Page 6 of Taming a Menace

Two

K eywan

Three Years Later . . .

I swept away the beads of sweat from my forehead with the back of my arm as I tossed a bowlful of potatoes and grabbed another.

Busy work kept my racing thoughts at bay, but my mind wasn’t completely shut off.

The smell of greasy food and empty calories brought back fond memories of working after school at a place not too different from where I found myself at the moment.

I lost track of the number of potatoes I cut up as I listened to the latest hip hop and R&B tracks blasting from the speakers in the kitchen of Cravings, a late-night dive I had been working in since coming home from prison.

I wouldn’t have been working my fingers to the bone at all hours of the night if it weren’t for Franklin, my bitch ass parole officer.

I had to deal with his soft ass for a whole damn year.

If we were lucky, I would make it to the end of my sentence without choking his tongue out of his head and hanging him with it.

I hated working for other people. I had always been someone who didn’t play well with others, so having my own business worked for me. I had been home about a month, but things hadn’t gone back into full swing.

Since business with my catering company Eat Up with Key hadn’t picked back up yet, Franklin deemed that as me being unemployed and shiftless.

It didn’t matter that I had already paid my entire fine in full up front out of the money I had stashed before my arrest. He just wanted to be on my ass about something to make it seem like he was doing his job.

I loved to cook, so I wasn’t all that fucked up about my current position.

My indifference didn’t mean I wanted to be there for the long run.

My business did well. Once things returned to full swing, I was out of here.

I had put the word out that I was back in business. At this point, it was a waiting game.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have the luxury of time. So for now, I bided my time as a prep cook at Cravings. I liked that they had THC options on their menu. I planned to incorporate similar items on my menu soon.

I quickly diced the last potato and tossed it into the ice bath with the rest of the diced potatoes. I’d gotten Sonny, the owner, to add a fried potato and onion hash to his menu. It was selling like hot cakes. It was simple to make and went well with the greasy pork and beef entrees on the menu.

An old school R&B track came on the radio and immediately unlocked a core memory of my dad turning the TV down and the music up loud so he and my mom could slow dance in the living room.

Even though we bitched about missing part of one of our favorite shows, my brothers and I always ended up laughing our asses off as my dad openly showed my mom how much he still loved her.

Life was so much simpler then. I was happy and carefree.

My biggest dream was to be a detective like the ones I watched on Saturday morning cartoons.

You couldn’t tell me that I wasn’t going to be the best police officer and private eye in the city.

Now the thought of seeing a police officer made me physically sick.

Even if I hadn’t abandoned that dream a lifetime ago, my record would prevent me from ever being a cop.

Not that I was all that fucked up about it. Like I said, I hated the police.

I sang along to the familiar tune as I cleaned up my area. There was about thirty minutes left until I was scheduled to get off for the night. I liked to start getting my mess cleaned up early, so that when it was time to go, I could just bounce.

I didn’t like lingering around after-hours chit chatting like some of the guys did. I didn’t like people all that much in the first place. There was no need for me to stand around pretending to be cordial when I wasn’t. Pretending was something I didn’t even know how to do.

“We got a rush coming in from the club scene any minute now, and you’re back here cleaning up like you about to leave,” one of the other chefs noted.

“That’s because I am,” I told him, although it was none of his damn business what I was about to do.

“That’s bullshit and you know it. You have to learn how to be a team player, man.”

“I don’t have to learn how to do shit. I am a chef. I already know how to cook, so I would say I’ve learned everything I need to know.”

“You walk around with your ass on your shoulders like somebody owes you something. No wonder you’re stuck in this shit hole working till two in the morning every night.”

See had he asked me to stay late, I would have probably done it without question.

Since he wanted to come at me sideways, I had something else in mind.

Brad, Chad, or whatever his name was didn’t have the authority to make me stay.

He didn’t even have the authority to give me a bathroom break, so I was almost confused as to why he was in my face in the first place.

That was the thing about people who didn’t know how I got down.

They always took my youthful appearance and quiet demeanor as weaknesses.

