by C.G. Banks
Bout ten minutes ago he called an I jus let it ring. But I called him back show nough cause I always do, ‘cause it was Juice. Had somethin’ ta show me, ‘e said. So I sat down right here an waited, thinkin’. About all them ole days. Juice an Steam Roll, that’s what we was in school. Juice ‘cause he could run the skin like O.J. an me ‘cause that’s what I done. Six-foot-three, two hundred fifty-seven pounds a All-District Right Tackle. Muthafuckas got steam-rolled all year. Took District no sweat, finally lost in the play-offs, in gotdamn overtime, on a gotdamn fumble. Ohh yeah…but I still rememba, Juice sweepin’ right, Juice sweepin’ left, Juice poundin’ up behin’ me.
An then he dropped the fuckin’ ball.
Ain’t nobody said a word, not one. Hell…I don’t know. Same reason I guess I tole ‘im ta come on now. Just old habits. That, an the fact you doan tell ‘im no.
But man, we’as goin’ pro. Din’t nobody doubt it. Nobody! Makes me wonda sometimes, ‘bout how it coulda been, but ain’t no mileage in that. An tha actual truth is, I doan think about it much if’n I doan hear from ‘im, but I did. So I do. From the penthouse to the shithouse. Four years in Angola. Stuck up a liquor store the right same night we signed papers for Grambling. Jus’ no sense…none. But one thing I do know. I wouldna done none of it witout Juice. On my brotha’s grave man.
That’s why I’s so nervous. He called that night too. Late. My parents out like a light, drunk off they ass, thinkin’ I was gonna be the first somebitch in the famly to go to college. Turned out there weren’t no mileage in that neither.
Goddamn, he’s gonna be here soon.
An drinkin’. Ain’t no doubt. Only about five-foot ten and wiry as a junkyard dog but that somebitch got eyes at’ll tame ya. Ain’t neva seen no man yet they ain’t. Not in the hood, not at school, not at mothafuckin’ Angola. He kept them crazy niggas off me in the joint an he knows I owe ‘im. Knows I know it too. But it’s not that big a thing; I always comes when ‘e calls. Always have.
So…there’s ‘is Chrysler comin’ round the co’na. I gotta get out there or he gonna wake the whole gotdamn block, but I’m leavin’ m’wallet. Goan tell ‘im I forgot it. I can still lie that good.
Or I hope I can.
