Love and a Gangsta. Erick S Gray
the works.
The banging against the door could be heard above the flushing of the toilet. Three keys washed away into the sink and bathtub. Alexis watched sweating, her fingers covered with residue. Soul in a flash tore open the bag of pills and tossed it down the drain.
Soul dashed to recover the gun still on the table. It was too late. Police pounded the door in and had already rushed in with their guns drawn. The small living room became even tinier with strange faces, flashing badges, papers and a sea of blue vests with NYPD markings.
“Get down! Get the fuck down, now!” One of the men in blue ordered.
Swarming Soul, they forced him to the floor. Restraining him with his arms behind, he was handcuffed forcefully and led out. They dragged Alexis, kicking and screaming from the bathroom.
Within minutes, both Alexis and Soul were in police custody. They watched as police ransacked the apartment. The only thing left for them to seize was the loaded 9mm and the ecstasy Alexis wasn’t able to flush.
A beady-eyed sergeant looked at Soul, “You going to jail now, muthafucka! You fuck with us, we fuck with you… Get this nigger out of my sight and book him for gun possession and drugs.”
It was a sticky situation and Soul sighed. Watching the cops hauled Alexis butt-ass naked out the door, Soul knew he had fucked up. They shackled him in iron bracelets and led him away. Soul was busy thinking how he was going to explain it all to America.
1
Life is not always a matter
of holding good cards.
But sometimes playing a
poor hand well…
America
2006 Jamaica, Queens
Finally the day I thought about for four long years was here. In the shower, the water cascading off my brown skin, thinking about his touch made my nipples swell in anticipation. I remember his hands caressing me night after night. My thoughts left my thighs shaking in excitement
I wanted to be oh so fresh for him. I kept myself pure for years just because I love him. My girlfriends thought that I was crazy, going without dick for so long. When you’re strongly in love with a man why fuck another. I was longing for only one to be inside me. The thought of him coming back to me soon was sexual satisfying. Don’t get me wrong, I love sex, but if it wasn’t with Omar, then I was cool and did without until he returned.
Omar captured my heart the very first time we met. He was from the streets, but had a strong aura and I accepted him. Soon afterwards, he took my virginity and I wanted to have his babies.
On the streets, he was known as Soul. He rapped, played the piano, and the guitar. His musical gifts were phenomenal and he was a great dancer. Soul played basketball like he belonged in the pros. Most of all, he was a gentlemen. Despite his street reputation, my baby knew how to take care of me inside and outside the bedroom.
Omar wasn’t perfect. Like every other man on this planet, he had flaws. The streets possessed him, and sometimes hustling and hanging with his homeboys got in the way of his talents.
Soul was a crack dealer. He got into too many fights. He drank too much. A rumor was floating around the hood that he was cheating on me. I looked beyond his bad qualities and wanted us to be together forever. Soul was my first, and I wanted him to be my last.
I met him when I was fifteen and he was seventeen. Back then he’d hangout with his boys in front of the bodega on the corner of Supthin and South Road. Soul was hustling and getting into trouble like all the youths on the corner.
He was cute and his style was different from his peers. They wore their pants low and sagging off their butts, but Omar rocked khakis and wore his jeans with a belt. They sported Timberlands, but you would catch my baby in Gucci loafers or soft bottom shoes, sometimes he would wear a suit and wing tips. While his friends wore cornrows, Omar took a trip to the barbershop once a week and kept his low shadow in style. His boys wore jewelry like they took advice from Mr. T. Omar sported a thin gold chain and a small cross his mother had given him.
One cool summer day, Omar bumped into me as I was coming out of the bodega carrying groceries for my aunt. We locked eyes briefly. I remained silent and walked passed the same group of boys who lingered in front of the store on the daily. I was walking down the block and heard someone running behind me. Startled, I spun around and saw Omar jogging up to me.
“Hey hold up, youngin’.”
“Youngin’?” I snapped. “Please, you’re barely older than me.”
“Yo, let me carry that for you,” he chuckled.
“Why?” I answered reluctantly.
“It would be the polite thing to do. Besides, you’re too small to be carrying that huge bag.”
“I was doing fine for half a block without your help. Does it look like I’m struggling?”
“Yo, you got some mouth. How old are you?” He smiled.
“Old enough.”
“You feisty, girl. I like that,” he countered.
“Whateva!” I said, walking away.
Omar was persistent. He then said, “Being a man, I’m not going to let you carry these bags to your crib by yourself. My mama raised me better than that.”
“Oh, she did, huh? And did she teach you about harassment too?”
“Harassment? Yo, why you coming at me like that, shorty? I’m just tryin’ to help you?”
I stared at him with a grim look.
“You don’t trust me, huh? I look like a guy who’s gonna take your bag, huh?” He asked with the warmest smile. It spread from ear to ear and was contagious.
“See, there’s that smile I was lookin’ for.”
“Oh just shut up about it,” I joked.
He took the bags from me and we walked side by side to my home. I was attracted to the swagger of this lanky six-foot frame cut with six-pack abs and nice arms. He wore denim shorts, wife-beater, sporting new red and white Jordan’s.
“So what’s your name, beautiful?”
His onyx eyes went around my curves. He licked his full lips. I paused not wanting to tell him. My mother, before she passed away, named me America. It sounded patriotic, but I dreaded the first day of school when the teachers would do roll call. They would reach America and I saw the perplexed look on their faces. It was as if they weren’t reading it right.
“America…?” Teachers used to ask incredulously.
All the kids would laugh. The first week of school, my name would be the butt of everyone’s joke. That was the only thing they could joke about with me because I was cute, and popular with the boys and some of the girls liked me.
“My name’s America, okay?”
I was waiting for him to laugh. Surprisingly, he didn’t.
“I like that, America… God bless America,” he said.
I smiled.
Omar stayed awhile when we got to my crib, and I took the groceries to my aunt. We talked for hours that day and many more. Soon, we became inseparable. He became my heart. We spent days together, talking, laughing, and falling in love with each other.
My thoughts were with him everyday of his incarceration. I visited him often trying to keep his mind at ease and reminded him what he had waiting for him when he got out. I couldn’t wait to nestle in his arms again. Part of me was missing every day without him. I yearned for his touch, and to feel his breath against mines. I hungered for our bodies to be entwined, and for him to devour me. My