“His ass probably walking the block with a fucking bottle of?”
“Cousin, there he is right there!” Quanni pointed out the window.
Sure enough, Kareem was strolling out of the corner store with his brown bag in hand. I drifted my car right in front of him, hopping the curb in the process. I killed the engine before hopping out. As soon as he noticed it was me, he went to running down the block to get away from me.
“Kareem, I swear to God, if I gotta crease my fucking Js to run after you!” I warned him as he stopped at the intersection, waiting for the perfect opportunity to run into incoming traffic so he could cross the street.
I peeped he wasn’t stopping, so I took off after him. The nigga was 53, but all the liquor he consumed had his ass light on his motherfucking feet. Once he realized I was coming straight athim, he pivoted and busted the corner. I continued after him, and our chase lit up the whole block with laughter and people encouraging him to keep running so I wouldn’t catch him. Mostly everyone knew who we were. I grew up nearby, so they were able to witness the rise and fall of my father. This wasn’t the first time I chased his ass down the block, but I was fixing to make it my fucking last.
He grew winded, and once I caught up, I snatched his ass up by the back of his neck. This shit looked wild as hell for me to be his son and manhandling him like that, but that was our dynamic now.
“Why the fuck I always gotta run you down, huh?!” I pushed him up against the wall of a nearby building.
“The fuck you popping up on me like you fucking I.C.E or something?!” he snapped back. We were close enough for me to smell his foul breath and the liquor that coated his tongue.
“The fuck you running for? You ain’t illegal, nigga!”
Quanni finally got to where we were, and she stood in the middle of the block with her hands on her knees, trying her best to catch her breath. She was on the chunkier side, so keeping up with me and my father was a hassle, but cuz made that shit happen.
“Y’all niggas run fast as hell!” she panted out.
Once Kareem noticed her, he smacked his lips. “Your fat ass ratted me out. I fucking knew that was you trying to hide behind that light pole the other day.”
She stood up straight and marched over to me and my father. “Excuse me?! I ain’t fat! I’m big boned.”
“You’re a big, fat-ass snitch,” his drunk ass slurred out while mean mugging Quanni.
I shook my head, shaming him. “Listen to how you fucking sound. You’re 53, and you’re running from your only son.”
“I don’t wanna talk, Ahkeem!”
“Ain’t nobody asking you to fucking talk. Just sign these fucking papers.” I reached into my back pocket and pulled out the contract Abraham drew up for me. It was fairly simple and stated that my father would be relinquishing ownership of the house to me.
The money I spent on the rehab I put him in a few months ago went to waste because the nigga was dunk off a 40 ounce he was toting around. He snatched the contract and acted like he was actually reading the shit. I knew he wasn’t because he didn’t even flip the cover page to actually get into the terms of the contract. All he was looking at was the law firm’s letter head and logo.
“Man, I’m not signing this shit!”
I took in a deep breath to keep from knocking his two front teeth loose. I ain’t wanna do my pops bad, but he was making it hard to continue sparing him. In his mind, the roles were reversed, and I was now raising him while he ran wild in the streets. I would do anything to get him back to the man he was when my mother was alive.
“Kareem, sign the fucking papers or I’m gone fuck you up.”
Taken aback by the threat, he screwed his face up at me. “I’m your father; you ain’t mine.”
“Then start fucking acting like it. Why the fuck I gotta chase you down like the Feds just to speak two words to you?”
“I already know what you wanna talk about, Keem. I’m selling the house. That’s final.”
My eyes narrowed at him as my jaws tightened. “Ma rolling in her grave behind this shit, but you so fucking drunk, you don’t even realize it.”
“You don’t even need the house!” he argued. “Don’t you and your wife live in TriBeCa or some shit?”
“That ain’t the fucking point. Before my mama died, she told me not to sell her house. I’m just trying to do right by my mama, son.”
“Get over it, Ahkeem.”
I still had him hemmed up by the stretched-out collar of his shirt, so I gripped it tighter, causing his eyes to bulge. “Get over it? Nigga, you the one on the fucking bottle letting life kick your ass because your wife died. You telling me to get over it? It takes everything in me to not fuck you up after you played with my fucking time and money.”
“Ahkeem, I’m selling the house to move to Louisiana.”
