by Joy, E. n.
Montel paused before saying, "I feel like a failure, Cee. I really do."
"A failure? You ain't no failure. Now when you were riding around with your homies earlier, loading up gats, now that was dumb. But this here tonight was long overdue. When you were inside the pen I would've fought Leon a long time ago, but I was just too young, that's all. But even still I stepped to him about it."
Montel chuckled momentarily. I knew it made him proud of me to hear that even as a little boy I had heart just like he did.
"Yeah, you're my li'l brother for sure. Never let anybody disrespect Mama.
Sirens shrieked in the far distance, growing closer with each wail. It was the paramedics and the police. I felt a lump raise in my throat.
"Cee-Lovah," Montel said.
"Yeah, what up?"
"No matter what my reasons were for beating Leon down, this is strike number three for me. I've been to prison two times now; once for two years when you were very young. And no doubt the ten year sentence that I just did is gonna count against me. So you already know what time it is. So just keep ya head up and live for God like I seen you doin' thus far and everything will work out fine for you in this life. I'm glad that you've had a chance to experience a li'l bit of what not to do."
"You talkin' crazy, dawg," I said, brushing off the reality that my brother could very well be headed back to jail. "It ain't like you just killed somebody or something. You just had a fight, that's all."
"That's all it takes in Los Angeles County for a felon like me, Cee-love. Face it, Cuz. I'm gonna be arrested on assault and battery charges most likely. I'm going down for the long haul this time for sure."
"Whatever, dawg. . .whatever." I refused to accept Montel's assessment of the situation.
"Just give Mama and Shante my love and be a positive role model for this old hood."
In no time, the noisy, flashing lights of the emergency vehicles were upon us. Tens of dozens of assorted paramedics and LAPD officers scurried all across our modest front lawn in an effort to get up the steps and into the front door. Quickly, the rescue workers went to work on the battered Leon before lifting him onto a white sheeted stretcher and whisking him outside the door and into the waiting ambulance.
As the ambulance sped away in a spectacle of blue and red brilliance, Montel was already handcuffed and being read his Miranda rights by a black clad LAPD cop whose partner eyeballed me warily as I watched my brother being taken into custody. Before his head was pushed forward into the back seat, Montel said to me, "Be strong, Cee. You got this."
I rushed off of the porch toward the squad car, but was blocked by a cop. "Get back up on that porch, kid, before you end up taking a little ride downtown yourself. Comprende'?"
I stopped in my tracks, staring over the short, stumpy policeman's shoulder, watching the squad car melt away in the darkness of the distant Compton street. The cop made a caustic remark before leaving, to which I paid little attention to before returning to the front porch where I plopped down onto the wicker chair in an unpleasant medley of emotions. I had once again lost my brother.
Chapter Twelve
Mama came up the stairs appearing pitiful. Miss Shante walked slowly behind her holding Nadia by the hand, sniffling and wiping her reddened eyes with a handful of tissue. No one said a word to one another. Other than the soft crying of the two women and Nadia's childish babbling periodically, the front porch of the house stood still and deathly silent.
Mr. Larry's truck pulled up against the curb in front of our house where he exited with his usual paint splotched work clothes and cap. He marched from the street to the walkway, up the steps, to the porch. He stood up against the column closest to the steps, taking in the solemn scene before him. "Angie, baby; I'm so sorry. I wish that I would've been here for Montel tonight. I. . .I dunno what to say."
Mama gave Mr. Larry a weak smile as she looked up toward him with sad, tear moistened eyes. "I know, Larry. It's not your fault. Montel and Leon was just a disaster waitin' to happen." Mama sighed with grief. "Ya know, Larry, I think that it was God's will, I really do, because I've lost my oldest son once again, and I've been taught a bitter lesson." Mama rocked back and forth slowly on the old rocker sitting at the far left corner of the porch. "I should have left that man a long, long time ago, but I was hardheaded, thinking only about my needs as a woman and not those of my kids. Now, I've lost one of my kids because of my selfishness-maybe forever." She looked at Mr. Larry. "Try living with that."
