Page 61 of Primo DeLuca

Maya nodded, and I could sense her taking a stroll down memory lane based on the far-off stare that projected like she was looking right through me.

“We might have all found a way out of the hood, but the lessons remain inside each of us. We don’t run from a fight because we weren’t raised that way. We don’t take shit from anyone because we weren’t taught to.”

Maya sounded like the poster child for hood-raised kids. We had all faced our fair share of danger growing up. Tracy was shot in her lower back at fifteen. At twelve, I was stabbed in my left side and later, at seventeen, trapped in the car with one of my boyfriends while he was being chased by cops with half a kilo of coke in the car with us. I had managed to open the door and let the coke spill out before he was caught. We, as a group, had seen enough bodies to start our own morbid gallery of death scene portraits.

“Don’t ever think that we would walk out on our friendship because your guy is not one of those squares that I like to take advantage of,” Maya stated, her tone matter of fact.

They nodded in agreement, the sight making my eyes sting with the tears I fought to hold back.

“If that big, fine ass man of yours is ever in trouble, my advice to you is to help him in the safest way possible of course. If you ever need a little help from me, I’m game,” Maya stated, and I believed her. However, I shook my head. Just because I was back in the life, it didn’t mean they were coming with me.

“You ladies being here for me is all I need. Besides, I’ve seen Primo in action, and I don’t think he’s going to need my lightweight help.”

An hour later, we hugged for what felt like an hour before they finally decided to release me. They were too drunk to drive home and opted to share a hotel suite across the street from the restaurant. Knowing they were safe I was content enough to make my way to the Uber I secured before waving one last reluctant good-bye.

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