by U. E. Wynn
Gloria sat down next to him and lifted his chin to make him face her. “Look at me, boy.”
Malik stared into his mother’s soft brown eyes. He knew she was tired of changing old people’s diapers and making sure they took their Meds. In the past few months she had taken on two new clients. She was never home. Either she was at work or asleep.
“I have this under control. Don’t you start worrying about stuff that has nothing to do with you, you understand?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
She placed a quick kiss on his forehead and stood. Seeing her keys, she picked them up from under a magazine and stuffed them into her pocket.
“Don’t forget to take out that trash too.”
It wouldn’t have mattered if Gloria had to work six jobs to make ends meet. She wanted the best for her boys. She never wanted them to know that she had to play ‘Eeny, Meeny, Miney, Mo’ to decide which bill to pay first. Sometimes they went without cable, but they were never hungry, and she was not going down to Welfare. That in itself was a job. Gloria was steadfast about the boys going to school and getting good grades. She wanted them to go to college and make something of themselves. It was what she and Mathew both wanted for them and she was determined to see it through.
That was too far off though to Malik. He watched his mother drag herself to work every day and he knew he had to do something. When they buried his father, he vowed to take care of his family and become the man of the house. The bills were piling up and the cabinets were becoming bare. There had to be a way he could help his mother.
It was times like these that the promise he’d made to his father would keep him up at night. The way he saw it, the only answer to helping his mother was to get a job. The more he thought about it the more determined he was to get a job to help support his family.
It took him days to finally get the courage to ask Gloria if he could get an after-school job.
“Nope,” her back was still turned to him as she stirred a pot of greens. “You will focus on school and school only.”
“But Ma, if I get a job I can buy my own clothes and help you pay…”
Gloria turned swiftly on her heels and pointed the hot spoon at him. “I’ve told you not to be worried about my responsibilities and I’m not going to tell you again. Now, you will not get a job. You will go to school; that’s your job!” She stared at him hard before turning around and going back to stir the pot of collard greens.
Malik was all for his mother’s vision until he realized that making money was more important, and that became his priority. Although he knew that graduating with his class was on his ‘to-do’ list, he wanted to show his mother that he could keep up his grades and have a job. So when he saw there was a ‘Help Wanted’ sign in the window of a small cleaning company a few blocks from his house, he rushed in.
“Mr. Johnson,” Malik greeted the owner with a handshake. “My name’s Malik Baker. I see that you need some help around here.”
“Frankly,” said the old man, “I do.” He looked Malik up and down and was satisfied with what he saw. The young man was neatly dressed and groomed. He wasn’t sagging his pants or wearing too tight jeans. He looked to be someone that would put forth a good impression of his business.
“Well, I’m looking for work,” said Malik with a smile. Please let this man give me this job, he silently prayed.
“Now, I can’t pay you much, but…”
“Sir, anything would do.”
Mr. Johnson smiled. He could see that the young man was determined. “Well, then I guess I will see you tomorrow at four thirty. There will be a few forms to fill out, but the job is yours.”
Yes! “Thank you, sir. I’ll be here.”
The next day, Malik hurried home and stuck around to make sure Brandon did his homework. It took longer than it needed to because he kept playing around. When he was finally done Malik hopped up ready to get going.
“Look, I have something I gotta do. Don’t open the door for anyone. When I come back, I’ll knock on the window to let you know it’s me.”
“Where are you going?” Brandon asked, looking worried.
“Don’t worry about it.” Malik tossed his backpack on the floor. “And don’t tell Ma.”
“It must be something you shouldn't be doing if you’re telling me not to tell Ma,” Brandon said flatly.
“Just for once keep your mouth shut, Damn. You’re always acting like a baby.”
“I don’t act like a baby,” he snapped in resentment.
“Well, babies tattle tale. Are you a snitch now?” Malik was trying to convince Brandon to keep his secret by calling him out as a baby. Ever since their father died, he’s become whiny. He’s also been telling every little thing that Malik did wrong just to see him get in trouble. Their mother said he was just going through a phase and would grow out of it. Malik hoped he would hurry up and get through it because although he loved his brother and would do anything for him, he was becoming annoying as hell.
“No! I’m not a snitch,” Brandon said, lifting his head indignantly.
“Aight then. Keep your mouth shut and I’ll be right back,” Malik said, heading down the hall. “And remember, don’t open this door until you hear me knock. You got that?”
Brandon nodded his head as Malik eased out of the front door.
Mr. Johnson was sitting at the front desk when he walked into the building. He briefly looked up from his paperwork and gestured for Malik to have a seat.
“Okay, I need you to take care of this here building down the street. It’s a three story office building. All you will be doing is emptying the trash in the offices. Someone else will be doing the bathrooms. You will always be supervised by an adult on each floor. Think you could handle that kind of work,” Mr. Johnson asked.
Malik nodded his head with a smile. “Yes, sir.” He was willing to do whatever it took to help his mother with the mounting bills.
