Page 20 of Invisible Bars
“You got me out here committing crimes on an empty stomach.”
“From the looks of it, you ate enough, so you’ll be good.”
The waitress from earlier appeared so fast, I thought she’d been hiding under the damn table.
“Leaving already?” she asked, all chipper, like we were on a date and I wasn’t on my way to handle a potential homicide.
I barely glanced her way but dropped four crisp hundreds on her tray.
Her eyes lit up like a slot machine hit triple sevens.
“Well damn. If you tip like this, I can only imagine how generous you are in other departments,” she flirted, nibbling on her bottom lip.
“Don’t mistake me for friendly, or that I want to fuck just ’cause I tip like a decent human being. This is for your services, not your looks.”
Ol’ girl’s mouth hung open just enough for the rejection to hit her windpipe.
“Don’t take it personal, shawty,” Chi said. “He doesn’t like anyone; well, with the exception of me, his sister, his grandma, and his pops. His mama is still up for debate; that verdict ain’t in yet. I’m convinced this nigga came out the womb mad. He probably smacked the doctor for slapping his ass to make him start crying. Now thinking about it, I think his mama said his first words was,‘Don’t touch me’.”
I wanted to laugh so bad… but laughter made folks,especially females, think they were getting somewhere with me, and not many did.
I nudged him. “Man, come on.”
Chi grinned, shaking his head as we walked out.
“Now she was one of the sweet ones, bro. That girl probably gon’ go home and journal about that tipandyo’ attitude.”
“Nah, with the tip I gave her, she’s probably gon’ be looking for me—or a clone—by next week. And if shedoeswrite about tonight, I just hope she spells my name right.”
“You break hearts with the same face you order takeout with. You probably got the devil taking notes like, Damn, teach me how to be that smooth without sweating.”
I shrugged, pulling my hood back on like it was part of the attitude.
“Ain’t no lesson to it. I just let ‘em trip over their own feelings.”
“Next time, just leave pennies—less confusion. On some real shit, yo’ ass needs therapy,” Chi called himself advising. “Then again, the therapist might quit because she ain’t equipped for yo’ level of heartless.”
“Ineed therapy?” I retorted.
“You right. Webothoverdue for a session,” he admitted. “Might as well book a group session at this point.”
I chuckled lightly. “Igottherapy, nigga. It’s chrome, fits in a glove compartment, and doesn’t ask questions,” I clarified.
“Same thing, different co-pay. Yours just come with bullets and bad decisions.”
“Facts. I just need people to shut up and pay their debts.”
“If we kill this nigga tonight—knowing yo’ ass we will—I’m just letting you know, I’m taking his speakers. That nigga got them vintage JBLs. Them bitches slap.”
All I could do was shake my head at his crazy ass.
Around Chi, my Pops, grandma, auntie and sister, I could be myself… fully, without any forcedness or fake ass shit. Even on the days when my mood was shot and I ain’t feel like talking to anybody, they never took it personal. And Chi? That nigga readme like a book he done reread a thousand times and still kept bookmarked.
Chi wasn’t just a friend; he was mybrother. My “tell me where and how deep to bury the body” type of loyalty. He kept me grounded, kept me laughing, and kept me from makinga fewdumb-ass decisions. But heneverjudged me and damn sure never switched up.
Even when I was at my lowest—or when everybody else was either scared of me or treating me like I was one bad mood away from catching a case, Chi would always pull up calm as hell, look me dead in the eye, and say,“Did you eat today, nigga? Or do you need some pussy, a prayer, or to go murk somebody? Just let me know what kind of healing we on today so I can gas the car and dress accordingly. I support all of them equally.”
That’s real love.
