La Familia

by Paradise Gomez

  From there on, we were in and nothing nice to play with. We did whatever we had to do to get our respect. Mouse and I knew that as long as we had each other’s back, we were impervious to anything. But sometimes, the enemy can come from within.

  To see my mother just lying there in the bedroom after taking her medication was hurtful to me. Her HIV was crushing her. She was dying slow and I couldn’t do anything about it. She had been sick for ten years now, afflicted with that nightmare that I dreaded. She had some good days and bad days. But there were more bad days than good this past year. I was the one taking care of her even though she rarely took care of me when I was growing up. It seemed like she didn’t want to take care of herself; death was becoming more inviting with each unkind breath and aching bone inside of her. I could have been bitter toward my mother, but I still loved her despite her negativity toward me since the day I was born.

  My mother was one fuckin’ bitch. Her mouth was harsh and always slick like oil, and her ways were very wicked. My mother’s past had finally caught up with her. From fighting, drug dealing, shootings, stealing, prostitution, and drug use, Dana Perez used to be one of the baddest bitches in the Bronx. From what I heard, none of these bitches could hold a candle to my moms back in the days; from her magnificent looks to her Coca-Cola shape, she had it going on.

  Before I was born, my mother was running things in the Bronx, moving serious weight and selling drugs for my father and my uncle who were once kingpins in the late eighties and early nineties. But then things drastically changed after I was born. The feds came for my father, Ricky Perez, who was a prominent Latin Kings member, and they gave him a life sentence, and the streets murdered my uncle. He was shot fifteen times while seated in his Benz on Boston Road. The streets were saying that the hit came from his own peoples.

  At five years old, I moved into the projects—Edenwald. And then when I was eight, my comfort in the hood was being with Mouse all the time. Coming from the same background, having a dysfunctional family, surviving the streets, we could relate to each other. And when my moms went crashing from the high life she used to live, to now turning tricks on the block back in the days for cash or drugs, and caught the monster from sucking and fucking niggas raw, things done changed.

  I stared at my moms for a long moment. The bedroom was dark and it felt so still in her room. She was asleep and looking too frail in her dingy nightgown. Her immune system was shutting down rapidly. Her body was attacking her. She had morphed into a completely different woman. The drugs and HIV was destroying her. Her beautiful, long black hair was gone, now nothing but a knotty shag on top of her head. Her shapely figure was now a memory. She looked more like a broomstick. The only thing she had left from her past was me and her memories. It was a shame.

  I didn’t want to become her. I was better than her. I wanted to be a star, and when I reached the top, I was going to stay on top. This shit with the streets, the gangs, being poor, and my moms wasn’t going to be forever with me. Fuck that! My moms once had the glamour and riches. I was determined to do big, big things by any means necessary.

  I closed the door to my mom’s bedroom and went into my own bedroom. My room’s décor was so shabby, with peeling paint and cracked walls, black mold on the walls and scattered clothes everywhere. My room was sparse with furniture; I didn’t have the luxuries of a radio or a TV to be entertained with, but only having a single mattress, no bed frame, and a beat-up dresser with missing drawers. It was like that everywhere in this apartment. The sink in the bathroom had partly fallen off the wall and was at a strange angle, having been clogged up with mastic, and the sink looked like it had been cleaned about once in the last ten years, and the kitchen was falling apart, with the only food in the fridge was week-old Chinese food and spoiled milk. And our carpet hadn’t been vacuumed for a while, as cigarette stains and dust piled up.

  How did I live like this? I spent most of my time spending the nights at friends’ homes or on the streets. I always wanted to get away from this hell. It felt so much like a prison in here. Most times, I would just lie on my mattress either daydreaming or coming up with a few rhymes to spit. I thought about the recording session the other day with Macky, Search, and Mouse. Things went well after a rocky beginning. I was pleased. I stayed around to learn a few things about being an audio engineer and observed a few seasoned rappers do they thing in the studio.

