The very next morning I awoke to the aroma of a wonderful breakfast being served down stairs. I quickly showered and joined Mama and Montel at the dining room table to enjoy the hearty meal before brushing my teeth and preparing to leave for school.
As I gathered my textbooks, Miss Shante sauntered in through the front door. She had her toddler daughter in tow, who immediately broke free from her mother's hand, racing headlong into my waiting arms. She laughed with glee as she tugged at my Raiders' fitted cap and playfully pinched my cheeks. Her mother paid only scant attention to either me or Mama with the exception of saying good morning. After that, Miss Shante had made a bee line to the couch where Montel sat reading.
Miss Shante wore a form fitting denim dress with a long split down the right side, revealing way too much leg. She had on a pair of black high-heeled pumps, which gave her lower legs, particularly her caves, a sexy curvature. Her hair, nails and toes were neatly manicured while her make up was flawless in its application. As she shimmied past me toward the seated Montel, the sweet, seductive fragrance of Versace's 'Blue Jean'5' waffled through the air. She eased onto the couch close to Montel, who didn't seem to even notice her presence.
After staring affectionately at him for several seconds, she roughly bumped into him with her wider hips to jar his attention from the book to her.
"Montel, don't play with me. You saw me sitting here. You could've at least said, good morning."
Smiling, Montel placed the book down beside him after dog-earing the page he wanted to return to. He then directed his attention to her. "My bad. Good morning, Miss Shante. How are you doing this fine day? You sure look beautiful this morning"
"That's better," Miss Shante smiled. "I'm doing just fine, even better now that I've laid eyes on you," she said, showing a mouthful of pearly whites. "So w'atcha reading? Must be really good if it took away your attention from all of this." She stood and posed in several super model inspired stances.
"You are something else, aren't you?" Montel chuckled. "Well, anyway, this is called The Art of War. It was written by an ancient Chinese philosopher/warrior named Sun Tzu. It helps you cope with certain chal- lenges in life and teaches you selfdiscipline. When I was in the pen I studied this book religiously. It gave me the ability to deal with all of the madness that goes on inside the joint. It allowed me to rely on my own innate gifts rather than that of a gang. I owe who I am today to God and The Art of War. . .oh yeah, and of course my mama," he said, winking in Mama's direction as she cleared the table of dirty dishes.
"If you'll excuse me," Montel said, picking up the book, "I'm gonna get back into my studies."
Miss Shante stood for a few seconds in front of Montel with her arms held akimbo and her feet tapping frantically on the living room carpet for emphasis. Miss Shante was the type of woman who hated being ignored and it clearly showed. I could tell that Montel could sense this and was purposely agitating his admirer.
"So all you do all day long is sit around reading about some China Man?" Miss Shante spat, not willing to give up so easily.
Montel shrugged. "Pretty much. That and help Mama with household chores and what not. I've also been working on my resume in order to get a job."
"My God, look at you two." Mama shook her head. "Y'all acting like a married couple already and ya practically just met each other." Mama looked to Miss Shante. "Girl, we gotta get going. I ain't trying to get caught up in that downtown L.A traffic this morning. Besides, the weather man is saying the smog is gonna be thick for a few hours early on until around noon. I don't know about you, but I don't wanna be out in that stuff." Mama tossed a bulky, leather purse on one shoulder.
Miss Shante dragged herself away from in front of Montel, but not before sticking her pierced tongue out at him in a mischievous, silly, school girl sort of way. "Come on, Nadia," she ordered her daughter who left my side and went heading over to her mommy.
The three of them, as well as myself, left the house. We waved goodbye to each other as they went their way and I went mine.
Throughout the school day at Compton High, I was bombarded with questions about Montel by my homies, especially my Reaper homies. I thought they'd heard enough the day before. But I guess not.
We had a substitute during my last class, Social Studies. We were just completing a pop quiz when I was struck from behind with a spitball. I instantly turned around, peering over the bowed head of my fellow class- mates who were still busy writing the final answers to the quiz questions they'd been given.
Redrum, sporting a fresh, intricate braided hairstyle acknowledged that it was he who'd pelted me with the miniature projectile with a slight bob of his head and a broad smile to which I responded with a middle finger salute. The mean looking substitute raised her head from the book she'd been reading while we took our quizzes. However, she saw nothing unusual so she returned to her book.
Once it was certain that she was well back into her book, Redrum quietly convinced the kid sitting next to me to switch seats with him. "What up, Black?" Redrum whispered to me. "Man, I heard since Widow Maker, been back home, he been reppin' Reaper. It's good to hear that my man been putting it down."
I didn't quite understand why Redrum thought that Montel, whose street name was Widow Maker back before he got locked up, was somehow still gangbanging. That certainly wasn't the case. But not wanting to make Redrum, a rising star on the mean streets of Compton, think poorly of my brother, I told him about the confrontation between Montel and my mom's boyfriend. I exaggerated the whole thing by stating that Montel had beaten Leon to within an inch of his life as well as drawing a loaded handgun on him afterwards.
