Bury Me a G 4

by Tranay Adams

  As Melvin made his way across the parking lot, he ripped open the envelope and pulled out his check. He looked it over and discovered that he only had two-hundred dollars and fifty seven cents. This didn’t surprise him since he had only gotten two days in. The money was little more than a drop in a pot of water when it came to going forth to paying for his bills.The first thing that came to his mind was copping himself an eight ball (three and a half grams of crack) and trying to flip the earnings he’d received, but he reasoned that he was too old to be standing out on the corner going hand to hand. With that in mind, Melvin quickly threw his dope boy aspirations out of the window. He’d have to figure out another way to come into some money. With the kind of money he needed, he knew that whatever he did was going to most definitely be illegal. There wasn’t any job that he possessed the skills to work that was going to pay him the kind of loot he needed to tackle his financial burdens. Melvin reached his car and unlocked the door, sliding in behind the wheel. Gripping the steering wheel, he took a deep breath and shut his eyelids. He was so hot that he was turning red around his ears and neck. A vein etched up on his temple and his clenched the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles shown through his hands. Suddenly, his eyelids snapped open and he pounded the steering wheel, brutally. He then punched the driver side window and the ceiling of his vehicle, furiously. Afterwards, he screamed and screamed until he found himself growing hoarse. Next, he pounded the steering wheel with his fist again, accidentally honking the horn during his fit. Falling back against the driver seat, he shut his eyelids and breathed heavily. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he took air into his lungs. Peeling his eyelids back open, he turned his head to the driver’s window and saw a royal blue ’76 Mustang with black racing stripes. The original rims and metals of the car gleamed right along with its impeccable paint joint. This astonishing vintage vehicle belonged to no other than, Ralph. Melvin smiled fiendishly as a light bulb came on inside of his head. He popped the trunk of his automobile and threw open the door, making his way to the rear of his vehicle. Once he’d gotten there, he lifted the trunk and found a bag of golf clubs. They were all of different shapes and sizes. He pulled out the one with the biggest end and shut the trunk as he walked away from it. Heading over to Ralph’s Mustang, he practiced swinging the golf club. Once he made it to his old supervisor’s automobile, he walked around it to check it out. It was truly a beautiful machine, worthy of the showroom floor. Melvin stopped at the side view mirror and lifted the golf club high above his head. He scowled and his nose scrunched up, thinking about how he’d lost his job. Taking a deep breath, his shoulders relaxed and he swung the gold club down with all his might. The club whistled through the air en route to the side view mirror. Seeing himself in the side view mirror, and thinking about what he was about to do, Melvin stopped his club two inches above the side view mirror. His chest jumped up and down, as he breathed huskily. He then took the club away from where he’d stopped it above the side view mirror and lowered it at his side. What the fuck are you doing, Melvin? Yo’ black ass is out here like a scorned lover about to take your frustrations out on this man’s car. It ain’t his fault that he couldn’t save yo’ job again. He gave you chance after chance after chance. Well, now all of those chances are gone. You can’t blame nobody for yo’ fuck up’s but cho damn self. Now climb yo’ sorry ass back behind the wheel of your car and drive off. Get cho self a bottle of something to think things over ‘cause you gone have to come up with a money scheme, and fast, Melvin thought to himself as he walked back to his car. He tossed the golf club into the backseat and hopped in behind the wheel. Cranking that bad boy up, he glanced into the side view mirror and pulled out. Money was the only thing on his mind as he pulled out into the street and drove off.