Page 70 of Certified to Handle You 3

I sat here watchin’ the game with my arms restin’ on the chair, tryna pretend my chest wasn’t tighten every few minutes.

The smart part of me said this was good. She was gone, and I was home.

But the part of me I ain’t like listenin’ to wondered if she made it back safe.

The game kept movin’. Niggas ran up and down the court, the score changed, people cheered and I sat here feelin’ like I had finally made it back from somewhere even though I had only been across the island.

I rubbed my hand over my mouth and shook my head once, more at myself than anything else.

Eventually, the game pulled me in a lil’. A nigga hit a three from the corner, and I muttered, “Good shot,” under my breath. Then another nigga turned the ball over on some dumb shit, and I sat up some.

For the first time since all day, my chest loosened a lil’ without me forcin’ it.

I ain’t know how long it was gon’ take to get ‘Nelle outta me.

I just knew tonight was the first night I had come home and stayed. That had to count for somethin’.

Maybe tomorrow would be easier. Maybe the day after that would be even easier. Maybe if I kept my hands busy and my mouth shut, the part of me that still wanted to answer for ‘Nelle would get tired of fightin’. I ain’t know, but I was home now, and I was too tired to keep livin’ out of bags like a nigga with nowhere to be.

I leaned back in my recliner, turned the volume up a lil’, and watched the game until I was fully relaxed.

The scent was still there. The ache was still here, but I stayed where I was, tryna let that be enough for the night.

The weekend rolled around again and I was out with Blaq and another potna, but by the time we got to the section, I already knew I should’ve stayed my ass at home.

We had been movin’ since earlier in the day. First, we hit the barbershop. After that, we slid through one of the main malls in Trill-Land, walked through a few stores, grabbed some shit we ain’t really need, and kept it pushin’. Blaq was talkin’ cash shit the whole time, my potna was laughin’ at damn near everything and I was right there with ’em movin’ how I normally moved, but somethin’ in me wasn’t hittin’ the way it used to.

By the time night came, they wanted to hit the section, and I went ‘cause I ain’t have a real reason to say no. I wasn’t tired. I wasn’t busy. I ain’t have nobody callin’ my phone askin’ when I was comin’ home or sendin’ me pictures from a bed I wanted to be in. So I pulled up, parked my own shit, walked inside with my people, and let the club swallow us like it always did.

The music was loud enough to shake the walls, liquor was movin’ through the section, women was lookin’, niggas was noddin’, and everybody seemed ready to turn the night into somethin’ worth talkin’ about.

For a long time, I loved this shit…

I loved the noise, the lights, the bottles, the attention and the way the whole room seemed to shift when me and my cousins walked in together.

Before everything changed, it had always been me, Pressure, and Kay’Lo runnin’ through Trill-Land like the world was ours ‘cause in a lot of ways, it was.

We ran streets, made money, shot shit when shit needed to be shot, and lived wild ‘cause nobody around us could tell us we had to slow down.

We was young, reckless, rich and too protected by our last name to think too long about where all that wild shit would take us.

Then life started movin’ different…

Pressure had Pluto now, and that nigga had babies, a wife and a whole house that settled him in ways I never thought I would see.

Kay’Lo had Toni and My’Love, and even with all the crazy shit that came with them, he still had somewhere to go when the club lights cut on and the bottles got warm.

They had women who could call, fuss, need somethin’, or just say come home, and them niggas would leave whatever was goin’ on without feelin’ like they lost nothin’.

I used to talk shit about that, but after bein’ around it long enough, I started seein’ it different. It ain’t make ‘em weak. It gave ‘em somethin’ the streets couldn’t give back.

I sat in the section with my legs stretched out, a blunt between my fingers that I ain’t even lit yet, and a cup in my other hand that I had barely touched.

Blaq was leaned forward talkin’ to two women by the edge of the section, and my other potna was posted up with his arm across the back of the couch, actin’ like he was listenin’ to whatever a female in a black dress was sayin’.

I looked around at the bottles, the sparklers, the loud ass music and the people movin’ like this was the best place to be, and all I could think was that this shit had got old on me without askin’ permission.

“Why you sittin’ there lookin’ sad, nigga?” Blaq asked, leanin’ back enough to look at me.