Page 3 of Grand Master

I walked out of the house with a heavy heart and Pops’ Cadillac keys clutched tight in my hands.

I gotta get home to momma. I hated driving but was forced plenty of times when Pops was high out of his mind.

Most times, he never admitted to being high, he’d just toss me the keys and expected for me to make magic happen.

“Is my dad coming out?” A small voice called out to me before I reached for the door handle of Pops car.

I looked right into the face of a freckled boy that looked younger than me. He had to be around eight years old. His red hair, and light complexion made me think that he was lying. He looked nothing like Rosco’s bitch ass.

“Who yo daddy?” I asked him, keeping my eyes glued on him.

I touched Pops revolver that was tucked in front of my blood-soaked jeans ready to aim it at him if he tried anything funny.

“Rosco.” He uttered timidly.

“That pussy dead.” I spat with no remorse.

My Pops dead too…Come see about me for revenge when you old enough to understand, and I’ll kill you too.

I clenched my jaws tightly and offered no more words.

I got in the front seat, slamming my door.

My heartbeat calmed but my emotions were twisted in knots.

I had to get to my mom, that in itself made me fearful of how she’d react to the news of her husband being dead.

I turned the car on and drove with shaky hands all the way to Orange County.

Each time I blinked my eyes, I saw Pops eyes, lifeless, and wide open.

The entire ride I kept gripping the wheel tight, I kept thinking of what to say and how to lay it out on her.

There was no easy way at all to just say momma, Pops is dead.

I turned onto our peaceful street and released a dreadful breath.

My stomach flipped as I sat in the car for a second, hands still frozen on the wheel.

Why didn’t I have anyone else to relay this type of message?

My stomach flipped as I eyed the blood that was still damp soaking through my pants.

Pops blood. I looked over at our two-story home, well-manicured lawn with mini palm trees leading up to the porch and dropped several tears.

Pops would bring me home at least once or maybe twice out of the busy week of all of his trapping.

I’d feel happy, safe and secure, moments I cherished and loved the most.

It’s when I was allowed to feel like a kid inside of a normal household.

Moms would be happy to have us both here on the first day.

When it got close to us getting ready to leave, she’d spazz out and accuse Pops of all the things that she thought he was doing, most of what she accused was true.

How is life supposed to go without Pops?

I stepped out of the car; legs stiff, knees weak and walked up the steps with dread weighing me down.

I needed momma, needed her to hold me and tell me we’d be okay.

I dreaded saying the words out loud. Pops was her everything, I was okay with coming second to that as long as I had her.

My biggest fear was her reaction to the heavy news that I had to confess to her.

I leaned down and reached underneath the mat for the spare key that said ‘Bless This Home’ in nice cursive letters. When I opened the door, the air hit me with something that made my chest tighten. Mary J. Blige, “My Life” crooned through the speakers.

“If you looked at my life and see what I see…”

The beat hit differently tonight, heavy, and soulful. It was the kind of song that made you cry even if you didn’t know why. Moms probably had it on repeat in one of her solemn moods.

I stepped further in, the smell of food wrapped around me as I eyed the big portrait in the foyer of Pops, Momma, and myself when I was a baby.

I shut my eyes and took a deep breath, willing myself to walk towards the kitchen since she cooked.

Moms was in a good mood whenever she had the house smelling like this.

I passed the front room that was decorated in all-white with splashes of gold.

Candles were lit, the entire space smelled like vanilla and pine.

Finally, I made it to the kitchen, and that’s when my world collapsed.

She was slumped over the kitchen table, head down, lips parted slightly open.

Spit mixed with foam leaked out of her mouth, the pipe laid in her lap as her arm dangled like a puppet with cut strings.

Momma’s chocolate skin looked pasty, she had on her favorite flowered cotton night gown with pockets with her apron still tied to her.

The pipe was still smoking; her crack was fentanyl laced.

I knew it without having to ask. Pops made his men test all of his product before putting it out on the streets.

He taught me the same, so I knew the smell.

It usually smelled like burnt plastic. My chest caved in the more I inhaled the smell.

“Mommy.” I whispered, but my voice cracked.

“Mommy—not you too.” I dropped down to my knees so hard, the tile beneath me cracked.

I crawled over slowly to her, praying to God that I could get her the help that she needed.

I prayed and begged God to save my momma for me.

I needed her more than the next breath I took if she wasn’t alive.

When I got to her, I grabbed her semi warm face that was slick with sweat. Her lips were a light shade of purple.

Frantically I opened her halfway open eyes, her pupils were pin-sized and glazed over. I shook her as hard as I could, losing my mind in the process.

“Mommy! WAKE THE FUCK UP! Please!” I slapped her cheek.

Her head lolled, as more spit leaked out of her mouth and onto my hand.

“Not the same fucking day as Pops.” I dropped my forehead to hers and grabbed at the sides of her face.

“I need you! What the fuck am I supposed to do?!”

I pulled her into my arms, I felt weak with her limp body in my arms. Her heavy body caused us both to fall to the kitchen floor. I ignored the sting and pulled her close. She smelled like lavender lotion mixed with death. I pressed my face into her neck and sobbed hard until my lungs burned.

“I wanted you to be done with that shit. I wanted you clean for me.” My hands clutched her desperately tighter.

I rocked her back and forth like I was the parent as I pleaded with her in denial from the truth. I already accepted Pops fate, I couldn’t accept my momma’s fate on the same day.

“I don’t got nobody left, momma.” I sniffled out.

Helplessly, I looked at the ceiling for answers that wouldn’t come because I already had the answers. I just didn’t want to accept them. I was all on my own now…

The music kept playing like it didn’t care.

“Take your time, baby don’t you rush a thing…”

My tears hit her cheek, I kissed her temple, wiped her forehead then begged her a hundred more times to wake up.

Right in those moments of holding her while the rest of her body turned cold in my arms, I felt it.

The last piece of me that was soft died right along with my parents.

It was just me now, and I swore on her lifeless soul that I would never love anything again without owning it first.