Thug in Me Read Free Page B

in their thirties. But that is usually how black women were. That “black don’t crack” shit was true. My mom was dark skin with full lips and an oval-shaped face. She always had her long hair pulled back into a ponytail and simple clothes like sweat suits that always covered her body. While I took my dad’s light brown complexion, strong jawline, height, and build. I was six-foot-three and had always been a big dude. I had well-toned arms and was blessed with a six-pack I tried to maintain by working out four times a week. My silky, curly hair, light brown eyes, full lips, and my set of dimples all came from my mama. I wore my hair in a set of natural curls and sported a goatee. I didn’t have a problem favoring my mother more than my father. To me my mama was the prettiest woman in the world. Often other men took notice of her beauty too. A couple times I had to slap Calhoun upside his head for lusting on my mother. And even though she wasn’t aging on the outside, she was on the inside. Years of stress affected my mama’s health. She had high blood pressure and had already had two strokes. That’s why I was trying to take as much stress off of her as I could.
    I kissed her on her cheek. “Naw, Mama, I’ll get it.”
    â€œOkay, well, everything is ready.” She grabbed a towel and wiped her hands on it. As she walked away she stopped and said, “Before I forget, Toi called and said to call her back, that it was important.”
    I chuckled as my mom walked away. I frowned at my friend. “You want a plate, man?”
    â€œYou know I do.”
    â€œCome on.”
    I scooped two pork chops with dark brown gravy and onions, white rice and cabbage with bacon onto a plate— one for Calhoun and one for me. I topped them off with hot watered corn bread.
    We both sat down at the kitchen table to dig in the food.
    My mom came back in the room. “Well, that’s my ride, baby.”
    â€œWhere you going, Mama?” Calhoun asked jokingly.
    â€œMe and one of my friends are going down to Pechanga to do a little gambling.”
    â€œI need to be going with you, na’mean?” he joked.
    She chuckled but said nothing else. She was never really social with Calhoun. I thought it was because he was always a nuisance and posed as a bad influence on me. When I was a kid his dad was always knocking on our door and yanking Calhoun to his car and telling my mother to keep me away from Calhoun, like I was the bad influence. It didn’t matter what his father said, Calhoun always came back. His father lived to regret those words later on when while I was graduating from college, Calhoun was in jail yet again.
    I swallowed the food in my mouth. “You need some money?” I asked.
    â€œNo. I got my quarters I been saving for the past couple months.”
    â€œHow you expect to gamble with only quarters?” Calhoun asked.
    My mom ignored him. So did I.
    I reached in my wallet and grabbed two hundred-dollar bills and handed them to her. “Have fun, Ma.”
    â€œI will. I’ll be back on Sunday.” She pecked my cheek and was out the door.
    â€œPlay the nickel machines for me!” Calhoun joked.
    I got up, grabbed two cups and filled them with some cranberry juice I had in the fridge.
    I sat a cup in front of him and downed the juice in mine.
    Calhoun, out of nowhere, started chuckling. “Aye remember that time we broke into Fred Sanford’s house?”
    I chuckled, thinking back to that day.
    Christmas had just passed and my mom worked crazy hours to have a surprise for me under the Christmas tree: a bike. I was happy as hell to have one and made sure I took extra care of it. Calhoun had already lost two bikes and was on his third one. His father told him that if that one came up missing, he wouldn’t replace it. During that time, a lot of kids’ bikes in the Springdales were coming up missing. And no one could figure out