Mr. Larry leaned back against the banister and lit a cigarette, deeply dragging on the Salem menthol before exhaling a thick cloud of smoke into the cool, night air. "Don't you dare blame yourself, Angie. Montel only did what any good child would wanna do, and that's protect their mother. There's no shame in that. "
"He's right," Miss Shante jumped in. "If it wasn't Montel, eventually it would've been Cedrick who would've beat his butt down. It was bound to happen."
I agreed wholeheartedly with both Mr. Larry and Miss Shante. "Yeah, Mama; I can't stand Leon! I mean, I respect you and love you, but if left up to me right now, I would've probably killed dude!"
"Cedrick Rohan Philips," Mama shouted. "You quit all that nonsense about killing folks, 'cause I don't wanna hear talk like that. You understand?" Mama's demeanor quickly switched from downcast and somber to hotheaded and fiery. She seemed to stab the thin air as she forcefully pointed her finger angrily at me. "You will not now nor ever be a statistic of this neighborhood. Do you hear me? It's happened to one of my sons and I won't allow it to happen to another!"
"I don't think Cedrick meant it like how it sounded, Angie," Mr. Larry said in my defense. "You've got a bright and promising young man here who only wants the very best for his mother, just like Montel did." Mr. Larry took one last drag on the cigarette before flicking the smoldering butt off into the dark street beyond. "I know the Lord works in mysterious ways, and I feel in my heart of hearts a lot of good is gonna come from this. Just you watch and wait on God."
"Amen. . .Amen. You're so right, Larry," Mama said in a more calming tone. "Please pray for my strength in the
Lord, because I sure need it."
"What Satan meant for evil, the Lord is gonna change for His good. You just watch and see. I'm telling you," Mr. Larry prophesied as he took my mother's hand into his own, comforting her as best he could.
Early the following morning, as I fiddled around under the hood of Fatima's Buick, I was tapped on the shoulder by someone who'd approached me from the rear. Slowly, I backed away from the open hood and turned to see who it was. I was surprised to see my old archenemy, Baby, standing in front of me smiling. I hadn't seen him since the fight a while ago back in May. His hair was neatly trimmed as was his goatee and mustache. He'd traded in the bandanna, wife beater, khaki's and chucks for a casual, salmon colored, buttoned oxford shirt with navy blue linen slacks and a pair of spiffy looking black leather penny loafers. He also carried a leather bound copy of the King James Bible tightly in his left hand. He slowly stretched out an open palm toward me, to which I clasped after a moment of apprehension.
"That's what I'm talking 'bout. . .Praise the Lord! How are you doin', Cee? Man, it's really good to see you again." It looked like Baby. It sounded like Baby, but this couldn't be the Baby I knew standing in front of me talking about praising the Lord.
I was in a state of disbelief. I just stood facing Baby, looking dumbfounded for several seconds before gathering myself again. "Yeah, it's good to see you again too, Baby." Even then as I spoke those words toward my erstwhile enemy, it came out sounding hollow, with a hint of surprise thrown in.
Baby chuckled lightly at my awkward reaction to his sudden extreme makeover. For over an hour and a half, Baby and I talked, laughed and talked some more. He spoke of how he'd plotted with a few other neighborhood kids to kill me and Montel right after our fistfight, but he could never quite orchestrate the drive-by properly and how a slew of personal tragedies befell him one after the other, culm
inating with the shooting death of his cousin, Petey, at the hands of the fearsome Pirv Bloods. It was these unpleasant events that led him to attempt suicide.
"Yeah, Cee, I tried to take myself out, dawg. I must've drank over a fifth of Vodka, straight and then I got in my whip. The next thing I knew, I was waking up in an emergency room with tubes and stuff attached to me. My whole body was bandaged up like a mummy. I went over an embankment out near Ventura Highway. My car fell twenty feet down to the rocky bottom. Paramedics had to use the jaws of life to free me from that burning car. I was airlifted by helicopter to Cedars Sinai where I was hospitalized for what seemed like forever. I was in real bad shape, Cee."
I shook my head at the horror Baby had survived as he continued.
