Page 10 of June: When Gangstas Collide

After three hours of driving, I had finally arrived at TSU. The huge, busy campus prepared me for what to expect when Samara got here. Her being rejected was a mistake; it had to be. I knew she was just as worthy as these students were to be in this school. I watched as students passed by me. Look at his old, washed-up ass. Or her knowing damn well ain’t shit funny. Even him, probably be up in this muhfucka doing God knows what to these girls. My eyes bounced on each nigga I saw, thinking about them having access to my precious Samara.

I didn’t know her coming into my life would make me feel this way, but I’m happy she did. I began moving through the campus when a group of girls came in front of me.

“What’s your name?”

“A name you won’t get.”

One of them heckled loudly, “Girl, fuck him, he ain’t all that.”

“Neither is yo momma, but hey, I’m the guy with no name,”

I spat as I walked away.

The whispers they thought they were doing, I heard.

“Nah, girl, that nigga is fine.”

As I continued to move through the campus, I began noticing the names of the halls. Avery Hall, Laureaux Hall, and Prince Quad. The shit was like a school of elite families, which brought me back to the so-called meeting they wanted to have.

Before reaching the office, I spotted Streets, with a group of friends, shooting the shit with a basketball in his hand. I noted to learn more about him. I wondered whether he rode because he wanted to or because his brothers wanted him to. His passion seemed to be in basketball, and the two didn’t go hand in hand. Instead of calling out to him, I let him walk off.

I had finally reached the Dean’s Hall and entered it as if I were running the university. My eyes pounced on each door looking for his name when a lady hurried behind me, “Sir, excuse me, sir.”

I spun around so fast it startled her. She placed her hand on her chest and smiled.

“Hi, welcome to—”

“Clark, I came to see him.”

She cleared her throat, “Mr. Mercier is in a meeting, I can leave him a message to call you when he’s done.”

Meeting? “Where? Which room?”

She stared at me like she didn’t understand what I said.

“Sweetheart, point me to his office, I will wait.”

Her hand slowly raised as she pointed. I winked.

“Thank you.”

I strolled down the hall until I came up on his door. When I entered the room, the crunchy old brown aesthetic looked like his old ass. The atmosphere gave Clark Mercier. I walked around to his side of the desk and sat in his chair. I glanced around until my eyes landed on a picture. It was of him, Cynthia, and my mother when she was younger. I wondered if I had been born then. She was so beautiful, but looked sad. I was almost a spitting image of her. It made me angry knowing I would never get the chance to see her other than photos of other people’s memories.

I tried putting all of it in the back of my mind, but every time I tried, the thought of not being able to say hello or even goodbye ate away at me. Here I was, a nigga that most looked up to, with a story that probably no one would believe, all the while not knowing anything about his family. I had sisters who were spoon-fed and grandparents who ran a town with me on the other side of the world, being tortured, fighting for what I believed was right. Trying to find some normalcy in my life, building my own family, and now about to have a family, and I can’t even tell anyone where my traits came from.

I popped the picture out of the frame, ripped out my grandparents, and placed the picture of Grace in my pocket. I began going through the drawers. I was looking for anything that he might have had from my mother. I came across something that caught my attention as I went to pick it up, his deep voice floated in the room.

“Clark, what are you doing here? Cecily said I had someone who was demanding to see me, but I didn’t think it was you.”

“Well, surprise, and this is the last time I’m telling you, my name isn’t fucking Clark. It’s June,”

I gritted as I stepped toward him.

He came closer toward me, now standing face to face. If I were a different breed of a nigga, a weak nigga, an easily forgiving nigga I would have wrapped my arms around him and hugged him tightly. However, I was the nigga that had the fucked up family, and if that is what he thought I had come for, he had me mistaken. Clark lowered his chin and allowed his eyes to burn into mine. He wanted me to be afraid, to break down and hail to his ass, but what he didn’t know is that it would be me he would bend for.

I flicked my nose as my lip curled up with a sinister smirk, “You want a staring match, or you want to talk? I’m the man who can do this all day. So, you choose.”

Clark nodded slowly as he pulled his eyes away, walked around me to his side of the desk, and sat down.

“Let’s make this quick,”

he paused.

“June, I have things to do.”

“No, you have time. You have nothing but time. Time is what you owe me. For all that time I spent with Mathew when you left me, remember Grandpa?”

He belted a smoker’s cough before he slammed his hand on the table.

“Watch how you talk to me!”

I rushed over to his desk, “Or what? You’re going to leave me again? You know, for a man who came into the hospital with his sorrows, I had almost felt bad, but it was something about the things you said that didn’t sit right with me. You have always been a house nigga. You are the nigga that would sell out your own people just to be on top and honestly, I’m sure you’re conjuring up something that you can use me for, Clark. Now, let me get into why I came.”

