    
Tonya
"Cyniquian" Level Poster
Username: Tonya
Post Number: 5800
Registered: 07-2006
Rating: N/A
Votes: 0 (Vote!) | | Posted on Thursday, June 14, 2007 - 03:43 pm: | 
|
THE SAGA CONTINUES: There’s Always Something There to Remind Me
By Ricardo Hazell
June 14, 2007
"There ain't no such thing as a Black community. White people live where ever the hell they want, but Black people have to live in a Black community? There's no such thing. It's a poor community and I ain't tryin' to live in no poor ass community." -- Ice-T "Rhyme and Reason"
Two long lost friends discovered one another on MySpace and decided they really needed to get up with one another. They had not seen hide nor hair of one another since they attended high school together way back when.
Friend number one was a ladies' man, a hustler and an athlete who was now living in the house his mother worked all her life to buy. Friend number two was in town for his nephew's high school graduation. He had some moderate success in life, but always felt guilty about leaving the hood.
They did the things that friends usually do when they hadn't seen each other in a long time. They talked about how much the neighborhood had changed, who died, how the hood is no place to raise a family anymore and how fat some of the fine women they knew had gotten, how fine some of the fat women they used to know had become and about the fat women they would sleep with if given the chance.
They also got drunk: stinking, dizzying, illogically drunk. After getting something to eat and hitting the local package goods store again, the pair found a spot in an old playground they frequented as children. It was late night, but the park was alive with activity, both illegal and other.
"So, tell me," said the first friend to the other, "have I changed much since we were small?" The second friend paused for a moment and began giving the question far more thought than necessary and responded. "Yeah, you've changed a whole lot, a whole lot!," he said with a smirk. "Real talk?" said the first friend. "Yeah, real talk," responded the second. The first friend's curiosity was peaked by the manner in which the second friend answered, but he didn't say anything about it. They continued talking on the bench in the park and after a while the second friend stopped drinking. He had placed his drink on the hard asphalt and simply smoked his other drug of choice while the first friend turned his bottle up. The second friend offered some of his firey intoxicant to his inebriated friend, but he declined. "Man, I'm afraid I might burn a whole in my Pelle Pelle's," he said as he rose clumsily from the park bench, "plus that stuff stinks and my wife is sure to smell it on me". "And she ain't gonna smell that V.S.O.P, on you my nukka?" The first friend burst into saliva spraying laughter. "Yeah, you got a point there."
Suddenly, the first friend wobbled, stumbled and crawled his way over toward the young men selling drugs over near the basketball court. "Where you goin' man?" yelled the second friend. The first friend didn't respond, but he really didn't need to. It was obvious. He knew his long lost childhood friend was going to get cocaine or crack from the young men adorned in Jordan apparel. As the first friend returned holding a bag of powdery white substance, the second friend deaded the fire on his own illegal pharmaceutical. He watched in amazement as the his childhood buddy prepared the substance for consumption by placing it on a CD case he had in his pocket, chopped it up with a razor and began to snort.
The second friend had always been afraid of cocaine and crack. He had grown up in the 'hood, but had never sold nor consumed the product. He had a healthy fear of it. The sound of snorting and sniffing caused his stomach to turn and it also chased his marijuana and alcohol-induced high away. He simply watched stunned as the substance disappeared into the first friend's nasal cavity. "I'm not gonna sit here and judge," he thought. "but damn this is some wild stuff." He wanted to stop the first friend from snorting the drug, but he didn't know how. They had known one another and enjoyed many childhood memories, but that was long ago. This person sitting next to him was obviously someone he didn't know.
"Damn, my nig, I'm sorry," said the first friend. "Do you want some of this?" He slid the CD case over to the second friend. "Naw, man!" he responded with obvious disgust. "Suit yourself then," said the first friend as he continued snorting. The second friend leapt to his feet and began stretching, the universal symbol for 'I'm 'bout to be out.' "You 'bout to roll?" said the first friend as he wiped his now runny nose with his shirt sleeve. "Yeah man, we should be headed out." "Aww, dude, you ain't trippin' over a little coke, are you?" said the first friend. The second friend responded "Naw man," but that could not have been further from the truth. As the duo left the park the second friend listened to the first ramble on about their childhood. He politely smiled and nodded, but inside he was concerned. Hood logic, or illogic if you will, states that you should not show concern for any man, but the second friend was concerned nonetheless.
He wondered what could have happened in the span of 20 years that could have caused the most handsome, athletic and intelligent person in school to start snorting. At first the second friend thought that he and the first friend were getting 'tore down' because they hadn't seen one another in a while, but he was beginning to think this was an everyday scenario for the man. "Say man," said the second friend. "how often do you get high?" He smiled "I stay high my nukka." "Coke and all?" asked the second friend. "It ain't like I'm some kinda crackhead or something," the first friend responded defensively. "I ain't gotta rob or nothing cuz my wife got a good job."