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Melvin pulled up outside of Charlsey’s mini mart & liquor and killed the engine of his vehicle. He hopped out of his ride and stepped upon the sidewalk, making his way inside of the ghetto establishment. As soon as he crossed the threshold inside of the store, he found the clerk looking up at the television set mounted high up on the wall. His arms were folded across his chest and the tube had his full attention. A Bronx Tale was on. “’Sup, man?” Melvin asked as he approached the counter. “Hey, how are you?” the African American clerk glanced back, but the movie had his attention. “I’m good, bruh. Listen, lemme getta bottle of that Hen Doggy Dog and a pack of Newports,” he pulled the few dollars that he had on him out of his pocket. “Is that it?” the clerk asked, without bothering to take his eyes off the screen. Yea...you know what? I needa get my son some cereal. Y’all sell Fruity Pebbles here?” “I don’t know, my nigga. Just check aisle three, that’s where all the cereal is.” “Got cha,” Melvin said walking off toward aisle three, thinking, Fuck they hired that nigga for? He don’t do shit. He shook his head. That’s why mothafuckaz don’t like hiring black people. Melvin went down aisle three looking through the colorful rows of cereal that were upon the shelf. Stopping at the center, he looked closely and smiled. He found the last box of Fruity Pebbles. Picking up the box, he made to go down the aisle back towards the register, but stopped short. He snapped his fingers as he remembered that he didn’t have any milk back at the house. As he started back in the opposite direction, unbeknownst to him, a nigga in a red hoodie and matching bandana over the lower half of his face entered the store. He had his hands inside the pockets of his hoodie. The clerk was so focused on the movie that he didn’t even notice homeboy. Melvin went down the refrigerator aisle looking for the milk. Finding the item he was looking for, he opened the glass door and grabbed a half of a gallon of milk. At that point, he was taken off guard when he heard a deep, menacing voice, full of intimidation. “Open up the drawer, hurry up, nigga!” red hoodie screamed on the clerk as he pointed the dusty black .44 Magnum revolver in his face. “Alright, man, alright, just don’t shoot me!” the clerk pleaded, sounding like a straight up bitch. He was trembling all over as he punched in the keys of the register, making it ching. The cash drawer shot open and he quickly collected all the dollar bills inside. “I won’t the change too, Blood, all of it!” red hoodie spat. His black leather gloved hand clenched his revolver tighter. “Okay, okay, okay,” the clerk grabbed a brown paper bag and dumped the contents of the cash drawer into it. He tried to pass the bag to the nigga that was sticking him up, but he declined. “Fuck that! Gemme a pack of swishers, a bottle of Jack...” Melvin ducked down low and went to the other aisle. Peering out from the corner, he saw the clerk drop all of the extra items into the brown bag that the robber demanded. Once the robber received the bag, he looked up at the clerk who had his hands up, palms showing. The nigga was shaking so bad that his knees was knocking. “Here’s a tip, get chu some bulletproof glass up. It’ll stop niggaz like me from robbing you,” he chuckled and then said, “Have a nice night.” Boom! The blast from the robber’s cannon threw the clerk back against the shelf of liquor and he fell to the floor. Several liquor bottles fell to the floor and exploded, littering the linoleum with their contents. The robber fled the liquor store. A moment later, the squealing tires of a car filled the air. Screeeeech! Vrooooom! Melvin rose to his feet and ran over to the counter. Stepping behind it, he saw the clerk crawling to his feet and pulling himself up. “Yo’, my man, you alright?” Melvin inquired, seeing homeboy bleeding at his shoulder. “Ahhhh, fuuuck, man. Hell naw, I ain’t alright. That mothafucka shot me,” he snatched up the telephone to call 9-1-1. When he saw the clerk picking up the telephone, Melvin knew that he was about to call the cops. He counted out what he thought he owed for the items and smacked it down on the counter top. “My man, that’s for the stuff I got here. I’m gone. I don’t wanna be involved in this shit when The Ones show up.”Melvin grabbed his bagged items and hurried out of the exit. Right before Melvin crossed the threshold out of the liquor store, he heard a line from A Bronx Tale. “Sunny is right, dad. The working man is a sucker...” *** Tiaz wandered inside of his bedroom and kicked the doo
