AUGUST
"You really like ha', don't chu?"
I ain't even glance up from tha wardrobe plan I had been lookin' at.
"Who?"
Juice sucked ha teeth befa placin' anotha folder in front of me. "Nigga, don't play dumb."
I chuckled, ignorin' ha statement, and respondin ta ha question. "How you figure dat?"
"I can just tell. How long I done known you? You ain't foolin' nobody."
I laughed at how loud she was, closin' tha folda and handin' it to ha'. I was gon' be laid in da finest shit, thanks ta Juice. She neva' failed ta impress me when it came ta ha skills. I ain't like da fact dat she was tryna put a nigga in snake-skin shoes though. "Say, Juice. I ain't feelin' dem damn shoes."
She snatched tha folda, openin' it and pointin' at the shoes I was talkin' bout. "Nigga, have you lost yo damn mind? These ain't just any kinda shoes. These are Salvatore Ferragamo. Imported from Florence."
I chuckled at ha enthusiasm as she continued ta talk. "I gotta have these shoes imported all da way from Italy. They already on they way, so you ain't got no choice. You need ta change up how you dress, anyway. I'm tired of seein' you walkin' around in snapbacks and Jordans. Basic ass."
I shook my head at ha', standin' ta hug ha. I was runnin' on a tight schedule since we had ta' be out in two days. "Aye, watch ya mouth. Aug ain't no basic ass nigga."
She released me, side-eyein' me. "You are, but that's aight. You know imma hook you up. I gotchu."
I laughed, slightly tuggin on tha strings ta my bucket hat. Juice was ghetto, and loud as hell, but she knew how ta act when it came ta ha business. When she got in front of da white folks, she was professional and shit got done. She followed me ta tha do', but befa I could walk out, she grabbed my arm. I turned around and noticed ha face had softened.
She lowered ha voice, which was unusual cause everytime we held a conversation ha ass was yellin'. "You know I went and visited back home last weekend. I went by Mrs. Sheila's."
I stuck my hands in my pockets, already knowin' whea' she was headed wit dis conversation. I hadn't seen, or heard, from my mama since I was 15. Dat was 7 yea's ago. Some nigga took my brotha's life ova a few grams of loud, and my life took a turn. Ta ha it was fa the worse, but it got me whea' I need ta be. I started slangin', and when she found out, she kicked me out. She ain't agree wit tha life I was livin'.
She ain't undastand. And she ain't care. Seein' averybody round you strugglin'....dat shit put chu in a whole 'notha mentality. By tha time I was fourteen, I already was in survival mode. Doin' whateva I had ta do ta get it out tha mud. My brotha left behind three beautiful daughtas, and a baby mama dat I was sho' woulda became a wife if given da chance. She stood by him, no matta' what. I felt like it was my responsibility ta do what I could fa those he left behind, and nobody couldn't tell me othawise. To this day, I still sent ha money every week. My brotha was my everythin'. He always wanted me ta do betta den him. It's funny. I remember when I brought home my report card one time, I was failin' one of my classes....math, I think. I was tha typical hard-headed nigga, not worried bout school...skippin' class ta be in the streets wheneva I got tha chance.Mel made sure I got my grade up. He told me not ta be worried bout what went down in da streets. I could tell he was disappointed by my grades. And dat hurt me. His opinion was tha only one that really mattered. On the next report card I brought home, I had a B average in that class. I worked my ass of ta make sure that he was proud. Now Mel....he ain't finish highschool his self, and I think that was one of the reasons he pushed me so damn hard.
