Be Silent: Chapter 2 - 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.