He didn’t answer right away. His throat moved like he was swallowing something down, his eyes shifted slightly before settling again. And then I saw it. A tear slipped from the corner of his eye. MJ didn’t cry. Come to think of it, the last time I saw him shed tears was the night his mother died. I’m sure he built up this brick wall inside to never feel that kind of pain again. He was still young, with much learning to do. Being aligned with your emotions didn’t make you soft. I needed him to understand that.
“I fucked up,” he muttered in a rough tone.
“How you figure that?”
His good hand clenched slightly against the blanket.
“I was supposed to handle it. I’m supposed to protect her. That’s my job. I’m her big brother, and I let some niggas get the best of me.”
There was frustration in his voice, but underneath that lay something heavier: guilt.
“I feel like I’m failing,” he added, quieter this time.
I leaned back slightly, studying him before I spoke again.
“Look at me,” I said.
It took him a second, but his eyes lifted to mine.
“The best of you is all of you, and those muthafuckas didn’t even do their worst. You ain’t failing at nothing,” I told him. “You hear me?”
His brows pulled together like he didn’t believe that, like he wanted to argue it, but I kept going.
“Anything that you have done thus far isn’t a failure. You are looking after your sister the best way you know how, and that ain’t failure,” I continued. “That’s exactly what you’re supposed to do.”
“But I ain’t finished it,” he said, frustration creeping back in. “I ain’t handled it the way I should have.”
I nodded slightly, understanding him even if I didn’t agree with how he was carrying it.
“And that’s where you wrong,” I said.
“How?” He frowned.
“Because you’re carrying something that doesn’t belong to you,” I told him, my tone was steady. “You think it’s your job to protect everybody.”
I leaned forward to make sure he felt every word.
“That’s my job.”
I paused so that he could understand exactly what I was saying.
“I’m the man of the house,” I continued. “I’m the one who takes on that weight. I’m the one who makes sure everybody is straight.”
His expression shifted slightly, like something was settling in.
“You went out there on emotion,” I added. “And yeah, you got caught slipping. That happens when you move without thinking everything through. But that doesn’t take away from who you are.”
He looked down for a second, letting that sit.
“I just wanted to handle it,” he admitted.
“I know,” I said. “But it’s for me to handle now.”
Silence filled the room again. This boy, Cornelius, got his ass handed to him twice, once by Tahari and twice by my son. And still, it wasn’t enough. I needed to join in on this cycle of revenge. Because one thing about me is that when I make moves, they affect the opposing party forever. My way of handling things left a final impact.
I reached out and placed my hand gently against the side of his head.
“You, my son,” I said, my voice quieter now. “Ain’t nothing about you weak. Ain’t nothing about you lacking. You’re just learning when to move and how to move.”
