When My Soul Met A Thug

by Jessica N Watkins

  ♫It's important to me

  That you know you are free

  Cause I never want to make you change for me, babe (don't change, don't change)

  No, I wouldn't change you, change you for the world (don't change, don't change)♫

  I sat my fork in my plate and started to snap my fingers as I swayed to the music. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “This is my soooong.”

  Russell sat across from me, looking as if he was in complete admiration of the sight before him. I had tried to look as beautiful as possible that night. I felt a lot of pressure when I was with Russell. He was forty-two. Yet, he was a very young forty-two. He was still in the game, and a lot of people knew it, particularly women. Whenever we were in public, women flocked to him and looked past me as if I weren’t there. And those women were young with nice bodies, both real and fake. I had been so consumed with Darnell’s murder initially and then True’s diagnosis that I had forgotten all about my appearance. My once regal and modelesque appearance had been downgraded by stress and worry. I had bags underneath my eyes, and worry lines streaked my face in certain places. I had lost my curves because I was too consumed with mourning a daughter, who wasn’t even dead yet, to eat. I had cut off my long natural hair when True lost hers during chemo, so I was rocking a short, curly look like Eva Marcille.

  Yet, Russell still looked at me like I was a contestant on America’s Next Top Model.

  As Russell gazed at me, I caught his difficulty to keep his eyes on me, rather than my cleavage. It was a cool October evening, so I was wearing a very low cut, black sweater, with high-waist jeans and black, knee-high boots.

  “Come dance with me,” he requested as he stood up.

  I giggled. “We’re eating.”

  His strong shoulders shrugged. “I have a microwave.”

  He glided towards me, and suddenly, I wasn’t hungry anymore. I rested my fork on my dinner napkin, scooted back, and took his hand.

  I admired his masculine scent as it infiltrated my nostrils and molested me. It was filled with oud note, Blackberry, and Golden Wood. I enjoyed the feel of my cheek pressed against his hard chest. The feeling of his hand on the small of my back was so intimate. It was sensual contact that I hadn’t felt in a very long time. Because he was six feet, he had to bend slightly to slow dance with my 5’5” frame.

  I felt some guilt since he was one of Darnell’s associates back in the day. However, it was the only relationship I could feel comfortable with in order to experience this. I needed somebody who knew me, truly sympathized with me, and was familiar enough with my past lifestyle to cater to me. This was what I had been missing; this type of attention and care. It was what Darnell had given me so freely.

  I looked up with a smile as Russell began to step with me.

  “Oh, you don’t wanna step with me,” I warned him.

  “C’mon, now. You know I know how to step.”

  We stepped effortlessly to the beautiful melodic tone of the Isley brothers until the song changed to “Lately” by Anita Baker.

  ♫I can't imagine life

  Without you by my side

  This is love that I'm feeling

  I'm hoping you're feeling the same

  Things tend to slip my mind

  Like how you love to wine and dine me, baby

  (I know romance is important)

  Important to the way that we feel♫

  He pulled me close to him again. I could feel his steely hardness against my stomach as we swayed to the love song that expressed my true feelings. After all this time, I finally felt like I was falling for another man.

  ♫Don't you think twice about my love

  I say these things because

  Because I love you baby

  But it's hard to explain

  I'm hoping you feeling the same

  You know all that I feel inside

  Verbally, I tend to hide, baby baby

  Sometimes I tend to forget

  How much L-O-V-E really means♫

  11

  True

  A month later -

  “Awwww! These are sooo cute! What do you think, True?”

  I squinted as the severe pain in my head pulsated so strongly that I felt I would fall off my feet. I held on to the clothing rack nearby for support. Luckily, my mother’s back was turned, so she didn’t see how I was struggling to remain standing.

  I closed my eyes and took slow and steady deep breaths as my mother gushed at the Ralph Lauren Polo onesies. “We should definitely get a few of these.” Finally, she noticed that I hadn’t responded. She turned with concern etched all over her face and looked at me. I instantly swallowed the agonizing pain I felt from the excruciating headache and forced a smile on my face.

  She asked, “You okay, baby?”

  “Yeah, Mama, I’m fine,” I lied.

  “You sure?” she pressed as she stepped towards me.

  “Yep,” I insisted. Then I gave my attention to the onesies in her hand. “I like those. Get the red one too.”

  My mother smiled and tossed more than a few onesies in her cart and kept going to the next rack of newborn clothes in Macy’s.

  Mama was enjoying this much more than I was. Joy was in daycare, so I would have much rather spent that day in bed. All I had been doing as of late was sleeping whenever the headaches allowed me to.

  I was now eight months pregnant with a baby boy. I had been expecting this pregnancy not to be the easiest because of my condition. Yet, for the last few days, I had been feeling exceptionally ill. I had been having difficulty walking. The dizzy spells were unnerving. My arms and legs were weak. My headaches had been very severe and more persistent than ever. Sure, I was eight months pregnant, but I had been pregnant before. I knew my body, and I knew my cancer. These symptoms were from my tumor, not my baby.