Redrum smiled wickedly, nodding his head slowly in appreciation as he listened intently to my fabricated tale of thuggish violence. "That's what I'm talking 'bout, Black." He'd said it louder than he meant to, causing the substitute to once again look up from her book. We both buried our heads down with pencils in hand until the sub resumed reading.
"It's all about Santana Black Skull, 'N' Bones Reapers for life, Pahtna," Redrum continued in a low whisper. "Widow Maker should have blasted on that punk. I know I woulda."
"Yeah, he woulda peeled his cap back, but you know our Mama was right there, so he didn't want to do her man in front of her. You feel me?" I said, quickly finding a reason for Montel's reluctance to murder his enemy. "Plus, Mama was getting all scared and whatnot, so Widow Maker just let him go with a straight up butt whippin'."
Redrum smiled with proudness. "Ya brother's a true 'O.G', Cee-love, you do know that right?" he whispered. "He's a legend out here on these streets, homie, and there ain't nothing that the homies in the hood wouldn't do for him-ever."
Just then, a known Reaper entered the room and went and sat at his desk several rows to my rear. He looked up at the clock and then at the substitute. "Sorry I'm late," he said, knowing there was only fifteen minutes of class left. The sub just shook her head and returned to her reading.
About a minute went by before a piece of scrap paper was handed to me. It read, "Now that your brother Montel, A.K.A. Widow Maker, is back home, it's about time for you to get with some real cats who put in work and get money. Blood in, blood out. Santana Block SNB Reapers 4 ever!"
I looked back at the dude who had just entered the classroom late and he flashed the infamous gang sign of the feared Reapers.
As April came to an end and May began, Montel was home less often, as he'd begun working whatever odd jobs came his way. And came they did. Almost every week he was repairing or detailing someone's car, or carrying out minor carpentry, flooring or drywall duties for Mr. Larry, a long time Santana Block resident with a small carpentry business. I also found myself hanging out much more with my homeboys out on Crenshaw Boulevard. Though I ran the street with my Reaper homies as often as possible, I always made sure I completed all of my household chores as well as any home- work, work which I knew Mama would check. And if either of those two responsibilities weren't met, I'd be in for a long, unpleasant night to say the least.
I made it a point to be sure to walk across the street to my man Fatz's crib where we'd make a beeline out back to his tool shed. Inside we were growing three marijuana plants that we called Sally, Sue and Jane. We'd been growing the plants since September of the previous year and all three had yielded us a fine crop of high grade Cali weed that we both smoked as well as sold.
Fatz was a seventeen-year-old high school dropout who lived with his aunt Reba. His mother had died shortly after giving birth to him and he never knew the identity of his father, neither did anyone else. His aunt Reba was a long time welfare recipient who did little more than sit around the house eating cheap carryout food, gossiping on the phone, and surfing cable channels. She was also a major pothead whose appetite for indo rivaled even that of Snoop Dogg's. So therefore, we never had a problem doing business out of her place. As a matter of fact, Aunt Reba helped us to plant and cultivate the illegal crop as well as weighing, packaging and selling the resulting chronic harvest.
After a particularly tedious evening of harvesting, weighing and bagging the weed for distribution, I bid farewell to my fellow hemp farmers and took off for home. I'd lost track of time and didn't want to arrive too late, because Mama would most definitely let me have it. She knew all about what most of my peers were into as did everyone else living in the city of Compton. She feared for my well being whenever I was away for long periods of time, but always prayed that God would protect me. Thus far He hadn't let her down.
No sooner than my keys entered the front door did Mama snatch it open, nearly dislocating my shoulder in the process. "It's dang near eight o'clock at night. Where were you, Cedrick?" she said seething. "If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times to stay away from those hoodlums you call friends. They ain't nothing but a bunch of criminal thugs that I don't know why you insist on being around. I be worried sick about you."
"But, Mama, you always say, 'Why pray if you just gon' worry?'" I responded.
She had her hands on her hips and her eyes narrowed with ire as she berated me further. "Don't get smart with me, boy. I've got a good mind to take a belt to your narrow li'l hind parts, or better yet, punch you in your doggoned chest for being so disobedient!" She made a sudden move, which made me flinch, wincing in anticipation of the smack across the face I was sure to receive.
Fortunately for me, that blow never came. Instead, she simply said, "Boy, get outta my sight before I lose my Christianity."
I hung my head shamefully and walked away as my mother leaned her head back against the couch, sighing with both exhaustion and relief. Once I reached my room I pushed through the door angrily before sitting on the edge of my bed, staring across the room at the wall covered with posters of curvy swimsuit models and Tupac. I picked up a football from the floor and flipped it around while lying on my back. I began reflecting on the recent events of the day and wrestling with the truth of my mother's heartfelt, albeit harsh, warning about my peers against my own burning desire to fit in with Redrum and the rest of my Reaper homeboys.
It was but a matter of time before I would be given a final ultimatum to join the neighborhood Reaper set, but would I be ready? What would happen if I turned down the offer? I already knew the answer though, and it wasn't like I'd have a choice once I was given the invitation. Street gangs never take no for an answer, and the Santana Block Skull 'N' Bones Reapers were no dif- ferent. My only question was when I'd be officially presented with the inevitable.