Misplaced Loyalty

Chapter 1- I'm Not A Kid Anymore

If I had no more time

No more time left to be here

Would you cherish what we had...

"Damn that's my shiiitt! I really hate I'm late. I'm gonna be late to my own damn funeral. Well, wedding cause I'm not about to say shit about not having no more time left to be here. 'Cause I still got shit to do here, but anyway I can't be on time for nothing. Visiting hours starts promptly at 2:15. It's 2:36." Angel had a little conversation with herself as she hopped out of her burgundy 2007 BMW 135i Coupe. She made a mad dash to the entry of the jailhouse because it was now pouring down raining. Her attire, along with her hair pulled in her everyday ponytail, was perfect for this type of weather.

Walking up to the front desk, she laid her car keys down and took her ID out of her black velour Baby Phat jogging suit pocket.

"Who ya here to visit?" the shabby looking CO asked.

"Brooklin Johnson," Angel shot back looking at how tacky the blonde spiked extension ponytail looked as if it were lying like a rug on the CO's unrelaxed natural black hair. She tried to figure out why people wore the added-on ponytails without relaxing their own hair. That shit looked a hot mess. She thought to herself.

Pointing to the address book that looked like something from the sixties and the clipboard next to the outdated book, the CO said, "Put yo name and address here and over here the time, and the name of the offender ya here to see." Her overly manicured nails pointed at each location where the information was needed.

After instructing Angel, she turned around, the blonde spikes shaking vigorously as she spoke loudly. "Sorry, folks. We are so late starting Please form a single file line, wit' nothing in yo pockets, and if any gum in yo mouth, spit it out in dis here trash can," the shabby CO retorted as she pointed to the trash can next to the metal detector. The ponytail kept quivering as though it was ready to depart from her head.

Angel made it through the ancient looking metal door. There stood a longtime associate, Danita, in her CO uniform. "What have you been up to, Angel?"

"Shit!" said Angel, tooting her lips up as if she were smelling her top lip. "The same ole shit. I'm getting tired of running my ass down here to this motha fucking Jerk House. How Brooklin been holding up?"

Danita laughed at the Jerk House comment. The medium security facility, actually called the Workhouse, was simply a holdover that held inmates waiting on their court date before their sentencing. Being here you merely got jerked around.

Danita responded, "Being her. That girl ain't changed since high school. She's just doing her. How your fine ass brother doing? Now that's one dude that can get it!"

"Any who, I'll get back witcha later." Angel walked on through the door when the space permitted and the other visitors were clear of her way. She had no energy to talk about her brother Harlem.

Brooklin spotted Angel through the Plexiglas. Making hand gestures, signaling her to keep walking towards the end. Angel maneuvered her way through the maze and found a seat.

Both girls grabbed the phone at the same time, but Angel spoke first. "Don't be on all that crybaby bullshit. I'm not about to mess up my damn make-up fucking around with you. I had to hold my head down to run in here because I left my umbrella in the car and I didn't want my mascara to run!" She had to laugh at her own sarcasm.

"You don't even wear no motha fuckin' makeup, what are you talking 'bout? I ain't 'bout to cry anyway." Brooklin wiped the single tear from her right eye. "I'm just happy to see you. I do know one thing! I can't wait to get out this bitch! That public pretender is getting on my last nerve. That's a damn shame that at the beginning of the year I was out on the streets talking 'bout '07 is my year. Look at my ass now." Brooklin got that out with a slight bit of an annoyed sounding sigh.