Fatima nodded, then left the kitchen. As Kalif stayed perched in a corner of the living room, eyes shut tight, Fatima used her cell phone to take pictures of the damage he had done. She knew when her husband arrived, he would find some way to flip the script and justify what his favorite had purportedly done. The pictures would always serve as a reminder of the myriad of problems Kalif had brought into their lives since coming as an infant to live in Detroit. Or, as matter of fact, since he was conceived and born. Fatima had never forgotten the true reason London, her college roommate and the biological mother of the thorn in her side, was dead. Storm and that damn spiteful bitch Kenya, whom her husband always put on a pedestal, were the cause of London’s demise. And Kalif was a product of the devil’s work.
* * *
Thank God Rasul was a few minutes away from home now. Normally, he’d swing by Somerset Collection, an upscale mall, and pick up a designer purse or two for his devoted wife. As of late, he’d been on the road more than most women would understand. And she never gave him any fever. So she definitely deserved to be blessed. Receiving her panicked call had thrown him off his game plan. The most important thing to him now was making it home to sort things out. Kalif had been showing some signs of mild hostility and withdrawal, but Fatima’s description of the boy’s behavior was the last thing Rasul had expected to hear upon answering her call. And her telling him that Kalif knew they were not his birth parents had been the icing on a cake of bullshit.
When he turned onto the block, he took notice of Abdul’s vehicle, which was parked in front of his house. After pulling in the driveway, Rasul turned off the engine. He knew whatever had taken place inside the house was bad. Amir had texted him that although Fatima was justifiably upset, she wasn’t being overly dramatic about the mayhem. Making his way to the porch, he saw Amir sitting on the top stair. Hakim was right by his side, looking bewildered. Rasul picked up his son and held him tightly in his arms before putting him down. Placing his hand on his Amir’s shoulder, Rasul reassured him that everything was going to be okay. Then he went in his pocket, pulled out a few dollars, gave them to Amir, and instructed him to walk Hakim to the corner store to get a juice and some candy. He usually frowned upon sugary snacks, but all things considered, a child’s sugar overload was the least of his problems.
Rasul was not inside the dwelling for even five seconds before the situation became painfully clear. Kalif was out of control. No matter what the reason was, what he’d done was unacceptable. Rasul finally could bear witness to what Fatima, as well as Abdul, had stated. His home—well, at least the dining room—looked like a wrecking ball had swung through it. But sadly, it hadn’t. The truth was his beloved son was to blame. After thanking Abdul for stopping by, he informed him that Amir had taken Hakim to the store. He then asked Abdul if it was at all possible for his youngest son, Hakim, to stay the night with them. Wanting to be of assistance, his best friend readily agreed.
After Abdul left with Amir and Hakim, and Rasul and Fatima were alone in the house with their eldest son, Rasul hugged his wife tightly. Fatima broke down in tears and was close to collapsing. She didn’t know what was going to happen next, but she prayed her husband would take charge. Kalif still hadn’t moved from the spot he had been in for well over a hour now, and he was still bleeding.
“Look, baby, go upstairs and let me deal with this,” Rasul told Fatima. “I need to speak to my son man-to-man.”
Glad to oblige, Fatima excused herself, but not before whispering in Rasul’s ear, “I don’t know exactly how he found out. I don’t know who told him, but the bottom line is he knows.”
After watching his wife go up the stairs, Rasul waited for her to close their bedroom door. Allah, please give me strength. Readying himself for what seemed like a day of reckoning, he approached Kalif, who was still zoned out.
“Son, look at me. Look at me. It’s your father. Do you hear me talking to you?”
Kalif failed to move. After a few minutes of eerie silence, his lips parted slightly, as if he was going to respond to Rasul. Instead, the young boy started reciting different surahs from the Koran. Rasul put both of his hands on Kalif’s shoulders and shook his son. Two, three, four good times, but Kalif was still out of it. Realizing it would take a stronger effort, the large man brought his hand down across Kalif’s face. He did not intend to bring harm to him, so Rasul was careful not to use all his strength. Feeling the sting on his face, just like that, Kalif was jolted back to reality. Rasul hugged his son. Kalif was hesitant to accept the genuine emotion Rasul was exhibiting, because of what he knew to be true. After he had held it in for these past few months, it was finally time for confessions.
