My first semester was actually a vibe. Classes were going smooth, and I was back on the field playing college ball. Life was finally doing me right. But there’s always a catch, and this time, it was my living situation.
I was stuck in a suite with three other dudes. And let me tell you—word on my mother, these niggas were nasty. We lived in one of those big-ass dorms, and they stayed leaving the spot looking like a crime scene. I’m talking weed crumbs, half-smoked blunts, used condoms, and random-ass hoes everywhere. Deadass, they’d have actual junkie-looking girls just crashed out on the couch like it was a trap house. Come on, man, I’m trying to study for my Network Security cert and I gotta step over a literal stranger to get to the fridge.
I still remember their names to this day. There was Michael, the “wannabe” nigga who acted like he was from the trenches but probably grew up in a cul-de-sac. Then there was Kobe—straight hood, no filter, didn’t care about nothing.
And then there was Zachary.
Zachary was Latino, and he was the only one I actually got along with. He was cool as hell—we used to call him “Alien” sometimes because he was just on a different planet than the other two. He wasn’t nasty like them; he actually respected the space. Me and him would just look at the mess Michael and Kobe left behind and just shake our heads.
I’d be coming back from a heavy practice, muscles aching, ready to just collapse, only to find some random girl I’ve never seen before eating my cereal in the common area.
“Yo, who the fuck are you?” I’d ask.
She’d just shrug, milk dripping off her chin. “I’m with Kobe.”
I’d just walk into my room and slam the door. I’d survived a “mother” who tried to starve me, two sumo-wrestler foster brothers, and a twenty-eight-stab-wound court case. I wasn’t about to let two dirty-ass roommates ruin my GPA. I just kept my door locked, my head in my books, and my eyes on the exit.
I have to admit, Michael was a nasty-ass dude, but he was also the most adventurous person I’ve ever met. Whenever you hung around that white boy, something crazy was bound to happen. He’d look out for me sometimes, too—sliding me those sweet 99-cent Arizona teas or acting as a wingman so I could bag a few baddies.
I cracked a few of them, but I never hit it raw. God knows how many other niggas they let in. I don’t care if you’re on the pill; I’m not trying to get that icky.
But aside from being a nasty-ass nigga, Michael was a fiend for the green. One night, he ran out of weed and started bitching about it like the world was ending.
“Bro, why are you whining like a bitch for, gang?” I asked, not even looking up from my laptop. “Just go get you some more gas.”
“But I don’t got no money right now, bruh! And all my plugs are out of their free shit.” He looked at me with those desperate-ass eyes. “Yo, Rico, let me hold twenty-five real quick.”
“Fuck no, nigga.”
“What?! Why?”
“Nigga, we’re in college and I’m the only one with a job. You can’t have no free twenty-five. The fuck?”
“Why you being so foul to me, bro?” Michael started pacing the room. “After all those Arizona teas I passed you? And the hookups with the hoes?!”
“Don’t put that over my head,” I snapped. “If you want payment back for the teas, I got you. But I gotta have money to feed myself, let alone pay my half of the rent. I’d give it to you if I had it like that, but I don’t.”
“Alright, alright…” He sighed, defeated for a second before he perked back up. “Can you at least drive me to my last plug?”
I was already getting sick of his ass, but I knew if I didn’t take him, he’d be moping around the dorm all night. If it made him stop bitching, it was worth the gas money.
“Fine,” I said, grabbing my keys. “But if we get pulled over and you got that loud on you, I’m telling the cops it’s yours. I’m on parole, nigga, I ain’t going back to the cage for your twenty-five-dollar bag.”
Lord have mercy on my soul, Michael better be lucky I’m a nice-ass dude. This man was such a dope fiend he had me driving thirty minutes for some weed, son. Thirty fucking minutes!
I’m out here burning gas in a car I had to spend most of my student loans on. I know, I know—it was probably a bad investment, but fuck y’all! Mr. and Mrs. Walker already did so much for me; I’d be damned if I asked them for a single Ugandan Shilling to help with a car. Michael better repay me in twenty Arizona teas. Actually, make it more. He’s got me burning three gallons of gas; he better reimburse me with at least seven individual 23-ounce cans of AriZona Iced Tea, son.
But there was one tiny detail Michael forgot to mention. Just one tiny thing… his plug lived in the fucking
trenches
. No, like, actually the trenches. The second I hit a stop sign, some ugly-ass bitch was at my window. She looked like a whole man—I’m pretty sure it
was
a man, actually, ‘cause she had her neck wrapped in a scarf in the middle of a warm-ass day.
