Page 8 of Invisible Bars
I smirked. “Auntie Renee might be loud, nosy, and yeah… maybe a lil’ messy, but one thing she’s not isfake. Giselle, you came out the same dirt some of us still trying to wash off andheal from.So stop with the act like you don’t know what it feels like to split one meal between three people, heat the house with the oven door open, stand in food stamp lines, use candles when the lights got cut off, listen to yo’ stomach growl while saying “I already ate” so your kids could eat first, sell personal stuff just to cover rent, or boil water on the stove just to take a bath. I could go on.”
Giselle stepped forward; her voice low but seething.
“Imanio, don’t get it twisted—Ihaven’tforgotten where I come from. But I didn’t crawl my way out of thedamntrenches just to watch you stand here scowling at your father’s legacy like it’s filth under your shoe! Soexcuse meif I refuse to sit back and watch you piss it all away just because your suit feels tight and your smile’s too tired to fake it!”
“I didn’t ask for any of this.”
“Well, lucky for you, legacy doesn’t require permission!” she quipped. “I swear, I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately. You used to cooperate with these shoots! But these last few… you’ve been slacking! This one was carefully planned! Months of branding, PR, and marketing! For God’s sake, you’re a Kors, Imanio! This is your birthright! Why can’t you take joy in that?!”
“Because this is a lie,” I said plainly, while eyeing her intently. “At least for me.”
“And what exactly do you mean by that?”
“This suit is a lie. These buildings are a lie. The smiles? Fake as hell. The clients? Dumb as rich toddlers. And this whole empire you worship is built on debt, desperation, and delusion. I’m just starting to realize this ain’t me.”
She pointed her finger at me. “Now you listen here?—”
“No, you listen,” I cut her off, my voice low and lethal. “I hate this shit, and you know that.”
Giselle’s eyes stretched, but she straightened up, slipping her poise back on like it was part of her outfit.
“But you love money,” she countered, smoothing her tone out like she was negotiating a business deal. “And you oweeverythingyou have to this business, Imanio! So smile! Fake it… the way I do! Hell, the way your father did!”
I shook my head. “Been doing it, but it’s getting harder by thephotoshoot. I gotta go. I got otherworkto do.”
“Other work?! Like what?! Oh, let me guess… going off to do God-knows-what with Chi!” she snapped, her voice climbing an octave.
Chicago, better known as Chi, was my day one nigga.
The funny thing is, Giselle didn’t haveonenegative thing to say about him when we were younger—when he would help us carry laundry and groceries up five flights or willingly ride his bike acrosstown to bring us dollar-store necessities.
When we were still living in the Gardens, Chi was this wild, loyal, yet respectful little dude. He would show up at our door, voice loud and full of energy, drenched in sweat from running, always asking if I could come outside to play or hang out.
Chi was just thirteen when I left the neighborhood—a young teenager still trying to find his place in the world. But after we made our escape to a better life, and he started to stand on his own two feet, suddenly, he wasn’t the same kid anymore in my mama’s eyes. Chi stopped biting his tongue around her, and that’s when things changed. To her, he became beneath us—a thug, disrespectful, and someone I needed to keep an eye on.
It was always like that with Giselle. Once somebody outgrew her control, she labeled them dangerous.
The truth was, Chi never switched on me, betrayed me, or tried to take advantage of our friendship. He never even asked for anything unreasonable. Chi was just a real and blunt ass nigga, who expected honesty and didn’t tolerate bullshit—like me. He was one of the few who wasn’t scared to tell me when I was trippin’ or to confront my mama when she was oversteppingher boundaries. And that’sexactlywhat she couldn’t stand about him.
“Imanio, I’ve told you about that boy?—”
“Look, I don’t need one of your weekly sermons about Chi, aight? He’s been more loyal to me than half the folks with our last name. So youshouldknow by now that no matter what you say, I’m not gon’ stop hanging ‘round him just becauseyouwant me to.”
I stepped up to her.
“Do younotremember he’s thesameChi who almost took a bullet for me at the age of thirteen?You don't remember that, huh?”
Or maybe she chose not to want to.
Some people seem to have selective memory when money and status start whispering in their ears.
I scoffed, shaking my head at her silence, unable to reconcile the mama I once knew with the woman standing in front of me.
“Bye, Giselle,” I dismissed her, without a glance back.
I yanked open the door of my Bentley and dropped into the driver’s seat like the whole damn day was strapped to my shoulders.
“Imanio!” she yelled, pounding on the window with the fury of a woman who’d just been publicly betrayed. “Open this door and let’s finish this conversation!”