He probably thought I was a kid instead of a fully grown man ready and willing to kick his ass.

It was starting to feel like the very night he found out just how grown I was.

“Nigga, ain’t you here too?” I asked, looking up just to make sure he was standing in front of me.

“First of all, I’m white. The only N word I see is standing over there thinking he’s too good to pitch in because he used to run his own catering company.”

The only reason he got to finish his statement was because it took me a few seconds to round the table. He was so oblivious to what was about to happen that his lips were still fucking moving when I smashed my fist into his mouth.

“Can you please shut the fuck up?” I asked, scowling as my knuckles connected with his face.

I had a headache and zero patience. Before he had the chance to figure out why blood was pouring from his lips, I was out of the prep room. I couldn’t stand a muthafucka that didn’t know when to shut the hell up.

“Hey, Sonny!” I called as I entered the front of the restaurant.

“Yeah,” the middle-aged owner of Cravings said turning to me.

“I see it’s getting a little busy up here. You need me to hang around?” I asked.

“Nah, young buck, you can head out. You got the potatoes cut?” he quizzed.

“Yeah, they’re in the ice bath.”

“You good to go then. This club crowd just came in, but as long as all the prep is done, we can handle it.”

“You sure?” I asked, recalling how the guy in the back nursing a busted lip had demanded that I work late.

“Boy, you act like I can’t hop on the grill or cut up some onions if I need to.”

“My bad, Sonny. I guess I’m sleeping on your skills.”

He chuckled. “You better know it.”

“Well I’m out then.”

“See you tomorrow,” he said with a single nod of his head.

“Oh, I had to hit one of your employees for talking to me crazy.”

“Aw hell, Key. You should have led with that. Who the hell did you jump on back there?” he grumbled.

“I didn’t jump on Brad. I just hit him in the mouth,” I explained.

“Who the hell is Brad?” he asked.

“The white guy Chad or whatever his name is.”

As if he was summoned, Big Mouth came wandering out of the back holding a towel over his swollen lip. Realization seemed to come over Sonny once he came into view.

“Oh, you’re talking about Brent.”

“I don’t know his name. I just know he was talking crazy. Somebody needs to let him know that if he’s going to refer to somebody as an N word he might as well call them a nigger.”

“Key, go home and cool off. Let me handle him.”

“You got it, boss,” I said with a casual shrug.

I didn’t bother looking back at Brent as I made my exit. I knew he wasn’t a threat. He just didn’t have any manners. God forbid I had to be the one to teach him some because it was going to be a hard learned lesson.

I went to the back and grabbed my keys from the ring near the door before stepping out into the night. The crisp air welcomed me out of the mugginess of the prep room, causing me to take a deep breath.

Downtown buzzed with the sounds of the few stragglers leaving the multitude of bars and clubs in the area. A few people strolled along heading to their cars or their eateries of choice. I kept my stride, not worrying about them as I strolled to my truck. All I wanted to do was get home.

It was only a short walk to my truck, so in no time at all I was sliding into the driver’s seat.

After cranking it up, I turned the radio to the old school station that had kept me company during my shift.

Hearing the late-night host’s smooth voice was my cue to pull away from my spot and head home.

The drive from Downtown was about twenty minutes, and with little to no traffic on the road I seemed to make it even quicker.

By the time I pulled into my usual parking spot, my body was tired, and my feet were hollering for mercy.

As taxing as the job was on the body, I wouldn’t trade careers for the world.

There was something about disconnecting from everything and focusing on creating that gave me peace. There were so many demons and negative thoughts swirling in my head on a regular basis that sometimes I just needed to disengage.

Cooking got me through some tough times.

I took an interest in cooking when I was around eight or nine years old.

My mom would always let me help in the kitchen.

I was such a mama’s boy that my brothers teased me for always wanting to be right under my mom’s skirt.

The desire to be close to her had me in the kitchen with her while she cooked.

