Page 1 of Grown Folks Confessions: Black Lush

high school years are in session:

WHEN YOU WANT TO BE GROWN.

one

Grown Folks Confession #1: When you’re young, it’s all about sex. When you’re older, it’s still about sex, just throw in some WD40 and a cigar afterwards and you’re good to go.

ARES

“Cuzzo,why the fuck are you so late?” my cousin, Midas, asked rhetorically. “We never get to mack on the good hunnies ’cause you take too goddamn long on your fit.”

“Mack on the hunnies?” Laughing, I waved him off as I smoothed out my black velour tracksuit. “You’ve been listening to Unc talk too damn much. Starting to sound just like him.”

“I mean that shit,” he said, ushering me to the back door of where the entrance to tonight’s house party was at and shaking his head as he popped the collar of my jacket. “And why the hell are you wearing these hot ass clothes?”

“Because I waited in line too damn long to get this Sean John fit to let it go to waste until the winter. It’s only sixty out, so I’m good.”

He snorted. “Yo ass is ’bout to be sweatin’ in seconds at this damn party. Er’body in the city is here tonight.”

Midas was exaggerating like he always did. Detroit was buzzing, but there were hella house parties going on this weekend. Today was the last day of school and officially marked the start of my junior year of high school.

I’d also lied though, because the real reason I was late wasn’t because of picking out my clothes. It was because I’d gotten into an argument with my dad, per usual. Since Midas was my cousin, I didn’t need him in my business, especially when my brothers, Theseus and Eros, hadn’t understood when I tried to explain it to them. Theseus had been about to head out with Constantine, Midas' older brother, so he wasn’t listening to shit I was saying. And Eros was being … Eros. Moody and to himself.

Ever since I was old enough to take the bus by myself, I’d worked at The Palace, home of the Detroit Pistons, while my brothers had worked with my dad at his auto shop. After the biggest fight in NBA history against the Pistons and the Indiana Pacers, it seemed every dude I knew had been trying to work there, yet I was one of the lucky fuckers who already had a job at The Palace, having started when I hit double digits by helping one of my uncles clean the stadiums.

It hadn’t mattered to my dad that I picked a different job, probably because he wanted me out of his hair anyway and had liked that I at least worked with a family member. But, lately, with The Palace cutting back employee hours and my uncle losing his job, my dad had been on my ass about quitting and working with him and my brothers.

Truth was, except for my mom, no one in my family really understood me, and lately, shit was just feeling different. Like I didn’t belong in the family of the people who’d known me my entire life. They were good people, but that was just it.

They wererespectablehuman beings.

And my ass couldn’t help but get into trouble.

“Ares, you comin’ in or what?”

I lightly shook my head to clear my thoughts. “Yeah, but you’re right, I’m already hot as hell.”

We were both laughing as I removed my jacket, leaving me in a white tee as we entered the overcrowded house party, all eyes on the two of us. I was used to the attention. So was Midas. Hell, most of my family turned heads whenever we showed up someplace.

We were Hoods, and in Detroit, us Hoods were legendary whether for reasons we wanted to be known for, or for shit we would rather take to our graves. All of our Greek names were pretty damn unforgettable, too. Legend had it, great-great-great-great-grandpa was a pirate out of St. Thomas Virgin Islands in the early 18thcentury whose African family had arrived there shortly after he was born. Back then, St Thomas was one of the most feared pirate lairs led by a pirate-friendly governor who often offered refuge to some of the most notorious pirates in our history.

From what was uncovered, grandpa times four was sharpest when he was drunk and kept a bottle on him. He was named Christopher when he was born, but changed it to Christos for reasons none of us know for sure. A few settled on the idea that he simply liked the sound of the name, Pirate Christos Hood. Others think the Virgin Islander fell in love with Greece on one of his voyages. Yet, most of my family fed into the legend that he didn’t fall in love with the country, but rather, he fell in love with a Greek woman … a woman who passed away after giving birth to triplets, who then procreated like crazy.

Most of us had the same name as an ancestor. It was almost like we just rotated the same group of names and hell if I knew if in addition to our ancestors being African, we had Greek blood running through our veins since I wasn’t paying for that expensive ass ancestry test. The shit in our family history was weird, but it was what it was.

“Hey boys. Glad you could make it.”

We both turned to the voice of Jade Daniels, who was known for throwing the best parties in Michigan. She’d already graduated, but since she used to be the head of my high school’s championship dance team, the Hip Hop Beauties, she still got mad respect.

Jade didn’t just throw normal parties either. She regularly rented a place in the city that looked whack on the outside, but inside, her and her girls always decorated the hell out of it and hired a bomb DJ.

Smiling, Midas pulled her in for a hug. “You know we wouldn’t be anywhere else, beautiful.”

“Boy, you betta stop.” Jade playfully swatted at his shoulder, but his flirting was harmless. At least when it came to Jade. Everyone in Detroit knew Jade was D’s girl, and Midas wasn’t stupid enough to push his luck and cause her to tell her man. Especially when we knew that possessive dude way too damn well.

“Some of y’all’s friends are in the kitchen or by the outdoor pool,” Jade explained, nodding to the back of the house. “But, Ares, my girl needed to talk to you about something first.”

My ears perked up. “Which one?” I asked, trying not to sound thirsty, but by Midas’ smirk, I was failing.

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