“Let you find out what? What are you already thinking?”
I didn’t say shit else.
Loc laughed and turned to get in his car. “Pop said to tell you that you are never bigger than the program.”
I looked at him, confused, but not givin a fuck.
“Nigga, fuck you and your daddy, y’all ain’t bigger than me!”
Loc looked me up and down, like he was clockin’ a nigga.
“We’ll be seeing you.”
I nodded. “Oh yeah, nigga, yes you will.”
Loc pulled off, and Kronic walked over to me.
“What the fuck was that about?”
I shrugged. “I don’t even know for real, but I think that nigga Loc and his pops set me up.”
“Nigga, leave that shit alone. You know OG mind ain’t straight, all the damn crack that nigga has smoked.”
“Yeahhh, that might be true, but that nigga is going to see me.”
Kronic turned my attention back to the block. What started as me making money turned into a whole block party.
When my re-up came, I went back to work. Before the night was over, my coke was gone, and my duffel bag was hardly able to zip as it sat between my legs. I held the block up all night, on a mission, and when the gray sky turned orange and that Cali sun was rising, my body was tired, my eyes were bloodshot red, but my mind, my mind was already making plans for the forever thing I had on my plate.
I stood up and stretched one good time, while Kronic walked out with two cups of coffee and handed me one.
“Nigga, you did your big one out here.”
I nodded. “I damn sure did.”
I dapped Kronic one last time, the smell of weed clinging to our clothes. “Go handle your shit nigga; I hope the shit works out for you. Call me if you need me.”
“I appreciate that nigga.” I turned to walk to the car and heard Kronic call my name, and I turned back around.
“Don’t burn out over this girl.”
I didn’t answer. I just hopped in my car and pulled off, my engine growling low, just like the storm in my chest.
The streets were still dead, that early morning calm settling in, but my mind was on my mission.
I pulled up to my house, grabbed the duffel bag, and went inside.
I shut the door behind me, and I felt the silence immediately; not even jail was this damn quiet.
I rubbed my face and let out a slow breath. I honestly didn’t think she would leave me. Islah was the noise, the life, the reason I never felt the walls closing in. Now it was just me… and a feelin’ I couldn’t let go.
I started unpacking, throwing things around like my anger needed a physical outlet. Boxes cracked, papers flew as I looked through everything and got madder the more I searched. Things I bought for her over the years, all of our pictures, shit that mattered to her at one point, were all with me like she didn’t want any memories of a nigga.
I stepped back from the boxes and leaned against the window, trying to get my thoughts together; they weren’t clear, and I didn’t give a fuck; I needed to feel the control I used to have back.
So a nigga had to get to work.
The next few days were step one of my plan: getting my house straight. I went out and bought up everything I could—everything I thought Islah would like and had it delivered to the house. I stayed up for three nights putting shit together and moving them around the way I think she would like it. After I hung all our pictures, I smiled, thinking about the times we had. Then I shook my head. I was building a palace for a ghost. The kingdom that my queen wanted, but no longer wanted to be there—this was the start to fixing it.