  The doctors had prepared me for this. I had read all the pamphlets and done the research. So, I knew what this was. I was nearing the end stage.

  Just thinking about it made my hands shake with a fear that no one will ever be able to put into words. Sure, we all knew that life was short. We all knew that one day we weren’t going to walk this earth anymore. But I did not have the comfort of knowing that I would live to grow old. I knew my end was near. And that was so frightening until it made me blind with so many emotions. When I looked at my daughter, I thanked God that she was so young that she may not remember losing me once she got older. But when I looked at my mother, my heart went out to her. She had barely survived losing my stepfather. I feared for her sanity when the day came when would I take my last breath.

  “Oh my goooosh!” my mother once again squealed. It was as if she was experiencing having her own baby, and I was happy for her. I forced a smile as my mother ran towards the Adidas section. “Do you see all of these Adidas onesies? He is going to be so fly.”

  I gritted through the headache pain, telling her, “Yeah, he is. Get those too.”

  My mother was so excited. For a year, she had been crying uncontrollably and sulking. I loved seeing this smile on her face. Therefore, I hadn’t told my mother how I had been feeling. I blamed my nausea and sleepiness on the baby.

  I did want to tell Coop, however. Knowing that I would be dying soon had led me to live a very honest life. I didn’t want to die with anything on my conscience. But for the past few months, Coop had been on my mind. I worried and feared that I had ruined him and turned him back into that careless savage that pushed anyone who could love him away because love had escaped him all his life. I knew this child wasn’t going to be born into the ideal situation for Coop. I knew his past. I knew he wanted to raise his children in a two-parent household to keep them from ever experiencing any of the pain and disappointment he had as a child. I was already ruining his child, making him face a motherless world. But I felt like this baby would fix Coop and teach him how to love. I really wanted him to give this child a chance. I wanted him to love his baby boy and help my mother raise him with my
sincerest apologies for lying to him and hurting him.

  With a deep, nervous breath, I fished my cell from my pocket. I swiped through the apps until I got to Coop’s contact information. I gushed at the picture I had saved under it. I missed that hard and serious yet handsome face.

  But, as I had done every time I’d picked up the phone to call him, I cowardly put it down. I locked the screen and returned it to my pocket. I had never seen him so livid as I had the day he kicked me out of his house. I didn’t have to know him for that long to know that look in his eyes. I had hurt him after he had opened himself up to me against his will. I had made his biggest fears come true for my own selfish reasons. I knew, for that, he would never forgive me, and even though I had the courage to face death, I did not have the courage to face Coop’s wrath.

  COOP

  “I’mma give you two minutes to explain that outfit.”

  Rakim stared down at the tight fit like he didn’t know it was whack. “Man, f-“

  “Shut up. Times up,” I barked through a chuckle. “That outfit don’t even deserve two minutes. Walmart-shopping-ass boy. You look like you been a freshman in high school for eight years.”

  That bullet to the neck had messed up my homie’s sense of style. I didn’t know what he was attempting with this tight plaid shirt and nut-hugging skinny jeans, but whatever it was, he had failed.

  “You through getting on me, bro? I thought we were here to celebrate?”

  I grinned as I handed him a shot of 1800. “It is a celebration, motherfucker. Welcome back."

  I picked up my shot of 1738 from the desk and toasted Rakim before we threw the shots back. We both cringed as the alcohol burned on the way down. We were seated comfortably in the big, black leather chairs that reclined in my new office. I leaned back and kicked my feet up on the huge desk.

  “Real talk.” I swallowed hard, letting down my hard shell. “It’s good to see you back at it, my dude.”

  After six months of rehabilitation, Rakim was back at my side. He had had to learn to walk all over again. I was relieved that he was back. I hadn’t felt quite the same without him.

  Looking around, Rakim held an admirable look on his face. “I’m proud of you.”

  “Whatever, motherfucker.”

  “I’m serious. This is a good look.”

  I had to look around and take it in myself, even though I had been in the rec center day in and out watching the construction crew like a hawk during the renovations.

  A month ago, the rec center had come up again during a conversation with Vanessa. She was complaining that no one had put a contract on the property when it was such a good spot. I had driven past on my own. Instantly, I knew it was what I had been thinking of when I talked about it with True. As I looked at it, I thought of her and the man she had turned me into; the man she felt like I should be. I had bought the building with her in mind and started the renovations. Although it was what I wanted, it had been sitting empty for a year and needed a lot of cosmetic and technical work. I had a crew remodeling the place, installing a basketball court, pool tables, and multiple flat screens with game systems installed. There would also be classrooms and a gym. This rec center would be fully equipped to house the males of the inner city after school and on the weekends to keep them safe and occupied. During the summers, it would be open the entire day. I would also have trained counselors and educators to teach classes to those who need those services. It would also be free of charge to any boy who wanted to come in. I planned on funding it with my own money and grants.

  It was the exact type of place I had needed when I was out on the streets alone. There had been nobody to help me, but I hoped to help hundreds of boys in this neighborhood. And if this rec center was a success, I planned to open up many more.

  I could feel Rakim giving me this goofy grin, but I ignored it as he said, “True dug a soft spot in that cold heart of yours.”

