I was so annoyed. My knees were pulled up to my chest, and damn, if she weren’t my grandma, I would have let out a few words on her ass. I knew Miami was calling me earlier, but I wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone, so I’d silenced my phone until I’d eventually just went ahead and powered it off.

  “Tell him to come back. I’m not sleeping over here no more. You play too much,” I let her know.

  “And you don’t play enough! You better get his fine ass before my old ass does,” she said, and honestly, I didn’t know if she was serious or not. It got me to laugh, though.

  I felt like my grandmother had a little crush on Miami. Talking about she gave him her number a little while back! This lady was crazy. She quickly left the room, and I lay back down on the bed on my side, putting the covers back over my body. I could hear Miami making his way to the back. I just knew that he looked good without even seeing him.

  He finally walked inside, smelling up the whole bedroom with his Chanel cologne. Why was this man so fine? I had no idea. He was dressed up, so I could only imagine where the hell he was coming from. He wore a black, gold, and white Versace button-down shirt, and maybe three or four buttons where undone, showing his beautiful chest and the tattoos that he had on it. The one on his neck was my favorite. He paired the shirt with a pair of black jeans, which fit him perfectly. The jeans had a little sag to them, and Versace loafers were on his feet.

  Miami wasn’t the flashy type when it came to jewelry, but he did rock an iced out Cuban link chain around his neck with the matching men’s bracelet. I swear it felt like the waves in his hair had gotten deeper and his beard had gotten fuller since the last time I saw him, which was just a week ago when he came to me with the news about Taylor. I’d been avoiding his ass like the damn plague because, truthfully, my ass was embarrassed.

  Miami hit me with the news about Taylor’s child not being my grandchild literally right after I’d showed him the nursery along with all of those damn clothes that I’d bought. I mean, I knew that Miami wasn’t the type of guy who would laugh and pick at me because of that, but still, I was embarrassed.

  “You running from me now?” was the first thing he asked when he walked into the bedroom.

  After closing the door behind him and making sure to lock it right after, he walked over to the bed and sat next to me, looking down at me while I lay down. I was on my side, with my hand propped up on my head. All I could do was shake my head.

  “Come take a ride with me, Choc,” his deep voice boomed.

  “Where we going? This is the only thing that I have on. Just stay in here with me,” I said, patting the spot on the bed next to me.

  “No. That’s your problem now. Always wanna be cooped up in dark ass places. I didn’t say we were going somewhere, I just said come take a ride with me. You trust me, ain’t it?” he asked, and I nodded.

  “Come on then,” he said and pulled the covers off my body.

  I lay there for a few seconds before I finally got up. I had on a pair of long, plaid, pajama bottoms with a black tank top. When I showered about an hour ago, I had washed my hair, even blow dried it. Once I finished with that, I put my long hair in two French braids. I knew I probably looked crazy, but from the way Miami’s eyes pierced me as I went over to the door where my sandals were, he probably didn’t think I looked too bad.

  Vonte’s desk, where he used to do his homework was inside the room, and my wallet was on it. I looked from my wallet to Miami.

  “Should I bring it?” I asked, pointing to my wallet.

  “For what? It’s not like I’m going to make you pay for shit. All I need is your presence, shorty. Stop trying to stall. You ain’t slick, yo,” he said and stood up from the bed.

  I laughed while I opened the bedroom door and walked out first. After I let my grandma know that we were leaving for a few minutes, we left the house together, and I used my key to lock the door. Miami had so many damn cars that I never knew which one he would be riding in for the day. Tonight, he was in an all-black Corvette. I’d never seen him push this one. The tints on the windows were so damn dark that I just knew that the police had to have always been pulling him over.

  Like the gentlemen that he was, he opened the door for me, and my body sank into the red, leather seats. His car smell was a mixture of weed and air freshener. I looked around the car while he walked around to get in, and it was spotless. There was literally nothing out of place or any garbage lying around.

  My home was always spotless. I would clean, even when there was nothing to clean. My car, I couldn’t say the same thing. It’s not that my car was dirty; if anything, sometimes it was just junky. I would have heels and sandals in the backseat, folders from work, and things of that nature.

  Once Miami was inside the car, he put on his seatbelt and looked down at me.

  “You cold? I know your ass always cold,” he said.

  “You could make it a little warmer,” I told him, and he did just that.

  Once he did, he shot out of the driveway and started flying down the street like a bat out of hell.

  “Toddrick! Damn, slow down! You’re going to fuckin’ kill me!” I yelled.

  “I ain’t going to kill your ass. Ain’t shit going to happen to you when you’re with me, so calm down. You hungry?” he asked.

  Miami did this thing where he would take his eyes off the road and look at me when he talked, and truthfully, I hated it. It scared me each time because I felt like he needed to pay attention to what was in front of him instead of looking at me. I hated to even compare him to Trip, but the two of them drove just alike.

  When Trip was a free man, I absolutely hated getting in the car with him. I think I was in the car with him a good two times when he’d gotten into a car accident. I remember at seventeen years old, sitting my dumb ass in the passenger seat crying while he did like 95 miles an hour on the turnpike. Trip drove
fast and was an asshole about it. Miami just drove fast, and I think what made me scared is the shit that I had to endure with Trip.

  “No. I’m not getting out. You said we didn’t have to get out,” I reminded him, and he let out a laugh while shaking his head.

  “We not! I would have taken you to a drive-thru or something. You act like it’s a bounty on your head or some shit. Fuck you running for?” he asked.

  “I’m not hungry. My grandma cooked earlier. I’m not running from nobody; I just don’t want to get out looking crazy,” I let him know, and he nodded.

  “You would have to put in hours of work for you to even look remotely close to crazy. I wish you saw what I see.” He mumbled the last part.

  I’m not going to lie; I could feel the butterflies in my stomach turn when he gave me that compliment. I tried so damn hard not to smile too. After almost five minutes of silence, he finally started a new topic.

  “Your grandma told me about the class that you went to today. How’d that go?” he asked.

  We were getting on the highway now, and I noticed that he wasn’t driving as fast. Miami was so much different from Trip. I could tell Miami something, and I swear, right then and there he would fix it. He knew he was scaring the shit out of me with his driving, and look how quickly he fixed it. I liked when I was heard. With Trip, I swear I wasn’t heard. It had pretty much always been his way or nothing at all.

  “It was different for me. I’m so closed in that I’m not used to sharing my problems with a bunch of strangers. I’m not opposed to it, though. They offer the class every third Sunday of the month, so I’ll go back next month,” I let him know.

  “Taylor tried reaching out to you yet?” he asked, doing that thing again.

  “No! I have nothing to say to her, Miami. She probably knows that you told me, which is why she hasn’t reached out. There were voices in my head telling me to find her and kill her and that baby, but I can’t. I can’t allow her to have that much power over my damn feelings to the point that she’ll have my ass in jail. The craziest thing out of all of this is I know for a fact that had Vonte still been here, she would have lied to my son until she was blue in the face and made him believe that baby was his.