Chapter 1.5: Found In Pain

Many days I would walk around with Chris. Really I would be running, because Chris was way taller than I was making his strides very long. Chris and Angel had a very interesting hustle, one that I never fully understood. But I know that they were always stealing something or the other. Angel wasn’t like Latoya; she didn’t use her body, but instead used her head to feed herself. And boy could Chris and Angel use their minds. They always came in with loads of cash, or a TV, or a radio or some other kind of item. And then sometimes, weeks later, the object would disappear. I don’t know, but they always seemingly had money. And I guess the friends that they had also contributed to their ability to steal large and very expensive items.

But in any case, Chris would talk to me all the time—teach me all the time. He taught me where to go and where not to go. He taught me how to efficiently steal money and other objects. But most importantly he taught me how to play cards. I was pretty good at it—counting cards and such. It was fun and easy to me. And I did it with ease. Chris saw this and developed it until it was like a 6th sense. He told me that this would be my second hustle, and each morning we would practice at Starbucks on McCormick. We would stay for hours playing numerous games, while Chris would correct my technique and strategies. I began to win every game I played against Chris, and when that happened I played against other members of the community and won tons of money, which I kept the majority of for once.

Chris then, once he felt that I was unstoppable, took me to this man named D-Ride. I had heard of this man before. He was the big time gangster and/or drug dealer in the area. He scared everybody and nobody contested his word ever. And if you owed him money you were sure to pay for it, with cash or with your life . . . D-Ride didn’t play with his money.

I remember D-Ride very well because the next couple of months I worked with him very closely. It came to be that he was the big drug dealer that Isaiah worked for, so I was able to see where my money was going.

D-Ride was like 6’5’’ with broad shoulders and a nice physique. He always had a group with him. Like his bodyguards or something. And his homeboy was always on his side, like they was brothers. I began to love D-Ride because he seemed to have it all. The way people hushed when he came in the room, and how whenever he spoke things happened. He had a big house and like several different whips. I remember having to go to his crib and seeing all these half-naked women. The man had it going on. But what most attracted my eye at that time was the money he pulled out his pocket. It was always a wad of hundred dollar bills, never was it anything less.

Chris introduced me to D-Ride and at first D-Ride was like “hell naw”, but after I proved myself by beating all his homies, I was with him all the time from then on. He would take me to clubs where I would play against whoever. He would pay me a third of the rewards which was pretty good seeing how many games I would play and how much money that could create. D-Ride would even take me out of state to Casinos. He would sit me in his Cadillac with all his other gangbanger friends and they’d wire me up, and place me in front of this screen where I could see the playing table and D-Ride’s hands. Then I’d just count the cards and tell him how much to put in and take out, by speaking into the headphones they had me hooked up to.

We’d usually win big money and D-Ride would pay me, and then he and his buddies would go out clubbin or somewhere. They’d leave me in the suite, and let me watch TV and eat all I wanted. But whenever they came back I made sure to stay out the way, because sometimes they usually came back high or drunk and sometimes they had girls with them. Sometimes I watched when they had the girls over, because I never really saw girls because I was always with D-Ride or Chris or Isaiah. But I stopped, because the stuff they did was nasty to me. And I didn’t understand why they laughed about it, or why they enjoyed it.

D-Ride was pretty nice to me. He called me D-Money or Lil Money. He never really yelled at me, only if I got into something I shouldn’t. He’d let me ride in his car sometimes with him, and he showed me how he ran his business. He never really let me stay with him though in his house. Only if we were getting in late from an out of state trip. If not he’d drop me on the street, until he needed another big money spree. So every two weeks he’d come and find me on the streets and take me somewhere.

I remember once I was with D-Ride in a club, and this dude was dragged before him like he was some kind of King. D-Ride stood up from the table and his girls that surrounded him and walked toward the dude on the ground. He muttered to me, “Watch how I deal wit this nigga Lil Money.” I nodded big eyed as the child I was as D-Ride circled the dude saying all these things I didn’t understand. And then out of nowhere he started hitting him and kicking him. Once he got his punches in, the dude’s face was drenched with blood and his eyes were rolling around in his head. The dude was then beat up more by D-Ride’s friends and then kicked out the club. I remember everyone around me laughing and taunting him. I didn’t understand, but I decided to laugh too. I remember D-Ride rubbing my head saying, “That a boy.”

