Page 52 of Quasim II: King Inferno

The only thing that mattered was that I did it.

My entire life, I had been told what I couldn’t do and who I would become. Hearing grown ass adults speak about your future and destiny like they knew better.

The same people sitting on the front porch nursing a drink before noon were the same people telling me that I wouldn’tbecome nothing. I had been lost since my mother decided she was done being a mother and skipped town. She left me with my father, who turned out not to be my father, so the only place to go was with my uncle.

I used to pray that my breath left my body when he knocked me in the chest, making it the last time that I was ever on earth. A child shouldn’t wish for death, and an adult shouldn’t ever put their hands on them, never making them feel safe.

When I was sixteen, I ran away from my uncle’s house in Delaware and hopped on the Chinese bus to New York City. I didn’t know what I was doing or where I would live, but I knew I couldn’t live with my uncle anymore.

I couldn’t continue living that way and listening to how I would be just like my mother. My mother abandoned me because she was too weak. She didn’t want to be responsible for the life she had birthed.

I would never be like her.

I spent months living on the streets, stealing food from the corner store to eat. There was never enough to eat, and finding somewhere to sleep was just as hard. I would ride the N train from the first stop to the last, hoping that I would wake up in time to switch trains, and repeat the process for some warmth and a few minutes of sleep between each stop.

One night on my way to the train, I stopped to look at a motorcycle. I’ve loved motorcycles since I was younger and made a promise that I would own one when I was older. I kept a folded picture of a Ducati that I wanted to own when I was able. It was often that I saw a bunch of bikes on that block and most of them always had flames on the side of them.

It only took a few months before I returned back to my uncle with my tail tucked between my legs. He didn’t give a damn that I was gone, which was typical. I finished school and then was given a job at the prison nearby.

My uncle worked there, so getting me in was easier said than done. I always knew this wasn’t my path. I didn’t want to work a few shifts, come home and drown my sorrows in a bottle of liquor or a beer. I always knew I wanted more, and I wanted to prove everyone wrong.

The boy with the mother that didn’t want him would be somebody someday. I worked at the prison while attending college. When I finished my second year in college, I transferred schools, and I was back on that cheap bus to New York with no plan in place other than getting an education.

This time, I didn’t have to worry about being put in foster care if I was picked up. For a few weeks, I slept on the trains before finding myself back on that block.

It was like that block was calling me and I needed to be on it. Honestly, I think I was supposed to be on that block the night that I was.

I was standing at that one bike that was always parked in the front. What a nigga would give to own something like this, and it was right there in front of me.

“You ain’t been around for a minute… came to get your wrist broke for trying to touch my bike?” I heard a low voice from behind me and turned to see a tall man with a short hair cut, sharp jawline, and menacing eyes.

“Nah, nah, nah. I really fuck with your bike.” I turned back to continue admiring the bike that was in front of me.

He had the sleeve of his shirt pulled up, and I saw the flames on his forearm that matched his bike. “Where you been?”

I laughed. “You say that like I’ve been gone only a few weeks. How do you even remember me? I ain’t never ran into you.” I turned to look at him as he stood there with his hands tucked into his pockets.

“Why else you think you were allowed in that store? I had a running tab in the store when you were coming around. All the shit you was over there stealing, I was paying for it.”

I was quiet.

“I can pay you back.”

He shook his head as he looked at me carrying my backpack on my back, and the duffle bag with my blanket tucked under the handles. “No you can’t.”

He called my bluff, and I became offended because I had about fifty dollars left from my last check. Hopping the train helped me save some money, and since I had been back, I hadn’t stolen anything. I was now legal and would sit up in a holding cell if I was caught.

I fasted intermittently throughout the day and had a big meal at night to save money. “Eventually, I can.”

“Name.”

“My…My name?” I slightly stammered, not expecting to have a full conversation. All I wanted to do was admire the bike in front of me.

“Hassan…. Hassan King,” I extended my hand, and he pulled his out of his pocket, and shook my hand. “Thanks for looking out for me. Not used to anyone having my back but me. I’m a man of my word; I will pay you back.”

“Where you stay?”

“Everywhere,” I chuckled.

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