Memoirs of a Businessman, Chapter 3
Keep Eyes On Them, part 2
It was fall in the mid 2000’s in California. I had recently been released from prison. The mother of my child had decided to leave me during my stint. As a final nail in my coffin she left a message on my answering machine.
It was my daughter crying.
“You hear this child,” she said. “You’ll never see her! You’ll never get to feel her touch.”
After meeting her, I wound up moving to Mexico for a few and after her mother threw her out. I was 25 at the time and up until then, I had never worked a single job consistently. My resume was full of employment gaps. My mother convinced me to be a “productive member of society,” and I had to make a choice. Between my brother— He and his best friend were signed to a recording deal—or look for a more sustainable and safe opportunity. I told my brother that I would stay there and make it work. Sometimes I regret leaving the comfort of my Mother’s house or not going with my brother.
I was working two jobs and it still wasn’t enough to provide for us.
but I was determined to make it work. Eventually, I made some cash bringing “packages” across the border which eventually caught up………… and sent me away. At the time, I wished someone like “Freeway Rick” Ross since he could’ve saved me valuable time and taught me how the work really went. Instead I met the local authorities and spent two years in a Cali institution. Oddly enough trying to provide for my family was the thing that caught me up. Such is life, right?
So, I was released from prison and in an effort to dig through the grief, ended up moving with a friend. Jaded from the shitty donkeywork of sober living homes. Every time I went to one of these it seemed like a cult. A set of rules were provided and you were intermingled with people you hardly knew, drinking the kool-aid of a better life after rehabilitation. Bullshit.
I met a good friend(the one I mentioned in last part) in one of these homes. He had also been entrenched in “the game(If you don’t already know, oh well. I’m not going to go into detail about this). When it came time for him to leave, he offered me a choice. Go with him and traverse the underworld or stay at the home, sifting through the grief of my lost family. Needless to say, I ended up choosing the former. My memory seems to get better as I’m telling you these stories. So many things went on during that time that it’s honestly hard to keep track of all of the events. I’ll focus on the ones that best match topic at hand, “Keep Eyes on Them” and perhaps revisit the others later.
One particular day, I walked into the house only to have my body go rigid like steel. I was a deer caught by headlights. Why? Maybe the fact that one of my parole workers was in the house doing drugs with my friend!
“The fuck ya’ll niggas doing??” I said.
“It’s cool! She gunna help us!” my friend responded. If I had of knew what was going to transpire then I probably would’ve shook then. But that was just an omen of what was coming next.
A few weeks later, I had a mission for work a few hours away. I was working in my home city and I had decided to visit my mom. I hadn’t seen her regularly since I had got busted so the occasion was warranted. Unfortunately our warm gathering would be interrupted by a phone call.
I answered. To this day I still wish I hadn’t.
“Ayyyy my dude Chey is on the floor and I don’t think she gunna get up.”
“Look quit playing and tell her get up I’m spending time with the fam right now! I’ll be back later tonite.”
“No, my guy. It’s serious! I think you need to get back here as soon as possible.”
Dammit, I thought. Why is it that every time I’m chilling, it’s always no bueno?!
I recognized the fire in his tone through years of honing relationship. I knew that it was serious. I told my mom to drive me back to [redacted] ASAP. She tilted her head, grilled me with her eyes, like “What’s really going on?”
What could I say? Perhaps she felt the urgency in my own words, my silence on the subject over standing. She was perturbed the entire time, brows furrowed to slits and a . Needless to say the two hour drive was tense as hell.
When we finally arrived there were black SUVs parked outside(I affectionately call them Section 13). This wouldn’t be the last time I would see them either. All I could do was hurriedly kiss my mom on the cheek and jump out of the car. I wasn’t sure I would see them again. I entered the house to see my friend, his face was white cold, ethereal even. Pale as a ghost. Unmoving.
I lit a cigarette with shaking hands, knowing I’d get no answer from him, then walked to the back of the house. I took a deep breath and looked at the stiff, gored body on the ground. Chey was dead. She passed away banging on my window for help(I’d only find this info out later).
Later, the only remaining article of her that wasn’t cleaned up was a pair of flip flop sandals that she was wearing moments before she died.
Moral of the story is to keep eyes on them, because you never know what move the other party will end up making. Don’t ever leave sight of what you love!