by ROBERT LABOO
Three Days Later
Suffiyah opens her eyes and is no longer in the car. As the blurriness subsides she recognizes the look and smell of a hospital room. So did she dream everything? She looks to her right and there sits a puffy eyed Lee Lee. “You’re finally woke!” Lee Lee never cries but here she is. “You scared me so bad. All you kept talking about is dying.” Suffiyah opened her mouth to speak but her throat felt like it was coated with sandpaper. She pointed to the water. Lee Lee held the straw for her to drink. “We’re going to get through this Sufee, I promise. You can’t give up. You have to live for them.”
“For who?” Either Lee Lee was losing it or her medicine was causing her to lose her grasp on comprehension. She looked down at Lee Lee’s hands as they touched her.
“The babies.”
She covered Lee Lee’s hands on her stomach. She just looked at the ceiling, she was speechless.
That Night
Through all of the excitement that Lee Lee’s been enraptured in, she’s forgotten the responsibility of everyday life. This is apparent by the disconnect screen on her television. While playing Nancy Drew she’s neglected to pay her cable bill. She heads out her apartment and goes to the mail boxes. In just a few days the mail has amassed significantly. She plucks through it on her way back to the apartment. Being that Suffiyah will be released tomorrow it was unnecessary to sleep in one of those uncomfortable hospital chairs. She sits on her bed and searches for this month’s cable bill. Instead she finds a letter from Benji addressed to her. Immediately she tears it open and can hear his voice as she reads.
Peace,
First and foremost pardon my soul for my intrusion into your day. It’s likely that I’m the last person you wish to hear from. So I will be as brief as possible so as not to oppress your time. The look of things are deceiving in the sense that nothing can be judged on the face value. Take me for instance, when y’all saw me at the mall you believed you had me figured out. But on the contrary I was the polar opposite. Likewise, I’m being misjudged due merely to outlook. I believe that the only thing which speaks louder than a man’s voice is his character. I also believe as an ally to Sufee you weren’t interested in the words I spoke to her but moreover if my actions manifested those words. In hindsight I believe you now know that your approval of me is a derivative of the consistency of my character. I just wanted to clarify the way things seem. First, Suffiyah believes I was stalking her because of the photos she found, so I’ll begin by explaining that. A friend of mines works as a psychiatrist in her department. He told me of a police corruption investigation that Internal Affairs needed his assistance with. He gave me her name and where I could find her at and I began my investigation. My job was to document her routine and notify him of any incidents that might raise any eyebrows. I kept tabs on her and informed him of all my findings. For the record I would have never given this information to a stranger but this is a man I trusted with my life. More like an older brother. Now, our run in at the mall was staged. It was the second day of my investigation on her and I wanted to see if, she proved to be as upstanding as I perceived her to be at first sight. To say I wasn’t slightly infatuated with her after watching her would be an untruth. I built my courage up to approach her at the mall and chickened out. Bumping into her at the courthouse was purely coincidental in nature, but I believe it was fate. Onto the pictures of Sakinah. This letter came with another. The last page is a letter from her killer. I don’t know who he is but he sent me the letter and pictures to taunt me. As macabre as the pictures are. I couldn’t make myself discard them. They were her in a time when she needed me most and I failed her. It was a reminder of my shortcomings and a motivation to hunt down the man behind this. Tossing the pictures, to me, symbolized giving up hope and failing her again. That’s the truth as I know it but for you to decide if you are inclined to believe it. If you do and decide to speak on my behalf can you tell her something for me? Tell her love is an acronym to me which means loyalty overrides vain emotions. So to love someone means to put them before your own self. That being said let her know I adore her with all of me and it isn’t a moment that I see her face and not thank god for his mercy. But if she’s happier without me, then I’m for us never speaking again. Because I’d rather live everyday suffering alone and know I brought her joy. Then to be in her presence daily knowing I’m the source of her displeasure. Ten times out of ten her happiness trumps mines and that’s how I measure love.
P.S. Don’t blame Ferming for doing his job. If it wasn’t for him there would have been no us.
Forever Real,
Benji.
CHAPTER 32
Sakinah Muneerah Rogers
The headstone reads in fancy script. A fresh dozen roses decorates the gravesite that’s maintained with the greatest of care. “You have a beautiful name.” Suffiyah stands over the grave rubbing her baby bump. Four months pregnant with twins she promises to show a love neither of their parents knew. “I googled the meaning of Muneerah, it fits you. It says “bright, illuminated light.” It’s more but it’s all basically that. You are a light. No. A beacon. Even buried under the ground your guiding light refuses to be diminished. Your hope for Benji prompted a domino effect. Your light started at him and is being used to guide twenty renegade teenagers struggling to find their place in this world. Now even I’m following your light. Benji said he came down here for lunch almost every day to keep you company. So I made a promise to myself to keep his tradition firm. Starting with me and followed by these two. He wrote in a letter that he would sacrifice his happiness just to see me happy. Forever the altruist. In life the happiest he could ever be is with you, so that’s why I placed him here in death. I know that if he followed your lead while he was here and it led him to such greatness. Then in death following those same footsteps could only lead him to Heaven’s steps.” She looks to her right where Benji’s headstone lies. “You deserved him so much more than I did. But I appreciate the man you allowed him to realize he was. And I’m eternally grateful to have had him in my life, if only for a short moment. For him to even compare me to you is an honor that humbles me. Sleep easy, Queen. Your king is next to you.” In light of all that has transpired Suffiyah has made the decision to continue Benji’s work to the best of her ability. The fact that she was unable to apologize to him forever doubting him, is something which will haunt her forever. She was practically begged to come back to work. She declined their offer. McFarland told her of the claims made by Sonya which led to his decision. Once again Benji read the situation precisely. That wasn’t the life for her. So she would also find her way through the kids of Misfits, INC. But today she would put out the final issue of Why We Bang?
