Ain’t it something when everything falls into place?
Look at everything that’s gone right for you now. Your pops went ahead and did you the favor of dying while you intentionally overslept. Spared you having to see him waste away, spared you the heartache of not knowing who you were, of possibly—well, let’s be honest—probably calling you a nigger again. I know you’re feeling guilty about leaving your phone on the counter on purpose, because you were too afraid to face him, so you told yourself it was my fault you forgot.
It’s cool. I don’t mind. That’s what I’m here for. I got you, son.
We’re here now, so shake it off, all this pouting and what not. Your path has been cleared. Nothing more in your way. You can start pulling the dollars you always wanted from this business. Yeah, you’ve got to swallow a little bit of pride to do it, but what has your pride gotten you besides having to deal with me?
Now hold on. You’re not actually thinking of taking that coaching job, are you? That’s if your mama can even line it up in the first place.
You are, aren’t you?
Uh uh, no. No.
You mean to tell me that instead of filling your pockets 228with the knots of bills Shot is tossing in your lap just to throw some fights, you want to take a job at some low-rent, two-year college while you slip into a dad-bod, sweatpants up over your gut, whistle around your neck, coaching dudes who are going to make it farther than you while you reminisce about the good old days and what could have been?
I should fuck you up for even thinking about that nonsense. Shove a knife in your eyeball straight through to your spinal cord. Not enough to kill you. Just leave you in a chair, drooling out the corner of your slack mouth, unable to remember who you are. Where the highlight of your day is when someone comes to feed you. Or when they wipe your ass. Or when they call you by your name. Or the five minutes when you might even remember what your name is.
And all that would still be better than your taking that sad sack job. Just hoist yourself up on a slab and roll yourself into a refrigerated cabinet, because that’s the only good you’ll be to yourself, you go that route.
You are a savage. You aren’t made to be long for this world. Do you want to make your exit like some old lion in a zoo, plucked from your natural habitat to be pointed at by snot-nosed children until you eventually die from old age and a broken spirit? Or do you want to go out snarling and gnashing, taking out as many hyenas as you can?
That’s where the glory is. That’s how you were built. That’s what you were made for. You’re a man out of time, not because you don’t have any time left, but because this time is not your time. You were born to a world that doesn’t know how to let you exist in it, one that wants you de-fanged by a nine to five with shitty pay and decent benefits, all in the name of your safety, when you know good and well they want you in those safe jobs so they feel safe from you. They need you confined like they are, because your existence challenges their own. 229
And yes, I mean your mama when I say “they.” I know you’ve got all the feels about this reunion, but she don’t know you any better now than she did then. And yes, I also know being near her again connects you with a part of you that you felt betrayed her staying with your pops, especially knowing what you know now. It’s why you laid into that boy Lawrence, and don’t act like it wasn’t. You always had a chip on your shoulder about that, always something to prove about your Blackness. Don’t get me wrong, I was glad to be the scapegoat again, but you keep blaming me and people are going to stop believing there’s a wolf in the village.
On top of all that, she still left you. Shit got hard and she bounced. What happens when things get hard again? What happens when you’re the one in the nursing home before you’re fifty because you don’t remember how to tie your shoes anymore? She going to stick around then, or she going to take off? She’s a sprinter. But you’re so afraid of being alone that you convinced yourself that that doesn’t matter anymore. Except you aren’t that convinced. About the job, about the fight, or her. And you know I’m right.
Knowing I’m right might be the only thing you know for sure anymore.