Be Silent

Introduction

Howard Thornton was born and raised in Maumelle, Arkansas to Gary and Irene Thornton. Instead of fleeing to Midwestern cities like Chicago, Detroit or St. Louis, as many Blacks from the greater Little Rock area did during those times, Howard’s parents chose to stay in Pulaski County and oversee a small catfish farm that sat on their land. The owner of the catfish farm, Thomas Boys, leased the land from Gary and paid him a generous portion of the profits for his troubles. To help cut costs, Gary would employ Howard and a few of his nephews to handle the day to day maintenance of the man-made pond where the catfish lived. Gary, a graduate of the Boys Business School of Arkansas, primarily focused on his job as a loan officer at Maumelle Agricultural Bank.

When it was time to harvest and process the catfish for sale, Mr. Boys would send an experienced crew of fishmongers to the Thornton’s farm to lead those projects. Howard, a natural fan of game fishing, was the only one out of him and his cousins that took any interest in the harvesting and processing phase of catfish farming. Therefore, not only was Howard earning some extra dollars, he was also gaining valuable knowledge about the business side of the catfish industry. For instance, one of the business specialties that Howard fell in love with most was logistics. Howard was amazed at how many cities across the United States had such a high demand for catfish.

First, Howard began to make the 30 minute drive to the Little Rock Airport to help load cargo planes with catfish that were bound for places like Boston, Buffalo, Los Angeles, New York City, Philly, Pittsburgh and San Francisco. From there, especially on weekends, school breaks and summers, Howard would take road trips with delivery drivers to destinations such as Dallas, Kansas City, New Orleans, Oklahoma City, St. Louis and Tulsa. On one such trip, he would meet the love of his life.

One weekend, Howard accompanied a younger driver from Lonoke, AR to Chicago where they made a huge delivery to a warehouse in Chinatown on the city’s South Side. Because of Howard’s evolving map reading skills, he and Luther, the driver, were able to arrive in Chicago about an hour earlier than expected. And as Howard learned on other road trips, if you helped the receiver unload the truck, the job would get done faster and the receivers almost always tipped them. Therefore, Howard and Luther had about two hours and fifteen minutes to spare before they had to check into their motel for the night.

As they reentered the delivery truck from the loading dock area, Howard turns to Luther and says, “Hey Luke man, we need to head over to Henry’s Chicken before we go to the motel.”

“Why, what’s so good about Henry’s Chicken? I thought there was a diner in the motel we are staying at?” Luther replied.

“To be honest, I don’t know what’s so good about Henry’s Chicken. It’s average, at best, fried chicken that they slap this Chinese style sauce on.”

“What?” Luther exclaimed. “Come on Howard, you gots to be lying? Ain’t no Black man putting no China-man sauce on no fried chicken!”

“I’m telling you Luke, it’s like a sweet and sour, or sweet and mild sauce they put on the fried chicken. I swear,” Howard said.” He then proceeded to shift the topic by saying, “Look, it’s not about the chicken. Some of the most beautiful women in the City of Chicago like to frequent Henry’s Chicken.”

Luke pondered before saying, “Oh, so you’re trying to take a dip in the lake at the motel later?”

“Exactly mane!” Howard shouted.

“Wait, and Rebel Catfish already paid for two separate rooms?”

“Yes! And since Rebel does so much business with these people, they have a designated parking space for the delivery truck. We can park it, tip the front desk person and come back by 8:00 pm for check-in.”

“And how far is Henry’s from there?”

“Luke, it’s only about a mile, maybe.”

“That ain’t shit for two country niggas like us, especially in a city like Chicago.”

“Exactly, my brother.”

“Ok Howard, I see why they put us together. You a young nigga they trust, and I just got hired. You kinda gained their faith, now I’m the next in line.”

“Precisely. And my daddy has a good relationship with Mr. Boys through the bank and our catfish farm.”

“Hold up, you had some catfish on that load we just dropped off earlier?”

“Possibly. See, Rebel has subcontracted so many small farms to produce catfish throughout the State of Arkansas that once all the fish are harvested and processed, you really don’t know what farm they came from.”

“Shit boy, can’t nobody ever talk that shit like Arkansas is the poorest state in the nation,” Luther gleefully replied.

For a brief moment Howard went silent before saying to Luther in a soft whisper, “We live in the Ozarks, one of the most fertile land masses in this country. The world has yet to see our full potential. We’re almost like Africa. Catfish is just the beginning. Next it’s wine, then real estate, then diamonds, then aerospace and other forms of technology.”

Luther, an avid Spades player, managed to set up a tournament with him and Howard versus two young ladies they met at Henry’s. They played in the breakfast area of the motel’s lobby until 11:27 pm. Howard and Luther had already made an agreement that they’ll both be in their rooms and sleep before midnight.

With the tips he earned from unloading the truck earlier, Howard paid for a taxi to take the two girls home, who turned out to be sisters. Howard kept in touch with one of the sisters and eventually formed a bond with her. She was a year older than Howard and attended Monument University in Baltimore, MD that fall, prompting Howard to enroll at Florida College in nearby Washington, DC a year later.

After graduation, she would move to Lakewood, CA after accepting a nursing position at Navy Trauma Hospital. During his time at Florida College, Howard would continue to work for the Boys family. He was instrumental in lobbying for deregulation of the growing supermarket industry. As a reward for all his hard work, he earned the position of General Manager at the new Boys Farmers Market in Los Angeles, near Pulaski Park.

At the time, Pulaski Park was a predominantly white neighborhood in South Los Angeles. It was zoned in such a way that some areas were considered the city, while other parts would be deemed unincorporated. Either way, Howard would be working less than a mile from where he just purchased a new home that he would share with his new wife. Later, he and the love of his life gave birth to their first child, named Gary after Howard’s father.

Chapter I: Hood Day

My dad, Gary Thornton, who was named after his grandfather, took me to my first Hood Day when I was five years old. It was December 4 and I remember all the big homies being hyped about the annual East Side vs. West Side basketball game. My neighborhood covers roughly two square miles and the two main divisions are East and West. There are various other factions of my hood, which I'll get into later, but East and West eclipses all.

During this period, for the most part, the majority of the homies got along. My dad was a big part of that. Pops was the glue that kept the East and the West together. He was also one helluva basketball player. One of the founders of our neighborhood named him Automatic because he hit his jump shot at such a high percentage.

Auto, dad's nickname for short, was also extremely active in the streets. All of our enemies had him on their list of top opposition that they wanted to take out. Legend has it that one year, on our Hood Day, the two sets that hate us the most collaborated and secretly sent two female hitters into our park to kill him. However, when they spotted him they were so starstruck, seeing him in person for the first time, they couldn't complete the mission. That's a testament to how well respected he was in the streets and how well he maneuvered in them. The opposition knew the only place they could clock my dad was on Hood Day. Other than that, he was a ghost to them, except when he was knocking their asses down.

My dad repped the West Side and ever since he officially started claiming the turf, the West Side went undefeated in the annual Hood Day basketball game. This particular year though, the East Side had recruited a young dude that just moved to L.A. from Texas and had been a top high school prospect before moving to Cali. He was the nephew of a high ranking member from my hood, someone my pops looked up to.

Hood Day was always off the chain, all types of shenanigans going on. This year was no different and some of the bullshit hit close to home. Pops was still involved with my mother, my brother's mom was pregnant with him at the time and he had a new girlfriend. All were present that day, the biggest event in our section that year. Amongst the set, my daddy was the man because all his women, my mother included, were gorgeous. I give credit to the old man, he had them all on lock and wasn't hiding anything from anyone.

Unquestionably there was some tension between the women at times, however, on this day in particular, none of them wanted to disrespect my dad because this was like a holiday to him. After Christmas and family birthdays, Hood Day was right up there.

Pops was also a hustler, getting money came easy to him. He used his money to provide for those that he truly cared about. His family, Big Momma at the top of the list, came first. Then any extras would go to the homies in his inner circle. He considered them brothers and thus felt a duty to ensure they were in an equal or greater position than him. He was always unselfish.

It should come as no surprise that my dad, being the hustler that he is, had a nice size wager on his team. According to the streets, the bet was $10,000 split between two different takers. They were both Eastsiders that pops respected and knew were good for it if the East lost.

Shit wasn’t looking easy for the West that year because dude from Texas was supposed to be a beast on the court. He was a major prospect until he got too caught up in gang banging. Apparently, he started a chapter of our set out there and shit started to go bad, to the point that he was catching multiple cases. Dude was eventually expelled from school and his uncle sent for him to move to Los Angeles.

Besides an occasional drink and a joint, my dad didn’t use drugs. The only day any of the niggas from my area would see my pops drink or smoke was Hood Day, and that was exclusively because he was celebrating victory. Even then he was extremely careful not to get overly impaired as he knew that came with its own set of consequences. Most of the guys that come from where I’m from abused drugs and alcohol. My pops knew drugs and alcohol created a good deal of strife between the homies in the hood. That’s why he never indulged in anything around them except on Hood Day, assuming the West won the big game.

“On Bloods, we gone pop this bottle of Henny and smoke this Indo after we win this game today,” my dad said as he looked around at his teammates with a big smile on his face, holding up a liter of Hennessy in his right hand and an ounce of the best weed you could buy at the time in his left.

“On the B doe!” Sleepy, one of my dad’s best friends, exclaimed loudly as he extended his right hand in the air forming the letter B. Sleepy then took a sip from a red plastic cup before saying, “Brack that shit open now, you know we bout to win anyway.”