  Afterward, Mouse went her way with Rico and Search and I went to get a bite to eat at this twenty-four-hour diner on the east side. It was two in the morning with Search and me dining on pancakes, hash browns, and sausages.

  I was a little tired but I wasn’t rushing to go home. There wasn’t anything for me at the apartment; it wasn’t home for me. Search was devouring his meal, chewing with his mouth open and trying to talk to me all at once.

  “Let me tell you something, Sammy. You are one of the most talented females I know, and you can take this music career so far. The world is gonna know your name soon, because you have what it takes. You can sing, rap, dance, and you write your own shit,” he had proclaimed.

  Where was he going with this? I had wondered. I done heard all of this before. It was nothing new to me. I took a sip of apple juice and was amazed at how much food Search was able to scarf down at one time, reminding me of Hungry Hungry Hippos.

  He had continued with, “What I’m trying to tell you, Sammy, is sometimes people can hold you back. You understand what I’m saying to you?”

  “Not really.”

  “I know you’re close with Mouse and you probably feel you owe her something. But have you ever thought about becoming a solo artist and doing your own thing, in case the group thing doesn’t work out for you?”

  At first, it was unthinkable to separate myself from Mouse. You either took us as a team or you didn’t take us at all. We had an unbreakable bond like that. However, if the situation escalated worse with her and Rico, then I reluctantly might have to take that route. But for now, we were still a team and I wasn’t abandoning my friend so easily.

  I had locked eyes with Search and said to him, “For now, we are still rocking as Vixen Chaos, Search. She’s my friend and yours too.”

  “I really have nothing but respect for you, Sammy. Yes, she’s a friend. But don’t get pulled under and drown yourself too when you’re trying to save another’s person’s life,” he had warned me.

  Those were real words spoken to me. I had nodded.

  “I know Mouse though, Search. She’s focused like me,” I had said, trying to defend my friend’s action.

  “It sure didn’t seem like it tonight. And if she continues with that kind of action, then I’m afraid gonna have to drop her, Sammy. It’s nothing personal, but business. I mean, coming an hour late to a studio session, and then bringing Rico into our business, I can’t tolerate that, Sammy. I just can’t,” he had proclaimed.

  What could I say to the man? He was absolutely right. He lost out on money and time. “I’ll talk to her, Search.”

  “Please do that.”

  We had finished our meal and left the diner. Search had driven me back home. It was three in the morning when I had walked into my apartment. I just wanted to sleep for hours without any interruptions. There was a lot to think about, me leaving Mouse and going solo. It was a crazy idea, almost unthinkable. So why was I entertaining it, or even thinking about it, since Search had brought it up? Perhaps I was starting to have some doubts.

  Days after my talk with Search and that clash with Denise and Angie, I found myself on the rooftop of my building, smoking a cigarette and gazing down at Edenwald like I was a watchman or something. I loved chilling on the roof because I liked being on top. I had a lot to think about. The streets were heating up and police came to my door the other day. I wasn’t around to know what for and I wasn’t trying to be around. It wasn’t the first time police came to my apartment looking for me, but I hoped it would be the last. They didn’t have a warrant for my arrest or anything; I guessed
they just wanted to question me. I didn’t like questions from any type of law enforcement. I made sure to be ghost for a few days.

  I took a few more pulls from my burning Newport. I exhaled and continued to fixate my eyes from the stars above to the dungeon below. There was such a great distance from up there to down there, like the poor and the rich. Up in the sky, everything was bright, peaceful and alluring. Looking below, it was the dungeon; everything was fucked up, trashy and grimy. Survival of the fittest, real talk. If you was weak in the dungeon, then you was a cow waiting to be slaughtered by the wolves, the predators that lurked everywhere.

  However, tonight was a quiet night in my hood: no gunshots, not yet anyway, and no police or EMS sirens blaring. Everything felt like it was on pause or hiatus, even my recording sessions. I was ready to go back into the studio and start recording again. I felt like a greenhorn fiend; after that first hit, I was ready for more. Search was a busy man, but he always made time for me. So I was shocked when he wasn’t returning any of my phone calls. Then it dawned on me: he had to be upset with me. I assumed that he heard about the incident in the South Bronx. It wasn’t a shock that he would find out about it. People talk, and they always talked about me.

