A Little Time,But Not Too Much Time Later . . .
I stepped out of my truck and walked up the cracked pathway to the rundown home of my best friend, Terrell Gardener, aka Trouble.
I had put off seeing him because it was hella triggering for me to see him this way. I didn’t want to believe a nigga who didn’t even like smoking weed could succumb to something of this magnitude. The nigga wouldn’t be caught dead, living in this area or a house like this.
But as I approached the dilapidated home, I knew what Meeko told me was true.
This is your mans, Zi. You gotta offer him help, even if he doesn’t accept it, I thought, stepping up on the porch and knocking hard.
“Who the fuck is it?” a woman screamed from the other side of the door. I didn’t answer her as I knocked hard again.
This time, the door flung open, and a dark-skinned woman appeared, hair and eyes wild, staring at me.
“Who are you?”
“Is Terrell here?” I asked, ignoring her question.
“Who?” she asked, looking confused.
“Trouble.”
She looked me up and down, then yelled behind her. “Trouble! You got company!” She opened the door wider, and I stepped in, looking around the place. My heart broke when I saw the shit. There were old containers of Chinese food, dirty walls, torn furniture, and filthy carpet. The house reeked of mildew and old garbage, and I could feel myself becoming angered at what I saw.
Trouble came walking from the back of the house, and I closed my eyes tightly to stop myself from crying like a bitch. This couldn’t be the Terrell I grew up with. The zombie-like man I saw wasn’t the man I left fifteen years ago.
“I must be higher than a motherfucka right now. I know you ain’t my nigga, Zion.”
I lifted my head, and I could feel the sting behind my eyes as we stared at each other. I pinched my nose a few times to undo the sadness filling my chest.
“Troub. Wh-what the fuck happened, bro?” I asked.
“Zion?” he questioned, seemingly coming out of whatever had him dazed.
“It’s me, man,” I confirmed.
He ran his hand over his head a few times, then down his face. He shook his head, then ran into the dirty-ass kitchen, throwing up in the sink.
I can’t believe this shit.
He finally stood upright and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “It can’t be you.”
“It is me, Troub.”
“You here to kill me?”
I frowned. “I’m here to help you.”
“Meek and Kay must’ve told you where I was. Them niggas never could keep a secret.” He chuckled lightly, then turned to me.
“Why would they? This ain’t something they should keep away from me. Even though they kept it away anyway.”
He moved back into the living room, removing papers from the busted recliner. “When did you get out?”
“A few months ago.”
“You can sit here?—”
“I’m good. What happened, T?”