Page 11 of Jagged Edges

“You sure?” I didn’t want to leave a mess behind.

“Positive.”

Six

Through the thickhaze of polluted air by the clubbers who chose marijuana as their drug of choice, I stalked the floor. Head nods were few, though acknowledgments were plentiful. With my hands in the pockets of the black windbreaker, I avoided physical contact with every human in my path. My destination was clear and so was my stance when it came to the abundance of beings that beckoned for my attention before reaching it.

The tempo of the Amigos track made my head throb and I silently prayed that the DJ would switch the track sooner. The mumbled, jumbled slurs were far off base and far from the classics that I considered worthy of anyone’s listening ear. Nevertheless, I kept my eyes forward and feet one in front of the other as the record continued spinning.

“Bello!” Chi barked.

My hands slithered from the deep pockets of my windbreaker and welcomed the space required to accommodate the girth of the aging man that was nothing short of a blessing in my life. Since I could remember, he’d been on the frontline. There to witness every milestone and every mistake that welcomed me to manhood.

“Welcome home, son,” he grunted from the tightness of my embrace, “He wasn’t expecting you.”

“But, he knows I’m here,” I reminded him.

With a nod, Chi confirmed.

“There’s nothing he doesn’t know,” I reminded him as well before extending the space between us to give us both room to breathe.

“He’s waiting,” Chi signaled toward the double doors.

I stepped in front of them, happy to be free of the vicious glares, requests for hugs, snake niggas, thirsty women, and weed smoke. As I cleared my throat and stretched every inch of my body to its fullest potential, a gush of air followed the retraction of the doors in front of me. With widened steps, I solidified my presence in the secured dwelling. Once inside, the doors joined, again, brushing the back of my neck with another gush of air. Hands folded in front of me, I stood stiff as a pole and admired God’s handy work in front of me.

My heart ached from the weariness in his eyes and the decomposing of his frame. A man of great strength, I’d never seen him so… powerless. He was a ruler, a natural-born leader - and there wasn’t a moment in time that I recalled when he was stripped of the power to change his outcome or circumstances. Be it by money or excessive force, he’d always had the power to choose.

“Son,” he released, remorsefully, well aware of my concerns and my aching heart.

I’d never seen him this way and never imagined the day that I would. Not only was he aging, but he was fighting a battle that was impossible to avoid. Cancer was ravishing his body, slowly. Though he was fighting a hell of a fight with really good odds, it didn’t negate the fact that my personal hero was down on his luck.

“My apologies,” he continued, feeling as if I was owed an explanation or apology at all.

“I’m out,” I responded, ignoring his attempt at sympathy.

I didn’t need it and neither did he.

“Ahhh,” he nodded, the look of dreadful gloom that covered his face was replaced with an honorable one. One of pride, almost.

His arms spread wide, inviting me inside. With a quickened pace, I depleted the space between myself and the man who’d given me life. Slowly, he stood to his feet and waited patiently for my arrival - though patience was far from his list of things to love. He waited and waited as I stressed the marble of the floor under the pressure of my weight to get across the enormous office space.

Soundlessly, we embraced. My head between his shoulder and chin with his hands meeting at the back of it. I squeezed his frail frame, interlocking my fingers behind him. I’d missed him. It didn’t matter how old I got or how tough the streets made me, my father was my sacred place.

He knew it. I knew it. Everyone around us knew it, which was why I wasn’t surprised when I felt the stream of warm liquid caressing my chin.

“I missed you, too,” he choked.

“Tell mom… Tell her I love her, man,” I folded.

Stepping back, my father gave me a once over and wiped the tears from his own eyes. It had been far too long since I’d heldhim in my arms or seen his face. We were both in over our heads with the separation, but it was necessary over the years.

“Why don’t you tell her yourself, son?”

“I can’t do that to her,” I insisted.

“Who is she?” He rewired the conversation, heading in another direction.

“Who is who?” I questioned. Genuinely confused.

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