Streetz 2: The Tried

13. Handlin' Business

Sitting outside under the public bench, I closed my umbrella and sipped on my Dunkin Donuts coffee. I had a cold, a damn fever, and my body was hurting with all the weather changes. It had been a week and a half since my family came to visit me in Los Angeles. They had gone back home the day after Christmas to celebrate the New Year's Eve parade and I was sitting outside the William Dickerson Detention Facility, watching the rain pour down.

"Just go inside," Ari sighed, "Cause the longer you sit out here the worse you'll feel."

"I know," 

She patted my back, "It'll be okay. Nobody's mad at you."

She took a sip of her hazelnut coffee, watching people drive ever-so-fucking recklessly through the small puddles of water. If we weren't sitting up under the bus shelter, they'd soak us with every drop of water because people didn't know how to drive down here. I downed the rest of my cup, tossed it in the trash, and put my hands in my pocket.

It was now or never. With every step I took to get to the front desk, flashbacks of the bullshit I endured being locked up came rushing back to me. The vibe from being outside in the rain to being back inside a prison was a complete bust. The air was cold, lights flickered on and off, and you could hear yelling and cursing from different areas of the place. The lady at the front desk eyed me up and down without a care in the world.

"Oh, you're back." She gave a faint smile, chewing on a piece of gum as if it had everlasting flavor.

"I'm here to see Ohaji Benefield." I tapped on the desk nervously, "I have a scheduled appointment-"

"At 3:35," She cut me off, "I can see that. You can follow the security guard and they'll lead you into the visitation room. Do you have any illegal substances, food, or contraband on you?"

"No," I mumbled, even though I knew they were going to check me anyway. 

After providing them with my ID, I was escorted down the hall and into the visitation room. I waited about five minutes, shuffling my feet as I watched people walk in and out, happy and sad to see their loved ones. When Ohaji finally stepped into the room, he was escorted by two security guards. I stood up to greet him but he only sat down as they uncuffed him.

"What's up man?" I took a moment to take in his feature. He had lost weight, I knew that would happen because the food was never good. His hair was matted, dreaded, and locked up and his eyes were bloodshot red. He yawned and scratched his head.

"What's goin' on man?" I sighed.

"What you doin here?" 

"I came to see you. I called you a few times and they said you weren't takin any phone calls no more. What's up?"

He rolled his eyes and leaned back in his seat, "How my mama doin? She still livin' life?"

"I don't keep up with her man, every time I talk to her she seems to be doin' fine." I lied. His mama was hosting parties almost every other night since she moved into Ohaji's home. She posted on Facebook about how God has been so good to her, not even acknowledging the fact that it was her very own son that made her life so good. Still, I didn't want to tell him that but I knew he knew. 

"You the first person to come visit me." He chuckled, "Thought you forgot about me."

"Nah, man, it's been a lot goin' on."

"Yeah, yeah," He waved his hands, "I know. That's what everybody say."

Feeling some tension, I changed the subject.

"How you been holdin' up?"

"I'm alright," 

"O," I frowned, "The hell wrong with you man? I mean, you just seem off."