"I was told that I was comatose for over a week. But check it; I was visited by some type of beaming light or something. I know it sounds crazy, but this is real talk, Cuz. I'm talking about a figure of pure light. The feelings going through my body, Cee-I'd never felt anything like it in my entire life." Baby shook his head as if not only couldn't he believe what had happened himself, but he couldn't believe he was telling me about it.
"I felt every emotion; pain, pleasure-you name it, dawg, that I had given to the people around me. All I could hear was moanin', cryin' and voices of people screamin' or hollerin' out in pain. I could actually feel the presence of a whole lotta people. Then the place started to smell bad. I 'm talking 'bout real, real bad; like a whole lotta dead bodies or something. On top of all that, it started getting really hot, and then came the flames."
To my surprise, I found myself listening intensely to Baby's every word, as if I didn't doubt one bit that something like that could happen to a person; could happen to him.
"It was hell, man," Baby said. "I bet it was," I replied.
"No, for real. I was in hell," he clarified. "I was given a choice to enter the light or come back into my broken body and receive Christ as my Lord and Savior and become a responsible soul. I wanted to go into the light at first because it was so peaceful, but after I got a glimpse of that, I didn't want to end up there for eternity. So I chose to come back and make things right with God. I've given my life over to Christ because I know now that He is the only way to salvation and everlasting life; not bangin' and runnin' the streets with a gang."
Baby gently took the bolt ratchet from my hand and ducked down under the propped open hood of the Buick, turning and tightening, only pausing long enough to switch tools twice. After ten minutes, Baby had the big luxury car purring like a kitten.
"Wasn't nothing but a slight li'l radiator leak, Cuz," he told me. "Luckily for you, you had a bottle of engine stabilizer at the bottom of your tool box. It'll pretty much take care of your' minor engine problems for a minute."
I gave Baby a fist pump, thanking him for both his automotive assistance as well as his eye opening testimony, then we both sat on the hood of the car reminiscing about Montel. Baby said he had no grudge toward Montel for the fight outside of Mr. Lee's store and promised that he'd visit Montel at the L.A. county jail before his trial date was set. Baby opened up his Bible and recited the thirty-ninth Psalm aloud and with passionate conviction before turning to face me. He concluded by closing the sacred text.
"This Psalm was for all the boys in the hood and cats out here on the grind, in general, but it was for Montel in particular," Baby stated. "No matter what happens to Montel on his court date, the Lord is gonna have the final say. And trust me, Cee. It's God whose gonna get the glory regardless of what man decides as a final verdict. So keep ya head up, Cee. Just keep doin' you and trust in Him. You'll be fine." We bumped fists one final time and then he walked away, melting into the distant streets, praising God's holy name triumphantly as he went.
Epilogue
It's now 2008. I'm twenty-three years old and a graduate of Southern California University with a Bachelors degree in criminal psychology. I'm going back to finish my Masters this coming autumn after Fatima and I get back from our honeymoon in Morocco. Fatima's father, who happens to be Moroccan, was very pleased that his daughter chose me as a husband and has spoiled the both of us ever since our June 5th marriage. He footed the bill for the wedding and the honeymoon, which wasn't cheap by the way, especially in the recession era economy we're suffering.
Mama is a deaconess at our church home, Blesses Redeemer Baptist Temple. Mr. Larry still does painting, construction and light auto work in the neighborhood. He has since quit smoking and attends church regularly with Mama. I think those two are gonna hook up real soon, at least I pray that they will, because I really dig Mr. Larry and I know they dig each other a whole lot.
Leon moved to Orange County. Some people say he's married now to a rich Jewish lady, but I don't know how true that is. What I do know is that I haven't seen dude since that fateful night back in 1999. I wish him all the best. I don't hold anymore grudges against him because I've been changed. I once did for a long time though, but not anymore - thank God.
Miss Shante gave birth to a boy back in '99. She named him William after her favorite actor, Will Smith. He's nine now and looks remarkably like his Pops. As a matter of fact, Mama always calls him li'l Montel. I do also, and as far as Montel goes, well he was indeed found guilty of assault with intent to commit murder, which landed him back in prison for a 50 year bid with no chance of parole.