“I can suck your dick for ten dollars,” she said.
Bitch, I will buy you an entire menu’s worth of food if you just get the fuck away from my window. That’s what I’d pay to see.
“No thank you, I’m good,” I said, trying to be polite.
As she walked away, before I could even roll the window back up, I heard her mutter, “Broke-ass nigga.”
Yeah… I’m definitely my mama’s son. Her half of my DNA came screaming out that day. I put the car in park.
“Bitch, who the fuck are you calling broke?!”
She turned around so fast she almost tripped.
“Rico, chill! It’s not that deep!” Michael yelled, grabbing the dashboard.
“Nah, nah! This hoe is over here calling me a broke-ass nigga? Bitch, you’re the one on the street offering neck for ten dollars! If you’d come over here and asked me to buy you some food, I would’ve bought you some shit, but you think I’m broke? ME?!”
I was leaning out the window now. “How much product you got in your damn head? No, scratch that—how much product you put in that damn wig? ‘Cause I know you ain’t natural out here, hoe! Second of all, you don’t got no ass! Okay?! Your shit is flat as fuck. That’s why you only giving up neck, ‘cause ain’t nobody trying to give you no back-shots with all that zero-ass you got! And what that ‘R’ on your chest stand for, motherfucker?!”
“Rico, the light is green! Let her slide!”
“I bet that ‘R’ stands for Ratchet, huh?!” I screamed as the car started rolling. “I bet you got mad diseases! With your Team Rocket-looking ass, ain’t nobody trying to catch ‘em all! So how about you be like Team Rocket and BLAST OFF AGAIN, BITCH!”
I was so heated I just slammed my foot on the gas and took off. I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw her actually crying on the sidewalk. Yeah, I know your feelings hurt. You should’ve kept your fucking mouth shut.
I was still gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles were turning white. My chest was heaving, and the adrenaline was buzzing in my ears like a swarm of hornets.
“Bro... Rico... breathe, man,” Michael said, his hands up like he was trying to settle a wild animal. “You’re tweaking. You really told that lady she had Team Rocket diseases. You made a grown-ass woman cry at a red light, dawg. That’s diabolical.”
“She shouldn’t have opened her mouth,” I muttered, finally loosening my grip and checking the rearview. The block was fading behind us, but I was still ready to hop out if I saw a shadow move wrong.
“I thought you were gonna jump out the car for a second,” Michael said, letting out a shaky laugh. “I was like, ‘Great, now I gotta explain to the judge why Rico is stomping out a lot lizard in the middle of the street.’”
I cut him a look. “I ain’t a pussy, Michael. You know that. I’ve been in the cage, I’ve been in the dirt, and I’ve been under the knife. If I wanted to hurt her, she wouldn’t be standing. But I’m smart. I’m on parole, I’m in college, and I got a future. I’m not catching a battery charge on a crackhead in the trenches.”
I took a deep breath, feeling the heat in my face finally start to die down.
“But I’m also my mother’s son,” I added, more to myself than him. “You can’t just disrespect me and expect me to take it on the chin. If I can’t swing, I’m gonna roast. I’m gonna dismantle your whole soul with words until you wish I
had
just hit you. That’s the Kovacs way.”
Michael shook his head, looking out the window as we got closer to the better part of town. “Man, your mouth is a lethal weapon. I’ve seen dudes get jumped who didn’t look as hurt as that lady did when you mentioned her ‘zero ass.’ You’re a tactical genius of talking shit, Rico. I gotta give it to you.”
“Whatever,” I said, finally clicking the blinker. “Just get your gas so we can get out of here. And you owe me ten Arizona teas now. Inflation for the emotional distress.”
“Ten?! You said seven!”
“I said ten, nigga. Keep talking and it’ll be a case of twenty-four.”
He shut up real quick. I might have been “civilized” now, but the trenches never really leave you. They just turn into a sharper kind of edge.
We finally pulled up to the plug’s spot. Michael hit him up, and a second later, his phone rang. I sat there in the driver’s seat, eyes scanning the shadows on the porch while Michael did his thing.
“Yo, I’m here, bro,” Michael said. He paused, listening. “Yeah… where should I meet you?”
Where should I meet you?
My internal alarm bells started screaming. Motherfucker, just come outside, take the money, and give him the bag so we can bounce. It is not that hard. That was a big-ass red flag right there.
