Affiliated

I got home and as usual, no one was in. I entered my mum’s room that showed no sign of her returning since yesterday. After a fifteen minute shower, treating the wound on my face from when Hunter dropped me onto the concrete floor like a rag doll several times then began getting dressed. I don’t think girls understand how difficult it is for guys picking an outfit; we go though the same stuff. I don’t wanna wear too much black because Jackie’ll assume I came from a raid or something similar to it, I don’t wanna wear anything colourful so that he doesn’t think I’m a fruity nigga. I don’t wanna wear a shirt because that’ll be too formal; I’m only going Jackie’s to talk and chill, not attending a job interview. I have to wear a watch as watches make a good impression but I own few watches and most of my watches go with the colour black.

In the end I settled for a green polo shirt, beige slacks and black/green Nike blazers. My wrist bore a white gold which was given to me by my dad, I’d never met him but on my fifth birthday I was given a watch from my mother with the words My fist child, my son born on the eve of Halloween. Papa’s proud, love you son, I deem the watch to be lucky, wear it whenever I need luck to be brought to me. I grab my white lacoste bomber jacket exiting my bedroom, running down stairs to meet Rahmeek who’d just entered my house using his spare key. He too bothered to dress up, wearing a black adidas sweatshirt, dark blue jeans, white and black Jeremy Scott’s with a big, iced out chain hanging over his neck.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Yeah, but we gotta waste another two hours, the car should arrive at eleven.” I look down at my watch then back up at Rahmeek as a smile formed on his face.

“You’re so gay, you’re wearing the watch.” He pulls my wrist forward, examining the watch in my hand. “You know that you can shot it right? Do you know how much p you can get for it? It’s a vintage Pequignet watch that’s iced out!” I always have this conversation with Rahmeek, he doesn’t realise the sentimental value it has to me, how much it means to me. My dad, brought or possibly handed down a watch of his to me because he was proud that I, Francis was his first born child, son to enter the world and he loves me.

“Never,”

He snorts in response to this walking into my kitchen with me following close behind. “If that prick gave me anything remotely expensive, I would’ve sold that shit.”

“You don’t love your dad, I do.” I tell him straight, there was a difference between us, he chooses not to like his dad for a stupid reason, he was brought up in a family whereas I wasn’t. I grew up, loving and hating my dad for leaving my mum and I to live alone, different men entering our lives, me struggling to look after me. We never struggled money wise, money always has money, I’m not sure why though because she hardly works.

“The pricks not my dad man,” he groans cutting his eyes as he opens my fridge door, leaning forward as he begins to rummage. “Don’t you understand what I’ve been telling you, he’s my stepdad, he and my dad were in a business together, he fucked my mum getting her pregnant then his back on his friend killing him. He fronts like he’s my dad, tryna buy my love, offering me his business he helped build using my fathers blood.”

“What?” a laugh escapes as I jump onto the counter, sitting on it as I open the cupboard door beside me, pulling out a box of mini jaffacakes. “You’re still on that story?”

“Its not a story, its true, why’d you think I look nothing like him? Hmm? My mums a fair skinned Cuban woman, similar to him and I’m black.”

“It’s you Cubans init; your ancestor could be a black man.”

“No,” he shakes his head emerging from the fridge with a old box of pizza in his hand. He opens it removing the five remaining slices placing it on the plate I handed him, placing the plate in the microwave and setting the timer. “He killed my dad, I know he did, he just doesn’t know that I know. My dad was a black, dark skinned man.”

“Shut up Rah, I’m not listening to you.” I laugh stuffing my mouth with a handful of jaffacakes.

The microwave goes off and Rahmeek retrieves his plate, shaking his head no, a angered expression forming on his face. “Nah Francis, I was there the night he killed my dad, I witnessed my dads death.”