“Naw we gotta wait, that’s bad luck dog,” my dad replied, moving his hand, fingers inward, back and forth across the front of his neck.

“Fa’sho,” Sleepy said in agreement, throwing up the B near the middle of his chest.

The Park was deep that day. Hundreds of people filled the interior while every square inch of parking around the perimeter was being utilized. Many of the cars parked at Hood Day were sold to their owners by my father. That was his main hustle, he sold used cars.

It's only logical that a guy named Automatic exchanged pre owned vehicles for money. The irony being he never technically owned a car. Although he had access to several cars, and always had one, nothing was ever registered in his name.

“Auto! What's up Blood?” an older member from about 15 feet away yelled to my dad, hands shaped around his mouth to form a human bullhorn.

After hearing his name being called, my dad recognizing the voice, looked around and located the guy. He was not someone I was familiar with, but my dad gestured for him to come over like he was happy to see him. Once in my dad’s immediate presence, the two exchanged the set’s traditional handshake before conversing.

“What’s brackin’?” my dad asked cordially as they released their hands.

“I want to get my grandson an Accord for Christmas. You think you kan locate one before then?”

“What’s your budget?”

“Shit, I kan do between five and seven G’s.”

“Ok. Let me bee what I kan do and I’ll get back with you ASAP.”

“Auto, that’s why I love you my nigga.”

The two exchanged our handshake again before the older member departed back into the sea of people. Just like him, there were several people vying for pop's attention; none more than his new girl Jessika. I heard my pops on the phone one day telling her ‘I knew I had to have you when I saw that you spelled your name with a K instead of a C.’

In our world, we love to replace the C in words with K's or B’s when applicable. So, I can see why pops was jovial when she wrote her name and number down and saw Jessika instead of Jessica.

My mother and Baby G’s mother were occupied in different sections of the park. My mom is from my hood and my brother’s mom is from a hood that’s cliqued up with us. They're a smaller hood that, over the years, we have provided muscle for. Face it, we outnumber them 7 to 1 and when our common enemies start trying to take over their blocks, we step in.

Jessika is from El Segundo, a suburb of L.A. just south of LAX, about 9 miles from our section. This is all new to her. Yes, she’s black and has been to our neighborhood before, but this is a culture shock. A bunch of niggas, either overdressed or walking around with their shirts off, are being extra loud, cussing, drinking, smoking and threatening to beat one another up. Plus niggas getting jumped into the hood. If her parents knew where she was, they'd call the cops.

By now, my dad is sitting in his favorite lawn chair with Jessika perched on his lap. She’s sporting a red tennis dress that he bought her and a fresh pair of white 1’s with no socks. In the red Igloo cooler sitting next to my dad’s lawn chair, Jessika has a couple bottles of wine sitting on ice, one of them already half empty. After a few minutes pass, Jessika tops herself off and raises the red plastic cup to her lips.

“Don’t drink all that wine before the basketball game is over,” my dad instructs her, placing his hand on her forearm, a gesture for her to put the cup down.

“When does it start and how long is it?” she questions unenthusiastically about the thought to stop drinking.

“You got somewhere to be or something?”

“No, just asking. We have been here for over an hour and the only person I know is you.”

“I get that. It starts soon and lasts about an hour. Kan you sit tight until then?”

“Anything for you babe. I don’t want to feel awkward though.”

“I feel you. You know Princess, my sister, right? She’ll be here in a few. You kan hang with her when she gets here.”

“Ok. I told you I wasn’t tripping, just asking a question.”

As my dad and Jessika are talking, Wallace, the referee for the big game, comes to tell my dad that tip off will be in 5 minutes. My dad looks up at Jessika and gives her a look like ‘I told you so’ before she leans in and gives him a kiss.

“Ew,” my auntie Princess says referring to my dad and Jessika kissing as her and her friends walk up.

My dad and Jessika unlock lips. Smiling, he says, “Told you Princess would be here soon.”

“What y’all talking about me for?” my auntie asked in a sassy tone, hands clutched to her hips.

My dad explained, “Jessika was feeling a little uneasy about being here by herself while I played basketball, so I told her you would be here soon to keep her kompany.”

“I guess. I like Jessika and all, but how you know I ain’t got other shit to do. You’re always putting me in your shit Gary. You should’ve asked me first. And like I said, no offense Jessika.”

“None taken,” Jessika interjected, reaching for her cup as my dad was distracted by my auntie.

“Listen,” my dad said. “Make her feel komfortable. This is our park, our day.”

“Can you guys stop talking about me like I’m not here?” Jessika said boldly. “I’m good, I’ll sit behind the bench, drink my wine and cheer my man on like any good woman is supposed to do.”

Jessika stood up and grabbed my dad’s hand to help his momentum getting out of the lawn chair and commanded me, “Let's go Lil G! Tip off is in less than two minutes.”

“Ok, I see you Ms. El Segundo,” my auntie said under her breath while dad and Jessika walked away briskly with me in tow trying to keep up. “Bye nephew, I’ll see you later,” she then yelled to me.

Deputy Thomas, an L.A. County Sheriff's Deputy that grew up in our neighborhood, coached my dad's team. Thomas got love from the homies because he didn't judge them. Plus, at this time in our history, the lion's share of those that claimed the hood weren't actively gang banging. Only a small amount, less than 25% I would estimate, even had a criminal record. I know, strange for a neighborhood the size of mine, with the amount of enemies we had. We were rarely the aggressors in any of our conflicts, unless we got some intelligence that the enemies were planning a hit, then we'd strike first.

“If we get the tip in the backcourt, immediately get the ball to Little Bullet and let him push it up the court. Same thing if we get the tip in the front court, get the ball to Bullet and let him clear it out. Too Tall, I want you at the top of the key ready to set a screen on whoever's guarding Auto. Once Auto is clear in the corner, Bullet, get him the ball ASAP. Got it?" Deputy Thomas instructed.

“Yes koach!" The team said loudly in unison.

“Ok. Let's get out there and kick some ass today. 1-2-3," Thomas said as the team stacked their hands atop one another.

“Westside!!!"

The starting five for team West Side approached midcourt to exchange handshakes and hugs with the East Side. No one really knows Big Bank’s nephew, the guy from Texas, so they practically hazed him by showing a competitive disdain and refusing to recognize him as a peer. He begins to jaw at members from the West Side, his banter falling on deaf ears. Him and Too Tall meet at half-court for the opening tip.

“Blood, I don’t know how y’all get down in Texas, but you in Kali now little nigga,” Too Tall says to him before Wallace tosses up the jump ball.

“Quit flexing mane, you know you kan’t fuck with me. I was All-State before I started banging the hood.”

“Nigga please. What hood was you banging? Whatever was going on in Texas was some Texas shit that you made up. Now you with the real B-Dogs!”

Wallace tosses the jump ball in the air and Too Tall uses a slight push to get the advantage on Tex. Too Tall then tips the ball in the direction of Little Bullet in the backcourt. Bullet #2 gets the ball and begins to walk it up the court slowly before a couple dribbles through his legs, afterwards speeding up the pace. A defender gets in front of him, crouching and sidestepping with his hands low attempting to obstruct Bullet’s path. A quick crossover by Little Bullet loses the defender just enough for him to dart towards the right corner where my dad was camped out.

Once my dad sees Bullet headed his direction, he heads toward the top of the key where Too Tall is waiting to set a screen on his man. Bullet, meanwhile, cuts and heads toward the baseline as if he will take a short floater or go to the rack for a layup. However, he finds my dad wide open and passes the ball to him for a three that hits the bottom of the net. 3-0 West Side.

My dad chunks the hood in the air as he runs back down court to play defense. Jessika cheers wildly from behind the player’s bench. “You see daddy Lil G?” she asks me, smiling widely.

From the onset, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what the East Side’s game plan is, feed it into the paint to Big Bank’s nephew. The first time they try it though, Too Tall slaps the ball from his hands as he attempts a post move. Little Bullet picks up the loose ball and speeds across half-court along the right sideline. He quickly glances to his left and sees my dad at the top of the key. Getting him the ball immediately, my dad hits the bottom of the net again. 6-0 West Side.

Bear, the East Side’s coach, calls a quick timeout. The East Side already looks rattled, yelling and blaming one another for my dad being so wide open. Tempers are flaring and it’s less than two minutes into the first quarter.

“Are y’all really about to let this nigga Auto go for 40 today?” he yells, crumbling a yellow piece of legal paper.

“No koach,” Tex says by himself.

“Wait, how this kountry ass nigga speaking up for y’all? Is you niggas pussy?”

“No koach,” as more chime in.

“Well, get out there and play some defense on this nigga. Stop watching him shoot like y’all his fans or something.”

“Yes koach!” every member of the team yells with more excitement.

After the timeout, things got no better for the East Side though. The West Side went on a 22-8 run to end the first quarter with contributions from many West Side players as the East tried to neutralize my dad by double teaming him. By doing that, it left others wide open for shots.

With the West up by 20 to start the second quarter, my dad was able to rest for the first four minutes of the period. During that time, the East went on a mini run of its own, cutting the lead from 20 to 12. Deputy Thomas put my dad back in the game and it paid immediate dividends. On the very next play, my dad isolated his man on the weak side wing area and backed him down. Before the double team could come, my dad hit a sweet turn around jumper to end the East Side's run.

"That's what I'm talking about, baby. Bust they ass!" Jessika screamed, cheering my dad on.

