Fast Life (3 page)

She grew anxious and put the picture away, her gaze fixing on another one. Her father was a tall man, his skin a deep chocolate color. A neatly trimmed goatee brought out his well-defined jawline, with his hair crisply cut into a fade. He stood there smiling, his pearly whites shining. He had on nice clothes and a thick gold chain.

He was holding her in his arms. She was in a pink dress and pink shoes, with pigtails that curled all the way down to her chin. She couldn't even remember how it felt to be held by her father anymore.

Then there was her mother. Now, she was beautiful then. Still was. She had on a cream-colored dress, one of the skintight ones they wore in the eighties. Her dark brown, wavy hair was shining, as were her eyes. And that smile—so perfect. Kyra couldn't remember her mother being that happy in a while. When he was alive, they'd never wanted for anything, and good times had not been hard to come by. Kyra did remember when that all changed, though. The day her…
their
lives had fallen apart. That day
family
lost its meaning in her life. It was Sunday, June 1, 1997.

It was a beautiful day. The skies were clear, the sun was shinin', with a nice breeze. I remember it like it was yesterday. I was only five, and me, my mom and my dad went to this big-ass barbeque at some park. It was live. So many people were there: some of Dad's friends, some of Momma's friends, some of our family and even some of my friends from school, Natasha bein' one of them. Me and Tasha had been playin' catch, and she threw the ball too high for me. I went runnin' after it, past Momma and her girls, talkin' loud with gossip, and Dad and his people, rowdy, playin' a game of dominoes. I had finally caught up to the ball when I stopped. There was this van comin' up the street. I dunno what did it, but I knew somethin' was wrong. It sent a chill through my body. Call it intuition.

That's when someone lowered the window real slow and stuck out what I knew to be a gun by the reflection of the sun off the metal. I couldn't move. I called out for Daddy, I guess out of instinct. When I was scared, I could always go to him. Next thing I knew
—Pop! Pop! Pop!
There were bullets flyin' every which way, from the van to Daddy's friends and back. My dad even pulled a gun from his waist. Everythin', the music, the laughter, yells, birds, the whole world seemed like it got quiet, and all you could hear was the gunfire. I saw people runnin'. I tried to move, but for some reason I couldn't. It was like I weighed five hundred pounds or somethin'. That's when one of the guys from the van aimed straight at me. He even pulled the trigger. But the bullet never hit me. Daddy pushed me out the way and knocked me to the ground. He took the bullet himself
.

After he was hit, the van sped off. The gunfire was now replaced by cryin' and shoutin'. My mom was hunched over Daddy's body, screamin' out for help and tellin' him not to leave her and that she loved him. Some other people were around her, too, but there was another crowd around Uncle Anthony, 'cause he had been hit, too. I didn't waste any time
runnin' over to where Dad was layin'. He was covered in blood, and so was my mom. It even got on me. I never saw so much blood in my life. I remember holdin' on to his hand so tight. I started tellin' him that I loved him, and I started to cry. That's when my mom started screamin' for someone to come and get me and that she didn't want me to see this. But if you ask me, it was too late. Besides, no one moved me anyway. I fought off the one person who tried. They didn't try again.

As I kneeled over him, he focused his eyes clearly on me. He opened his mouth just enough to talk when he started to choke and cough on his own blood. He wanted to tell me something. What, I'll never know. I imagine it was him telling me to be strong and that he loved me. I can only hope that is what he wanted to tell me, because before he got the chance, he struggled for his life for only a few more seconds until his eyes were still and he was gone. Just like that. If you have ever seen someone die, you'd know it's nothin' like in the movies.

After that, the realization set in on everyone that he was dead. The chaos suddenly ended and left this uncomfortable, almost suffocating presence that just surrounded all of us. My mom, who was still tryin' to calm and relax him, started to lose what little composure she had left until she broke down and began to sob even harder. So did I. I could barely even breathe. I remember screamin' for him to “Wake up!” and “Come back!” and that I loved him. I even kissed his cheek. But nothin' worked, and the only things that came were ambulances, a five-hour wait at a hospital and a funeral.

