Daquan's pov.
"Fried chicken," I say as three girls walk past the bench that Kermit and I are sitting on, "das all I can think about, man."
"Why fried chicken? Can't you come up wit somethin' more.. I dunno.." he looks around the park and zones in on a white girl in the distance, "somethin more.. white." What?
I laugh, "What you mean?"
"Like raviolli or some pasta or somethin' real expensive." He suggests and slowly stands up from the bench.
"Raviolli? Nigga, I'm pretty sure you ain't even know how to spell dat so shut up and sit yo ass back down on this bench."
I haven't slept since I've arrived at Kermit's last night, mainly because we watched shows all night and bickered back and forth. I need to get going.
"All I'm tryna do is help you. Das all." He starts walking away and I jump up to follow him.
"I know but, nah. Lying just to get into college ain't worth it." I say and shove my hands into the back pocket of my Levi's.
"Nigga, why would dey even be interested in what you can cook tho? Ain't you supposed to be studying? Dumbass colleges.." he kicks a rock along the curb.
"I don't know, man." I honestly don't know. I have already sent all my personal particulars and qualifications, highest grade obtained and all.
"Man, dis stupid. Why don't you just do what you are good at, man." He glares at me and I laugh.
"Nigga, don't even start up wit yo dumbas-"
"Ay, you know damn well dat you spit fire everytime we at dat damn parking lot downtown. You know, the one near The Den? Nigga, you were spittin' bars that I ain't even hear yet." He rambles and hits my shoulder. "Bruh, you know damn well you can make a living out of dat. Just write out yo lyrics, I'll get yo ass in a studio and we can make a mixtape. Das it."
"And then what? Let my mixtape gather dust? Nigga, you stupid. Talkin like you gone wit da wind. Shut-"
"Daq, I ain't kiddin, man. After that, we send your demo to a few places for exposure, 'ight?" I lift my fingers to cover my ears. I don't want to listen to another stupid word. Everybody knows I'm not a rapper. I was never a rapper. That was just a dumb phase in my life and Kermit just holds onto that piece of memory.
I hit his chest as hard I can to get his attention, "Ayo, look over there." He looks around, "Where?" I point at nothing again, "Nigga, over there."
"WHER?" He asks again and I can tell he's growing impatient.
I slap his forehead real hard, "Exactly. Nothin. No future comes from a stupid ass mixtape, recorded up in yo cousin's backyard. So, stahp." He looks at me thrown off but, recovers quickly.
"Dis bit-" he grabs the collar of my Parkers coat and pretends to hit me in my stomach. I play along, getting in some imaginary punches and he ends up lying on the ground, begging.
"Ahhh, nah it wasn't me, yo. I swear!" He raises his arms to shield his face.
"What you mean it wasn't you?! I saw yo ass back there! Where's the money!" I roleplay.
"I'm tellin' you, I ain't got no money!" He cries.. real tears and I'm not sure if he's playing with me or not anymore.
"Hey, Kerm?" I get off his waist and tug at his arms. "Kerm. Are you ok, bro? I mean, I was just play-" he slaps me across my face, hard and laughs. "NIGGA YOU SHOULDA SEEN YA FACE" he cracks up and runs.
"You thought I was gon' beat yo ass." He runs faster and I chase after him. "Dumbass."
"Ha-ha Kerm, I knew you were playin'" I say. "Yo, slowdown."
"All that roleplayin' is makin' me wanna pursue a role in actin'" he shouts back and I stop chasing him. He turns left on the corner and I know where is headed.
Since we were kids, he always ditched me for some punk who lives around the corner from the park. He never really told me that he wanted to be Jimmy's friend but, I knew. I knew then and I know now.
Things never really, completely change and now that Jimmy thinks he is some big thug, Kermit wants to hang out with him even more to prove some point to everyone that he can be a thug too. It's ridiculous because everyone's a thug until it's time for thugs to do thug things then, they all are innocent or victims.
I turn around and start walking. I need to get home to see what my mother's up to. I told her not to wait up for me lastnight but, I know she'll be worried sick if I don't show up in less than 48hrs.
I pull out my flip phone to text her and I'm met with 4 missed calls and 7 unread texts. I swipe the unlock and open up my text tab. All meaningless texts from these ratchet girls I met outside Atlanta when I was visiting my old man. Females these days just don't care how desperate they look when blowing up a dude's phone.
I punched in my mother's number to call her and tell her than I'm on my way home but, her phone rings endlessly.
After 5 calls, I begin to jog from the sidewalk and decide to take a shortcut through some houses that leads straight home, The Projects.
I'm not ashamed of where I come from. I know my roots, I know these broken buildings and poverty is the only reason I'm striving for college and working for something better. I want to be a success story and an inspiration to all these young kids I see playing with old tyres and teenagers who are stuck in sniffing glue or mugging people. They don't know that they are worth more than the things they do and I'm going to start with myself to show them that you can rise above the odds.
I just want to make her proud. That's all.