The following series of events would forever go down in Pulaski Park Blood history. Tex received the ball in the low post. He made his move and what should've been a clean look at the basket turned into a block from behind by a guy named B-Stone. Bullet #2 picked up the loose ball and fired an outlet pass to my dad who was wide open. After two dribbles, he took off from right outside the box and monster jammed the ball through the hoop.

After doing a pull-up on the basket and tapping the backboard, he landed on his feet and started to head up the court. As my dad crossed half court, he suddenly collapsed. Deputy Thomas was the first to react as he recognized that my dad was experiencing sudden cardiac arrest. He sprinted over to him and immediately checked for breathing, a heartbeat and pulse before administering CPR.

"Go get my bag. It's under the bench. Go get my motherfucking bag now," Deputy Thomas screamed, clearly knowing time is not on my dad's side.

Too Tall arrived seconds later with the bag and handed it to Deputy Thomas who was still administering CPR to my dad. Thomas briefly stopped compressing my dad's chest and opened the bag to retrieve his police radio.

“This is Deputy Thomas, I'm at Pulaski Park, address 12400 South Pulaski Avenue, Los Angeles, CA 90099. I'm with a Black male, approximately 23 years old and he is unresponsive. Appears to be suffering from sudden cardiac arrest. I need a medical unit immediately."

“Copy that Deputy Thomas, we're dispatching a unit right now."

“Back the fuck up, everyone back the fuck up," Thomas screamed to the surrounding crowd, waving for them to move away from my dad.

Garvey Hospital is less than two miles from the park, the ambulance arrived in under three minutes. However, because of the huge crowd surrounding the area on the court where my dad lay unconscious, it took them an additional minute or two to reach him. By the time they got to him and attempted to deliver a shock utilizing an AED, he had already transitioned to the afterlife. Per Deputy Thomas’ request, the medical unit didn’t give up on my dad, transporting him to the Garvey Cardiovascular Center.

At that moment, all I remember is silence. No cries, no screams, no words, nothing but silence. Jessika’s face was blank and pale as she grabbed my hand to lead me towards her vehicle. Her luster and glow from just minutes earlier, gone. I was looking at the EMT’s hurriedly carting my dad off and simultaneously looking around for my mother or auntie. It was virtually impossible to locate them in such a multitude of people.

My trust in Jessika was insurmountable, I felt safe in her presence. Looking at the faces of those in attendance, I could grasp the impact my dad had on so many people. Although I remember hearing nothing, I saw tears, people on their knees shaking their heads in disbelief, women crying on the shoulders of men and lots of praying hands.

Racing to the hospital to get closure, Jessika turned to me and said something. I couldn't hear her and at that age I did not read lips. I stared at her as if a deer in headlights when she repeated whatever it was she was saying. If I could guess what she said, I’d guess she was asking me if I was ok. Even at 5 years old, I realized my dad had died on that basketball court, doing something he loved at the place he loved most besides home.

Although Deputy Thomas and hundreds of others held out hope that he could be resurrected, I knew he was no longer in that body. However, something inside told me that everything was fine, thus the reason I’m assuming all went silent. It wasn’t meant for me to hear the chatter, the commotion, the cries and the pain. That type of shit is too much for a kindergartener.

As Jessika and I arrived at the cardiovascular center, I would estimate at least 100 or more people were already outside the emergency entrance, with more pulling up frantically. The first thing I remember hearing since we left the park was my Big Momma’s voice.

“Jessika,” my grandmother called out.

I turned quickly to see my grandmother, bright and glowing as usual. She was accompanied by her sister who was in town visiting from Chicago as she does every December. I ran to her and wrapped my arms around her legs as tightly as I could. After our embrace, I looked up at my grandmother and said, “Big Momma, I just saw my daddy go to heaven.”

“You did?” she said softly with a smile of joy that only God could supply her with at that moment.

“Yup. And right before he went to heaven, he jumped high in the air and slam-dunked the basketball in the hoop,” I said, imitating my dad as best I could.

Whatever had been holding Jessika up until this moment snapped because she broke all the way down. It was like an emotional seizure. Tears began to flow down her face, and her body convulsed uncontrollably and the words she attempted to speak could not be understood. My grandmother, being the comforter she is, immediately embraced her and ensured Jessika that everything would be ok.

“Jessika, I’m going to get your keys out of your purse and give them to my sister Camille. She’s going to take you and Little G back to my house. Ok?” Big Momma said to her after a few moments had passed.

As Jessika still sobbed uncontrollably, my great aunt Camille took over consoling duties for Big Momma as she had to deal with the hard stuff at the hospital. As my great aunt Camille held Jessika in her bosom, allowing her to soak her blouse with tears, I watched my grandmother walk toward that awaiting crowd of people with the strength of a bison. Once she was engulfed by them, it all went silent again.

My aunt Camille got Jessika and I into the car and we drove off. The next time I would see the physical representation of my dad was less than a week later at his funeral. Once more, there were moments of lengthy silence. I didn’t start to understand what was happening until some years later. My Big Momma said angels, namely my dad, were protecting me. My therapist told me that was my way of dealing with trauma. You know what, I equally believed them both.

Chapter II: Fully Legal

Today is my 21st birthday. It’s been almost 16 years since my pops passed away. To my family I’m still known as Little G or Lil G, whatever way you prefer to spell it. In my hood, I’m known as Silent, leader of Park Boy Mafia, a clique within Pulaski Park Bloods. One thing anyone can tell you, homies or enemies, is that we ain’t playing no games in these streets.

A lot has changed since my dad passed away. East and West isn’t just a basketball game anymore, it’s a bloodsport. Niggas that claim the same thing I claim are killing one another. What’s the use of having enemies when your own homies aren’t loyal. Now, Hood Day isn't about having fun, it’s basically a cease fire between the homies for one day.

One of the reasons Hood Day still exists is because after my dad died, the big homies renamed the basketball game, Big Auto Invitational. Let me explain that. Instead of the hood celebrating our history through basketball, we now invite Bloods from all around the city to participate in a round robin tournament to see what set has the best players. I bullshit you not, college and pro level scouts be at that bitch seeking talent.

Other than my pops being the namesake, many of the homies don’t respect him like they should. Everyone involved, except a select few, only participate for the money. That’s fine, I get that because niggas gotta feed their families. All I want is for niggas to break bread with my Big Momma and my brothers. Some do, most don’t. That’s why I be robbing them greedy ass niggas and they can’t say shit because they know I’m right, they’re wrong.

The good thing that has come out of the Big Auto Invitational, to me, is that my homies take a break from trying to kill each other. The shit is ridiculous at this point. Last year alone, three homies got killed by niggas from the hood, whereas only one got killed from the other side. Fuck that, shit don’t add up homie. Even the enemies are sitting back saying, let the Pulaski niggas kill each other, we don’t have to do shit. It gives vibes of post-Civil War Klan activities.

Also, since my dad passed away, Baby G was born shortly after his funeral, on Christmas day to be exact. Big Momma fought and beat cancer. Fuck cancer, cancer killa. And Jessika had Tiny G the August following pop's death. Yup, Jessika was pregnant the day my dad died. She found out a few days after the funeral.

Y'all remember Jessika liked to drink, right? Thankfully Tiny G didn't come out retarded or anything, LOL. He's actually bright and talented. The kid picks up on things quickly and excels at them. Oh yea, both of my brothers can hoop they ass off. That basketball shit passed me up. I got the gang banging side of my daddy and trust me, I’m good at what I do.

And of course, the elephant in the room, some serious internal beef started in the hood. The genesis of the beef happened after the funeral. Remember the bet my dad made on the game? One of the guys, the big homie Krimson, gave my grandmother $5,000 on GP because at the time the game was forfeited, the West was kicking the East’s ass. Therefore, out of the kindness of his heart, he blessed Big Momma with my dad’s winnings.

When Krimson did that, some of the homies started to put pressure on the other guy to do the same. He, a nigga that went by the name of B-Fresh, chose not to and one day at a hood function honoring my dad, one of the homies from the West Side shot him. B-Fresh didn't die that day, but he did succumb to his injuries shortly afterward, approximately 10 days later.

Both B-Fresh and Lil Silky, the nigga who shot him, have big families. Niggas started choosing sides to the point that all types of new cliques and factions were formed. Some of the homies had even discussed seceding from Pulaski and starting their own hood. That idea was shot down quickly on the strength that it would've caused a more deadly war than what's going on now.

Shit had died down for a minute and then the young members of B-Fresh’s family started jumping off the porch. One of his nephews tried to kill Lil Silky when he came home from the pen and Lil Silky’s family wasn’t having that. Klutch, Lil Silky’s son, and his cousin Flash were present when B-Fresh’s nephew was shot and killed in the driveway of his granny’s house as he was helping her take the groceries in.

I was recruiting Klutch to join Park Boy Mafia at the time, but once he did that I had to distance myself from Blood. Lil Silky’s family has money and they got both of the boys a decent lawyer. Flash beat the case because he wasn’t the shooter. His counsel argued that Flash didn’t know his cousin was going to shoot Midnite. Klutch took 10 years on a plea deal for a lesser charge, aggravated malicious wounding or some shit like that.

Midnite’s death caused a deeper divide in the hood because he was really like that in the streets. Even though he was from the East, he had respect from niggas on the West Side. He was cool with a lot of our niggas until he tried to kill Lil Silky. On the other side of the coin, when he tried to kill Lil Silky, he gained more respect from a minority of West Side niggas.