Things really fell apart then. The mothafuckas that did it were arrested but never convicted. Just because my father was a major playa in the game doesn't mean he didn't deserve justice. They should be under the jail. But I guess that's the system for you. It wasn't even two days before the DEA
crawled out from under a rock and, combined with his greedy-ass family, cleaned out everything. Money, jewels, cars—anythin' they thought would be worth somethin'. Since Momma's family had never really been there through the years, we basically lost all ties after that. I still dunno if Momma was more angry that everyone came and took everythin' from us or that Uncle Anthony, who is now known as Lucky, survived that day after being shot seven times when Daddy was hit only once. Whatever the case, we don't deal with them anymore. Our attitude toward the police never changed, though. Everyone knows how they get down. You just expect better of ya fam, even though you shouldn't.

After it was all said and done, my mom was a widow and she had to raise a child on her own at the age of twenty-two. That was when the unhappiness began—June 1, 1997. A day I will remember forever. The day my father died. And to think that he sacrificed his own life to save mine. If only I had moved. If I had ducked or ran. If I had done somethin', Daddy would probably still be alive and we wouldn't be movin' anywhere. But I know I have to do what I believe he would have wanted me to, and that is to be strong. I have to be strong, if not for me, then for him.

Kyra was still staring at the picture when her mother's knock at the door jolted her from her reverie. She didn't have a chance to answer before her mother barged in, phone in hand.

“Here, it's Natasha…” Her voice trailed off when she saw the picture.

Kyra noticed her mother staring and quickly placed the photo in the box and resealed the top, hiding it as though she'd never had it in the first place.

A
winter white Dolce & Gabbana pantsuit with matching boots, a black and gray striped chinchilla fur jacket, and every diamond Makai had ever bought her was what Kyra wore. She decided that since she was going to go out, she might as well go out with impeccable style. She would roam the halls of John Marshall High one last time, allowing girls to envy something they wish they had and guys to lust for something they could never obtain.

She was looking so sharp that even after she was gone they would still talk about her. Kyra Jones: the flyest, sexiest, most stylish female ever to grace the halls of John Marshall. She just knew it. She couldn't wait to see Makai, either. She knew he would be all over her. Plus, she planned to tell him about the big move today. But after waiting for twenty minutes that morning, it was obvious he wasn't showing up.

As she stood in front of the living room window, peeking out at the driveway from behind the blinds, she was full of hope that Makai would pull up in his Escalade at any minute. By the time her mother came down the stairs, all hope was gone.

“What are you still doing here?”

“Kai's not here yet,” Kyra responded, turning back to the window.

“Don't worry, I'm sure he probably just overslept or something. Now fix your face and let's go. You're already late, and I don't need to be late on my last day,” Geneva said, taking her keys from the battered leather bag draped over her shoulder and walking out of the house. Kyra followed reluctantly.

It was an uneasy ride. The only noise in the car was the radio, but even that was silenced with the push of a button when the DJ mentioned the upcoming Black and White Party on Friday.

“Still mad about that party, huh?” Her mother was trying to begin a conversation.

“You look really pretty today. I see you really outdid yourself.” Even with the compliment, Kyra still focused her dark brown eyes ahead as her mother pulled up to the school entrance. Her mother was grasping at straws. Geneva Jones knew her daughter well. She had been just like her when she was Kyra's age.

“Bye. I love you,” she called, as Kyra stepped out of the Jeep, slamming the car door in her mother's face.

Kyra rounded the corner to the hallway where her locker was located. And there he was. Makai was leaning against her locker waiting for her. His worried look went unnoticed as she approached.

Before she could begin to say anything, without warning he slammed her into her locker with such force it made her hold her breath.

“Got something to tell me?”

“What the hell is your problem?” She studied his deep, steady gaze. He was staring at her with a seriousness she had never seen before.

