So many nights, I wondered what she was doing, how she looked, or how she smelled now. I would see her pretty, golden face in my dreams every night, the first year of my incarceration.
The last time I spoke to her was the first five years I was down. She came to visit me often and even wrote me letters. But seeing her reminded me that I couldn’t hold her, touch her, lie with her, or hear her voice in my ear. So, regrettably, I told her not to come to see me anymore. Of course, she was stubborn and kept coming up to see me until I had to put her on the no-visitation list.
I knew I hurt her.
But there was no way I would let her do that fifteen with me. I had already failed her by leaving her. I couldn’t be selfish and have her wait for me. I wanted her to live her life and be happy, but I hoped she knew that I meant what I said when I told her I was coming back for her.
I meant that shit.
She was the one woman who showed me a love that I carried with me since junior high. We may have started out as friends, but by the time we got to high school, I knew I wanted her to be mine. The comfort she gave me during the death of my parents would forever live in my heart.
“I know, bro. It’s fucked up, but you know we ain’t gon’ give up on brodie.”
“How are his mom and sister?”
“They good. Killa and me been sliding them some cash to help them out and shit.”
I nodded. “What about my businesses?”
“All good. The clothing store is doing numbers, and the dispensary is always live. That account is over-full, ya feel me. You ain’t got shit to worry about on that end. Ya crib is ready and waiting for you too.”
“Coo’. And Jordin?” He didn’t speak for a long minute, which made me frown. “What, nigga? Spit that shit out,” I told him, frustrated already. I knew whatever he was about to tell me was going to be some bullshit.
“She’s getting married, bro.”
My frown deepened as I sat up in my seat. “Come again?”
“Jordin, man.”
“My Jordin? I know that ain’t what you said, my G?”
“Your Jordin,” he confirmed.
A pain hit my chest, and I sat back in my seat, looking out of the window. I knew I told her not to wait for me, but I for damnsure didn’t recall telling her to get fucking married. This shit had to be a sick joke; there was no waymy Dinnywould do that to me.
I wanted to be pissed, but I was more heartbroken than anything.
What did I expect?
She was in her twenties when I left her—still young, with the world as her oyster. I wanted her to get all her hot-girl shit out because I told her, the last time I saw her, that I was coming back for her.
That was ten years ago.
I guessed the passionate love we once shared wasn’t strong enough to withstand the next ten years of our lives. Now she was running off to get married to some nigga I already wanted to go back to jail over.
“Who is this nigga?” I asked.
“The actor—Akeem Spivy.”
“Never heard of that bum. What the fuck movie did he play in?”
“Shit, I don’t know. I think one of ‘em is calledBloodMoney, Hard Life,or some shit.”
“Corny ass.” I seethed.
“Yeah, he corny as fuck.”
“You met him?”