EPILOGUE
It had to be the longest drive in the world but I finally made it to Dickerson Federal holding facility. I looked at the time and I had 28 minutes until I had to turn myself in. How ironic is that. 28 minutes. 28GRAM$.
I figured to use every bit of them 28 minutes to clear my thoughts. Which was basically impossible because my thoughts were nagging thoughts. I nagged about everything. I nagged on how my life woulda been if my parents were different. No I'm not trying to shift the blame but hear me out.
From when I was very young, I remember watching my father beat my mother in her room, then get high out of a bag of coke, then, head to the kitchen, to cook that same coke up, rock hard, then go in the basement to bag it up, and, then him and mother would get high together in the living room, right in front of my face. This is what I seen on the daily basis. This type of lifestyle was my norm until my father got killed and my mother took her own life. Like I said I'm not trying to shift the blame but theirs a reason I tried to take my life. I'm just saying I'm a product of my environment. WE ALL GOT A STORY. WE ALL GHETTO B.
My nagging thoughts drifted from my parents to you-know-who. My ladybug, Cupid. I felt like I was getting dealt this bad hand because I fucked her over. You know what they say karmas a bitch. I was gone miss Cupid versatile love. She loved me in so many ways through her friendly gestures and sweet notions. And I knew I was gone miss her cooking too!
My 28 minutes shrunk to 16 faster than I imagined. But the time still didn't stop my nagging thoughts. I tried my best to not think of the time but how could I not. That 18 years looked good at first but now it looked like a trillion years to infinity on some buzz light year shit. I just knew the cars, the clothes, the hoes was gone be different by the time I got out. I know you probably thinking this nigga need to shut his whiny ass up. Well trade places with me then.
I had a bid to do and I wondered who was gone write me?Who was gone be my support system?And will the streets hold me down or just straight up forget about me like they do alot real niggas?
I also pondered on how I was gone be 42 years old when I got out. At the lest, 38, depending on time reductions from good time and drug classes and other programs. No matter what the kids gone be calling me a old fart by the time I get out. I'm gone come home and just want to sit on the couch cracking open cold beers and smoking looses and eating hot buffalo wings. It's gone be flying cars by the time I get out. Then I wondered would I be one of them niggas that found SELF through the Koran or some type of black religious groups. Damn. I didn't want to be one of them niggas posted up at turning lanes selling fruits and newspapers!!!
My nagging thoughts drifted to bold realities. I opened my car door and propped my foot on the door ledge leaning back on the middle console. My untied shoelaces on my Air Max 95's dangled single to the gravel. I lifted my eye patch up to my forhead and sucked in all the nightly breeze. It was the last taste of fresh air. I took my hair out the top-bun and ponytailed my dreads. I hooped out and softly closed the door. I didn't want to so I did it slowly too. I unzipped my 7-grand Bottega Veneta sports coat and took it off. I sat it on the hood of the car. Then I took my Bottega Veneta tank top off and sat it on top of my coat. I let the chilled brezze hit my body ass I looked into the windows at myself. The back window had more lighting from the post lights so I didn't looked into that one. Despite my handsome looks I hated to look in the mirror. Because when I did I saw nothing but a rich-man-high. That's what my dad told me I was and that's what my dad said I was created off of and that's what my dad told me I would always be. A-RICH-MAN-HIGH. But that's another story for another day.
I untied my ponytail and my long dreads went tumbling down my face and back. Two-or-three of the dreads just stacked on top of my forehead. The dreads were stuck to my eye patch. I was clean-shaved with one tattoo on my chest. The tat was a tic-tac-toe with a loaf of bread on top up the middle. A Pillsbury Doughboy dwelled in the middle up the middle. And, # symbol, was at the bottom, to make the toe complete!!!I stared and stared until I heard the jingling of keys. I glanced out my good eye and noticed it was the turnkey standing by the door trying to get my attention best way how.
I got dressed and took the walk of shame towards the awaiting door. I trekked midway and the buff and cocky turnkey came walking out asking me my name. I told him my full government and he whipped out his cuffs saying"Turn around and cuff up partna"
"Hold up partna. I got until midnight to turn myself in. Put yo cuffs up. I got 3-and-a-half minutes PARTNA"I flashed my iced-Patek.
"You right!"
"I know I'm right HOUSE-NIGGA!"
"House nigga uh?You ain't gone be saying that when "WE" get inside these walls. See these walls like the Pentagon. Everything is held in secrecy. And yo light ass looks like you weight 11 pounds and 8 ounces baby boy. You betta get yo weight up fast if you plan to have a smart mouth like that. Or yo jail-life-expectancy will be cut short Mr. bad-ass"
"Yea, Yea, Yea, "I shrugged the turnkey off musing ~Ole top-flight security ass nigga. Leader of the world Craig ass nigga. Ha. Ha. ~My thoughts cracked myself up. The turnkey assumed I was laughing at him so he had the shit face. The turnkey kept with his lectures so I just turned my back on him and plugged my ears. When I turned around I spotted something out the corner of my left eye.