HAM (Hard As a Muthaf**ka)

"And Graves Give Up Their Dead..."

“And Graves Give Up Their Dead…”

                  Sunday morning, or afternoon, should I say…the clouds were gloomy, but I didn’t give a fuck. I laid there in bed all night, and didn’t sleep a wink…it was weird, because I had issues sleepin after I had murked Gabe, but I didn’t lose an ounce of sleep after poppin the fuck outta Devin and his boy. This Mary shit, though, is something totally diff…I never meant to hurt her, but inadvertently, through my machinations, I did…it was even worse- through my actions toward her, she was killed. But here I am…alive, though not well.

                  I staggered through the cemetery with a bottle of wine in hand, leftover from two weekends ago when I had Quinna spend the night. I stood in front of the large marble headstone, looking down…it had been so long, I almost forgotten his name…

                  Here lies Cedric Martin 1943-2008. Beloved Husband, and Father…

                  “Hey Pops,” I said. “It’s been a long time…and I’m sorry. I’ve been kinda, a lil busy over the past couple o’ years,”

                  The silence responded, with silence.

                  “Um…Max told me I should come here, since I hadn’t been here in a while. Although I’m pretty sure you know, you’ll be happy to know that I been makin sure she hasn’t been in trouble,” I said. “But you prolly already know,”

                  I looked around, I guess as a gesture for some sort of sign, to let me know that he was there, and listening to me. I kinda shrugged. “Sorry…I didn’t bring any flowers. I didn’t think that would be um…manly, of me to do that for another dude,”

                  Still nothin…not even a hallowed ghost of a whisper, in my ear.

                  “I mean, I’m here because…”- I paused. “You know, but I’m also here because I need help. I need your help…I know I haven’t exactly been the best son in the world to you and Mom, but I could use, yanno, a little guidance right now. I been trynna stay out of jail, and I went and got a job, cause if I didn’t, the probation lady was gonna send me back. I also started goin to school so I could get trainin and be a barber, coz that’s a respectable job, yanno?”

                  I could feel my lips quiverin, like how when you knew you were in trouble, and you were scared of gettin a whoopin, and you were trynna explain to your parents why you did what you did…my hand tightened its clutch on the wine bottle, as a cryogenic wash ran over my body. I shook a little, but brushed it off.

                  “I guess what I’m trynna say is…I think I’m waaay in over my head with some shit- dammit! I didn’t mean to say ‘shit’, or ‘dammit’”- once again, I paused. I was letting my guilt and emotions get the best of me…it was true- I hadn’t visited my dad’s grave since the initial funeral four years ago. I felt I wasn’t worthy of being the son I used to be; I thought he would be angry with me, because of the hell that I put Mom through up until I graduated. I let out a sigh and continued. “Imma lil bit out of my league, and I need some kind of sign- some faith that things will be okay. I’m hopin that you can do that much for me…I’m not askin to make everything okay, just…”

                  I had to pause again…funny, how me, a man without any faith was askin for some. After my dad had died, I turnt my back on any type of religious beliefs that I had previously held. I had stopped goin to church, I didn’t wanna hear any lectures or sermons…it was like I was angry with God, for takin my dad away from me. I sat on the grass, popped open the bottle of wine, and took a swig…how in the hell this stuff ever came from grapes is beyond me, but I kept drinkin on it. I dusted a few leaves off his head stone, and sat back.