Eventually she let me help her prepare our meals by cutting potatoes or shredding cheese. Menial tasks led to her teaching me the basics. Losing my dad at eight years old was a shock to my system. My mom took time off work to be home with us. While she was home all we did was cook, cook, cook.

Cooking made me forget the heartbreak of losing my dad if only for a little while. Just like my mom, I used cooking to escape. By the time I was ten, I could prepare a full meal for the family.

My older brothers Kross and Kannon were into sports and old enough to join the teams at school.

I wasn’t a joiner. Even if I was, I couldn’t get along with the other guys long enough to stay on the team.

The couple of times that my mom was able to force me to play team sports, I got into a fight and ended up getting kicked off the team.

She eventually got a girl that lived a few houses down to babysit for me until my brothers got home. For a while, I didn’t mind at all. Like I said, I didn’t play well with others.

Taking a deep breath, I opened my car door and got out.

As much as I missed having my own place, I liked the feeling of home that came from living with my mom.

My older brother offered to let me move in with him and his wife once I was released, but I wasn’t about to be a burden on him.

I had money stashed away that would allow me to move whenever I was ready.

For now, it was cool living with my mom.

I felt like I owed her for all the time we missed while I was locked up. I refused to let my favorite girl see me caged away like an animal. She was the only one in the world that saw the best in me when other people were so determined to see the worst.

My mom felt like losing my dad changed me from her sweet boy into the monster I was today. Although I didn’t agree, I knew his absence was the root of many of the problems we faced today.

Living with my mom gave me a sense of harmony that I missed during the three years that I was gone.

I missed her like crazy, but as much as I wanted to see her, I valued her opinion of me more.

Something told me that seeing me locked up would allow her to see the reality of who I was.

I wasn’t the precious, misunderstood angel she prayed for each and every night.

I was already the demon that she feared would take over if her prayers couldn’t save me.

The change had happened years ago right under her nose.

I was quiet as I entered the house and went straight to my bedroom.

It was already after two which gave me just under six hours to shower, sleep, and get my ass to the court mandated anger management sessions that I hated.

Anger management hadn’t helped when I was sixteen.

It didn’t change me when I was twenty-three.

Now as a thirty-four year old man, I was almost certain that there was nothing these folks could tell me that I didn’t already know.

It’s not like I wasn’t self-aware. I knew who I was and had accepted it a long time ago. Other people were the ones who had a problem with my so-called anger. What I couldn’t understand was why they couldn’t stay away from my angry ass. All I ever wanted or needed was to be left the hell alone.

“Ugh!” I grunted, hoping to scare away the person who continued to call my phone over and over.

If it weren’t for my phone vibrating under my head, I probably could have slept another couple of hours.

I was exhausted. It felt like I had just laid down, now my phone was ringing off the hook.

There had better be a fire or some kind of emergency, or I was about to let whoever was on the other end have it.

“Yeah!” I answered without bothering to open my eyes.

“Boy, don’t you yeah me. What the hell are you doing? I’ve been calling you for the past thirty minutes.”

“I was trying to get some sleep, Ma. I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

“You better fix your tone. What are you doing in bed, Keywan? You were supposed to be in therapy this morning.”

“Ma, it’s not therapy. It’s anger management, and it’s not until nine,” I explained.

“It’s nine fifteen, boy. That’s why I’ve been calling you. I wanted to make sure you got up and out of the house on time.”

Her revelation made my eyes pop open.

“Shit,” I hissed after looking at my phone screen and verifying that it was in fact nine fifteen.

Jumping out of bed, I scrambled to find a shirt and a pair of shoes to put on so I could run out of the house.

“Stop all that cursing and get yourself up.”

“I am, Ma. Love you. I need to go.”

“Call me when you get out of class.”

“I will,” I said, hitting the end button before tossing my phone on the bed.

I grabbed my shoes and stuffed my feet in them without bothering to put on any socks.

As I headed out of my room, I snatched my phone off the bed.

I plucked my keys from the ring next to the front door as I rushed straight out of the house.

The building where they held the sessions was only a ten-minute drive from me. With any luck I wouldn’t be too late.