“Who am I?” Kalif stood up, wide eyed, waiting for a response.
“What do you mean, Who are you? You’re Kalif Akbar, that’s who you are. My son, your mother’s son.”
Kalif gave his supposed father a cold stare. Although he was considered a child, he refused to be lied to. He would have no more of the secrets and the deception. “I know I don’t belong to either of you. I know my real parents just must’ve thrown me away like I was garbage or something. Or am I an orphan, like y’all said I was? It doesn’t matter one way or the other. Either way, I’m not your son, and I don’t belong to you. I’m nothing. Oh yeah, maybe an extra blessing you and your wife can get from Allah.”
Even though Fatima had warned him about what Kalif claimed to know, Rasul hadn’t expected this torrent of words, questions, and accusations. Rasul was not ready for this day to come, even though it was destined to be. “Okay, look, son.”
“I’m not your son, so please stop saying that,” Kalif protested, with fever in his tone.
“Whoa. You gonna stop with all that bullshit right damn now! So okay, I know you confused. And I seriously get that you hurt behind what you think you know. But there ain’t no way you gonna disrespect me or your mother any longer. And make no mistake, we are your parents, period. And if you ever in you fucking life even whisper or daydream about bringing harm to my wife and Hakim, I’ma forget the love I have for you and act accordingly. We a family, all four of us, and that’s how we gonna stay.”
Kalif was definitely deep in his feelings, but he was far from being stupid. He knew he never would have displayed such anger, issued murderous threats, and torn up the house if Rasul had been there. And now that he was here, Kalif knew he was pressing his luck if he tried to go toe-to-toe with him. Indeed, he wanted answers, but getting them with a black eye, a busted mouth, or Rasul’s foot dead up his ass would not be the way. Kalif calmed all the way down and waited for the truth to be revealed.
Rasul headed down into the basement, and Kalif followed him and sat down on the couch. Rasul sat on a chair. He then explained to Kalif everything he needed, wanted, and deserved to hear. Not wanting ever to go over the story again, Rasul left nothing out. He began with the very day he met Kenya at a strip club. He explained that she was Kalif’s maternal aunt and the twin sister of his birth mother, London. He told Kalif that London was roommates and best friends with Fatima, and that they cofounded an anti-drug organization up at Michigan State University back in the day.
Rasul then connected the dots about the wild club night when Kalif’s uncle was killed in a shoot-out, one that left Rasul with scars. Rasul lifted his shirt to give young Kalif a visual of the everlasting street souvenirs. Wanting to let his boy know he was holding nothing back, Rasul told him the he and his deceased uncle were on rival squads.
“I didn’t know it was him was at the time. He and his boys stormed the place I was working at and murdered the owner in cold blood. Everything from that point on was chaos. But when it was all said and done, me and your aunt Kenya, who, by the way, was a dancer there, remained tight. It was because of her that I met your biological mother, her identical twin, London. Her spirit was beautiful. And then, of course, I met your mother . . . upstairs. Who, by the way, loves you very much, just like I do.”
It was a lot to take in
, and he was shocked, yet Kalif stayed focused. Despite a lump in his throat, he found the courage to speak. “Well, what about my real father? Did you know him too?”
“Yeah, I did. His name was Tony Christian, but the streets called him Storm. I can tell you that judging by the small bit of interaction I had with him, dawg was a true soldier. A real stand-up guy.”
“So if Storm was so stand up and London’s spirit was so beautiful, why they give me away? Why they didn’t wanna raise me?”
Rasul knew this was going to be the hard part of the conversation. Even though years had gone by, he hated every time he had to revisit in his mind the tragic events of those days. He was strong in his faith and had taught Kalif to be that way as well. He had had such love for Kenya, and the part he had played in driving her back to what would ultimately be her death was a constant source of guilt. He just couldn’t shake it. Fatima was far from being a fool. She had quickly noticed that every year, on the anniversary of Kenya’s death, her husband would go into a dark place and become so depressed. He would deny it, but she could see through his yearning for and mourning of another woman.