As I stated, Lil Silky’s family has money. One of the main points of contention and why people don’t like them, they are ungenerous. Looking back, it makes even less sense that Lil Silky would shoot B-Fresh over not giving money to my family when his family is a bunch of penny pinchers. It leads me to believe Lil Silky and B-Fresh had prior issues and Lil Silky used that bet money as an excuse to shoot him.

With all the bullshit going on in the hood, Park Boy Mafia has strict instructions from me to remain neutral in all conflicts that do not directly involve one of ours. At the moment, PBM is 11 deep. It’s me and 10 other certified young men from my hood that bring something to the table. I’ll give our roll call later, for now, just know we’ve been fortunate to remain free and clear of all hood politics. I know, I’m a good judge of character. None of my niggas are reckless and hotheaded.

There's some other shit I can discuss that can wait until another day. I have more pressing things to do, such as celebrating and enjoying my birthday with the family. Today is a busy day for me. Big Momma is making my favorite breakfast as I speak and it smells so good. It’s her homemade spicy chicken sausage partnered with cast iron skillet sweet potatoes, Vidalia onions, with a blend of herbs and spices, topped with two free range eggs, omelette style.

Around 2:30 pm, I have a hot lunch date with my mother for crab legs at Redondo Beach Pier. After that, Jessika wants to meet in Century City. She says it’s a surprise; shit it better be a good one because Redondo to Century City is a trek. The PBM homies say they want to do something for me too, but by the time I get back to the hood it’ll be time for bed, no cap.

“Little G,” my grandmother screams out, interrupting my video chat with Cheyenne, a female rapper from my hood that is obsessed with playing her new material for me. She just finished an all night studio session and wanted to wish me a happy birthday before she went to sleep.

“Is that Big Momma kalling yo ass?” she asked while cracking up laughing.

“On Bloods, you already know how she is. She has no inside voice at all.”

“Go handle that, I’m sure you have a million things to do today and Mrs. Thornton ain’t hearing that when it komes to her first born grandson.”

“Alright Shy, I’ll holler at you later when I get back from the West Side.”

“Wait, where on the West Side will you be?”

“Century City, why what’s up?”

“I have a meeting in Westwood later, if you wanna meet up and have a drink or something, now that you’re legal.”

I laugh and reply, “I’ll hit you up when I’m done meeting with Tiny G momma.”

“Love you Gary, happy birthday dog.”

“Alright, holler at you later.”

As soon as I get off the phone, Big Momma is on my ass again, “Gary Thornton, Jr., did you hear me call you? Breakfast is ready son.”

I get up, open the door and yell back, “Ma, I was on the phone with Cheyenne, I’m on my way. Let me put a shirt on.”

I put on a fresh A-shirt and spray my locks with this essential oil blend that I got from a healing lady in Watts. Shit smells exemplary. Everywhere I go, females get a whiff of that and go crazy. Plus, she said the blend of oils she personally mixed have healing and protective properties.

I exit my room, walk past the bathroom and make a left into the dining room where I see Big Momma has set the table with that expensive shit. Real silverware, China dinnerware, cloth napkins, champagne bucket with a bottle of Rose’ bubbles in it and crystal glassware. Damn, I feel like a king, no bullshit.

As I walk past the China cabinet towards the entrance of the kitchen, “Surprise nigga,” my auntie Princess screams as she jumps out, startling me.

“What the fuck?” I responded, not expecting her to be there.

“Watch your mouth son,” Big Momma says nonchalantly. “You’re at that age now where you have to be more conscious of the things you say and do,” she then says with a sense of introspection.

“I told her not to tell you I was here. You know my thick ass ain’t passing up no meals,” Princess said as she swipes some fruit from the bowl that Big Momma is carrying to the dining room.

“Princess, get your hands out of my shit,” my grandmother says, snapping at auntie.

“I thought we were watching our mouths grandma,” I said with a condescending tone.

“Nigga, I’m grown, I can say what I want,” she replies with a slight chuckle. “Now, both of y’all get the fuck out of my way.”

My auntie and I couldn’t resist the urge to laugh uncontrollably. Princess grabs my hand and pulls me towards her so that we can create a lane for my grandmother to pass through. She leans in and whispers to me, “That’s your grandmother.”

“Princess, make yourself useful and get the rest of the food. Shit, I’m tired, I've been up since 5 this morning cooking for my grandson. I can’t do anything else.” My grandmother then looks at me with the softness of a pillow you’d find at The Four Seasons and continues, “Son, go sit down. Enjoy yourself.”

I attempted to sit down in my normal spot where I would sit during traditional family functions, but my grandmother gave me a head nod, signalling me to sit in the throne. The throne is where my grandfather, Howard, used to sit. I don’t have many personal memories of Mr. Thornton, as my family calls him because he died when I was 3. But from my understanding, the throne is sacred.

It took less than two minutes to find out just how sacred the throne is. After Princess finished putting all the food out, she broke down crying after seeing me sit there. “Oh my God, he looks exactly like both of them,” she said as she sobbed.

“Princess, get it together,” my grandmother told her. “This is a moment of celebration, let him be great today without reliving the past.”

“I’m sorry momma, I kouldn’t help it. Seeing him sit there brought back so many memories.” She tries to bring it in and regain her composure as she looks my way and tells me, “Sorry nephew. Happy birthday. I wish they were here to see the man you have grown to be.”

“Love you too, auntie. No need to apologize to me. I get it.”

“Princess, pray over the food so we can eat,” my grandmother instructs my auntie. She then bends over to rub her ankles before saying, “Good Lord, I’m ready to go back to sleep. I’m so thankful my oldest grandson made it to see 21.”

“Amen,” my auntie Princess concurs.

“I’m ready whenever you are, baby.”

“Ok mom. Dear Lord, we come to you in the most humble fashion and give thanks that my nephew, Gary, has made it to see the age of 21. We ask that he is granted 21 more years and another 21 on top of that. I would like to thank you for my beautiful mother, the cook, as you have blessed her hands to do magical things in the kitchen. We ask that this wonderful food nourishes and fulfills our bodies, especially when there are those that do not have anything this morning. I ask that everyone at this table makes wise decisions to further their lives and that we all never forget to give thanks unto you. Lastly, we want to remember the ones that aren’t here, my father and brother, and may their souls rest in peace. In your name we pray, Amen.”

“Amen.”

“Amen.”

“Woo, lets eat,” Big Momma says excitedly as she grabs her napkin to unfold it and place it over her lap.

My aunt is the first to dig in, as usual, “Mom, this is fire,” she says before turning to me, “Nephew, let's put our bread together and open a restaurant using momma’s recipes.”

“When? I kan match you 50/50. Let's do it.”

“My recipes ain’t cheap, while y’all over there making plans,” Big Momma interrupts.

Big Momma never ceases to give us a moment we can appreciate. Her interjections are always on point and add a sense of comic relief. At times she reminds me of a cross between Florence from the Jeffersons and Nell Carter from Gimme A Break. Back to breakfast though, Auntie ain’t never lied, Big Momma put her all into this meal.

After we finished eating, my aunt reached into her purse and removed a bank envelope. “This is from me and momma, hope you enjoy it,” she says as she hands the envelope to me.

I open the envelope and it's a stack of $100 bills. I count them and it's 21 to be exact. That's what I’m talking about. What a way to start my 21st birthday off, with $2,100 in cash. My auntie and grandmother are sitting silently smiling, watching me smile. This is the last thing I expected as a gift.

“Wow, thanks. I really appreciate this,” I said, expressing my appreciation.

“We just want you to keep growing as a man,” Big Momma voiced. “You have two younger brothers and since you’re the first, you have to set an example, be responsible.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Ok grandson, I’m going to take a shower and go back to bed. Help your auntie clean the kitchen up and put all this food away. Tell your momma and Jessika I said hello and I’ll see you later,” were Big Momma’s words as she lifted herself from the seat she occupied.

I hugged and kissed her before she disappeared into the hallway that leads to her room. Princess and I cleared the table and engaged in some small talk as we cleaned the kitchen. With the kitchen being clean, my aunt is ready to hit the road and handle her business for the day.

Currently, she is wiping the counter down and doing some last minute straightening of the spice rack as she says, “Alright nephew, I have to get out of here. Amira is having a show and tell at school today and I have to pick up and drop off some kupcakes for her klass. You’ll walk me out?”

“Fa’sho.”

She folds the rag she has been using and places it on the edge of the sink. After retrieving her handbag from a chair in the breakfast nook, she removes her smartphone from it to take a quick look at the homescreen. We walk out the front door and I immediately notice how beautiful it is outside. I also notice my aunt’s ex is lurking, watering his grass. He must’ve looked outside and saw her car parked. He’s from the hood, but one of the square niggas, he’s definitely not a gang banger.

“Silent, what up Blood?” he said prior to greeting my aunt, “Princess, you got another new kar?”

“No nigga, it’s the same kar I been had the last year or so. Are you stalking me again?”

He laughs cynically before saying, “I’m just trying to keep up with your momma, make sure my lawn is on point. Our families have been going at it for years when it komes to lawn care.”

“Boy stop. Why don’t you just say hi like normal people? Stop being weird.”

Knowing his ruse has been detected, he returns his attention back to me, “Happy B-Day Blood. You kan finally hit the strip klub with your big homie.”

“Stop it Blood. You already know I bring the strip klub to me.”