“Why the fuck am I hearing shit about you having some little adventure to the fuckin' Caribbean coming up?” Makai raged as he pinned her harder against her locker. “Do you know what this shit makes me look like? A fool. And I ain't nobody's fool, Kyra. Not even yours. Everybody's buzzing around here talking about shit going on witchu while my ass is fuckin' clueless. I mean, shit, I thought you loved me. Did you think you were just gonna up and leave or something?”

“I do love you,” she murmured as she shrank under his intense glare. Her mind was racing with faces of those who could have been the snitch. She'd only told her girls.

“No you don't, 'cause if you did you would've told me ASAP.”

“I was gonna do it today, I swear I was. I just didn't know how to say it. I dunno…”

“You know I don't trust nobody, and now this got me thinking. You could be up to all kinds of shit and not be telling me a damn thing. Wit' what I do, I can't risk dealing wit' people like that.”

“So what are you sayin', Kai? I didn't tell you somethin' about me movin', and now I can't be trusted or somethin'? What, you think I turned into a cop overnight or some dumb shit?”

“I'm sayin' that I gotta do what I gotta do. I can't have no shady bitch on my team.”

And with those words, Kyra slapped Makai across his face so hard the hall echoed with the sound of her palm's impact. She didn't know what had gotten into her, but in six years of dating he had never called her a bitch. She made sure he would never do it again.

Kyra watched as the man she loved stared at her as if she were worthless to him. It was as if she were looking into the eyes of a stranger. He looked as though he would strike her down for anything she did within the next second. And with a sudden move he seemed like he was about to do so, but instead he punched the locker, missing her face by inches. Her eyes were tightly shut, until she realized he hadn't hit her.

 

After an exhausting day, Kyra lay twisted around her bedsheets, wide awake and fighting her manic thoughts for sleep. The glowing red numbers read 1:30 a.m. when she fixed her heavy eyelids on her ringing cell phone.
Who's callin' me this damn late?
She snatched the phone and quickly answered it to silence the ringer.

“Hello?” Her voice was thick with irritation as she lay back and closed her eyes.

“I'm outside. Don't keep me waiting.”

Click!

What the hell is he doin' here?
Kyra shot up, now wide awake. She didn't debate even for a minute whether or not to go. Makai had overreacted earlier, but she was quick to forgive him. Within seconds, she had crept down the stairs and out the front door undetected as her mother slept heavily upstairs in her bedroom.

When Kyra reached the car, she didn't say a word. She didn't even think of asking a question. Neither did Makai. She didn't ask a question not because she didn't want to or didn't have one, but because she didn't care. She trusted him and she loved him. She would go anywhere with him, no questions asked. She wanted to show him that. She not only wanted but needed him to know that.

Makai drove the car through the quiet streets while grooving silently to a local jazz station and its slow jams. It didn't take long until his intended destination was revealed: the Navy Pier. It was the place they had had their first kiss; the place it had all started.

He parked the car and got out, all without speaking. Kyra followed as if she were his shadow. They walked along the dock for a while, staring at the water, the Ferris wheel and the huge white tour boats, until he suddenly stopped and took her hand in his.

Kyra grew nervous over the thought of pier security and kept shifting and looking around.

“Security ain't coming tonight. Calm down.” Makai stared into Kyra's deep brown eyes with his dazzling hazels as he took a deep breath and readied himself to speak. Her body relaxed and she stood at attention, quiet and ready to listen.

“Kyra, I apologize for earlier. I was trippin' and, as much as I hate to admit it, I deserved that slap. I mean, shit, something had to knock some sense into me. It's just that you gotta understand that I love you and I felt like I was losing you. This shit got me fucked up. But at the same time, I know you must be going through it. So I want to let you know, in case you have any doubts, that I'm here for you. And I'll be here for you when you need me. Even when you move I'll be here for you.” He took another deep breath and continued, “I promise you I'm gonna come down there and get you, shawty.” His promise was as tender as his voice.

“What about all them other hoes you had on your dick today?” Kyra said as they stood beside the giant Ferris wheel.

“Yeah, they were sweatin' me, but you know I don't love them hoes. Fuck 'em. I only got love for you. Always have. Always will. You're my baby girl no matter what.”