r closed. His bedroom was decorated like most teenaged young men from the hood. On the wall over his bed was a painting of The Westside Connection’s first album cover, which was of Ice Cube, Mack 10 and WC, set against a black background. He had a twin bed with mix matched pillowcase, sheets and blanket. His “20 square box television set sat on his nightstand which was missing a drawer. Tiaz stepped before the mirror of his dresser and pulled out his Beretta, placing it down upon his dresser. As he stared at his reflection, he pulled off his hoodie along with the undergarments he wore underneath it. He tossed the clothing into the hamper which was by the closet. Taking a deep breath, he looked himself over and took in all of his features. Tiaz was pretty tall for his age, standing five foot eleven and weighing all of two-hundred and twenty pounds. He lifted weights so his body was chiseled. He had a muscular, vein riddled form that looked like it had been forged from diamond. Across his broad back was Hoover in Old English letters. A bandana was tattooed over his left shoulder. On his right peck the Holy Cross was inked with R.I.P Kimberly Petty, along with her birth and death date. On his rib cage were the faces of his father, mother and godfather. Lastly, on his neck, was 74 HCG. The young nigga looked thugged out with all of his ink and his cornrows, which reached his back. He also had blackened lips from smoking weed. Tiaz looked at his hands and took note that he was missing some knuckles and the one that were there were darker than the rest of his hand. This was from years of fighting. You see, Tiaz was an all around good fighter. He’d been throwing hands since before he knew how to crawl. The young nigga didn’t turn down any fair ones. He’d catch a fade with anybody, it didn’t matter to him. He was big on respect and demanded it from any and everybody he encountered. Tiaz flexed his muscles and made his pecks jump, one at a time. Keeping up his body was just as important as keeping up his street credentials. He wanted to be the hardest nigga that their ever was and he was determined by any means to be just that. He was dedicated to building up his reputation, and he knew that meant putting in work and showing mothafuckaz that he wasn’t to be played with. This was why he made it his business to act a goddamn fool over even the smallest of violations. He wasn’t taking any bullshit from anybody. He didn’t give a fuck who they were or who they were related to. As far as he was concerned, anybody could get it behind his. Straight up! Niggaz from his hood swore before God that he was crazy from all his criminal exploits. He was wilding out in the streets doing stupid shit and taking unnecessary risks. The young nigga knew that he wasn’t quite right upstairs. He believed that all of his actions stemmed from the loss of his mother. A woman whom he had never met, but he knew he loved. Time and time again, growing up, Tiaz questioned his father about why God had taken his mother away. At the tender age of five he believed that it was something he had done that made the Almighty deprive him of a relationship with his mother. Countless nights he cried himself to sleep wishing to be reunited with the woman that had given birth to him. A five year old Tiaz, who was dressed in Spider Man pajamas, stood in a chair. He was brushing his teeth as he stared at his reflection in the medicine cabinet’s mirror. Foam from the toothpaste surrounded his mouth and specks of it clung to the mirror, with each stroke of his brush. Once he had finished, he turned on the faucet and climbed down from the chair. He washed off his toothbrush and rinsed out his mouth. Done, he dropped the toothbrush into the holder above the porcelain sink and wiped his mouth off on a towel on the rack. “You finish, champ?” Melvin asked from where he was leant up against the doorway with his arms folded across his chest. “Yep,” Tiaz smiled. “Come on then, big man.” He smacked his hands and opened his arms to receive Tiaz. Tiaz ran over and jumped into his father’s arms. He winced, feeling the weight of his son in his embrace. “Wow, you getting big, man. I nearly threw out my back.” “You getting old, dad.” “Yeah, I’m too old to be carrying your butt.” Melvin cracked a grin and so did his son. He took the boy inside of his bedroom and laid him down in bed. Afterwards, he turned on the lamp light and tucked him in. He caressed his offspring’s forehead with his thumb and then kissed him on the nose. “Goodnight, junior.” “Goodnight, dad, I love you so much.” “Right back at cha,” He turned off the lamp light and walked out of the bedroom, pulling the door shut behind him. Once he saw that his father was gone, Tiaz threw the covers from off him and climbed out of bed. Getting down on his knees at his bed, he put his hands together in prayer and shut his eyelids, saying,“Dear, God, I don’t know what I did for you to take my momma from me. I don’t remember if I was bad or not, but if I was, God, I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry, God. I just...I just want a momma like the rest of the kids at school. I want a mom to gemme hugs, kisses, bake me things, tuck me in at night and read bedtime stories to me before bed. I have a father, and I am grateful for him, but I want