Page 5 of The Deed to a Gangsta's Heart

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Armor

My alarm chimed,alerting me that it was time for me to call and check in with my brother. Just the thought of talking to him drained me of my energy. I loved my brother, but the disconnect in our relationship made it difficult for us to have the bond I wanted us to.

We were eight years apart, and I was the oldest. Mama had us young. She had me at sixteen. I don’t know who our father is because he was never around. My grandparents helped as much as they could. While they never made us feel bad about our existence, I could look back at the way they talked to and treated Mama and see the disappointment and resentment that drove their actions. I don’t think they intentionally wanted to make her feel bad about being a young, single mother, but I also don’t think taking care of their daughter’s sons was on their bingo cards either.

Our lifestyle growing up was basic. They made sure we had the necessities. Anything extra, Mama was supposed to provide. With her working and trying to go to school, her funds and time were limited. That was why money was so important to me, and it was also why I was more like a father to my brother than a brother. I was eight when he was born, and I immediately had to learn how to help take care of him.

Every night Mama had to work, I was on baby duty. My grandparents fed and took care of me, and I took care of him. I resented it back in the day but felt a sense of pride now over it because it allowed us to be close when he was a little kid. That early closeness was what I clung to when I went to prison, but that didn’t mean we didn’t have issues. A lot of our problems came from him feeling like I was trying to father him, in which case, I was. Problem was, I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing, because I didn’t have a father my damn self.

When I got sat down, our relationship suffered, and all I had was the memories. He started wilding out and eventually took advantage of me not being there to keep him in line. Mama sent him away to Memphis to live with her older brother and my uncle did all he could for him. By the time I was done with my ten year sentence, my brother was unrecognizable. He was more aggressive and disinterested in anything that didn’t revolve around himself. I expected the youngest child to be a little self-absorbed, but he took it to another level.

He seemed to have a healthy bond with our mother when he was doing what she wanted but rarely ever cared about talking to and connecting with me. I could admit when I first got out, I was focused on getting money and building my business. I probably didn’t take as much time asI could have to check in with him then, and now that I was trying, he didn’t care. The only reason I was constantly reaching out was because our mother wanted me to. A part of me, maybe it was my ego, wanted to stay out of his life since that was what he seemed to want. Maybe it was hurt and disappointment over the fact that I missed my little brother, and he didn’t seem to care.

Hell, Remedy was more like a brother to me these days. While I was grateful for that, it didn’t take away the hurt of having issues with my own. It felt like I’d lost a son and brother when I did my time, and I hadn’t really recovered from that yet. Even though I knew he’d either not answer or give me dry responses, I called my brother anyway.

It took several rings, but eventually he answered with, “Wassup?”

“You busy?”

“A lil.”

“I won’t hold you. I was just checking in. Anything new going on with you?”

He sighed. “Nah, not really.”

“When you coming home for a visit?”

“I don’t know, Armor.”

“If not soon, maybe I can come to Memphis and see—”

“Aye, my food just got here. I’ll text you a lil later aight?”

“Oh, ai—fuck.”

As soon as the phone beeped and let me know he’d hung up, I had to keep myself from throwing my phone across the room. I didn’t know what it was going to take to restore our relationship. At times it felt like that wasn’t even possible. For my mother, I’d continue to try.

Needing to clear my mind before getting back to work, I headed outside to smoke. I usually didn’t smoke while I wasworking but sometimes my anger or anxiety required more than deep breaths and prayer.

My phone vibrated in my pocket as I headed toward my SUV. The only thing that kept me from ignoring it was the hope that maybe it was my brother calling me back. My shoulders slouched at the sight of Mama’s name. I used to love talking to her, but now, most of our conversations revolved around him.

“Hey, Mama,” I answered, trying to keep my tone leveled.

“Hey, Son. Are you at work?”

“Yeah, but I can talk. You good?”

“I am. I was just calling to see if you could get someone to cut my grass this weekend. It’s not too long but I wanted to have a little get together, so I want it to look nice.”

“Yeah, I’ll have someone come through and take care of that for you.”

“Thank you, baby. How are you?”

I was so surprised that she actually called for something other than her other son that it took me a second to respond. I waited until I was in my SUV to respond. We ended up talking for about fifteen minutes before ending the call, and it was the first time in what felt like forever that he wasn’t the topic of our conversation. A smile lifted the corners of my mouth as I grabbed the blunt, but I didn’t think I’d need it after all.

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