“So listen, Kalif. I know you’re hurt right now. And I know that you are confused, but let me tell you one thing. You were loved, and you were wanted. Both of them cared about you. Both of them wanted you. Some things jumped off that shouldn’t have, and it caused sort of like a family feud. But in the middle of all that, you were definitely a ray of hope to your birth parents.”
“What kind of stuff? And what happened to them? Were they together? Do you have any pictures of them?” Kalif was full of questions and rightly so.
Feeling it would be best not to go too deeply into the fact that his aunt had killed his mother and his father had been gunned down by a drug organization in his own front yard, Rasul sugarcoated the facts. He knew how the truth tormented him, and he didn’t want to pass that type of everlasting burden to Kalif. “You know the type of life I live from time to time. Well, Storm was deep off into the game. So deep he couldn’t get out. And truth be told, he had no desire to. He was making plenty of money and took care of home the way a grown man is supposed to do. He and your mother were just caught up in that bullshit, and unfortunately, their lives were not spared. This game is served cold, like ice cream.”
Kalif lowered his head. Knowing how Rasul got down, he could easily imagine his birth parents had been warriors as well. That gave him a small bit of comfort. It was easier to digest that they were dead and thus couldn’t raise him than it was that they didn’t want him. But he still felt as if he was no more than a lost soul drifting in the darkness. “Well, how did you get me?”
Rasul knew he had to bend the truth once more. Before answering, he silently prayed for Allah to forgive him. “Well, your father’s brother was also killed, and they had no other people. So one of Storm’s homeboys got at me. I flew out there and got you. You were only a few weeks old. I brought you back here, and me and your mother been loving you ever since. So, you see, even though Allah didn’t bless us to share the same blood, he blessed us to share the same deep, committed love. Do you understand?”
Kalif said that he did, even though a part of him knew there was more to the story. But for now, he decided it was wise for him to leave it alone. He’d heard enough. Done enough. And after suffering for days, he felt his mission was complete. Rasul had confessed his and Fatima’s awful truth. He agreed to talk out any issues he had moving forward, instead of acting out.
Rasul exhaled. He had dodged the bullet of the real story of Kalif’s conception, birth, and adoption. At least for the time being. He prayed things would go back to normal.
Chapter 5
A few years went by, and the place Kalif called home was still in turmoil. And most of the time, the young menace was at fault. He was into any and everything that his parents frowned upon: getting suspended from school, ignoring the teachers, berating his peers that taunted him, and refusing to do what his mother had asked him to do. The only person he halfway listened to was Rasul. And that was because his father had no problem whatsoever with chin checking him strong arm style. Kalif never bucked when Rasul handed him his ass on a platter, but that physical pain was short lived and swiftly forgotten about. The mentally exhausted parents placed him on a PAL football team in their neighborhood, but even playing for the Westside Cubs didn’t help him. In fact, the daily endurance training only gave him more strength to fuel his always brewing fury. Kalif was physically fit and mentally unhinged, which was a dire combination to have when you lived in Detroit.
The last few times Kalif had been summoned to the school’s office, the administrators had demanded his parents get him some additional professional help, and that included having him put on a medication. Rasul had stood strong for years and had refused to alter his stance on the subject of mind-altering chemicals, but he finally had to concede that Kalif needed medication. He was not home enough to discipline his teenage son, and he knew Fatima and Hakim needed all the extra protection and assistance they could have to shield them from Kalif’s impromptu bouts of fury. The medication he was put on slowed him down some. The three small tan-colored pills he took daily seemed to have the troubled teen thinking more clearly, or so they said. To keep the peace and ensure that his parents didn’t feel bad, Kalif made sure he followed the dosage schedule. At least when he saw fit.