“Yea, you got the hoes on deck, I kan’t lie. But the strip klub is an experience.”

“If the experience is on you, then I’ll experience it.”

“No doubt, I got you,” he says, clearly trying to impress my aunt.

“Hold on Blood, let me get my auntie situated and I’ll get right back with you,” I say to Blood as I’m opening the driver side door for Princess.

She turns to me with a smirk on her face and whispers, “That cheap ass nigga ain’t got shit.”

“Princess don’t be over there hating,” he says feeling somewhat insecure.

We both ignore him and continue our departing conversation. Princess apologizes again for her mini meltdown earlier and promises to do better in the future. You have to understand her stance, these are two men she admired and as strong as she is, it hurts that they aren’t here. I’ve had deep conversations with my aunt and her level of understanding about spirituality is different, meaning more advanced than most.

Before she pulls off, she gives me her best friend Kelly’s number. Kelly has been flirting with me since I can remember. Hitting that has been on my bucket list for a long time. I wonder why all of a sudden Kelly wants me to have her number.

“Kall Kelly, she said she has something for you,” Princess says as I put Kelly’s number into my phone.

“I hope she wants to give me what I really want from her,” I say jokingly, yet seriously.

“Boy, stop being nasty. Just kause you kute dont mean every girl wants to fuck you. The sooner you accept that, the better your life will be. Because if you don’t, you’ll end up like that nigga over there watering the grass, stalking bitches and shit.”

“Lord knows I do not want to be anything like Blood. But that was your nigga at one point,” I reply smartly.

“Yea, at one point, not now. See how that works.”

“Ok, I’ll hit her up and bee what she’s talking about,” I say, looking at Princess, grinning from ear to ear.

“Get your head out the gutter,” she tells me shaking her head from side to side, knowing what I’m thinking. “I know you have a busy day today,” she says as she starts her car up.

“I do. Love you auntie,” I tell her as I lean in and give her a kiss on the cheek through the window of her car.

When she speeds off, I see the thirst in 2Percent’s eyes. He would do whatever to get my aunt back. The thing is, he should have done whatever to keep her when he had her. Whatever happened between them wasn’t that bad because she wouldve literally killed that nigga if it was, but whatever it was, it keeps her far away from him.

Now that I recollect, this nigga 2Percent never brings any bitches to his crib. Never thought anything about it until today, but now it makes sense. Although my aunt is fully over him, he’s not over her. There’s a big lesson to be learned in a person’s inability to move on. Some people call it obsession, passion or simply never giving up or holding on to hope. In this case, as in many cases, some shit needs to be let go of.

Part 1 of my birthday is over, now it's time to shower and take a nap like my grandmother. I have a feeling that, by the way this day has started, there are more lessons to learn. I pray to God that whatever I’m supposed to see, I see it as clear as I can see the sun right now. Amen.

Chapter III: Be Silent

King Harbor, Redondo Beach, CA is one of my favorite places in the city. When I was little, my dad used to bring my mom and I here for crab legs every Sunday. Some memories I had of him are lost, but not this. Now that he’s gone, my mother brings me here every year for my birthday.

My mother has been acting shady towards me over the last 5 years because when Big Momma got diagnosed with cancer, I chose to move out of her house to live with my grandmother. The funny shit about it is, my mother only lives three blocks from Big Momma, so I’m always at her house too. My grandmother lives on the 4 and Pulaski, my mother lives on the 7 and Pulaski. It is what it is, my mother has always been petty like that towards my grandmother.

If you know my mother, she’s always fly. She is the type of woman that doesn’t go to the grocery store without getting dressed, for real. To be honest, while some women might get fly to impress others, my mother truly does it for herself. I think she may have had low self esteem growing up, and now, dressing up makes her feel good, like therapy. Either way, fashion is definitely one of her passions.

Surprisingly, she’s been celibate since my dad died. I don’t know if it’s guilt or if she truly thought he was her soulmate, but she hasn’t been with anyone since at least December 4 of that year. Rumors in the hood started floating around that my mother is gay now, but I had to shut that shit down immediately. Anyone that was running with that narrative, and I found out, got checked with the quickness, if not their ass beat or pistol whipped. I didn’t care how much weight your name did or didn’t hold in the hood, it was open season, male or female if you spread false rumors about my mother.

Another thing you should know about my mother is that she’s always before time. There’s no CP time with her. If she tells you 2:30 pm, she’s already been at the spot since 2:00 pm waiting for you. I roll up and she’s sitting on the patio of Anna Belle’s Parish, a Cajun kitchen, looking as beautiful as ever. She’s rocking a fluffy afro with designer aviator glasses covering her face. Her caramel complexion is glistening in the Southern California sunlight and her Rouge lip gloss has left an imprint on the wine glass she’s sipping from.

She stands up to greet me as I arrive at the table. “Happy birthday Blood,” she says convincingly, channeling all the hood swag that she possessed back in the day.

“Thank you. Love you,” I respond as I hug her tightly like I haven’t seen her in weeks, when I just saw her two days ago.

“Look at your hair, it’s really growing,” she says admiring my freshly retwisted locks, rubbing her fingers through them.

“Mom, stop acting like I just kame back from kollege or something. I’m in the hood everyday just like you.”

She starts laughing hilariously and kisses me on the cheek before saying, “How’s Mrs. Thornton, how’s Princess?”

“They’re good, we had an amazing breakfast this morning,” I respond as my mother sits down and I scoot her chair in.

“Why thank you handsome, I appreciate that.”

I sat down and told my mother, “Big Momma said hello.”

“I need to kall her, or better yet, kome visit.”

“Yea, you do need to kome and visit. I don’t know why you be tripping because I live with her now.”

“Ain’t nobody jealous of you or her. I bet if I knew the recipe for that chicken sausage scramble you like so much, you’d be back with your real mama, not your Big Momma.”

“I be at your krib all the time, stop with the shenanigans.”

“You don’t be there enough, how about that? You’re supposed to be my protector Gary. Do you know how many of those skanless ass Pulaski niggas be trying to holler at me? Ew, it makes my skin krawl. These niggas watched they brother, they homie die on that basketball court and still try to holler at his widow?”

“Mom, widow is going too far, but I feel you. So, who has been trying to holler at you?”

“Listen, it doesn’t matter. Plus, I don’t want you out here trying to katch a body because you feel like someone is disrespecting me or your daddy.”

“Mom, how I’m gone get mad that a nigga trying to holler at you. You look good as hell. Them old niggas thinking with they penis, not they brains. And it’s been almost 16 years, what do you expect them to do?”

“Mind they business.”

“What are you drinking, you need another one?”

“I ain't one of your little flips, don’t be trying to get me drunk.”

I laugh out loud at that response and reply, “Mom, you can park your kar here overnight or I kan get you a room in Hermosa or Manhattan.”

“See, Mrs. Thornton spoiling your ass. How much money did she give you today? You know what, I don’t even want to know because that’s why you like being over there, they don’t make you work for shit! They just give you everything.”

“Big Momma has given you money before too. Stop kapping.”

“You know what, you’re right. Where’s our server, I do need another drink. You, Princess, Mrs. Thornton, all y’all about to get on my nerves. It’s like you chose them over me Little G.”

“I love you mom,” I say as I smile and wink at her.

“That shit doesn't work with me anymore. Same shit your daddy used to do. Y’all Thornton’s are some manipulative muthafuckas.”

“Mom, it’s my B-Day, relax and let me be great.”

“I want you to kome home, you’ve been over there long enough.”

“Why are you tweaking? You know I be there with you all the time.”

“How many times do I have to tell you Gary, twice a week isn’t enough. Now, if you were gone away to kollege or the military or some shit like that I kan understand, but you live right down the street and I see you on average twice, maybe three times a week. That’s unacceptable.”

“Mom, you need a boyfriend. Seriously, I’m going to forward a link to some dating apps, so you kan start getting back to some type of normalcy. I miss dad just as much as you do, but you kan’t be holding out to prove you’re loyal to someone that’s not here. Live your life, you have my blessing.”

“I’m moving!”

“Wait, what the fuck?” I ask in a tone that expresses a sense of frustration.

“Yup, I’m moving to Charlotte. I’m klosing on my kondo down there in 30 days. You, your grandma and your auntie kan have each other. I’m out. I don’t have time for this shit anymore.”

“Mom, I don’t have time to be playing games with you,” I seriously convey to her as I rub my hand through my locks and sigh.

As I am processing what she has just told me, I get an alert on my smartphone. “I sent you a link to the documents I signed today. Think I’m bullshitting if you want to,” she asserts as she sips the last of the wine in her glass.

I look over the documents and it takes everything I have within me to not blow the fuck up. She is really moving to Charlotte, or at least she has really purchased a condo out there. That’s fucked up, she did this shit without telling me or consulting me. Instead of tripping, I excuse myself and go to the restroom. I get to the restroom and try to punch a hole through the stall door. She went there, knowing I’d have to choose between her and Big Momma. Told you she’s been on some bullshit lately.

My hand is a little sore from punching the stall, but it’ll be ok. It’s my emotions that I am uncertain about at this moment. If my mother moves to Charlotte, I have no choice but to move with her. I can’t allow her to move 2,400 miles to the other side of the country without me. She has gone too far this time and I don’t know what to say to her. And she pulls this shit on my birthday. Of all days to pull this shit, she picks today.

I immediately get on the phone and call Jessika. She answers on the second ring, “Happy B-Day Lil G, can’t wait to see you later.”