  When Search finally did call me back, he barked, “Sammy, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

  “Search, why you screaming on me?” I retorted.

  “Are you crazy? You think I wouldn’t find out about you fighting and pistol whipping Denise over by Soundview? Do you want to piss everything away, everything that you worked so hard for?” he exclaimed.

  I was silent. Even though he was screaming at me and I had a low tolerance for muthafuckas yelling at me, I couldn’t say anything.

  “Sammy, listen to me, this gangster shit with you, it can’t go on. You either want something better for yourself, or you don’t. There’s no in-between, no gray area. I’m willing to invest into you heavily, like I’ve been doing. But if you gonna continue to be a risk to yourself and me, then I can’t do it. I can’t afford it,” he exclaimed.

  I sighed.

  He added, “You have too much damn talent to be fuckin’ up like this, Sammy! You do! Don’t fuck it up; don’t throw away your future.”

  “I won’t,” I replied sheepishly.

  I respected Search, because like me, he didn’t sugarcoat shit. He was blunt and raw. I knew he cared for me. He liked me yes, but he was a great friend, too. What Search didn’t know was that Macky had slipped me his number on the low before we left that night and he wanted me to call him. I wasn’t naïve; he wanted to discuss something with me that was more than business.

  After Search barked on me, I had Macky’s number in my hand and was tempted to call him. But was it cool mixing business with pleasure, and to go behind Search’s back when he was already upset with me and had a thing for me? I was attracted to Macky and it’d been a minute since I had some dick run up in me.

  I stared at the number with the 347 area code and decided to call him. His phone rang a few times before his voice mail picked up. “Hey, this is Macky you reached. If this call is that important then leave a message and I’ll get back to you. If not, then hang up and try your luck next time,” his voice mail said.

  It was cute. I thought about leaving a message, but decided not to. It would have been nice to hear his voice personally, but I wasn’t the one to leave messages, especially if it wasn’t that important.

  I flicked my cigarette over the edge, sighed lightly, and went back inside my building. I did enough looking up at the stars and daydreaming. It was too beautiful a night to be cooped up in my crappy apartment. But with little cash and no car, my choices were limited.

  Commonly on nights like tonight, I would spend time with Mouse and some other friends doing something fun. I needed to get high. I called my weed guy to make that special delivery. Some haze or kush going through my system was something I needed. After calling my weed guy, Cheo, I waited in front of my building. He came fifteen minute after my phone call in his black Chevy with chrome rims and dark tints. Cheo understood the routine. I met him in the building stairway for the transaction. With cops steady patrolling and cameras always watching, it was too risky to do anything out in the public, especially since I had five-O looking for me and my name was involved with a fight and assault.

  Cheo entered the lobby with a smile, looking like Barney Rubble with his short ass. He always had a crush on me, but he wasn’t my type at all. He was short, high yellow, and corny. Ugh! The one thing he had going for himself was driving a nice, tricked-out Chevy and having some of the best weed in the Bronx. Everybody called Cheo for that good, good smoke.

  “You ain’t wit’ ya partner in crime tonight?” he asked, looking around for Mouse.

  “Nigga, we ain’t attached to the fuckin’ hip. Why you lookin’ around fo’ her for? It ain’t like she lookin’ for you,” I quipped back.

  “Shit, you could have fooled me. Y’all always together, especially when y’all tryin’ to get high and shit. What, y’all broke up or somethin’?” he replied with his wisecrack.

  “You a fuckin’ dumbass, Cheo, so fuckin’ stupid!” I exclaimed. My harsh mouth was nothing new to Cheo. He’d been the subject of verbal abuse so many times from me; I was starting to think he liked upsetting me and hearing me go off. “Nigga, I called you for one thing, and why you in my fuckin’ business for? Do I be in ya fuckin’ business, Cheo?”

