20-year-old university student Maliyah Tijjani is independent and fierce, yet damaged. She's been damaged for many years of her life and she is trying her best not to bring her past traumas into her new profound freedom. She avoids dating to maintai...
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"He's still not here son," Uncle Eli said from the porch. He had on his plaid pajama pants and a grey hoodie. He was sitting down in his lawn chair like he always was, smoking his gas.
"You gon let me check inside today?" I asked, slamming the car door shut.
"You think I'd lie to you? You just as much my son as he is. Crazy to think you'n trust your old man nomo," he said, inhaling his blunt.
I walked up the driveway and dabbed him up.
"Can't trust nobody nowadays," I replied, stepping inside of the house. I passed through the kitchen, the living room, and back into Elijah's room.
Everything was exactly as it was yesterday when I came. I'm tired of waiting on this nigga.
I thought long and hard about what I'm about to do.
I sighed, went into the closet, and opened up the fourth shoebox from the right. He had hella shoeboxes, but I knew it was this one.
It's one of the many places where I would have hidden my shit.
I grabbed the Glock 22 which laid there underneath several grams, wads of cash, and took the ammunition which acquainted it. I unloaded the gun and placed it in my waistband. I shove the ammo in the pocket of my hoodie, and put the box back where it belonged.
I walked out of Eli's room and back out of the house, and onto the porch with Uncle Eli.
"Any word on your girl?" he asked, exhaling smoke into the air.
"Not yet," I said, staring off into the neighborhood. I leaned back against the door, and placed my hands in my pocket, fiddling with the ammo with my fingers.
"Stay strong boy, she'll turn up,"
"And if she doesn't?" I asked, looking at him.
Realistic situations required realistic possibilities. I had hope, but I wasn't gonna sit here and not do anything while my baby was out there somewhere.
A harsh crease formed in his forehead, and he took another hit of his blunt.
"She will," he said, after much delay.
I smacked my lips and walked down the porch and onto the driveway.
"Be patient son," he called out.
He sounded stupid. How the fuck does he want me to be patient? Patient?
It's been eight days and this nigga wants me to be patient.
"Uncle Eli you needa lay off that gas man, you not making no sense right now," I said, irritated.
"Instead of you giving me a page out of your book, you telling me to be fucking patient. You used to be the most feared O.G. nigga in Houston, and you telling me to be patient. What happened to you?" I continued.