“That’s what I’m kalling for, we have to postpone our dinner date, something kame up.”

“Whoa, we can’t postpone G, this is something that has to happen today.”

“I kan’t, no disrespect.”

“Gary, this meeting is bigger than you think, you can’t postpone it. Do I need to come and fix something for you? Because if I do, I can be on my way now, but our meeting today is off the table for postponement.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means what I said it means. As long as you’re breathing, conscious and free, there’s no postponing shit. I hate to put it like that but it is what it is.”

“Naw, I don’t need you to fix anything. I’ll be there, no worries.”

“Thank you. I appreciate your understanding, my love.”

“Alright, peace.”

Jessika has never turned up on me like that before. Whatever she has going on must be extremely important. It’s actually disturbing in some ways how she talked to me because to see someone in a different light for the first time can be scary. I’m a gangsta and I almost feel like she was punking me. First Princess, then my mother, now Jessika, three women that I love to death acting weird today of all days. The only normal acting female in my life is Big Momma.

My phone starts ringing. I look at it and it’s my mother. I pick up, “Where are you? The krab legs are here.”

“I had to make a phone kall, give me a minute, I’ll be right back.”

“Ok. Don’t be too long.”

After second thought, if I had to draw a line in the sand, in all honesty, I’m choosing my Big Momma. That’s my decision. My dad would do the same. Yes, my mother is my mother, and I love her to death, but I can’t take her bullshit right now. My Big Momma would never pull the stunt my mother pulled. I’m confident in my position now, especially after getting banged on by Jessika. My mother can go to Charlotte, fuck it.

I arrive back at the table and the crab legs look amazing. Steam is still rising from them to the heavens, carrying the cajun seasoning mixed with buttery goodness. I’m calm, my mother looks nervous as if she has just gone all in at a poker tournament. My silence will call her bluff. The server passes by and asks if everything is ok. I reply yes and ask that she bring me a shot of Anejo Tequila.

I crack open a crab leg, claw first, and I can barely hide my excitement. I take the large chunk of crab meat and dip it in the cajun butter provided and it melted in my mouth. It’s something about eating with my hands that brings back memories of my childhood. For instance, I’m pissed as hell at my mother right now, but I’m looking at her in this moment the way I looked at her when I was five years old.

She gets a pass while I’m eating, after lunch I’ll tell her to have a nice life in Charlotte if that’s where she wants to be. Meanwhile, her triple bib has me dying inside. One bib covers her right shoulder, another bib covers the left shoulder and the third bib covers her chest. She is not fucking any of her clothes up, at all.

Two shots and two pounds of crab legs later, I’m done. I’ve almost forgotten that my mother pulled the bullshit she pulled with the ‘I’m moving to Charlotte’ fiasco. If that’s what she wants, that’s what she’ll get.

It’s approaching 5:00 pm and I am supposed to be in Century City by 7:00 pm. It’s Thursday during rush hour and I’m hoping there are some gaps in traffic that’ll get me where I need to be before I’m supposed to be there. I get up, kiss my mom goodbye and walk towards the car. I got my head on a swivel because The Suckas be up here at the Redondo Pier sometime. Can’t get caught slipping.

No need for GPS, I’ll take Sepulveda until I get to Culver City. Once I get to Culver City, I’ll hop on Overland to Olympic on my journey to Century City. Century City is known as a banking and legal district in the City of Los Angeles. At one point, Century City was the hotspot for celebrities when the Century Club was in operation. Now, it’s a low key spot to chill and stay out of the way.

I’m meeting Jessika at The Beverly Glen Cafe, a chic Tapas restaurant known as a paparazzi hangout because of the influx of Hollywood elites in the area. Apparently, they have amazing food, I’ve heard their mini empanadas are off the chain. I’m full for the day, so I might just have a drink or two. No need to be a glutton.

Not bad, it only took a little over an hour and a half to get to Century City. Traffic wasn’t as bad as I anticipated. Rolled up to the valet, got out of the car and handed one of the guys my keys in exchange for a ticket. Received a text from Jessika that she’s already at the spot, all I have to do is give the hostess her name and they’ll lead me to the table.

“I’m here to meet with Jessika Green,” I tell the short chubby hostess that’s wearing an all black dress, a thin black sweater and black shoes.

She smiles, showing straight bright white teeth and says, “Right this way sir.”

As I’m following her, I notice she has a tattoo of the seven chakras on the back of her neck, going down her spine, in color. It stood out to me right away because my therapist used to recommend I do yoga. There was a yoga instructor in Leimert Park that I went to on a few occasions. She had a poster on the wall showing the exact shapes, alignment and colors on this young lady's neck.

Arriving at the table, Jessika has a guest with her. He’s a slender white man, silver hair, silver beard and a mild natural looking tan. On the chair directly across from him is a premium brown leather messenger bag. Jessika gets up from her chair, walks around the table and gives me a hug.

“Happy birthday, so good to see you made it to 21,” she said as she embraced me tightly, both hands wrapped around my back.

“Thank you, I appreciate that,” I say right before I kiss her on the cheek.

After unlocking our embrace, she introduces her guest, “Gary this is Mr. Goldman, Mr. Goldman, this is Gary.”

He stands up, reaches across the table and extends his hand to shake mine, “Nice to meet you Gary. As Jessika said, I'm Mr. Goldman, Phillip Goldman.”

“Likewise,” I say with a firm grip of his hand, careful to look him directly in the eyes.

Everyone sits down after the introduction and there’s a weird silence, momentarily. There’s a wine glass and a chilled bottle of sparkling mineral water in front of me. I open the water and pour approximately four ounces into the wine glass. In a metal bowl to the right of the water bottle are several lime wedges, which I help myself to. That’s when Mr. Goldman goes right into his spiel.

“The reason I’m here Gary is because I represented your father in some business matters when he was alive. There are some extremely important documents that your father wanted you to receive on your 21st birthday and I’m here to deliver them.”

“What type of documents are we talking about?”

“Some financial docs and a few other things. One of the documents requires you sign an NDA or a non-disclosure agreement,” he’s telling me, reaching over the table to retrieve his bag.

He produces a 10 x 15 inch white envelope and prior to handing it to me, he produces a clipboard with the non-disclosure agreement attached to it. I look it over and it basically says that the contents of the envelope I am about to receive shall remain confidential for the rest of my life. Also, it outlines the consequences if I were ever to violate the agreement. Jessika signs the document after me, as the witness, and then Mr. Goldman hands the sealed, tamper free envelope over.

“Go ahead, read the document inside,” he instructed me. “That’s the way your dad wants this meeting to go. Read that first, then you get your money.”

My anxiety level is off the charts. From a small child, I’ve used silence as a coping mechanism. I named myself Silent when I jumped off the porch and started banging the hood. Now, 16 years after I attended my very first Hood Day, my dad is making me sign an agreement that swears me to silence about something before I even know what the fuck it is. Here goes everything, I take a deep breath and open the letter.

“Dear Gary, this letter was to be delivered to you on your 21st birthday in the case that I didn’t get to see you make the big 2-1. I’m not one for long drawn out stories, so I’ll get right to it. You are not my son, you are my younger brother. You are now the second living person that knows this truth, the only other being your mother.

“Your mother and I were best friends growing up, and she was always around the house. I never suspected anything was going on between her and our father until one day I came home early from school and a pair of her shoes were at the front entrance of the house. They must not have heard me come in because they continued doing what they were doing.

“It didn’t take long before I realized what was going on as I entered the den. Long story short, they were in the act of having sex. I was mad at our dad for the longest, but I knew I had to protect him out of loyalty because your mother was only 16 at the time. No way was I going to tell on my daddy, I had to be silent. About a month or so later, she finds out she’s pregnant. Now, we had to double down on the lie to cover it up and say she was pregnant by me.

“We played our roles and played them well because when you came out, you were a spitting image of the old man. We just blamed it on strong family genes and everyone fell for it hook, line and sinker. After he died, I vowed I would not leave this earth without letting you know the truth. You are never to repeat this to anyone, ever! Now please place this letter back into the envelope and hand it back to the attorney.”

What the fuck is this, a bad joke? My stomach feels hollow, like I never ate this morning or a couple of hours ago. I place the letter back into the envelope and hand it back to Mr. Goldman. Jessika is looking at me trying to read my face, a blank stare covering it. She doesn’t know what I just read, however, I’m sure she assumes it wasn’t good. Mr. Goldman grabs a portable paper shredder from his bag and inserts the letter through its blades, destroying any evidence of what was revealed to me.

How could my mother keep this charade up this long? What stings the most is the realization that I’m not technically related to Big Momma. That’s not even a thought I’m ever going to entertain again, ever! Fuck, Gary, why’d you have to do me like this on my 21st birthday. I bet this wasn’t what Bishop Abraham was talking about when he said I need to be born again. This is a born again brain fuck.

Yeah, I definitely have to get up with Cheyenne tonight, have a few drinks, smoke some weed and try to take my mind off this. I can’t tell my brothers, I mean my nephews about this. I can’t even tell my own mother that I know the truth, and this is her fucking fault in the first place. Knowing her ass, she’ll never come clean. That’s probably why she wants to move to Charlotte. I hope this shit is eating away at her. Now I see why Gary had sudden cardiac arrest, too much for his heart to take.