D-Ride never beat me up . . . but only one time when I read the cards wrong that cost him a bunch of money. He beat me up in the middle of a parking lot in Los Angeles. It was so dark that I couldn’t see where his punches were coming from. Blow after blow, after blow, after blow I felt on my face, in my stomach, and in my back. I could taste warm blood in my mouth mixed with my tears. I remember hearing his boys wanting to join in, but he said, “Naw man this my nigga to beat, and not a damn one of y’all eva touch him.”

“You comfortable in here?” I look up at David and nod my head.

“Yea, I’m fine.” David looks at me twice with a worried kind of face, but then he looks over at Michael beside me sound asleep for the first time in so many nights it seems. And the way he looks at him . . . I become envious and hurt all over again it seems. But I just hang my head again and stare at my drawings. I don’t know why I can’t sleep. I guess it’s something that will always follow me.

“What yah drawing?” I look up at him as he comes around to my side and sits down next to me. I stare at him for a second. I’ve never really spoken to a white man before. And I don’t see many of them in the neighborhood. My eyes drop down and I stare at his suit that’s so clean and so expensive looking, and then I look back up at his hair cut all nicely and his blue eyes that stare at me relentlessly.

“You not gonna speak to me?” I let my eyes fall and I shrug sheepishly. “I’m not gonna hurt you. Or bite.” He says smiling and pushing into my shoulder. I look up at him and into his eyes, and they look nothing like the eyes of my mother.

“You’re my mother’s husband?” I ask him, though I already know the answer. I understand things that I don’t understand. But it seems I still have to ask—I still don’t understand.

He sighs deeply and runs his hands through his hair. “Uh,” he looks at me uncomfortably. “Yea—yea sure.” I frown and look down at my hands.

“You don’t love her do you?” He looks at me for a long time.

“You love her don’t you?” He asks me touching my arm lightly. I look at his touch, and then up at him—his eyes.

“Yes, I love her. She’s my mother.” He stares at my face for a long time, as if searching for something subtly. He nods his head, and takes his hand away from me and nods his head again.

“I love her lil man. Swear on my life. We just need some breathing room right now.” I pick up my pencil and start to draw again, this time on a brand new page. Roses and birds intertwined.

“What does breathing room mean?”

They think I’m just a kid . . .

“Well it means . . .” He rubs the back of his neck. “Just means we need to be apart for a while. Because we love each other so much.” I look up at him, and stare into his blue eyes.

“What is love?” I ask earnestly. Earnestly I ask of this white man who I’ve never met before in my entire life. Never seen. Could ever trust. But I ask . . .

He frowns at me softly and shrugs his shoulders. “Love is a beautiful thing at the right time.” I look down at my drawing.

“Like flying?”

“Yea . . . like flying . . .”

I still sold crack on the streets every night making around eight sells a night. I had grown so much and knew so much. Some days I’d walk wit Isaiah and we’d sit outside the schools and once it let out we’d sell our crack or other drugs. Then we’d make our way to D-Ride, and he’d collect and split our pay. After this we’d walk around aimlessly looking for absolutely nothing. We were like dummies—beings with no soul. No spirit ran through our veins that would cause us to excite in life. Birds flying, the perfect blue sky, the blessing of life itself . . . breath.

Life was slow, but then fast. Because you never knew when the police would show their face and take kids to orphanages or Juvi. So I guess that in the end we were looking for something though not immediately looking. But we were always looking. Because if we didn’t then the consequences for not looking would ensure that life that we did have would be bound and die.

For me I was scared of the orphanage. For Isaiah it was Juvi. He’d been twice already and he’d hated it. All for dealing. I asked him why he continued if it meant going to jail. He just muttered.

“It’s the only way right now.”

“You’re mother says we’re a lot alike.” I look up at him again, and now I’m starting to wonder why he’s still talking to me. I shrug my shoulders and continue to draw the petals on the roses. He stares down at my work, watching with a curious eye, like all those who watch me. My mother used to watch me draw. It used to bring her joy she said. But now, it angers her. I don’t understand . . . I don’t understand.

“I don’t sleep well at night either.” I look up at him, and stare at him for a long time.

“You have no idea . . . no idea.” I shake my head at him, becoming angered, and roll my eyes back to my paper. “We are not alike in that way.”

One time I remember I was rummaging through this trashcan behind this Soul food restaurant desperate for something to eat.