a mom, too. I want to have both. I want a complete family, like Mykhal who sits next to me in Mrs. Squires class. He has a mom, a dad, a big brother and a lil’ sister... a great, big family. Well, I don’t need all of that, I just want a mom...my mom...please. Amen.” Tears slid down Tiaz’ cheeks and he wiped them away with the back of his hand. He then crawled into bed and drew the covers back ove him. Unbeknownst to him, Melvin was standing outside his bedroom door with his back against the wall listening in. He shut his eyelids and tears jetted down his cheeks. Sniffling, he wiped his dripping eyes and licked his lips, continuing his way down the corridor towards his bedroom. Looking to the corner of his dresser’s mirror, Tiaz saw a photo of his mother wedged there. He plucked the picture from where it was tucked and stared at it. He admired his mother’s beauty and her dazzling smile. Tiaz kissed the picture and exasperated as he longed to be with the woman that held him in her womb. He couldn’t wait until the day came where he could hug and kiss her. The mere thought of it brought tears to his eyes and he took a deep breath. Tiaz wiped his dripping eyes with the back of his fist and sniffled. He then opened his bedroom door and headed out, shutting the door behind him.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Melvin lay stretched at the head of his head with his pillows propped up against his head and his fingers interlocked on his stomach. He was wearing a wife beater and black basketball shorts with his bare feet crossing one another. The television’s screen’s blue light flashed across his face. He wasn’t paying attention to the show that was on though. Nah, he was thinking about the robbery that had taken place back at the liquor store. His mind was like a VCR replaying the robbery over and over again. It all happened so fast. Homeboy in the red hoodie just walked up and pulled out that thang, demanding the money in the register. That particular liquor store usually stayed packed with patrons, which meant an okay amount of money went through the establishment. This led Melvin to believe that old boy that had stuck up the place had to at least get away with a few hundred dollars. Sure, it was easy money, but it wasn’t enough to risk the time he would have gotten if he had been caught for the caper. Still, the nigga made off with a few hundred dollars in less than five minutes. Shiiiiit, I woulda never robbed no liquor store for them few lil’ punk ass dollars and risk all of that mothafucking time. If homie would have been smart he woulda hitta bigger spot. That way he coulda made off with a bigger bag. Matter of fact, I would never hit any legal businesses, they most def’ gone call the police. A nigga like me woulda hit some spots where they can’t pick up the jack and call them people. A nigga like me woulda stuck up some drug dealers or some crack spots...wait a minute, Melvin quickly sat up in bed as a light bulb came on inside of his head. He snapped his fingers and an enthused expression crossed his face. That’s what I’ma do to get this money to put me back on my feet. I’ma rob these niggaz in the dope game. Yeah, that’s it! I mean, fuck they gone do? Call them folks and tell ‘em a nigga hit ‘em for they drugs and money? Fuck no! It’s on now! Melvin rubbed his hands together and smiled sinisterly. Knock! Knock! Knock! Knock! “Come in!” Melvin called out. Knock! Knock! Knock! Knock! Figuring that Tiaz couldn’t hear him, he picked up the remote control and turned down the volume on th
e television. “Come on in, son!” He called out again and sat the remote down on the nightstand. Tiaz came through the door holding a picture of his mother. His father could tell that he’d been crying from his glassy eyes, but he didn’t dare mention it. His son was a young man that made it his business to maintain a hardcore image at all times. Now, he didn’t have a problem with telling his old man that he loved him, but he did have a problem with him seeing him shed tears. To him, the only reason for a man to cry was if he’d just lost a loved one. As far as he was concerned his mother didn’t count since she’d been dead before he’d gotten the chance to know her. “What’s up, son?” Melvin asked. “Were you asleep, pop?” “Nah, I’m wide awake, what’s good?” “I just wanted you to see something.” Tiaz flipped on the light switch and sat on his father’s bed, showing him the picture of his mother. She was a high-yellow woman with long eyelashes, rosy cheeks and a big smile. Her hair was done in individual braids and tied off at the end by a length of gold twine. She was absolutely stunning when it came to looks. It was safe to say that she was traditionally attractive.