And grandpa, what the fuck, my real pops died of cancer. Niggas ain’t gone kill me. I might go vegan or keto or something so I don’t get all sick. Can’t have my body breaking down on me at a young age because I gotta hold this shit in. At least those bastards left me $100,000. I excuse myself from the table, grab my check and this manual, a notebook looking thing that Gary left me and tell Jessika goodbye.

“Nice doing business with you Mr. Goldman,” I tell him, walking fast toward the exit and chunking the deuces.

Chapter IV: Catch and Release

“Oh shit, you’re gonna make me kum,” she moaned loudly, laying on her back, pinned against the chaise with her legs in the air.

“You like this dick, don't you?” I asked aggressively, stroking that her pussy, trying not to cum before her.

“I do Gary, I do,” she said, biting her lower lip.

“What did you just kall me?” I replied, inserting my penis deeper into her vagina.

“Oh shit, that feels so good, Silent,” she said, immediately correcting herself.

Once I got her close to the apex, I decided it was time to switch it up to my go-to position. I would describe it to you, but it’s my go-to position, guaranteed to make a woman cum, and I don’t want anyone stealing my shit. Anyway, after I switched to my go-to position, about ten strokes later she grabs the chaise pillow and puts it over her face to muffle her scream. In the corner suite we occupied I doubt anyone could hear her, but she did it anyway.

Shortly after she got hers, I got mine. I had a condom on so I came while still inside her, feeling it was safe to do so. To keep it 100, I actually laid on top of her, with my penis still inside her, so I could feel her vagina throb. And I guarantee you, it was pulsating a mile a minute. A few dozen seconds pass then I gently pull out, knowing her vagina is sensitive. She still has the pillow covering her face, as if slightly embarrassed.

I head to the bathroom to discard the condom and do a quick wash-up. Not in a million years would I have ever thought I would be in this moment with Cheyenne. This is the homie, she’s from the hood. Not saying I have never fucked any of the homegirls before, it's just Cheyenne is the homie-homie. She calls me every time she leaves the studio so I can critique her music. Now I know the girl is talented beyond the arts.

As I am returning from the bathroom, Cheyenne is finally up. She is standing between the bed and the chaise. I am assuming she rose from the chaise seconds before I returned from the bathroom. Her body is glistening, small beads of sweat cover her like dew on a leaf in the early morning. The moment she notices me, she instantly attempts to cover her petite chocolate frame.

“Don’t look at me!”, she states, right hand across her plump breasts, left hand covering a vagina with some slight new growth.

“I was just looking at you for the past 22 minutes,” I reply, standing in front of her, myself fully nude.

“That’s different, we were in the moment,” she reasoned.

I did an about face, walked towards the closet and retrieved one of the plush robes provided by the hotel. Turning my head, to not look at her, I toss the robe in her direction when I arrive back in the bedroom. While giving her a few moments to put the robe on, I’m thinking about how we got here in the first place. This has been a wild 24 hours to say the least.

“I’m about to hop in the shower, kan you order breakfast?” she said. “It’s on me, I got you, no worries.”

“What do you want?” I asked.

“French toast or pancakes, whatever they have,” replied Cheyenne. “French toast would be my first option. Also, I want a side of fruit and turkey sausage. If there’s no French toast, order pancakes, with the sides I mentioned, plus a side of scrambled cheese eggs.”

“Who do you think I am, Benson or something?” was my sarcastic reply.

“Boy, just order what I said and get a bottle of Prosecco with a pitcher of orange juice.”

“Alright,” I replied as I slapped her ass when she walked by me.

Here’s how we got here. As soon as I left the meeting with Jessika and Mr. Goldman, I sat in my car for 20 minutes or so searching for hotels in the area with decent rates. I knew for a fact I was not going to drive back to the hood. My intention, as I was booking the room, was to be by myself for the night, hit the hotel lobby, grab a few drinks and go to sleep. But, as you can see, it didn’t happen that way.

Cheyenne texted me shortly after I booked the hotel and asked if I was still down to kick it. Reluctantly, I agreed to hang out. The only reason I entertained Cheyenne was because I needed some weed and I know she always keeps a few grams on her. If she didn’t text me, I would have never reached out to her that night, although that’s what I thought I wanted to do earlier. Something came over me, as I was sitting in my car, that made me want to be alone, to be silent.

Her session ended an hour and a half after I checked in. The commute from Westwood would put Cheyenne at the hotel in just under twenty minutes with traffic. I called downstairs to add her name to the room to prevent a potential ghosting if I happened to fall asleep. Didn’t want that to occur because she did sound excited to see me yesterday during our video chat.

There’s a reason why spiritual traditions, past and present, say know thyself. And I know myself extremely well. Two Cognacs and a craft beer later, I was stuck. I damn near passed out at the bar. The bartender nudged me as my eyes closed for what seemed like only a few seconds, but it was more like a minute or two.

“Hey sir, are you a guest of the hotel?” the bartender asked.

“Yea, room 1240,” I replied, low key annoyed that he asked me that.

“Would you like to bill the drinks to your room or cash out?” he asked, now reaching for the receipt, in the rocks glass in front of me, that shows what my tab is.

I didn't reply immediately, I simply reached in my pocket and pulled out a crisp hundo; one of the ones from Big Momma and Princess. He looked at it and before a word could come from his mouth, I was sliding my chair backwards on the finished concrete floor that surrounded the bar area. The bartender was continuing to look at me when I bent the corner to take the elevator to my suite. Muthafucka probably ain’t used to seeing a young nigga like me tip like that.

Between Big Momma, my mother, and definitely Jessika, my tipping game is on point. Princess is cheap. When I’m out with her, I always offer to leave the tip. She’ll fuck around and embarass both of us. No bullshit, that’s the biggest tip, percentage wise, I have left a server since I’ve been going out by myself. My bill was $49 including tax for three drinks. Usually, even if I get shitty service, I will give 18-20%. If the service is exceptional, the percentage goes up to 30-33% depending on if the server is personable, attentive, but still stays out the way. I learned that from Jessika.

Back at the room, it’s shower time and I stay in there for less time than I normally do because I’m dead tired. When I exit the shower, I do a quick pat down of my body and head straight to the closet to grab one of those Angeles Mesa Hotel robes I saw when I put my windbreaker in there. Damn, the robe felt good as fuck when I first put it on. That experience was like taking another shot, putting me straight to sleep.

Not sure if I tied the robe belt tight enough when I initially put it on, but by the time Cheyenne arrived, the robe was open as I lay on my back in the middle of the bed. Before she woke me up, which I was told took close to five minutes, she covered me with a towel from the bathroom. I assured her I did not fall asleep exposed on purpose, and she believed me. That would look rather suspect to me if the shoe was on the other foot.

One of the reasons I picked the corner suite is because it had a balcony. Cheyenne likes to smoke weed and had a few pre-rolls that she picked up from a dispensary on Sunset and some punch she got from her engineer at the studio. We stepped onto the balcony to spark one of the pre-rolls, taking the glasses filled with ice cold punch with us. On the balcony, Cheyenne could not stop clowning me about having my dick out when she arrived at the room.

What caught my ear was when she told me, “If you weren’t the homie, I would’ve jumped on that.” Of course she attempted to pass it off as a joke, but I wasn’t buying it. I knew she was dead ass serious.

My lungs aren’t strong enough to smoke the whole pre-roll with Cheyenne. That, mixed with the punch, got me extra high. We head back into the room after I tap out. On some random shit, Cheyenne has two decks of cards in her purse. After we sit down she pulls them out and asks if I want to play Speed or Uno? Uno it is; I’m too faded to be playing Speed, actually I think we both are.

No cap, I’m busting her ass at Uno. She keeps accusing me of cheating. I assure her I’m not, I’m just better than her. Convinced that I’m cheating, she lunges at me and tries to take the cards as I’m beginning to deal the next hand. When she did that, somehow the robe belt came loose again, exposing my man parts. With her being focused on stealing the cards from me, she didn’t immediately notice.

I had to tell her to stop so I could fix my robe. She thought I was joking, without looking down, and proceeded to straddle me to continue her pursuit of the Uno cards as I fell back on the bed. Once she got on top of me, she knew it was real. From there, she started looking back and forth between my face and my dick. A few times after doing that, she leaned forward and started kissing me. Thirty seconds into us kissing, she started to gyrate on my dick causing an instantaneous erection. Like second nature, my arm reached for the emergency kit located on the nightstand next to the bed. It came equipped with a three pack of condoms. Let round one begin.

Round one was just ok, nothing to write home about. The foreplay was a cut above the actual sex. I think it's because the moment was awkward as we started to have intercourse. I’ve known Cheyenne since elementary school and never looked at her in a sexual way, and I assume she never looked at me that way either. I mean, the homies would tease me, calling me her husband and personal A&R because I would always listen to, and critique, her music. Some thought we were fucking too, but the real homies knew I wasn’t.

Round two was better, way better. Cheyenne started off by sucking my dick. I guess she lost some of that shyness she displayed in the first round. A man couldn’t ask for anything better than what Cheyenne was doing to my pole. She hit all the areas spot on; giving solo attention to the head, up and down the shaft with no teeth and would go deep throat from time to time. Good head always gets me more excited in the bedroom. It's like extra motivation to beat the pussy up, a reward for the woman.

Cheyenne and I both passed out after round two, rightfully so. Round two was like movie sex, passionate fucking and then go to sleep without washing up afterward. Unfortunately, my slumber didn’t last long. Less than an hour after snoozing, cuddled up with Cheyenne, I had a nightmare and woke up in a cold sweat. To not bother Cheyenne, I exited the bed and sat on the chaise. Her being a light sleeper, she recognized I wasn’t in the bed moments later and woke up. Cheyenne knew something was up, coming to sit next to me on the chaise.