Mr. Johnson supplied everything he needed and gave him the address to the building. The job was easy and for a few weeks Malik cleaned that building from top to bottom with four other young guys around his age. He lived for the day when Mr. Johnson would give him a one hundred and fifty dollar check every Thursday afternoon. He wouldn’t spend a dime either. He would cash it and take it home, then stuff it in one of the pockets of his winter coats hanging in his closet.
One night, Malik was jolted awake from a deep sleep. He hadn't been dreaming, or anything. Something just made him wake up. Needing to go to the bathroom, he left his room and walked quietly down the hall. As he was about to pass by the kitchen, he looked inside to see his mother sitting at the table with the bills and her checkbook in front of her. He quietly slid back into his room and closed the door. He pulled the money he’d collected from Mr. Johnson from his coat pocket and sat on his bed.
He started to count, “One, two, three, four hundred and fifty dollars? What the fuck?” he cursed under his breath.
He knew it wasn’t nearly enough to help out with any of the big bills, but he still wanted to offer it to his mother. He eased out his room quietly with the money held tightly in his hand. Before he reached the kitchen, he heard his mother sniffle. She was sitting at the table crying, stressing and calculating how her check was going to cover the bills. Malik’s eyes watered up, but he refused to let the tears fall. Instead, he became angry. Angry with himself for failing his father. For failing his family.
He turned around angrily and retreated to his bedroom. He closed the door and plopped down on the bed tossing the crumpled bills on the night stand. That was chump change compared to the money his father made. He couldn’t present that to her. It would be embarrassing.
I have to find a way to help, he thought sullenly. I won’t give up. Dad wouldn’t!
Long after his mother had gone to bed, Malik walked out his room and over to the table where his mother had sat. He looked at the stack of bills and saw that a lot of them were past due, but the one that caught his eye was
the one from the building’s management office. The letter stated that they had forty-five days to come up with the current month, past due month, plus late fees, or they would have to evacuate the premises. They were on the verge of being evicted.
It wasn’t enough that they had to move out of the house they lived in to move into this small apartment. But now to see that they couldn’t even afford this small, cramped space made Malik angry. He was not about to sit back and allow his mother to struggle. He was the man of the house and it was time that he started acting like it.
I know she won’t like it, but I gotta do what I gotta do, he whispered into the wee hours of the night.
~~~~
The next day, Malik got up and dressed for school. All day long all he could think about was the money they needed. The money he’d saved didn’t even come close to what they needed. Even with the money he had left over from his father’s life insurance policy that his mother had given him, would barely cover half.
He was so disgusted with himself that he decided he needed to do something drastic. Something that he knew his mother wasn't going to approve of. But, in his mind, desperate times called for desperate measures. When he came to the final conclusion about what he was about to embark on, he went home to add the $1,550 from his share of the life insurance money to the $450 from his job. This would be enough to start his climb in the underworld.
~~~~
Two days after witnessing his mother’s financial breakdown at the table, Malik was out wandering around the neighborhood. The hood was filled with abandoned buildings, liquor stores and overstocked bodega’s. All around him were alcoholics, drug users, dealers and kids playing. Although his mother had made sure he kept his head in his books, he was no stranger to the way things went down in the streets and he figured what he didn’t know, he’d learn.
Malik was out combing the streets looking for a guy name Rashad that was known in the streets as a connect. He knew he couldn’t just walk up to one of the dealers and ask for him, so he decided to walk around until he saw him. It was late in the afternoon when he finally saw him enter a corner store. Walking into the corner store right behind him, Malik made his move. He was standing in the aisle watching as he checked the shelves.
Not knowing how to proceed, Malik decided to dive right in head first. “I got two stacks. I need half of it on that Sour and the remainder on them Molly’s.”
Malik knew that he was taking a risk and there was always the possibility that he was about to be rejected, or worse beat down and robbed for his money. However, he was coming to him as a man and he hoped he and Rashad could handle business as such.
When the man continued to browse the isle, Malik got a little nervous. Not wanting his opportunity to pass him by, he took another approach.
“Look, I know this may not be the right place. So I’m gonna leave my number to my burner with your boy in the truck. Have him hit me when the shit’s together and we can exchange cash for product.”
After saying what he needed to say, Malik turned from Rashad and headed for the exit. On the outside, he saw the black on black Tahoe with tinted windows, double parked at the curb.
With the same confidence that he exhibited when he approached Rashad, Malik walked over and tapped on the window. The man on the inside turned and looked out at him with his face twisted in a snarl. To let the guy inside know that he was not there to do him any harm, Malik stepped back from the truck and stretched his arms out showing him that he was not carrying a weapon. The window came down half way and the barrel of a shotty was pointed directly at Malik’s chest. Before there was a word spoken from the man inside the car, Rashad walked out the store and stood beside Malik.
He studied the boy before him carefully. After a few seconds of non-verbal communication, Rashad broke the muteness and tapped Malik on the arm, and nodded in the other direction. It was an indication that he wanted to talk with him. The two of them walked the few steps to the curb, but before they could talk, the dude from the truck walked swiftly to where they were.
