𝐃𝐎 𝐈𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐆

18

I ain't even feel my body move. It was like I was watching myself from a distance but my body kept going forward. Kept walking towards the music. Kept going closer and closer.

My mama never played music in the house. She never opened the front patio doors like this. Some shit was off and my mind and body was not connecting.

Cmon Anais get the shit together! Don't space off, girl. Don't!

My kick in my own ass worked. I was coming back into the first person. I gripped my hand around the rust colored doorknob and there was a waft in the air. It was a mix of burnt pancakes, weed, and.. musk.

I don't even remember if I brought my bags into the house. Who cared at that point. I could hear Anita Baker blasting in my ears while the smoke burned my eyes. That wasn't just weed floating in the air. What the fuck was going on here since I been gone? I couldn't even match the timeline together to even get a feel of what was all going on but the main question danced in my head while I stood in the dead roach filled doorway: where was my mama and where was Junior?

The screen door shut behind me as best as it could. Even when it closed shut it bounced backward and left a small space between so little bugs and shit could still crawl in.

I took slow steps on the dirty tile, I could even tell my mama ain't been cleaning shit because that film was started to develop on the tile which basically showed where you were walking all throughout the house. 

Before even making my way to the living room which was to the right of the front door, I quickly went left and turned off the one working eye on the stove. The oven looked like shit, shades of brown and grey and the eyes were so raggedy that they should've been replaced years ago. Almost 9 years ago. So they weren't even grey no more. I moved the skillet off the eye but my eyes were already moving between the roaches, the dirty dishes with god knows how old stains chipped onto the edges, and the expired milk still sitting on the cheap baby-blue linoleum counter tops that look like they've been spat out of the 70s.

Then I saw it.

I saw a burnt metal spoon, some white shit in a Ziploc and a large shit that looked like it was meant to be for a hookah. Probably someone rigged this shit up to cook dope and now here it is, in my kitchen, next to the baking soda and stale Famous Amos cookies.

I couldn't even process none of this shit right now. It was obvious what was going on. I felt the blood boiling in me but I was still determined to dead this shit right then and here.

With my hands trembling, I sent a quick text to Skooby, my brother Za'yir and Jamie before putting the phone down on the most clean spot I could find and motioned towards the living room.

The closer I got to the living room the more it hit me. It was weed and it was some sweet smelling shit wafting in the air that was making my stomach turn and my head light. That shit wasn't just weed. Was it coke? Angel dust? I don't even fucking know. It was making me sick but my feet kept moving.