I used to go up to Pelican Bay to see him all the time with Miss Shante, Nadia and Li'l' Montel. I haven't been up there to see him in about a year, because with the wedding and all, I've had a really busy schedule. But he knows this and is very understanding.
Gang bangers and ballers around the way still remember Montel as being the tough talking, gun toting Reaper he'd once been. His exploits as a rider became the stuff of local street gang lore, amongst the various gang sets in general, and amongst the Reaper sets in particular. I, however, don't think about my brother in that way because he's so much more different now than even before. He runs the kitchen in Pelican Bay and heads the Inmate Development Program, which since 2003 returned 2300 hardened criminals back into society with fantastic results and only a three percent return rate. He's now studying criminal psychology himself and is making remarkable progress in his studies.
Today, I realize that my older brother may never see the outside of Pelican Bay's walls again, however, I know that just as Baby said awhile back, that no matter what, God would be in control of it all. You know what-He is. No matter how long Montel is imprisoned, he taught me, and all of us, in our small little Compton neighborhood a little bit about a lot. To his family, he will always be our blood, and to the hood as a whole, he will always be considered everyone's Big Homie.
The End
Ghetto Luv
by
Tysha
Chapter One
Friday Morning
"Shakayla! Shakayla, help your sisters get dressed. We runnin' late again."
"I am, Mommy, but Brianna still in the bathroom."
"Well, get her out, and y'all hurry up." Kanesha couldn't understand why she had to go through the same thing every single morning. If she had to do it all over again, she would have waited to have kids, but it was too late for regrets and second guessing. Her mother had warned her about nappy headed boys in heat, but like many misguided teenagers, Kanesha ignored the advice. Now, ten years after losing her virginity to the first pretty boy to cross her path, there she was; twenty-six years old, four kids, four different baby daddies, two part-time jobs and one lazy, sorry excuse for a man.
As Kanesha laced up the shoes of her three year old son, she thought about how her life might have turned out if she would have just listened to her mother's teachings.
"Y'all, come on, now. Let's get it movin' before we miss the bus."
"All right, Mommy, we coming. Dang! I'm doin' da best I can," Shakayla said with pure frustration.
"You betta watch ya nine year old mouth, girl, if you wanna see ten. I ain't in the mood." Kanesha sighed and returned h
er attention to her baby boy, Jordan, when she vaguely heard Shakayla still running her mouth.
"Did you just say what I think you said?" Kanesha turned the corner and stormed into the bedroom ShaKayla and Brianna shared.
"I'm doin' da best I can, Mommy," whined Shakayla, "but Brianna and Malisha give me a hard time, and say they don't have to listen to me."
Kanesha knew she heard the words 'these ya kids, so you come do it,' but she was not in the mood to go toe to toe with her daughter. Anyway, Shakayla was right, they were her kids. Kanesha knew she depended on her nine year old daughter too much, but she needed the help. Most days, Shakayla seemed more like the mother and Kanesha the child.
"Brianna, put ya dang shoes on and get that scarf off ya head. And make sure you have every single barrette in ya head when school is out. Just because you got long hair don't mean ya little friends got to be playin' in it."
"Okay, Mommy," whispered Brianna.
"Malisha, go brush your teeth, and the next time your sista' tell y'all to do something, do it."
Kanesha walked into her own bedroom in search of Jordan's jacket and her purse. She had to be out the door in twenty minutes, and the kids still hadn't sat down and eaten their cereal.
"Woman, you can't get dem kids up without all that yellin'? Shoot, you know I'm in here sleep," said a groggy and still drunk, Percy.
"I'm sorry, Percy, but you know how it is. They just kids and we leavin' in a few minutes."
Percy smacked his lips and drifted back off to sleep. Kanesha stood over him wondering why he never helped her out with the kids. None of them were his, but he was living in her house, using her water, heat and gas. She watched his chest rise and fall with each breath. The smell of morning breath, stale cigarettes and whiskey filled the air around him. Kanesha walked out of her bedroom, wondering why she had to ride the city bus when her man had a decent running car parked in front of the rundown duplex. As she closed the bedroom door behind her, Kanesha could hear her mother's words echoing in her head. "If a man doesn't take care of you,you don't take care of him. Always remember, there's no romance without finance."