The unwelcomed third wheel looked Malik up and down. “Yo, Rashad, you cool? Let me know what’s up, cause you know what I’m about,” he said as he patted the front of his pants indicating that his gun was in hands reach.
“Nah, Vice. Everything’s cool. I need to holla at Lil’ Man. Wait for me in the truck tho,” said Rashad to his ‘day one homie.
Vice stared hard at Malik again, then nodded. “Aight,” he said, backing away.
After Rashad saw that Vice was back inside the truck he turned his attention back to Malik. He took a sip from his twenty once Coke and placed the top back on the bottle.
“I like people with confidence,” he said as he started walking again. Malik quickly fell in step beside him. “But what you did was reckless and stupid.” He glanced over at Malik with a serious expression. “Don’t do that shit again. You feel me?”
Malik nodded, but said nothing.
Seeing that Lil’ Man had respect and kept his mouth shut, he kept talking. “So you trying to cop?”
“Yeah, just like the next nigga. I’m on that paper chase. But I ain’t built for that corner shit. I’m a boss in the making,” he told him without a hint of humor or fear.
Rashad took an instant liking to the young kid and had to laugh at his comment. He could see from the gate that the boy standing before him mindset was far more advanced than the little nigga’s he had running his corners. The block boys were cool with making that change while the boy in his presence saw the bigger picture. This kid was all about making them dollars.
Rashad smiled. “I’ll fucks with you Lil’ Man. What’s your name?”
“Malik.”
“Aight, Malik. Put this number in your phone.” Rashad called out his math. “Call the number tomorrow around three. A chick name Peaches is going to tell you where it’s at. Leave my money and take yo shit. Don’t be stupid or start thinking you can make an easy come up. That’s how nigga’s get wet, ya dig?”
Malik understood and nodded. “I feel you.”
Rashad was about to walk away, then stopped. “Check this Lil’ Man. If you trynna bring that heat my way or you working for them badges, I’ll end you. You feel that?”
“I ain't here for all that action,” said Malik calmly. “But, I hear you.”
Rashad stared at him hard. “Aight,” he said, taking another swallow of his soda. He scanned the block not seeing anything suspicious. He nodded. “Tomorrow.” Done with what he needed to say, he started to walk back to his truck thinking that he might have found his protégé.
After locking the phone number in his phone, Malik started the five to six-minute walk to the Family Dollar store to buy another burner. He knew once he talked with the chick the next day that the phone he had was dead. After leaving the store, there was one more stop he needed to make before he headed home. Jumping on the subway, he headed across town, and within thirty minutes he was on the other side.
Walking from the subway terminal, he headed north in the direction of the cemetery. He needed to have a conversation with his Pops. The short walk from the terminal to the cemetery gave Malik a quick moment to think about what he was about to get into.
After entering the Holy Memorial Cemetery, Malik walked up the path and passed by scores of graves. He knew that he was getting closer to where he needed to be and felt his stomach tighten. Malik cut off the path and began looking at the headstones. He walked passed a few more graves before he was standing in front of a headstone that read Matthew Baker. Malik was silent as he looked at the headstone. He felt his eyes begin to well up with tears and they started to fall on his face.
The late afternoon breeze blew the tree leaves, and caused the uncut grass to sway. The sun was still high in the sky, but was setting slowly in the West. Malik stood at 6’1, and had the build of a young LL Cool J. His caramel skin was smooth and his dark brown eyes were bright with the hope of a prosperous future. The dimples that were deep in his cheek
s made his white smile stunning and sexy. In conjunction with his smile, Malik’s lips were soft and inviting. His physical attributes were an assemblage of sexy, thuggish and nerd, creating a tempting package.
Malik stood there for at least five minutes, allowing the tears to fall freely. This was the only place he would allow himself to show his pain over losing his father. Feeling ready to have his talk with his dad, he walked a few steps closer to the headstone and placed his hand on top of it. He looked upward to the heavens.
“What’s up, Pop!” Breathing in slowly he closed his eyes, trying to get his words together to continue. He reached up and wiped the tears from his face.
“I miss you. I wish we could have had a little more time together. There was so much more you had to teach me and Brandon. But I’m thankful for the time we had with you though. Anyway, you know after you left, Mom’s been holding us down.”
“The money from the insurance kept us afloat up until about six months ago. Then shit started going downhill from there. The money was running out, but she didn't ask nobody for nothing. She began working double shifts to keep food on the table and a roof over our heads. We don’t get to see her all the time, but Brandon and I understand the struggle.”
“Being that I’m the man of the house now, I can’t let our family struggle or allow Ma to work so hard. So I’m about to do something you won't like, but I’m hoping you’ll understand. I decided to make my bed to feed our family. I needed to come and let you know what I’m about to do, and that I’m doing the best that I can. Don’t be mad at me,” he said with his head down, ashamed. He knew that being a drug dealer went against everything his father stood for. “I’m not doing this for me. It’s for the family,” he whispered softly.
Time went by with Malik just standing there with his head bowed and his eyes closed. Trying to cope with loss and the problems at home was hard, but he knew what he had to do. Lifting his head, Malik sighed heavily. “I got to get home. I love you, Pop.”