Please keep all ya' chains tucked inside your shirts at all times. Dress well, but not too well or else you're more likely to be robbed. Keep your eyes to yourself and mind your business, even when the situation tells you not to. If you see somethin...
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If there was one lesson to learn while living in the projects, it was that life is a privilege. You never knew what was around the corner or who you had to say goodbye to. One minute you'd see your neighbor and the next minute you found out they've been murdered or thrown away in jail.
Crash had been to more funerals than he could count on his own two hands. Where he came from, funerals were almost as common as church services. He had to say goodbye to family, childhood friends or neighbors he'd grown close to. Even though they were all traumatizing, no goodbye hurt more than the one to his son, Carter Crash M'veil.
Crash never had a influential father figure in his life. The last time he saw his dad was when he was four years old. He didn't remember the details of their last encounter and didn't bother to recall it, either. It was common to not have a consistent father figure where he came from. He knew lots of people who didn't have close relations with their dads. Almost everyone didn't know what it felt like to have a two-parent household. It was the cold, sad truth about the black community—dysfunction was destined.
Crash's loyalty was owed to his mother—a selfless woman who would give her life just to see her son smile. Crash was her one and only child—her baby and her legacy. As hard as it was being a single mother to a young man, she managed to do everything she could to raise Crash to be a gentleman. She taught him how to treat women and how to take responsibility for his actions. Thanks to her, Crash was a caring young man who never disrespected a woman and never let anyone take the fall for his mistakes. He was genuine and good-hearted yet like most people, had a conflicting dark side.
KC's funeral was packed to the last row as everyone he knew came to pay their respects and say their final goodbyes. KC was the kid everyone watched grow up and everyone grew up with. He was well known and well liked but like most kids, was very misguided.
KC's mother sat in the front of the church, eyeing her son's body with despair in her eyes. This was the second son she had lost to the streets. He was also her youngest child so she couldn't help but feel guilty that he didn't live to his fullest potential. She knew it was her fault. She let them grow up too fast and she didn't mind the crowd they kept. She let her boys run wild and left them at the mercy of the streets.
Crash and his friends sat close by the doors since they were some of the last people to arrive. Crash didn't mind being so far away from the front because he couldn't bare to see KC in his casket. Not only was it hurtful to see a kid he grew up with lying dead, but it also caused torturous flashbacks of his sons funeral.
Crash remembered the day his son was born. It was his junior year in high school and he had built a reputation of being "the nigga that got that girl pregnant." Teenage pregnancy wasn't unheard of where they went but it was uncommon to the point where if you were pregnant, everyone would know exactly who you were.
Crash wasn't ashamed of his situation. In a weird way, he was excited. He was excited to raise a son and be the father he never had. His baby mother, Khalia, was the exact opposite. She tried everything she could to conceal her pregnancy—baggy clothes, hairstyles that would even out her swollen facial features and participating in activities that she normally would if she wasn't pregnant. Once her belly became impossible to hide, she was easily noticed by everyone in school.
