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Some say a man is judged by the company he keeps, but most people don’t know the true hearts of men, so how can they determine if a man flocks with angels or demons?
Jesus himself hung out with prostitutes and thieves. Are these same folks judgin’ Jesus by the company he kept, too? His mother, Mary, was a virgin, but pregnant… More judgment. His father, Joseph, believed his wife… that she hadn’t slept with another man to conceive. I’m sure folks were whisperin’ about that, too. Folks better think twice about those birds of a damn feather flockin’ together theory. Iris, for example, has too many things in common with me to count, but in many ways, my woman ain’t like me at all. Regardless, you couldn’t separate us with a knife.
My mama was different from my daddy, too, and yet, they ended up being joined at the hip, ’til death did them part. Some people think they’re high falutin’, the best of the best, like the ones that pretend to be Christians and put on a façade, but when you dig deep inside them, bust them open like a piñata, you won’t find no candy. In fact, ain’t nothin’ there but a cobwebbed, dark abyss. Then, they come upon me and the people I care about and hold dear, and think we’re trash, heathens, misfits, derelicts, and outcasts. I’m a drug lord, and a damn good one if I say so myself. I run a big corporation, if you will, right here in Nashville, single-handedly. This is my turf. My kingdom. My courtroom. Nobody in the game doesn’t know who I am. Nobody in Tennessee, in this business, hasn’t heard of me. Nobody in the entire damn South, who participates in any part of this, has not been told the name of the Judge. With all of that power, comes secrets. I’ve done a lot of shit I will never disclose. It’s mine to keep. I’m lowkey, but well known. I’m not here to offend, or defend myself. Just stating facts.
I’m a killer, but I don’t do it to feel good, or just because. It’s a matter of survival. I’m a brother. An uncle. A son. A friend to a select few. A boss. A business owner. A fiancé, soon-to-be husband, son-in-law, and one day, a father. I am more than meets the eye.
If you didn’t know about the broken glass on the street as I walked to school with thin-soled shoes so worn out, I had cuts on the bottom of my feet, don’t judge me.
If you didn’t see the bullets in my mama’s body, that I had nightmares about for years, keep your mouth shut about me and mine.
If you didn’t hear my mother’s stomach growling as she fed us the last bit of oatmeal, the only food in the house, don’t you fix your mouth to speak to me. She went without food for herself time and time again to take care of her babies, and then tucked me and my brothers in every night, in a house sometimes with no lights and no heat in the dead of winter but promised us that better days were to come. If you weren’t there to witness her sacrifice, or worse yet, you were but didn’t help, you can’t speak ill of my mama.
If you didn’t care about us practically starvin’ as children, but cared when my mama and daddy robbed a bank to feed us, then don’t you cast no stones this way.
If you turned a blind eye when my brother Cain was being abused, his innocence lost at the hands of an adult who promised the court system to take care of him, sending him on a spiral of mental breakdowns, drinking and drug abuse—after already losing his parents and feeling the guilt and hurt of his little brother’s condition so much, he can’t even speak Eli’s name without crying—then you may as well walk on by.
If you can’t feel a sliver of sympathy for a woman who neglected her only child due to a serious undiagnosed mental illness because of the social stigma, the terrible gossip that prevented her from getting help, then you, too, need to be evaluated.
I ain’t looking for no damn sympathy. Sympathy don’t pay bills, turn wheels, and it don’t heal. I don’t feel sorry for myself, and neither should you. I ain’t preachin’, either. If you think I am, and you feel judged, then the problem is with you, not me. But I tell you one thing: bein’ a motherfuckin’ Judge in these streets is a state of mind. It ain’t what you do, but how you do it. It’s all right not to approve of certain things. How else will people know if what they’re doing is right or wrong? But the truth is, judgement starts from within. Clean your own damn house before you walk up to mine with your bucket and mop in hand. Charity and clarity begin at home.
God knows my story, and to God be the glory…
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Suffer the Little Children
Iris took along deep breath, her nerves jumping like grasshoppers on top of fleas performing in a circus. The smell of fresh leather in her Rolls Royce wasn’t enough to calm her nerves this time around. She glanced towards the backseat to see Ayanna with her face aglow from the reflection of her phone screen. It was 7:14 P.M. She turned off the radio, cutting Doja Cat’s, ‘Need to Know’ off mid-harmony.
“You ready, baby?” she asked, forcing a smile.
Ayanna didn’t say anything for a long time.
“Ayanna…”
The girl slowly looked up, and her eyes were dead. Empty. Closed off, shut down, chained closed, alarm set, triple-locked and the key swallowed by Jonah’s whale.
“I don’t want to go in, Auntie.”
“Ayanna, baby, please don’t do this.” Iris huffed, exhausted from the discussion. “I explained to you at home that your mama might be going away. She’s agreed to at least get checked out. You heard it from Grandma. I wouldn’t feel right not letting you see her, because I don’t know when you’ll get to do that again.”
Ayanna wiped away a budding tear, then looked back down at her phone.
“Ayanna, I know this is tough. Your mother said some pretty terrible things last week when she came over unannounced, bangin’ on the door, but she—”
“She always says terrible things. You’re my mama! Can’t I just forget about her?”
“Honey, if I could’ve had you myself, I would have, okay? A mother can be any woman who loves and cares for a child, regardless of whether you came from their womb or not. Now, I see it like this. You are my child, and my niece, all at once. I was the second person to hold you after you were born. I was in your life practically every day from that moment forward. I’ve had you for years and couldn’t imagine my life without you. You’re my world!” Ayanna’s cheeks flushed, and the tendrils of a smile tugged at her lips. “I know it’s easier said than done but try to not be mad at Lily. Somethin’ is wrong, and just thank God she’s at least willing to go and find out just what it is.”
Ayanna dropped her gaze again.
“Y’all was raised together. Why is mama sick, and you’re not?”
“I don’t have that answer. I told you how when pressures in life come, some folks break. It doesn’t mean they’re weaker, only that they’re built different. Something might break me, and not break you, and another thing might break you, but not me. Some people can go through a life of misery, and end up with a college degree, a happy marriage, and become a pillar of society. Others can have somebody call them a turd in school, and before you know it, they done blew up the whole building. We all have different triggers, and sometimes those triggers are due to chemical imbalances, not due to something we’ve decided all on our own. Lily doesn’t have a diagnosis, but that’s what she’s going to find out. Now come on. Be a big girl and come see your mama.”
Ayanna sniffed then nodded and got out of the car. The two of them walked up to the small four-unit apartment building, an old house that had been converted. Iris knocked on the door, then rang the bell. She waited for a moment or two, then did it again. After a while, the door opened, and there stood Lily. She was so thin. When she’d come over drunk the other night, she had layers of clothing on, so it was hard to tell, but now it was quite clear the woman was barely eating.
“Come in,” she said, her voice monotone and flat.