CHAPTER 33
The place is alive with energy. The walls repainted a bright white and on the furthest wall a portrait. Over it are the words Misfits, INC. and under it is an inscription. Bodies die, but legacies live. The portrait was taken from Lenae’s locket and transferred to the wall where they will be forever. Suffiyah looks at the trio and gets a glimpse of the happiness this place created. Three people martyred for the betterment of a society.
Do Rite sits on the table looking at his group of Misfits. These sessions are the single most important thing in his life. This is his chance at redemption. The opportunity to rebuild a community he helped destroy. In front of him and the rest of the room sits a copy of the final issue of Why We Bang?’ It’s turned to Benji’s departing editorial. The background picture on the page is Benji, Lay Low and Do Rite on a porch on 11th Street.
My Moment
I wonder how life will be when I go? Will all the dreams I watched come to fruitions be reverted back to a figment of an overactive brain? Or will they exceed heights that even I lacked the foresight to imagine. Will my ideology be seen as a fallacy or a meticulous blueprint to an egalitarian world? Every step taken has a consequence which will either push it forward or backwards. Setting its leader in a role to be remembered throug
hout the pages of history as either a courageous general or delusional tyrant. Or the worst kind of leader. The one who chooses to mollify the masses by compromising the integrity of his group for the greater good of self. These are the things I wonder about happening when I go. But as we read the pages of this magazine we discover all the turmoil happening now. All over the “Free” world and in the prisons where men of substance fight for the opportunity to be seen as a man I again in contrast to the prisoner. While the subpar men struggle between understanding whether they are inmates or prisoners. Due to this lack of understanding they undermine the progression made by said men. Likewise women are being marketed as product to be sold and used at the leisure of cartels. Trafficked into the country and forced to give away their virtue for the price of two movie tickets. Children are being battered by un-wanting parents or kidnapped broad daylight. I wonder how life will be when I go? The answer is exactly as it is right now, today. Unless we do what’s necessary to fix it. People will think what they want regardless of what we do. So live in the moment. It doesn’t matter how things will be when I go, because I won’t be here to change it. So I do my deeds now and you should also. Because we won’t have to answer for tomorrow because tomorrow is theirs, but today is my moment.
Just Benjamin
Acknowledgements
First and foremost all thanks and praises to my Lord Azza Wajjal for providing me with this talent and the opportunity to display it. I’m eternally grateful for the blessings you continue to shower me with even when I was too ignorant to appreciate them. To my ummi, Doris and my kids Aasiyah, Rami, Haleem and Jada, I put this book in my real name so after all these years of shame that I brought y’all throughout my incarceration I can finally give y’all something to brag about me. This our accomplishment and I love y’all more than any words can ever encompass. To the Laboo boys, Kel, Meel, Riq, Niqua(insider Lol), Day Day and my two sisters Kareemah and Tasha thanks for believing in me. Through all my wrong decisions and heartbreaking actions y’all never left my side. Y’all loyalty is a rarity in today’s world and I’m honored to call y’all my brothers. We on the road to greatness and ain’t no traffic!!! To my Abu, Malik, thanks for providing me with my brothers. I’m forever indebted. To True2Life Al-Saddiq and Naim Banks, thanks for mentoring me throughout my life and showing me what it meant to be real, a lesson that will never be forgotten. To my nieces and nephews I love y’all! My grandmother and a host of aunts, uncles and cousins I can’t begin to name out of fear of leaving some out, thanks for believing in me. Throughout the trek of preparing this book the faith in me never wavered and the encouragement saw me through to finish this project.
To my team at More Than Words Publications, Shay and Javonne, y’all did more for me than I can ever repay but I will never stop trying. When y’all look at this finished book I hope you feel the pride of all the effort that you put into making my dream a reality. Jazakullah Khairan! To Dashawn T aylor and his team at Next Level Publishing, thanks for your professionalism and help in seeing me through the steps of becoming a published writer. To my Baghdad Boys, the real and the few. They did everything in they power to break us and we never folded in front of them or more importantly on each other. Loyalty is royalty so I’m surrounded by kings! Without y’all their would be no me! To my 007 family, y’all adopted me as one of y’all own and embraced me. Never think that this move is a me thing, it’s a we thing because we one and the same. From Baghdad to 007 the knots been tied! To everyone who reads this book, whether it’s to find a reason to keep hating or for genuine support, I appreciate the purchase. I hope I didn’t let you down! To Fat Charlie and K-Nutty it’s forever FREE Y’ALL! I’ll never forget my block believe that! My words grow short but never my love. Peace!
