"Hey Grandma, how you been?
"I've been alright. Thanks for asking, handsome."
She kissed me on my cheek.
Her and I sat down on the two rocking chair sitting on the porch near the front door. There was a time where it would be my Grandpops sitting right next to her anytime she came out here. He died about seventeen years ago, and the only people who could sit in this chair were my father and me. Well now, just me.
"Well, what do I owe the pleasure, baby?"
"Just riding through to see you and check out the basement unit downstairs."
"Really, why so, baby?"
"Just thinking about fixing it up and making it a spot to chill. The inner city gets stuff sometimes."
She looked curiously out of the corner of her eyes.
"You sure? You sure nothing is going on? Are you running from anything?"
"Me, run, same sentence, grandma?"
She let out a laugh from her gut.
"You are right, who am I kidding. You weren't even scared of the boogeyman when you were a kid. The only thing that put fear in your heart was your father. But you know you are welcome to it. I can be honest, that part of the house doesn't exist to me anymore since your father passed."
"Do you still have all of his stuff in there?"
"Yeah, well, all of the things that Jessabelle gave to us. There is no telling what she didn't send from his house."
"Nah, trust, she sent it all. I know because I went over there and personally packed his shit the day of his funeral and calledthe movers to their house. Shit, that should be your house now instead of hers."
"Nah, baby, that's okay. I'm fine where I am. That house out there doesn't hold the memories that this one here does. I'm closer to the church here and also close to my favorite grocery stores. Mrs. Tidewell is still across the street, and Mr. Frank is next door. I wouldn't feel comfortable way out there in Rosalyn Estates no how."
"Well, someone in the family should be living in it. I know for sure not a woman he met and married only four years before he died."
I didn't really like to think about my father and his assets much because, besides the street business, which consisted of his contacts, his runners, product, and other illegal shit, I didn't get anything from the riches he created for himself. My father died with at least ten cars, a house out in Rosalyn Estates, and a few condos and penthouses across the United States that all went to his wife, Jourdan. She was a blonde fake titty bitch that wasn't his type compared to my mother and his other girlfriends. I never could figure out what it was about her, but he loved that bitch. In trying to keep her satisfied, he neglected his own health.
"Anyhow, how is Cashmier? Her father is speaking at the church scholarship fundraiser on Sunday. We think he can bring in a lot of money because the city believes in him. I haven't seen people so quick to stand behind someone since Barack Obama. Especially at the church"
"Yeah, he probably will. His ass knows how to talk people out of shit for sure."
"Wait, what's wrong. Why are you looking like that?"
I must've had a mug across my face without realizing it after hearing that nigga name. That shit disgusted me right now, but my grandma could never know why. She loved that man and his family. She's one of the people who is brainwashed to think the Davis family makes New York a better place. Carl Davis once had me brainwashed, too.
"Nothing, Grandma."
"I just don't get why I can never help out on scholarships or fundraisers. I have offered plenty of money to that church, and they won't accept anything from me, as if I'm offering them drugs. Shit, besides wanting to help the community, charity helps lower my taxes according to my accountant. With the pastor blocking my donations, I've had to resort to giving to city assistance centers and shit, and there I don't know where that money is really going."
"Baby, they know that your wealth comes from drug money. They are not going to want to accept that in the lord's house. Plus, after the shootout you had in the parking lot years ago, I think your face around the church just brings back bad memories. I still have a scrape on my knee from ducking from you two fools. That, along with years of embarrassment to go along with it."
My grandma turned her face up, speaking about when shit turned left after my father's funeral, when my uncle Gio stepped into the building, knowing my daddy didn't fuck with him. Gio and my father have never been close, simply out of jealousy. Uncle Gio hated the fact that my pops came up while he was stuck manning a mechanic shop passed down from their father that wasn't bringing in any real bread. Instead of being happy for his brother and fitting in where he could, he tried to rob him several times and lied about it later.
That's why I wasn't allowing him to stand over my father's casket. I put his ass out by the collar of his shirt, and this pussy ass nigga came back and started bussing at me when I stepped outside the church. I don't know what everyone at the funeral expected me to do. I had to defend myself and bust back. Now, years later, I'm not welcome at Davis Memorial over some shit that was out of my control. That's why I say the church is full of shit. Had I not shot back Gio could've killed a lot more people.
"Speaking of, you heard from that nigga lately?"
"Who?"