  He shook his head and chuckled somewhat. “Damn, I was just askin’ and tryin’ to make conversation wit’ you, Sammy.”

  “Well don’t!” I spat.

  “It must be that time of the month, then,” he wisecracked.

  I was ready to smack him. It happened with him every time I got weed from him. The nigga didn’t know how to sell his shit and leave. I was surprised police didn’t bust his ass yet. He was so fuckin’ sloppy, from his style to his wardrobe. And it wasn’t a wonder why he was still single. Females found him repulsive and lame. He only sold weed to try to be somebody.

  “Cheo, why you so fuckin’ ignorant? That’s why you ain’t getting no pussy now.”

  His whole demeanor changed. “Why you gotta play me like that, Sammy? I get pussy.”

  I laughed. “From who?”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  I continued to laugh, playing his heart, and said, “Just give me what I call you for. I don’t have time to discuss ya pathetic love life.”

  “You’s a cold bitch, Sammy.”

  “What you called me?”

  “Nothin’,” he replied sheepishly.

  Cheo went into his pocket and pulled out a phat-looking dime bag for me. It was kush. My eyes lit up. I paid him his money and hurried out the stairway to walk to the twenty-four-hour bodega on 233rd Street. I needed to purchase a cigar and some snacks. I left Cheo standing in the stairway, drooling over something he wish he had—me.

  The walk to the bodega was a peaceful one. The projects never slept, but tonight it seemed comatose. Thank God there wasn’t a long line at the bodega, either. I could get what I wanted and leave. I got my White Owl and a few bags of potato chips. Before I took two steps away from the store, I saw the 650i coupe come rolling up with Jay-Z blaring. It was Rico. I wasn’t in any mood to see him at all.

  He stepped out of his flashy Beemer, clad in a wife beater and jeans along with his tattoos showing and jewelry gleaming in the night. He flexed his chest and muscles my way and smiled. I didn’t smile back, cocky son of a bitch! I was ready to leave and didn’t have shit to say to him. But he had something to say to me.

  “What, Sammy, you can’t say hi to me anymore?” he asked with a grin.

  “Hey, Rico,” I said dryly.

  “What got you comin’ out here so late?” he asked.

  I showed him my White Owl blunt and chips. He nodded and continued to smile. For him to be such a hardcore gangster, I had to admit though, Rico did have a nice smile and a nice body.

  “Yeah, it’s gonna be that
type of night for me too,” he responded.

  Rico came closer to me. I took a few steps back from him and frowned. I wanted nothing to do with him. He frowned too.

  “Damn, you act like I got the plague or somethin’. I thought we were friends, or used to be, Sammy.”

  “I ain’t got any beef wit’ you, Rico.”

  “Then why every time I come around you always mean mugging me and giving me attitude?” he asked.

  Because he was fuckin’ with my best friend and I knew he was going to be a distraction for her, that’s why. She was already screwing up because she was supposedly in love with him. I swear, this nigga must have had the super dick in his jeans. I didn’t tell him that though. I continued scowling at him.

  “Ya too beautiful to be always lookin’ at me like that, screw face and shit. What, you mad ’cause I’m fuckin’ wit’ Mouse?”

  “Nah, y’all two look cute together,” I lied, being sarcastic.

  He chuckled. “Yeah, whatever. I always feel that tension wit’ you.”

  “What do you want from us, Rico?”

  “I’m just tryin’ to be a cool friend to y’all, and have a word wit’ you when you give me the chance, too,” he said coolly. “How far do we all go back, Sammy?”

  “A long time,” I replied feebly.

  “Shit, ya pops and my pops both are locked up together, and they used to run heavy wit’ the Latin Kings back in the days. But to let you know, I’m nothin’ like my pops,” he stated.

  “So, what are you like then?” I asked.

  “It’s been a long time since we hung out. You remember when we were fourteen and fifteen?”

  I did. But things were different now. Rico was a smooth talker. He was a man with the gift of gab. Yeah, we all had history, but not all history was good. And most of my history wasn’t that good.