'Jules' mind went back under the moonlight and night air of Baldwin's Fine Arts Center Garden, where intense anger shifted into an intimate moment of curiosity with a blow of the wind.
Maybe two flames weren't supposed to be that close when raging...
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"Life is too short to live the same day twice. So each new day make sure you live your life."
— Machine Gun Kelly
NOVEMBER'S slight chill was still among the people of Georgia—and as Raheem walked through Baldwin University's campus with a grey hoodie and a pair of mesh basketball shorts, the weather showed him no mercy.
"Tell me again why your black ass decided to throw a damn house party on Claremont? Now I'm coming out of my pockets to fix shit I didn't mess up. Boy, you better know I'm gonna' make you work for this money," Blade scolded his son for his foolish actions.
Everyone with good sense knew better than to have a house party in Amador inside of a well-kept home.
Raheem scratched the back of his neck and sighed, "Man, pops I'm sorry."
"Sorry don't put together broken glass, and it sure as hell ain't gonna get me my money back," His father screamed through the phone.
Rah was in need of something to numb his nerves, with Essence out at work, the only two options left were poetry and boxing.
It was in the moment of now that he walked to Blake's Boxing for a well needed session on the punching bags.
As he entered the glass double doors, he was greeted by the staff that had gotten to know him well since the soft age of eighteen.
Raheem hadn't taken the general interest to sports around campus—finding little pleasure in the basketball, football, and baseball teams that didn't raise Baldwin's reputation any higher than it already was.
Yet, it was something about Boxing that stuck to him like glue. The freedom to use his fists in a way that hurt no one other than the grains inside of the bags.
That was the thing, Rah wanted to go throughout life being able to control his anger toward anything but the people that didn't deserve it. A sense of control was like an elementary foreign language class, something he knew but didn't quiet grasp.
When he was a boy, he used to think his father's constant demands that would be answered at the drop of a hat was the definition of the word. Yet, as he grew older, he found out that he'd wanted it without the fear his dad needed to thrive on in order to make it successful.
Throughout his years, he found out that his own anger would get the best of him if he didn't find an outlet for it. Since kindergarten, he was constantly picking fights with older children to silence the battles that went on in his young mind.
His mother, what Rah loved to call an Angel, was the first person to try and see how she could redirect the dark footsteps her son tried to follow.
