Our Bose speaker box linked up with Kanye West and yelled, “I graduated and you can live through anything if Magic made it!” I cranked it on the highest level and sat it next to Soni’s ear.
“Stopppppppppp! I’m asleep! Get away from me!” she yelled, swinging at me with a right and then a left hook.
I cut the music off, snatched the half blunt off of my dresser and went downstairs to pour a big cup of vodka and ice. Soni could sleep late all she wanted, I was going to celebrate for her. She had passed her last final and was graduating from Johns Hopkins University. The first college graduate that I had ever met was sleeping upstairs in my bed. I was inspired by her. The Gee news and his funeral had me in the dumps but her excellence shot my spirits right back up as her accomplishment and insight normally do. Her graduating was a landmark in her life and mine, so we had to celebrate this the right way.
Mac and I were in a basketball league and we had a game later that day. I opened the bar, let my workers in, and scooped him from over North East Market. He hopped in my car with a smile that connected both of his ears. “Yo, I’m gonna do a big coke deal and then I’m out the game! Man, I got a sick plug, he gonna bless me and I’ma be done with this street shit!”
“You talking that coke deal with Nick? That dumb stuff he talking about?” I asked because he had been sending word to me about some made-up Scarface deal for two hundred bricks of cocaine that would set us for life. I felt bad because I thought he’d finally lost his mind.
“Hell no, I ain’t talkin’ no deal with his fat junkie ass! Me and LT got sumthin’ poppin! We gonna plug Dog Boy when he come home too! You want in?”
“I’m out! For the billionth time, but I could use the money because I’m about to go cop a whip!”
Mac cut the music off. “Nigga, what’s wrong with this Benz!”
I told him that my Benz was great but it wasn’t about me. Today was about Soni. She once told me that those hardtop-convertible Lexus SC430’s were cute, so I wanted to surprise her with one for a graduation present. I saw a pretty black one in the paper. Mac and I drove up to Prestige Motors out in the county and I bought it—ten thousand down and dude gave me the key. The car was a year old, slightly used but the inside smelled like new sneakers, she’s going to love this.
Mac followed me in my ride back to my place. We parked my car a block away so Soni wouldn’t know I was around. She texted me an apology for being cranky, and I left her a vague response. Figured I’d make her sweat a little bit.
Mac and I went to our game. He put on a show, scoring forty out of the sixty points our team had put up. He was truly the best player in the gym.
“Great game, Mac!” echoed as we left.
We made it to Michaels arts and crafts just in time for me to buy a ribbon big enough to wrap the car with.
“Man, you just like an NBA dude!” he said as I dropped him off on his block. “I’m rocking like this after my last deal!”
We dapped each other and I pulled off.
Mac was right. I was like an NBA dude. I had the woman, the cars, the huge crib, the fans, the YSL, the Gucci, the trips, the love, and I’m on my way home to my hot tub after playing ball. I had everything I wanted, but I still felt fucked up. My cash flow was low and was going to be really low with this new car note, but that wasn’t the main issue, because I was depressed with my friends and the decisions they were making. I couldn’t do anything to save any of them—they are all going to end up in jail or like Gee.
I took the long way home and thought about the bar business. What’s the difference between owning my liquor store and selling dope? I’m still preying on addictions. The slot machine huggers and the bottle huggers are the same as the people I used to get heroin and crack to.
I pulled over by a cut-rate, bought a fifth of Absolut and leaned on the Lexus. Two swigs in and I realized that I wasn’t shit. My bar isn’t shit, these cars ain’t shit, and I’m just a ugly part of the problem. I’m a failure like I always was. Telling people to not sell drugs while I’m technically a drug dealer sounded more and more stupid. Especially since I couldn’t provide an alternative—because really, what else could they do? What else could I do? I thought I’d probably die in my bar selling yak like I should’ve died when I was selling dope.
I drove my drunk ass home. Soni’s mother’s car was out front. I jammed like eight pieces of gum into my mouth so they wouldn’t smell the liquor before calling her cell.
Ring ring ring…
“I’ve been calling you all day! Where are you at?”
“Shut up and come out front,” I said.
She opened the door. “Whose car is that?”
“Yours!” I said. Her big eyes got bigger and bigger as she ran down to hug me. Her mom did the same. I made them take a test-drive without me and went into my house with my marble floors and my professional chef appliances that I never cook on.
What the fuck does it all mean?
Our dining room had a mirror that came from Pier 1—another $450 price tag. I looked in it and wondered what I would be without all of this shit. I didn’t know because having things has always been a part of my identity. That smile on Soni’s face was semi-purchased, and she wasn’t even into material things when we met.
Money issues affected all of my relationships, from Troy to Tyler to Nick to Hurk, and what if the same thing happened to Soni and me? I’d like to think that it couldn’t but who knows. Guess I’ll have to wait to see what happens when the money runs out.