They then embraced for what felt like a lifetime, reveling in their moment in the cold winter air. They didn't move. They didn't speak. They just felt. Their love for each other was strong.

The whole scene was short-lived, interrupted when Makai scooped Kyra up without warning and carried her to the car. She laughed and squealed all the way. Even upon reaching the car, her laughs seemed endless; then she unexpectedly grew shy. She noticed he had been watching her every move, and now she found herself only tittering under his gaze as his eyes traveled over and analyzed what felt like every inch of her body. He could always make her melt.

“What are you lookin' at?”

“I'm looking at my sexy-ass wifey, that's what I'm looking at.” Makai's statement was paired with a lick of his lips as he went on, “Come here.” His words were more a command than a request, but of course, she obeyed.

She situated herself on his lap and was met with a deep, tongue-laced kiss and his wandering hands. It wasn't long before he discovered the zipper to her shearling. A devious smile came to his face when only a bra was revealed underneath. He slipped off her jacket and bra and began to massage and suck on her breasts as moans fell from her mouth and her breathing began to quicken.

Between kissing and nibbling on each other's necks, he reached down on the side of the seat, pulling the lever and reclining the seat all the way back. They didn't waste any time removing the only things standing in their way: their clothes.

Kyra could feel him as the heat in her body rose. She wanted him inside her. He could feel her wetness, and warmth radiating from her body, and he knew he had her excited. He began to tease her with his tip by grinding it on her clit and sucking her neck just right. He knew he hit the spot that drove her wild—time and time again.

In no time, she began to jerk and bounce up and down with him, as he gripped her hips tightly, helping guide her movement as well as pushing himself deeper inside of her. He took her breasts in his hands as he watched her moan and scream in ecstasy.

He could tell she was getting closer to her climax because she grew louder with every bounce and he could feel her thighs tightening around him. He grew louder and felt himself becoming more excited, as well. When she finally screamed out his name as she came, her body instantly weakening and her cries diminishing into mere whimpers, he came with her—inside her.

They were both out of breath as they stared into each other's eyes. All was quiet except for their gradually slowing breaths. Kyra placed her lips softly to his, laying her head on his chest and listening to his heartbeat. Makai played with her hair, twirling it between his fingers as she held him tight and closed her eyes. She never wanted to let him go.

 

It was a place that was dark even on the brightest of days. It was a place of mourning and sorrow—a painful reminder of the missing pieces in her life. It was a place that never met a smile and never heard a laugh. Even with hundreds or thousands of people, it always seemed to be deserted. People passed through on occasion. Some yelled to God, asking why he had to take their loved ones, expressing the pain of their suffering heart and the fear of being alone. But for Kyra, today it was a place where a daughter went to say goodbye.

Kyra stood in front of the gray marble gravestone. She leaned down slowly and read the letters engraved across it: “Marcus Jones. Beloved husband and loving father. December 15, 1968–June 1, 1997.”

As she gently ran her hands over the letters, laying the fresh flowers on top of the stone, she felt a soft breeze that reminded her that she didn't have on a jacket. But as the wind blew again, she felt him. Kyra felt her father. He was there, and he knew she was scared. He knew she was upset, and he knew how she missed him. He knew that they were leaving. He knew it all. She shut her eyes and listened to the wind. She listened to what she believed he'd wanted to tell her before he passed but had been unable to. She made her imagination bend until she heard those words in his voice.

“I love you, too. Daddy.” She whispered the simple words before standing up.

She realized there was nothing more she needed to say. He knew everything going on, and he would be with her all the way, as always. He would even be in Prince Paul with her. Then suddenly a stronger, more forceful gust of air blew, riddling her skin with goose bumps.

She glanced down at her diamond-faced watch. It read three forty-five. She had left home at about three o'clock, and she knew her mom was waiting for her to get back so she could give her an earful. She planted a sweet kiss on top of the gravestone and turned away, leaving the cemetery and another part of her life in Chicago behind.