Page 151 of Anything Necessary for Her
Finally, I located the first one and came to stand before the homie’s headstone, bearing a picture of him smiling innocently as if he didn’t run the streets like me, putting niggas in the place he’d eventually ended up as well.
“You remember Doe?” I asked Wyatt, nodding my head down to Donald’s grave.
“Kind of. He hasn’t been around in a minute, and I guess I know why,” Wyatt replied, almost mindlessly as he regarded the headstone.
“Yep. Come on.” I waved him on, making my way over since now that I had pinned down Donald’s grave, I knew how to get to the others. “This is Marcus. I don’t think you ever met him.” I stopped.
“You knew him too?” Wyatt looked up and over at me. He was almost my height, standing at six feet, one inch, whereas I was six feet, three inches.
“I did.” I nodded. “He was as much my friend as Donald was.”
“What happened to him?”
“Shot, just like Donald while making a play.” I let my eyes latch onto Wyatt’s and watched him swallow the lump in his throat. “Come on.”
“There’s more?”
“Of course. I told you this shit I do only got two routes; you either end up dead or in prison for the rest of ya fucking life. Nomatter what the outcome, though, they both leave you unable to spend that money you crave so much.” I halted again at another headstone.
“Dwayne Richards,” Wyatt read it off. “Shot too?”
“Yep. Drive-by on some retaliation shit,” I said.
“Well, at least it wasn’t drugs.” Wyatt attempted to snicker, but it ceased when he saw I wasn’t amused.
“It’s all the same game, Wyatt. You doing this shit and you gon’ make enemies, ’cause muthafuckas is always gon’ be jealous ’bout some shit. You fuck on a bitch another nigga was checking for? He’ll kill you. You popping it too much at the club, looking too rich and happy? A nigga wanna kill you. You don’t wanna kick it or feed into a nigga’s groupie behavior? He wanna kill you. It’s hard to find loyalty in this shit and even harder not to make enemies.” As I noticed Wyatt looking uncomfortable, just like I wanted, I waved him on again.
He trailed me, quiet as hell, until we ended up at the last grave I planned to take him to. There were more, there always was and would continue to be, but I felt like four was enough.
“Van. I remember him.” Wyatt frowned. “Wait, I just saw you with him last year?” His brows furrowed further as if Ivan’s face on the headstone was a mistake. “And he was only twenty? I thought he was your age.”
“He not, and life moves quickly in this shit.” I eyed him before sitting down in the grass. After Wyatt sat beside me silently, I continued. “I ain’t gon’ front and act like some of this shit ain’t nice. The money comes fast and is abundant, but that’s about it. Everything else is negative. You rich as fuck but you always on edge, always vetting a muthafucka no matter how normal they seem—women included—and even the sound of a siren will have you paranoid. I can’t remember the last time I was able to sleep peacefully by myself.”
“If there are only two ways out, then how did Sif get out unscathed?”
“He ain’t get out unscathed. Nigga got shot a couple times, but by the grace of God, he made it.” I glanced over to see Wyatt’s shock ridden face. “Important part is he wasn’t greedy and got out of this shit eventually. A lot of niggas get comfortable and start feeling invincible, and that’s where you mess up.”
“So you’re gonna get out then, right? Like Sif and not be like the others?” he inquired, hopefully.
I nodded, realizing for the first time that Wyatt did love me.
“That was never my plan.” I stared out over the decline of the cemetery, knees drawn up as my forearms dangled over them. “I was gon’ ride this shit out until I eventually crashed, just to make sure y’all was good, but not no more.”
“’Cause of Banks?”
I smirked.
“Banks, yeah, but also ’cause of you and Waverley. I realize I do care to be around and see what the fuck y’all do and make sure you stay on the right path. I worried about a lot of shit growing up, Wyatt, and I don’t want that for you. All I want you to do is be a fucking teenager and enjoy the shit. Make something of yaself.” I finally gave him some eye contact. “Jail ain’t fun, I been there, and I can only imagine prison. This shit I do every day ain’t fun either. If you only knew the solace I feel when I make it home to y’all or my girl, you wouldn’t ever think about doing what I do ever again.”
“I’m not too interested in being shot or put in prison,” he stated, making my body sag subtly in relief.
He’d never said anything even remotely close to that shit.
“Good. I don’t either, but I also don’t like having to stomp a mud puddle in yo’ ass, so tighten up, aight? You got an opportunity to be any fucking thing you want to. Don’t getswallowed up by this shit because it looks easy and it look cool. Neither of those being true.
“You don’t have to do this shit like I did, and you ain’t got the burden of expected inheritance like Sif, so you got no reason. And let me tell you, once the judge bang the gavel on yo’ ass on that life sentence or you take ya last breath, won’t be no turning back. Big brother won’t be able to save you. The world ain’t nice to black men, Wyatt. Don’t hand these muthafuckas a reason to call you a statistic or make you one.”
Wyatt nodded, returning my eye contact like a man, which I appreciated more than he knew.