The second friend was now beginning to regret his return to the hood. He was going to make sure his associate got home safely and then he was going to bid him farewell, this time permanently. As they turned the corner the duo ran into yet another associate from back in the day. "Oh, snap!" he yelled. "Where the hell have you been, dog?" the third gentleman gave the second friend a bear hug. "Man, I ain't seen you in forever. What are you doing around here, I thought your ghetto pass expired in, like, '88." "Naw, I'm not only a client, I'm the ghetto president, playboy!" The first friend proceeded to greet the third, but was given a look as if to say 'Negro, you know better." The second friend noticed. "Come in the store wit' me, man!" said the third friend to the second. The first friend leaned against the wall, not to look cool or 'post up', but to prevent himself from falling over. The two then emerged from the store. "Yo, you got my number," said the third friend as he disappeared into the night. The first friend noticed the second was now silent except for the occasional 'Damn, how much farther to your crib?'
The pair rounded another corner and ran into yet another individual. A woman who they both thought was the prettiest thing in school long ago. She now had three kids in tow. She talked about her man being in jail for possession with intent to distribute, but he was going to get off on a technicality. The second friend smirked. "Everybody in the hood is a law expert," he thought. She went on to say that he had turned his life over to the Lord. The second friend was relieved to find that at least this conversation had a positive ending, but the first friend was noticeably quiet. As the woman bid the duo farewell, she pulled the second friend's ear close and whispered something to him. She then kissed him on the cheek and went about her business. It appeared as though their entire 8th grade class was still in the hood. And it appeared as though each of them had something different, but equally repugnant, to say to the second friend that they did not want the first friend to hear.
Finally, they arrived at the first friend's home. "Yo, my wife ain't home dog," said the first friend. The second friend simply nodded. "You wanna keep drinkin'? Shoot it's only 2 o'clock." said the first friend. "Naw, I gotta go man" said the second. There was a long pause. The first friend wanted to know what the townspeople were saying about him, but didn't know how to ask. He suspected he knew, but he wanted confirmation. "So what did all them niggas have to say 'bout ya boy?" said the first friend. "Nothing, dog, nothing at all," said the second. The first friend smiled a toothy grin. "You was always a ol' diplomatic ass nigga, but I know they had somethin' slick to say." He plopped down on his front stoop with emotional exhaustion. "You mean to tell me that all those people didn't have nothing bad to say 'bout ya boy?" "Naw," responded the second friend. "I know you lyin', but it's cool." said the first friend. "I bet they had the worst stuff to say 'bout me." The second friend remained silent. "I'm a snitch, I'm gay and I'm a child molester...right?" The second friend said nothing. "It don't get no worse than that stuff." He pulled a broken menthol cigarette from his jacket pocket and began to smoke. "I used to be the man, dog." said the first friend. "I figure people must think I'm a snitch, I'm gay or a child molester. Why else would they act that way. Screw me? Naw, screw them." "Dog, I gotta get home to my Mom's crib. I gotta fly out tomorrow." The second friend smiled and gave his old friend a hug. "You ain't never coming back here again, is you?" said the first. "I don't know dog, maybe." said the second.
The first friend sat on his front porch as the second friend disappeared around the corner. All kinds of thoughts circulated through the second friend's head. He felt sorry for the first friend. Long ago he built his image based upon his reputation. He had achieved other things in his life and managed to raise a decent family. But the hood is a fickle place. A reputation can be made and torn to shreds overnight. 'It's funny how he knew exactly which rumors people were spreading,' thought the second friend. He briefly wondered whether there was any factual basis for the rumors whispered in his ear that night, but he knew they likely had no basis in reality. But it only takes one person to start a rumor and he thought about the situation as he hailed a cab. He remembered that the first friend was actually not much of a friend at all. Part of his reputation was his cold-hearted demeanor and he always had a way of making people feel bad about themselves. "Now he's feeling so bad about himself, that he can't stand to be with his own thoughts," thought the second friend. "Come to think of it, he wasn't very nice to me either, in fact none of his so-called friends."
That night he bid the 'hood, and all of its trappings, goodbye. And from that day forward whenever he felt guilty about moving to the suburbs, whenever he felt strange about speaking intelligently around other Black folks and whenever he questioned his own tireless resolve for self-improvement or how others would judge his 'Blackness', he thought about the 'hood. Whenever he thought about giving up, he thought about the hood and his friend. A man who lived the first half of his life based upon, was now living the second part of his life combating the false ideas of others that bombard his fragile psyche. Whenever you forget why you're working hard, just go back to the 'hood. You'll remember in 30 seconds because there's always something there to remind you.
Ricardo Hazell is a Dallas, TX based freelance writer. You can respond to him at rick_hazell@yahoo.com.
http://www.eurweb.com/story/eur34331.cfm
He's one cold muthafucker, boy, he's just gone let his homey die from crack...man! |
Email This Page