Book Excerpt from Upcoming Novel
Only Life I Know
By: Robert Laboo
Prologue
“Is my stubbornness a testimony to my strength or a sign of defiance in my character?” As the hot sun congeals the blood in my scalp and dries the excess that leaks down my face, I can’t help but ponder this question. The certainty which is death causes me less fear than the thought of all my actions being for nothing. I’ve dedicated my short life to creating a pro-black environment. A small community of black owned grocery stores, laundromats, homes and educational institutions. But to build this community the present one has to be eradicated. Some would call me radical or extreme, but I prefer the term driven. Every man with sight isn’t blessed with vision. That line might fly over the heads of some, but those with vision will grasp the concept. But what is vision without balls? All of these stoic faced eunuchs preaching a word that they don’t practice. Not me though. That’s why I lay here drenched in blood on the cusp of death, not overly excited but fully prepared to be a martyr for the only life I know.
Chapter 1
The crisp Autumn breeze pushes the leaves across the concrete in waves as eight year old Jahlil Wright walks to school. His face lights up every morning as he approaches 12th Avenue. He can still hear his mother’s voice pointing out the unique quality of their little corner of the world.
“Look over there, Jolly.” This was her nickname for him. “You know what makes our laundromat and store so special?” Jahlil shakes his head. “Majority of businesses around here have been overrun by every people except our people. But Ms. Virgil and Mr. Tony are a testification to our strength. They held on to their little businesses and refuse to sellout for a few measly dollars. This is how we keep our community a community. Those strangers will never love us or look out for us like these people. Why? Because they never struggled with us. When you look in their faces you see us. When you look in their eyes you getting a glimpse of our past. They’re survivors. Veterans of a completely different war. One we didn’t have to go overseas and fight. That store and that laundromat are their rewards for their fight. Making them worth more than any dollar amount you can imagine.”
He looks at the grungy facades of the establishments and doesn’t see how they can be worth so much.
“Even $1,000 Mommy?” She laughs, “Yup, Jolly. Even two thousand. Blood, sweat and tears are always worth more than money. Always remember that.”
He did. That conversation took place two years ago. Ms. Virgil sits in the doorway of her laundromat speaking to all who pass by. She is a still a very handsome woman somewhere in her sixties. Her squat, portly frame fits her grandmotherly disposition. The sunlight glistens off of her salt and pepper curls which cover her round head. When she look his way and smiles he can practically feel the warmth. She has an angelic glow radiating from her. She is the heart of this community. He waves to her and continues on to Mr. Tony’s store. The bell jingles over top of the door as he enters.
“That sounds like somebody who owes me money.” States Mr. Tony.
“I don’t owe money, Mr. Tony!” Jahlil exclaims.
“You don’t?”
“No! I just want some Peanut Chews.” Jahlil shows the two quarters in his palm.
“Oh, I apologize, Jolly. Now I owe you a juice.”
Mr. Tony was about 6’4 and 260 pounds. He hardly smiled and was perceived to be mean. But, despite his intimidating appearance he was actually one of the kindest men you could meet. If Ms. Virgil was the heart of the community he was definitely its soul.
“Thanks, Mr. Tony!”
“No problem, buddy.”
Seeing polite kids like Jahlil made Mr. Tony’s heart smile. It showed him the future had a little hope left in it. In a day where there was so little love for the race shown, he took pride in the few people who did. He remembered the ‘65 riots, when blacks burned down the majority of stores on Springfield Avenue in the fight for civil equality. The black love was tangible. Thirty years later and black males are killing one another for getting dirt on their new sneakers. He glances across the street and sees Ms. Virgil shuffling back inside the laundromat. A smile creases his face. Him and Ms. Virgil are staples in this
area and an example of what black love could accomplish, even here in Newark, New Jersey.
Next Morning 6AM
The burgundy Oldsmobile Cutlass sits in the middle of 7th Street between 12th and 13th Avenues running silently. The three heroin addicts inside impatiently await their mark. The air in the car suddenly becomes oppressive.
“One of you motherfuckers shit your pants?” Asks Sam.
He was the uncontested leader of the trio. The drugs didn’t slim him down as drastically as it did others. He maintained a somewhat muscular physique, despite his habit, that only made his short temper all the more threatening. If possible, he was even more irritable today. He couldn’t believe he was on this mission. Robberies were no foreign thing to him, but he was always a man of principles. This proposition was brought to him on multiple occasions, yet he readily denied. He couldn’t fathom selling out his own neighborhood for a group of outsiders. Yet, here he is. The monkey on his back led him here. Fighting the physical illness of withdrawal and needing his daily fix has caused him to compromise his integrity.
“Sorry, Sam. I farted. I’m fucked up man! I need my dose.” One of the men state.
Sam’s bowels aren’t faring much better, but he’s attempting to hold himself together.