Page 108 of Invisible Bars
If Chi said he wouldn’t hurt me, I could almost believe it. I wanted to. Because part of me was terrified that I was falling for a man whose world I didn’t fully understand… and trusting the wrong man had already cost me too much in the past.
“So you’re saying I should just… be okay with this?”
“I’m saying you’re the first person I’ve ever seen him slow down for. That man treats time like money, and somehow you convinced him to spend both. Just give it time. You and him come from two different worlds… and I’m from a third one."
I chuckled, softer that time. “So b-basically, I’m Disney, he’s Death Row, and you’re what? Sesame Street?”
Chi barked out a laugh. “Damn right! I’m Big Bird with a burner, Glitchy! Yellow feathers, street cred, and an AK-47 in the toy chest. Don’t let the smile fool you! I done flipped bricks and built block empires off crumbs and chaos.”
That made me laugh harder than I expected. It caught me off guard—how much I needed that laugh, how much I missed feeling normal. But underneath it, the truth still hummed low in my chest. Imanio didn’t know what he was doing with me… and I didn’t know what I was doing with him either.
Chi extended his blunt to me. "Wanna hit?"
My eyes widened. "Oh… no… no… drugs bad!” That was my tic, not a PSA—though it could’ve been both.
Chi cackled. “Not all, Glitchy. Don’t believe everything you hear. That D.A.R.E. program lied to us. Weed is good for the mental… might even help with your tics and anxiety. I’m serious. But nah, this shit right here? A few hits, and you might stop cussing out pastors and start humming gospel hymns instead. Yeah, Imanio told me what you said to the reverend. But for real, this thatI forgot I paid rent twice and still ain’t madtype of high and peace. I’m telling you, Glitchy… one puff and you’ll be apologizing to lamps and hugging the air. Well, shit, you already do that.”
I gave him a side-eye. “Or… I… I might end up trying to baptize myself in the damn toilet.”
Chi’s eyes glinted with mischief. “Nah, see, if you do that, you on some mo’ shit… like spiritual awakening, barefoot-in-the-rain type shit. But just hit it one time. If you don’t feel anything,I won’t call you Glitchy no mo’… witness protection nickname gone.”
I raised a brow, skeptical. “Deal.”
Chi grinned like the devil handing out coupons, then shook my head like he just signed a peace treaty.
Chi wasn’t just funny; he was persuasive in that annoying best-friend-who-never-took-no-for-an-answer way. Me, on the other hand, I was hesitant, knowing damn well I was about to cough up a lung and probably embarrass myself. But it was worth the gamble.
We stepped outside onto the patio. It was warm, the sun just starting to settle into golden hour. It would’ve been peaceful if my anxiety hadn’t been doing the Harlem Shake in my chest.
I took the blunt from him with trembling fingers. My palms were already sweating, and my heart was racing like I was about to go into battle, not take one puff.
"Just a baby hit," Chi coached, like a weed doula. “Don’t try to be a hood legend on your first try.”
I inhaled, trying to be cool about it.
Immediately, I coughed like I’d swallowed fire and bad decisions. My eyes watered, my lungs felt like they were trying to escape through my throat, and I clutched my chest.
Chi hollered, laughing, and started patting my back. “You good?”
I wheezed.
I felt like Fred Sanford with his famous line, ‘Elizabeth, I’m coming to join you, honey!’ Except I’d be joining my grandfather and Nana Li in heaven.
Chi shook his head. “Look at you—officially inducted. The spirits of Snoop and Wiz welcome you to the circle. You gon’ be aight. That cough means it's working. Next step—vision quest or snack run.”
I was ticcing, coughing, and laughing all at once.
“Gaslight goat cheese!” I blurted between coughs.
Chi raised his eyebrows. “Mm-hmm,” he nodded. “You’re high.”
We sat down on the patio chairs. I couldn’t tell if the seat was extra soft or if my body was floating. For the next fifteen minutes, Chi did most of the talking while I sat in a blurry bubble of warmth and paranoia.
Chi told me how he and Imanio met in kindergarten. “Man tried to fight me over a Lego. I respected it. That’s when I knew he was gon’ be a killer or a CEO… or both. My predictions were on point.”
He also told me about some of their early hustles—legal, mostly. A couple, not so much. Chi’s stories were chaotic, hilarious, and painted Imanio as this guarded, misunderstood genius who didn’t know what the hell to do with his feelings, let alone a wife.
Just as I was starting to relax—high or not—a sleek black expensive looking car pulled up behind the gate.