The warmth she had for me in that moment led her to show more affection, predominantly holding my hand as she gently rubbed my back. That was the kick off to more kissing and the commencement of an added closeness between us. Most importantly, the onset of round three, hands down the most intense sexual experience I’ve had in a while. There was a real connection made between Cheyenne and I in that third round. The chemistry far exceeded anything prior to this moment in time. If I had another condom, I’d get in the shower with her right now for round four.

Let me stop thinking salaciously and order breakfast. I’m still high and I burnt lots of calories in the past few hours. I can use the fuel that a good breakfast yields. Although the in-room dining menu does not list French toast, the lady taking my order assures me that the kitchen can make that happen for me. She told me one of her favorite cooks is running the line right now and French toast is one of his specialties. Once I have Cheyenne squared away, I order the honey butter chicken biscuit.

The server quotes me a 30-45 minute wait time for the food, but says she can get the Prosecco, orange juice and some complimentary muffins with seasonal berries up to the room ASAP. I accept her offer because I want Cheyenne to have something when she exits the shower. Berries and muffins are a good touch and I heard a lady at the bar raving about the combo last night. The way she talked, I could almost taste them in my mouth.

Within 10 minutes, and almost in sync with Cheyenne departing from the shower, I get a knock at the door. The muffins were so fresh, the mouthwatering aroma seeped into the bathroom where she could smell the assortment of baking mastery.

“Damn, whatever that is smells bomb as fuck,” she uttered loudly from the other side of the bathroom door.

The server chuckled under her breath as I signed the receipt, leaving an additional tip on top of the gratuity in-room dining already charges. I was assured that the other items we ordered would be up shortly, and if we needed anything else, do not hesitate to reach out. What I needed was another three-pack of condoms, but I wasn’t going to tell her that. Truthfully, my intended next move is to play this Cheyenne situation more smoothly before it gets out of hand.

“I need whatever I’m smelling,” Cheyenne said, coming out of the bathroom draped in the robe I gave her earlier.

“It’s these muffins they gave us with the champagne. The lady at the bar last night was popping big shit about these,” I said as I unfolded the neatly placed napkin covering the muffins to show her.

Cheyenne immediately grabbed one and spread some butter on it from the stainless steel ramekin in the basket with the muffins. Her face said it all, the muffins were as good as advertised. I followed suit and retrieved one, a blueberry one, and stuffed it in my mouth sans the butter. The arrival of my honey butter chicken biscuit is now an afterthought. Swear to God, I’ll just eat these muffins and give my biscuit to Princess. Chicken biscuits, in any form, are one of her favorite food items.

This thing between Cheyenne and I can’t escape my mind. Seriously, I want to take it slowly and not get too caught up in her, but as she is feeding me one of the muffins, this time with butter, I feel like this situation is right. Then, I went blank for a moment. She’s laughing saying something, all of which I cannot hear. The silence didn’t last long, the fact that it happened at all is what I’m tripping on.

“Babe, are you ok? Answer the door, I think it’s the rest of our food,” was the first thing I heard when I tuned back in.

I opened the door and back was our server with Cheyenne’s French toast and my chicken biscuit. Cheyenne kinda hid behind me as the server wheeled the dining cart into the room. The server lifted the plate lids to ensure the food met our approval and once she received our confirmation, she then thanked us before exiting.

“Excuse me ma’am, I’ll take the bill,” Cheyenne said.

“Oh no my lady, the gentleman already took care of it.”

Cheyenne pinched me on the back before saying, “I thought I told you breakfast was on me.”

“Goodbye Miranda, thanks again for your wonderful service,” I told her, attempting to ignore Cheyenne.

“No problem Mr. Thornton, you and the missus take care,” replied Miranda.

I closed the door behind Miranda, that’s when Cheyenne and I started laughing. We found it hilarious that Miranda, a 30-something Caribbean woman, would assume we were married. Was it the energy we gave off, or was she just being polite? It didn’t matter what Miranda’s objective was, Cheyenne was feeling it, I could tell from her body language. To a degree, I was feeling it too. Excuse my indecisiveness at the moment, I really want to be with Cheyenne, but my mind keeps telling me to take it slow. On the other hand, the silence overcame me once again, that’s always the sign that everything is going to be ok.

“How long do you think we kan keep this on the low?” she asked with a softness to her voice.

“Keep what on the low,” I responded.

“Nevermind, let's eat,” she said, picking up my plate from the dining cart and handing it to me before securing hers.

Did I fuck up already? I quickly grab her free hand and give her a quick kiss. She smiled after the kiss, but I could tell she was feeling uneasy about my keeping it on the low response. Cheyenne is from the hood, and will always have my back, she knows what type of nigga I am. Now it’s up to me to make her feel protected after she has given herself to me. Fuck it, I’m going to trust in the silence, not my mind.

“We kan keep this on the low for as long as you need us to. I know niggas in the hood be gossiping and shit, I just want us to be honest with eachother. As long as we kan do that, I’m good if you are.”

I then put my index finger to my lips, signaling to her that no response was needed. She got the message and we both met in the bed to eat together. After all, I decided to eat my chicken biscuit, but before I could put a morsel of it in my mouth, Cheyenne led us in prayer. To me, that was the most memorable thing from my time spent with her, even more than the sex. Amen.

Epilogue

The valet driver took possession of Gary’s keys after returning with Cheyenne’s car. He then sprinted past the front of the hotel entrance and in between their newer model shuttle vans towards the parking lot. Cheyenne, who was holding Gary’s hand, turned to kiss him before indicating that she would be waiting for him in her car so that they could leave together when his vehicle was ready. He agreed and watched as she walked away and entered her midsize sedan. The second Cheyenne was secure in the driver’s seat, a livery driver pulled up behind her in an all black luxury XL SUV, directly in front of Gary. The ceramic tinted window on the back passenger side rolls down, producing the face of a white male appearing to be in his early 40’s.

”Mr Gary Thornton, Jr., how are you doing today?” the man asked with a bright white smile on his face.

Gary scoffs, “Do I know you?”

“No, you don’t, sir. However, our families have a long rich history together. Why don’t you tell your girlfriend you’ll be a minute and get in the truck so we can talk.”

Gary rolls his eyes and pauses before saying, “I ain’t getting in shit until you tell me who you are.”

“I’m Thomas Boys the third, executor of your grandfather’s estate.”

“That’s impossible, my grandmother already appointed an executor to handle the affairs of his estate.”

“I’m not talking about your father, Gary. I’m talking about your grandfather, Gary Thornton of Maumelle, Arkansas.”

Surprised and nervous, Gary replies, “Who told you Howard was my father?”

“Gary, Boys Global is one of the richest companies in the world, with one of the best security details in the world, we know a lot,” he said as Gary went silent with beads of sweat forming on his forehead. “I don’t mean no harm, I promise. I actually came to present you with a gift for your 21st birthday.”

“If you knew so much, my birthday was yesterday!” Gary exclaimed angrily.

“Yeah, but you had a pretty full schedule yesterday. And by the time I ran into you at the bar last night, you were in no condition to have this conversation.”

Gary begins to scan his brain for whatever memories he can about the previous night before blurting out, “Oh shit, that was you with the cowboy hat on last night.”

“Yes, sir. Now come on and get in, this’ll only take a minute.”

Gary walks to Cheyenne’s car and tells her he has to take a quick meeting before they leave. He then walks to the vehicle Mr. Boys pulled up in and enters through the rear driver side. Gary begins to hurriedly ask, “Ok, what’s up Mr. Boys? What business do we have together?”

“First and foremost, happy belated birthday! Secondly, as the executor of your grandfather’s estate, I am obligated to give you this in person,” Thomas says as he hands Gary an envelope.

Gary opens the envelope revealing a bank check for $500,000. “Hold up, what the fuck is this?”

“That’s the first installment of your inheritance from your grandfather. Now, there’s some milestones you have to meet before you receive the rest, but that’s a great start.”

“Milestones? What milestones?”

“We’ll get to that later. For now, focus on depositing that check and spending some quality time with your girlfriend. She’s a keeper, Gary,” Thomas said, extending his closed fist towards Gary.

Gary extends his fist towards Thomas and as they connect he says, “Will do.”

The car gets quiet for a few dozen seconds before Thomas says, “Oh yea, the only other thing you get free and clear are your grandfather’s shares in Rebel Catfish. They’re currently worth about a cool $2,000,000. You can do whatever you want with them once you acquire them.”

“Are you serious?” Gary asks with a look of bewilderment on his face.

Thomas smiles and says, “I am, but that’s a topic for another day. Otherwise, this meeting is over. I will be in contact with you shortly.”

“Okay, I’ll look forward to hearing from you.”

“Likewise, and don’t worry, you didn’t violate the terms of the NDA you signed yesterday. We gathered that intel on our own. However, do be careful out here, Gary. Although the estate is providing round the clock security for you, we may not be able to protect you if you decide to make any rash decisions.”

Gary processed what Thomas had just said and remained silent. Without saying a word, he exited the vehicle. The SUV pulled off and the valet driver pulled in with Gary’s car like clockwork. Gary began to turn his head in every direction possible, seeing if he could spot his security detail. Nothing stood out immediately, so he entered his automobile and honked the horn signaling to Cheyenne that he was ready to go.