“Come inside?” Michael asked.
“Gay,” I muttered under my breath.
“Fuck up, Rico!” Michael hissed at me, then went back to the phone. “You sure you’re not trying to meet me outside? … Yeah, I have your cheddar. I’m pulling up.”
He hung up. I don’t know why, but I had the strongest feeling that Michael was about to get robbed, finessed, scammed, or beat the fuck up. Maybe all of them at once. Something was about to go down.
“Michael… I know you’re nasty as fuck and a total junkie,” I said, turning to him.
“Oh, wow. How heartwarming.”
“But for the respect I have for our sort of friendship, please let’s just go home. I am genuinely concerned for your safety, bro.”
“What are you so concerned about? I get weed from him all the time. He always pops me off with a free gram or two.”
“Bro, this is super-duper sketchy, and I don’t get paranoid for nothing. Has he ever done this before? Just asked you to come inside instead of meeting at the car?”
“I mean, I’ve gone in a few times,” Michael said, sounding less sure of himself. “But he usually does it outside.”
“Bro, I will buy you a gram from somebody else. Just let me take you home.”
“What are you, my dad? You’re doing too much.”
He didn’t even wait for a reply. He just hopped out of the car and started walking toward the house.
For fuck’s sake. You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink.
As much as I cared about his safety, I knew the deal. I’m on parole for a violent felony. I’m trying to respect the rules of society, which means I can’t carry a piece. If gunshots start ringing out, I can’t do shit to save him. I’d have to put the car in drive and disappear.
I gripped the steering wheel, kept the engine idling, and prayed to God that everything would be alright.
I was waiting in agony. It had been maybe three minutes, but it felt like ten. I’d seen enough movies to know better, so I kept the engine idling. I didn’t even care that I was burning gas—gas is temporary, but life is a one-time deal.
Hey Broski, I think you should look in the rearview mirror, gang.
The voice was back. I looked.
Michael was running for his damn life. Now, Michael isn’t a skinny dude—he’s easily 250-plus and chubby—but he was moving like Usain Bolt in this bitch.
“What the fuck did he do?!” I yelled to nobody.
“START THE CAR! Rico, start the fucking car!” Michael screamed as he got closer.
Nigga, he didn’t even have to say it—that bitch had been on! I just leaned over, unlocked the door, and swung it open. He jumped head-first into the passenger seat like he was sliding into home plate.
“DRIVE! DRIVE! DRIVE!”
I put the pedal to the metal and the foot to the floor. We got the fuck out of there, tires screeching. I looked in the mirror and saw a whole crowd of niggas pouring out of the house. They hopped into a sedan and started chasing us down.
Next thing I knew, they started busting at my shit!
Pop-pop-pop!
I tried to bob and weave through traffic, my heart hammering against my ribs. I was scared for my life—this was the first time I’d ever been shot at, and I really thought it was over. I was praying so hard I thought I was gonna turn into a priest.
I finally pulled a few sharp turns, lost them in the side streets, and everything calmed down. We were both sweating and panting. I don’t even know why I was panting; I hadn’t even moved, but my heart was beating so fast I felt exhausted.
I slammed the car into park in a random alley and turned on him.
“What the fuck did you do, nigga?! What the fuck did you do to piss off a whole gang of niggas?!”
“Okay, okay! Don’t flash out on me,” Michael said, holding up his hands. “But I didn’t tell you the whole truth.”
I raised my hand like I was gonna clock him, and he flinched hard. “I swear to God, I’m about to punch the fuck out of you.”
“Chill! Let me explain! Okay, so the moment he let me inside, I couldn’t stop thinking about what you said. He was acting way different than usual. So, since I always walk around with some brass knuckles, the second he pulled out the weed, I decked his ass and took his whole supply.”
I stared at him, my jaw dropping. “YOU JANKED YOUR PLUG?!”
“You’re the one who kept telling me it was sketchy as fuck! Why are you mad at me?!”
“I’m mad because I gave you an opportunity
not
to go in there! You dumbass motherfucker!” I wiped my face, trying to stop my hands from shaking. “You’re lucky none of those bullets hit my car. You beat the fuck out of your plug and took his whole stash…”
I looked at the bag of weed in his lap, then back at his sweaty, terrified face. I couldn’t help it—a small smirk hit my face.
“That’s cool as fuck, not gonna lie. For a white boy, you’re an absolute menace. You earned that much.”