That grin he wore slowly disappeared from his face. Clark thought that because he saw me in a vulnerable state, I was some bitch. He thought that because I came from a place of nothing, he had one up on me. Since he wanted to get to know me, now was the time for him to learn who his grandson was. I sat in the chair right across from and pointed.

“That shit you pulled the other night, don’t do no shit like that again. Someone could have gotten killed. Second, my,”

I paused.

“My daughter applied to go to this school, yet she was rejected.”

“She didn’t qualify.”

“I never said who she was, so how do you know who I’m talking about?”

“I know everything.”

“It’s clear you don’t because if you did, you wouldn’t have shown up to my fucking house the way you did,”

I paused, now scooting closer to the desk.

“I made her reapply, and she’s going to get in, right? Right. Whatever it is you have against me has nothing to do with her. Clark, you really need to do your homework on who I am.”

He fiddled with the pen until I stood up.

“Her name is Samara Simmino,”

I finished and headed toward the door.

“You act just like her, just like Grace.”

That made my body still, and I couldn’t help but feel like a part of me wanted to break. Clark knew the right words to get to me. He wanted to see me break down, but it was me, the man who couldn’t break for anyone. Despite how him saying that about me and my mother made me feel, I lifted my head, swallowed my pride, and walked out.

I knew that the battle I was going to have with Clark wasn’t going to be an easy one because it was like I was fighting against myself.

I watched as Anthony’s leg bounced up and down while we waited for the funeral director to step into the room. I could tell he was uncomfortable being here. We had a lot to work on to get to know each other, but I didn’t want him to feel left out, so I knew these uncomfortable moments were inevitable.

I began thinking about how many times Indigo pushed for me to get to know him, and I had blown her off about it. Damn Indigo. The space I claimed I wanted to give her was becoming slim to none because I couldn’t stop thinking about her. I feared that either she would relapse or she would be fighting the urge alone, and no telling where that would leave her mentally. I glanced back at Anthony as he stared off into the distance. The identical motions, looks, and mannerisms were just like mine. I began to wonder which one of us came out first. “Anthony,”

I mumbled.

He ignored me as he continued to stare at the wall. “Anthony!”

His head snapped my way. “What?”

“Nigga is you cool?”

“Nah, I’m not. Why are we here? She fucking left us. She was a dirty fucking bitch, just like Grace,”

he gritted.

I lifted sitting straight up. I understood his anger, but I needed the nigga to chill because at the end of the day, Angela was still our mother. Maybe my feelings toward her were a bit different than his. Shit, maybe I was the delusional one.

“She still—”

His crooked mouth moved.

“She still what? Huh Bishop? Maybe you love her because you got to spend time with her. You know what she did to me? She fucked me up, so no, I don’t feel bad that she’s dead. Fuck her!”

he slurred as he shot up from the chair, storming out of the room.

I moved quickly to follow behind him when I noticed he halted, and so did I. Anthony stared at the empty display casket.

“I was supposed to be in one of those,”

he mumbled.

My hand gently landed on his shoulder, “No, you’re where you’re supposed to be, here with me. Anthony, I don’t know everything you’ve been through, but I can only imagine what you've been through. I’m not forcing you to do this, but I want you to be a part of it. However, the way you hate Angela is how I feel about Naheem,”

I paused as I leaned into his ear.

“I love you, bro, but Naheem is a dead nigga.”

Anthony slowly turned to look at me. I could see evil brewing in his eyes. It was clear that Naheem was a saint to him, but I knew the fucking truth, and no one was going to stop me. Not Anthony, Indigo, or God. Naheem was on the verge of meeting his demise, and it was going to be me who got him there faster than he thought. Something pulled at my gut, and it was telling me Naheem did kill my mother.

The sound of the funeral director entering the room caused Anthony and me to turn to look at him. His dark skin, black dingy suit, and dark eyes suggested he had been around death a little too long. So long, he smelled like it.

“The Avery twins,”

he laughed wildly.

“It’s Bishop Prince,”

I shot back.

He raised his brows, “That too. Listen, I know you came to handle Angela’s affairs; however, all has been paid for.”

I was confused.

“Who paid for it?”

“Mr. Avery.”

Naheem thought he was slick. Him paying for funeral arrangements wasn’t going to save his ass.

“Anthony, let’s go,”

I said, as I brushed past the funeral director.

I was on a mission because Naheem was going to have to see me. The count of getting rid of niggas was growing by the day, and Naheem’s ass was first on my list.