Mess in G$

Grimey

Sixteen years. Sixteen years of not knowing if Fox is alive. Wondering what happened to her.

And when I finally get her back, she slips through my fingers.

Fucking up my house didn’t help.

Smoking half an ounce hasn’t helped.

Now I’m lifted, sitting in the corner of my living room, the only part of this floor of my crib not littered with glass and broken wood.

I slip my fingers through my pockets, hissing as my broken knuckles collide with the fabric.

My phone’s ringing a special tone, one I always answer no matter what.

I slip my phone out of my pocket and swipe the screen to answer.

We’re both quiet for a little, before he sighs into the phone like he’s sixteen instead of sixty. 

“Dad.”

I could never hate that word, or who calls me it.

The First Nations strike down children born out of wedlock. Bullshit rules from the old times.

Geronimos, we supposed to uphold the rules, but we've always been outlaws. And most of the time, the Council looked the other way when it came to us.

I wasn’t gonna chance that with my own son, though.

“Dad, you good?”

I wipe my nose, sitting up more. “Nah. I’m not.”

“What happened?” 

“Bullshit Council politics. I’m not tryna bore you.”

“It’s not boring, Dad. One day, I’ma have to know, right?”

“Right.”

Once them old niggas die out, we can do away with all these dumb ass rules. All of us have our own rule we wanna do away with. 

Cheese doesn’t wanna have to get married to be Chief. 

Sheisty wants to get divorced.

Shooter Spear doesn’t want kids.

Pontious Bloodmoon is as much a lame ass nigga as his racist daddy, but with four against one, he’ll be outvoted on everything.

I just have to bide my time, like I’ve been doing.

Fox disappearing made me a patient man. I can wait a little longer to make sure my son gets his birthright.

“I miss you, Trell.” My voice breaks at his name.

“Dad, you’re scaring me.”

“I’m not trying to,” I chuckle, looking around my destroyed living room. “Just… you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And I want you to know, I don’t and will never regret you.”

“Dad… I mean, I miss you, too. You’re too young to die, but if you are, let me know now. I don’t wanna live with Uncle Shaka, though. My vote is for Uncle Pic.”

I bark out laughter, feeling lighter than I have in weeks.

I should have been called him. My niggas are my day ones, but this decade and a half, I only got through because of my seed.

“Your Uncle Pic would let you get away with murder. Shaka would keep yo ass in line. But nah, I’m not dying. A nigga can’t be in his feelings?”

“You’re never in your feelings though. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah… shit’s just sticky here. How’s school been? You better leave Lena Espinosa alone, if you don’t want the wrath of her brother.”

“Maaaaan, Lena is freakin’ insane. She got me knee deep in some stuff I have no business being in.”

“What stuff?” I sit up straighter. 

“Nothing I can’t handle, Dad. Relax. It’s this... puzzle we’re figuring out. Other than that, school is school. I, uh, gotta go do some homework–”

“Why you rushing off the phone all of a sudden?”

“I’m not. I really do have homework, Dad. It was nice–”

“Montrell, don’t fucking play with me. It ain’t nothing but a trip to that bougie ass school,” I grit.

Trell sighs, knowing I mean every word. “To be honest… I need your help. And you seem like you need to get away anyway… yeah, yeah I think you should come. Leave my uncles, though. You’re enough crazy.”

“Yo ass be talking so slick, cuz. I’ll be there in the morning.”

“Okay. Drive safe, Dad. Love you.”

“Love you, too. See you soon.” We hang up, and with more energy than I’ve had, I hop up, dodging broken glass to get to my bedroom.

I can’t make sense of none of this shit. Fox being here. Fox being pregnant by my brother, of all niggas. They’re across the city, but feel like they’re in China.

How the fuck they even find each other?

I never had my brother, not up close at least. 

And now… now it feels like I’ll never have him. 

“Maybe it’s better this way,” I tell myself as I pack a weekend bag. A couple pairs of sweats, some cash, and my glock, since I don’t know what the fuck I’m getting into with Trell and Lena.

Maybe his trouble will take my mind off this shit.

Hopefully I get to shoot a muthafucka at that bougie ass school.

Professor Coltrane is first on my list.