  My eyes darted toward him. I was caught off guard just hearing her name.

  I turned my nose up as if I didn’t know what or who he was referring to. “Fuck you talkin’ ‘bout?”

  Rakim held his hands up in surrender. “Aye, man, I ain’t been so sick that I didn’t see you were hurting.”

  “Hurting?”

  He lightly tapped my leg as he sat up and leaned forward. “I’m your right hand. I’m your brother. I know you. You miss her.”

  I grimaced, but I didn’t bother to argue with him. He was right. He was my brother, the closest thing that I had to it. He knew me better than I knew myself sometimes.

  “What happened? Where she at?” Rakim pushed.

  “How you know she ain’t around? You’ve been in the hospital and the crib recovering.”

  Rakim laughed as if he were purely answering to entertain me. “You haven’t said anything about her.”

  Stubbornly, I simply shrugged.

  “And that big, goofy-ass grin you had on your face when she was around is gone. I saw you with Vanessa. That shit ain’t the same.”

  I waved my hand dismissively. “Of course, it ain’t. I’m just fucking Vanessa.”

  Rakim smirked coolly. “You were supposed to have just been fucking True too, right?” I wanted to smack that smile off his face.

  I wanted to be stubborn, but I felt like I was in a counseling session. The way Rakim was looking at me sincerely, pulling the truth to the surface was annoying.

  “Nah,” I had to admit. “True was different.” I was relieved to say it out loud. I had been dealing with this on my own and trying to walk through my days like nothing was wrong with me, like a part of me wasn’t missing.

  “So, where she at? What happened?” Rakim pried.

  Leaning back further, I ran by hands over my face in frustration. “Maaaan…” I had been avoiding telling Rakim this. For weeks, he couldn’t talk. Then for a few more weeks, he struggled with depression while the doctors operated on his spine over and over again to give him the chance to walk again. Then, once he finally had the mind and mental strength to go to rehab, I didn’t want to be selfish and talk to him about my bullshit.

  “What’s up, bro?” Rakim asked as he poured us up another shot.

  I took my foot off of the desk and grabbed the shot that he was handing me. I would need it to talk about this. As I threw it back, and the 1738 burned my throat again, I wished it would burn away any memory of True.

  After six months, I was still thinking about that girl, missing her presence in my life, and wanting her more than ever. But every time I remembered that even if I reached out to her, she wouldn’t be here for long, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I figured I would rather take the time to get over her betrayal because getting over watching her die would be remarkably worse. Then I thought of my child and figured I should at least be there for it. I wanted to be the father that I never had. But every time I was reminded that being a father right now would mean having to watch True die, I couldn’t do it.

  “She’s pregnant.”

  “Oh shit.” As Rakim studied my expression, he asked, “So, what? You mad?”

  I leaned back again and folded my arms across my chest. “I wouldn’t have been… had she not told me that she was dying.”

  Rakim blinked a few times in shock. “What?”

  “She has cancer.”

  I sat there watching Rakim go through every emotion in a matter of seconds. He sat there, his mouth agape as he stared at me, seemingly waiting for me to take back what I had just said.

  “Real shit?” Rakim asked.

  I nodded with a grim look in my eyes. “Dead ass. A brain tumor. It's stage 3. She only had like a year to live when she told me.”

  Rakim covered his mouth in disbelief. He had never met True, but he had heard me talk about her so much that he felt like he knew her. “Is she sure?”

  I sadly nodded my head, rethinking the last conversation I’d had with True. “Yeah, she’s sure. She’s gone to multiple doctors and specialists. It’s nothing that c
an be done.”

  Rakim still couldn’t believe it. “So… She’s dying?”

  His constant questions didn’t give me the usual irritation. I had asked myself the same over and over again as well.

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Sooo… So… Sooo, why is she having the baby?”

  “That was my question. That’s what pissed me the fuck off. Not only did she let me fall for her knowing she was dying, but she’s bringing a baby into this. She knows I didn’t grow up with my parents, and she knows I don’t want any of my shorties to ever go through what I went through. And even though my baby would have me, I can’t stomach watching it beg for its mother like I did.”

  Rakim continued to slowly shake his head with doubt. “If she’s going to die, then why is she putting herself through having a baby?”

  I shook my head slowly. She had told me her reasons. I felt her, but I didn’t understand it for the life of me. “She said she doesn’t feel right taking a life when she’s begging for her own. And I can’t knock her for that.”

  Rakim nodded. “Facts.”

  Then I cringed. “But I did.”

  “Huh?” he asked, confused.

  Remorsefully, I told him, “I did knock her. Man, I snapped. I was pissed. I was thinking about my own feelings and my kid. I felt like she was being selfish by having this baby, by fucking with me. She told me that I was just supposed to have been fun, and I lost it.”

  “Damn.”

  I held my forehead. “We haven’t talked since.”

  “Damn, man, when was that?”

  I lowered my head. “Like six months ago.”

  His eyes bulged. “Six months? So, you don’t know if she’s still pregnant, still alive, or nothing?”