Crouching Gangster, Flowering Quince

Chapter Four

Author's Note: It's been over a year, y'all. Omg. I told you I wasn't neglecting this story. 

I only took a plane once before this.

I was ten or so—young enough to be scared but old enough to remember everything. I was visiting my aunt in Florida, and my mother wanted me to go alone (partly because she wanted me to find my independence, but also because she didn't want to pay for her own plane ticket). The flight went smoothly, there was a member of the Black Power Movement on the seat next to me who was talking to me about Marcus Garvey. I didn't know, nor did I care, about that kind of thing at that age.

This time, there is a girl my age on the plane. At first glance she seems like the typical blonde white girl with a rich dad and a pet chihuahua, but after sitting next to her for an hour I found out that she was a lot like the Black Power guy from before - aggressive, passionate, and always talking about social injustice. Her topic of interest is gay rights, though, something I know for sure that the Marcus Garvey brother wouldn't be down with.

I can't really tell if the flight is short or if it's just shorter than the long, drawn-out experience I expected to have. Either way, the pilot announces that we're landing and everybody starts clapping. I would clap, but my butt is numb and the view from the window of the landing strip and never-ending grass is much less appealing than the orange sunrise and clouds that I saw when we were higher up. I want to go back up there, up another few hundred or thousand feet into the air and stare at the sky like it's something I've never seen before. I have seen it, but not like this. I have seen it while being in it. And besides, back in Brooklyn there's not much time to look up at the sky. You have to keep your eyes on the people around you, watching their movements and their mannerisms and their pockets. Niggas is always prepared to pop off, especially from behind. Keep your eyes on them and never let 'em catch you slippin.

I take my luggage and walk off the plane with legs that feel like what Lamar's legs must feel like after carrying his upper body weight for so long. It's funny how dudes in the pen always forget to work their legs along with their arms.

The white girl says something to me, and I'm not sure if it's because I'm tired of listening to her, or because the air pressure messed with my ears, or because her Valley accent is foreign and unfamiliar to my Canarsie ears, but I don't hear her. She doesn't repeat herself, so it probably isn't important. Maybe she's wishing me good luck, since I did mention to her that I'm here for school. Maybe I should have heard her, and replying "thank you" should be my way of receiving luck that I'm most likely going to need in a place and environment that I've never even thought of being in.

Baggage claim takes longer than I expect it to and longer than I need it to. If a terrorist comes in this airport with a bomb threatening to kill everybody, I'll be happy if he holds me hostage. I might even be happy if he kills me. Spending that day back home with Lamar and Fetty made me happy about leaving, since I found out that everyone was happy for me and that I wasn't the only one going to college. But now, it's all dawning on me; Fetty told the entire neighborhood, and now everyone knows that Ma is home by herself while I'm at college. They also have seen her health deteriorate, so they know she's not capable of defending herself against anyone who wants to come in and rob her. Of course, I didn't think about that before, being so overwhelmed by how proud she is of me. And I don't know why I was so happy about Kendall going to Medgar Evers; word on the street is that they accept basically anybody, and it's still in the hood. It's right up the block from Ebbets Field, actually. So, coming to L.A. to a top-tier university on a full scholarship still makes me look like a sellout. It still makes me look like I think I'm better than everyone else I left behind. It still makes me look like I got money to anyone who doesn't know about the scholarship which, again, leaves Ma vulnerable.