Monday through Friday, during school hours, Kalif spent time on his prayer rug, which he carried to school and stored in his locker. It didn’t matter to him that the other students teased him about this. His spirit was immune to their constant ridicule. Allah was the only judge he had and the only thing that he feared. No human walking the earth on two legs or otherwise could alter his actions.
At 12:20 p.m. on this day, Kalif was doing his normal routine, while the other out-of-control teenagers at Central High School were busy acting up in the lunchroom. He’d just finished wudu, which was cleaning himself in preparation for prayer. After grabbing his rug out of his locker, Kalif placed it down in the far corner of the lunchroom. He, along with a few other students that were Muslim, started their midday Dhuhr. Kalif acted as the imam and led the prayer. As the sacred words were spoken in unison, a small group of bullies gathered in the lunchroom. They’d made it their mission to cause as much trouble as possible. Like Kalif, each had been called to the office on more than several occasions. Just as Kalif and his friends were ending their prayers, the bullies made their way across the loud lunchroom. When they were a few feet away, the most vocal member of the group spoke loudly to Kalif, interrupting the sacred ritual.
“Hey, you ho-ass nigga. Why you always down on your knees like some little bitch?”
Kalif ignored him at first and urged the others to do the same. Allah, grant me strength, he thought. Unfortunately, his peace of mind and patience for bullshit was tested once more.
“I know y’all hear me talking. I know y’all little black face terrorist ain’t deaf.” The loudmouth put his size nine Jordan on the edge of Kalif’s prayer rug.
Kalif knew the boy was jealous of him. This had been proven on more than one occasion. Apparently, the girl he liked had some sort of crush on Kalif. However, the devout Muslim could care less about that female or any other. If it wasn’t about a scheme to get money or about his God, it didn’t matter to Kalif. Once more he asked for strength and patience in dealing with this nonbeliever. Kalif knew that the devil sometimes would try to test God’s chosen, so he held it together the best he possibly could.
“Look, we don’t want any problems,” he said as he stood. “And trust me, neither do you. So for real for real, why don’t you go on back where you came from? I ain’t in the mood or habit of asking the next man to do some shit he should be doing anyhow.”
“Y’all hear this pussy-acting gangster and shit? Bitch nigga, don’t tell me what the fuck to do. You might tell these other Ali Baba ducks what to do, how to do it, and when to do it. But I’m built different. I’ma beast. I�
��ma a vulture.” He squared up with Kalif and stood toe-to-toe. “So now that you up on your feet, trying to be all VIP, what you gonna do? How you ’bout to carry it?”
The altercation had caught the attention of a girl named Jada, who was sitting nearby with a group of friends. She had been trying her best not to get involved, but she was tired of seeing Kalif get bullied daily. It was like this mob of unruly guys had nothing else better to do. She’d heard through the school grapevine that the entire thing was about a girl. Nonetheless, the way those guys kept treating Kalif was awful. She had to speak up.
“Damn, so y’all gonna just keep running up on them like this?” she called from her seat. “Why don’t you leave them the fuck alone? They ain’t doing shit to you.”
“Listen, bitch. Stay up outta this, before your fat, twice-over ugly ass gets dealt with. ’Cause trust me, that shit can pop off quick, fast, and in a hurry,” the disgruntled teen snarled.
Not the least bit worried about the tables turning, Jada laughed, then stood up and walked closer to the altercation. She wasn’t the smallest female at the school, and no way did she have the cutest face. But that didn’t matter. She was confident, direct, and she was not scared of most things, including a fight. The youngest of five siblings and the only girl among them, Jada was good with her hands. She had to be to hold her own among her brothers.
Kalif had been fighting not to overreact to the situation, but now he was seconds away from snapping. He had a splitting headache, and his mind was racing. Fight in the cause of Allah those who fight you, but do not transgress limits, for Allah loveth not transgressors. And slay them wherever ye catch them, and turn them out from where they have turned you out, for tumult and oppression are worse than slaughter. But fight them not at the sacred mosque, unless they first fight you there. But if they fight you, slay them. Such is the reward of those who suppress faith. As hard as he had fought to remain calm, he’d allowed the guy to get all up in his head.
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