Life in the slums, dat's where it all started for me. Memories of my old life was blurry and faded like all ma dead folks. But there was one night that stuck wit me, mane, I couldn't even sleep most night, it was like going to a dangerous area without protection shi always on ma mind.
Back then, it was just the four of us—Moms, pops, ma lil brotha, den me—cramped up ina tiny, rundown apartment. We ain't have much, just living day by day, paycheck to paycheck. Moms was hustlin non-stop workin at sum white folks place, pops wa hustling too but he was in dem corners can't say much, but I barely saw em but at least he wa there can't say to much fa other folks.
Then dat shit hit the fan. Mom's lost her job, Shit got real tough. Rent turned into a real problem, and that landlady stayed all up in our business. Couldn't even blame her tho errbody gotta make money sum how she just made it off us, I just wish she gave ma folks a little rest tho.
I remember that night, sitting with Mom's, stomach growling, waitin for Pops to show up. "It's getting late, George," Mom's said, worry lining her voice. I nodded, hungry as hell, asking when Dad gettin here.
"He'll be here soon, I'm sure," she reassured me. "Eat up, wash up, den go a bed." Mom's said.
So I did, digging into the small meal Mom's scraped together, trying not to whine.
but it barely filled the hole in my gut up. Still, I kept my mouth shut. Mom's worked too damn hard for me to complain.
As I finished up, Mom's went to check on my little brotha, Benjamin. Ben was just five, He was sick, coughing up a storm, and it tore at Mom's heart. I wanted to help, to ease his pain and hers too but I couldn't really do nun.
... a loud knock at the door. Thud. Thu. Thud. Thud.
"Ma, sumbodies at the door!" I called out.
"I'm was comin," she said. and Dad barged in, yelling about doing it. He looked wasted. He stumbled forward, clutching a crumpled piece of paper.
"What the hell happened and why you knockin' like the damn police at this time?" she demanded, her voice sharp with worry. Pops just grinned like a fool, waving the check around like it was a trophy.
"We're rich, Jess!" he slurred, his words slippin' out. Ma's eyes narrowed, disbelief mingling with anger. "Rich? You look wasted, James. What did you do?" she snapped, her voice crackling with frustration.
Moms wasn't having it, not after him coming home wasted, acting a fool in front of us. "Made it? Are you out your damn mind?" she spat, tears building up. "George, go a bed, I need to have a word with your father."
I went to my room lookin' back, watchin' my mom's yell at my pops.
Pops' grin faltered, replaced by a sheepish look. "I, uh... I made a big move, babe. We're set for life," he insisted, his words slurring together like a drunk man's prayer.
Mom's eyes narrowed, tears threatenin' to spill over. "Set for life? James, we're barely scraping by as it is!" she cried, her voice rising in desperation.
Pops stumbled closer, reaching out to grab her arm. "Trust me, Jess. Trust me," he slurred, his grip tight and shaky. But Mom's wasn't having it. She shook him off, her face twisted in anger.
"Trust you? Trust you? I trusted you to take care of us, James! But all you ever do is chase after your damn dreams selling drugs, leaving us to pick up the pieces!" she shouted, her words laced with pain.
Pops recoiled, hurt flashing across his face before it was swallowed by anger. "I'm trying to make things right, Jess! Can't you see that?" he yelled back, his voice echoing through the small apartment.
But Mom's wasn't backing down, not this time. "Makin things right huh? By putting us me and the kids at risk? By comin home drunk?" she shot back, her voice trembling with emotion.
I watched from the doorway, my heart heavy with guilt and sorrow. I wanted to say sum, to make things right, but I couldn't. All I could do was stand there, silent witness to my family's pain.
And as the argument raged on, I couldn't help but wonder if things would ever be the same again.