Conflict Reloaded

Prologue

(Jahlil Xavier McClain)

Look at all these damn people in here. I don't even recall seeing a majority of these muthafuckas in all the sixteen years of me existing. And I sure as hell don't recall hearing shit about these people.

"Clifton. Oh Clifton. My life will never be the same without him. He was my rock. My soul. My heart. I understand that I have family around, but there is no pain quite like losing a soulmate. I would like to thank everyone for coming and helping me say goodbye."

Grams walked away from the mic then other people started going up and saying their remarks and goodbyes.

Regina, my aunt, got up there and tried to earn her a damn Grammy. She's acting so sad and hurt, but the only time she came around is when she had her hand out begging for money. Christmas? Easter? Thanksgiving? Where was her and her heard of kids at then? I mean... Damn never mind. She might actually be sad because now she has one less person to mooch off of.

When no one else went up to the mic, the preacher stepped forward. "Will there be any other remarks?"

For some wacky ass reason a few people started lookin' my way. I ain't got shit I wanna say though. What would really be the point? If they really knew what I was thinking they'd turn their damn heads.

The preacher continued on with the service. Good.

After the funeral, we all met up at my grandmother's house. I didn't want to talk to anyone, so I went up to my room and sat on my bed. One of my hands rubbed against my curly fade as the other checked my phone. Twenty new text messages, ten missed calls. Those mixed calls all come from Brandon. He shoulda just spoke at the funeral. Damn wait, he would've actually had to be there in order to do that.

He didn't come to his fathers funeral. I don't want to hear not a damn thing he has to say. I don't respect him, I don't love him, and a damn sure don't trust him. I'd probably be happier if it was him laying in that casket instead of my grandfather, he's dead to me anyway. I hadn't seen the man in all this fuckin' time, so what the fuck could he possibly have to say to me?

"Excuse me son, you have visitors.", my grandmother said as she barged into my room. It's a good thing I wasn't in this bitch scantily clad style. Behind her stood five people. Monica, Gloria, Will, T.J., and Tommy.

"A'ight."

"Excuse me little boy?"

"I'm sorry grams. Okay. Thank you for showing them to my room."

She gave me a stern look then rolled her eyes and walked out of my room.

I swear she's been all up on my case lately. I haven't even done shit wrong, but she's treating me like I have. Hate when people do that shit. I understand she's going through a hard time, but do she really have to take it out on me? She ain't the only one hurt. Even though I didn't recognize most of the people at the funeral, I did see some of his true friends there. They hurt. Lisa cried almost non stop through the whole thing. She hurt. Even though I didn't seem engaged in the funeral, I'm hurt. That might sound hard to believe, but people deal with pain in different ways. The last time I cried was nine years ago. Why? Cause crying don't solve shit. I was just too young to realize that then.

"Hi Jahlil, how you holdin up?", Monica asked as she sat beside me. The others sat on my sofa.

"I'm gucci."

She put her hand over mine.

"Are you sure?"

I've never been one to take sympathy from someone with a smile on my face. That's exactly what she's trying to give me. Why folks gotta feel sorry for me? I ain't the one that died. I don't even want people to mourn over me when I do die. Fuck that gon' solve? Not a damn thing.

Crying over a dead person is a complete waste of time. Ten years ago my grandmother died. I got all sad and cried and shit, but she's still dead. So why would I go through the headache of mourning my grandfather? I loved the man a whole lot though, I'll miss him, but I'm not the type to dwell in my feelings.

"Yeah, I'm cool Nica."

We talked for a little longer until they left. Im glad, because the shit was straight awkward. Before they left, they gave me a card that had the names and little messages from of a lot of my fellow classmates on it. That's cool I guess, but a card can't brighten my mood. It ain't much thought behind going to some Dollar Tree and picking up some cheap ass card.

I took a shower then changed into some black shorts. I was laying ony bed when I heard a knock on my door. I don't know who it is, but it ain't Grams. She don't believe in knockin'.

"Man, who is it?"

Malia came in my room with a plate of food and a blue cup in her hand. "Me!" She laughed.

Malia is the cute hispanic chick that lives next door. Most guys would probably call her sexy, but she's just extremely adorable to me. And her light accent is beautiful.

"Your grandma told me to give you this."

"Damn, she cares if I eat?" I picked up my remote to turn the tv on. "That's surprising. But I'm not hungry."

"Of course she cares! She loves you and she is concerned about you."

Malia put my food and drink on my empty end table, then she laid on the bed beside me.

"She has a funny way of showing she cares." I gave her the remote since I knew she'd just take it anyway.

"You do too Jahlil."

I looked over at her. She flipped through a few channels before she even realized it.

"What? It's true. You are just one big ball of anger. It's real hard to communicate with you at times."

"Can't be too hard." I laid my head against my headboard. "You do it just fine Mali."

"It's okay for you to show an emotion other than anger, Jay. You can cry. Real men do cry. I don't give a damn what no one says. You can smile. Your dimples are cute! I would like to see them more often. You can laugh. I like your goofy ass laugh. You can show people how you feel Jay."

I turned and laid on my side with my back to her, signaling that I don't want to talk.

As long as I know how I feel, why should it matter if others know how I feel?