Trigga’s father stepped in like a storm. His presence cut through the chaos instantly, his eyes locked onto what was happening before anything else could be said. There was a darkness I saw take over those pupils.
“What the fuck is going on?” his voice came out low and dangerous.
The man turned, barely getting the chance to react before everything escalated too fast. Things became too loud, too chaotic, and suddenly too final. The sound of the gunshot cracked through the house, louder than anything I had ever heard before. The noise stopped everything in its tracks. The man dropped, and when he fell onto our gray carpet, a burgundy pool started to surround him. Just like that, the room fell into a silence that felt too big for the space it was in.
I remember my mom crying. I remember still not moving when I watched Mr. Reynolds help her up off the floor. The bad man was gone, but I was still halted in my tracks. Mr. Reynolds pushed my mother’s hair out of her face and then placed his hand under her chin and turned it to examine the damage that was done. He whispered something to her, and before they could notice that I was up this whole time, I closed the door lightly and then scurried back to my bed. I remember the way my chest felt like it was caving in as I lay there, too young to understand what I just saw, but old enough to know nothing would ever be the same after that.
And then suddenly, I was standing in the bathroom. Breathing as if I had just run miles instead of standing still. My hands gripped the sink so tight that my knuckles turned pale as I stared at my reflection again, but now I knew why it looked the way itdid. I now knew why something felt off. Why this felt familiar in a way it wasn’t supposed to.
“I ain’t…” I started, my voice low, shaky in a way I didn’t recognize. “I ain’t even remember that.”
But I did now. The memory was clear as day, like it had been sitting there waiting for something to pull it back up. And today? Today was the day it came back.
It took a while for me to pull myself together. I was in the bathroom for what felt like hours. Trigga called out to say that he was going outside and that he would be back. I figured that he was going to see his little girlfriend. Once I heard the door close, I gathered my clothes that had Bashar’s blood on them and headed straight to my room. I had never killed anyone before, and to be honest, I felt sick to my stomach about it. Hours had passed, and I didn’t even know it until I heard the locks to the front door click as my mother came in from work.
I wondered if that flashback scene I had in the bathroom was even real. It had to be. I knew that if it were, then she would know. I had to hear the shit from the horse’s mouth. I crept out of my room and headed to the kitchen. I knew she would be there unpacking her lunch bag, along with unpacking her thoughts of her day. Even steadily walking in her direction reminded me of the little boy I was thinking about. The little boy who had tiptoed through the house to see some tragic shit.
“Hey G, how was your day?”
She didn’t even turn around, but she knew it was me. She always knew when I was behind her. It’s like she had eyes in the back of her head or some shit. Growing up, if we weren’tso broke, I would have thought that she had cameras laced throughout this bitch.
“It’s been better, Mama,” I said with a sigh as I plopped down on one of the barstools that was opposite the island counter.
Now that made her turn around and give me her undivided attention.
“Want to talk about it?”
I looked at her and I mean really looked at her before offering a smile. To me, my mother was gorgeous, and I mean, she had a natural beauty. The same kind that people nowadays call 90s fine. She looked just like a younger version of the actress Lynn Whitfield. She always behaved in a classy manner and had the look to match, just like her. When I was a little boy, I used to tell everybody that my mother played inA Thin Line Between Love and Hateand everything. That’s how much they looked alike. The neck of the scrubs she wore was loose as fuck. Because they were old. She needed new uniforms, but she never got any because she always said money could go to something else.
“G… you wanna talk about it?”
She asked again, this time with a more sincere tone.
“Not about my day, but about something.”
“Shoot.”
She turned around and started putting the items from her lunch box in the sink.
“Today I remembered some man getting shot in this very living room. Shot by Tahari’s father…” I let the last word drift off a bit.
Her ceramic travel bowl made a thud when she placed it in the sink. She stood there for a bit. And when she turned around, she rested both her hands on the counter in front of me and sighed. The weight of the world looked like it rested on those petite shoulders.
“So… what happened?”
I asked as I sat back in my chair. I was giving her the floor. That shit had to really happen. I remember we went from carpet to hardwood flooring in the living room and everything. That memory was too vivid to be some made-up shit.
“Mr. Reynolds saved me from a very bad man.” She was wringing her hands together as she started telling her story.
“I don’t remember you ever dating anyone.”
My mother never brought a man around. To be honest, now that I’m grown, I thought her ass was gay, and maybe I was a product of a very weird, freaky night.
“As a single mother, G, I didn’t want just any man in your face.”
“Okay, makes sense,” I paused before opening my mouth again because I really didn’t know if I even truly wanted the answer to what I was about to ask. Still, I did anyway, “this bad man… was he my dad?”
“Hell no,” she quickly answered.
