Gutter

epilogue.When It’s All Said and Done

I had broken down several times in the telling of my story, but I was surprised when I looked up and saw that Baby had tears in his eyes too. Cats like Baby didn’t cry easy, but I didn’t knock him for it. I knew what he felt in his chest, because I had felt the very same thing when I’d first heard the story. I hadn’t meant to upset him, but in a way I was glad I had told him the story; the burden didn’t feel so heavy anymore.

“You okay?” I touched his shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m cool,” he lied. “It’s just that, I had no idea how wild them niggaz was. Ya pops dropped mad muthafuckas for his man.” He wasn’t boasting, just stating a fact. My father had killed many men, and ordered the deaths of even more over the blood debt.

After recalling the story I wasn’t sure if I hated my father for being a murderer, or pitied him for being a product of his environment. What I was sure of was that I knew both my parents better after what I’d learned, and had a newfound respect for my mother for what she’d lived through.

“Aren’t you going to finish the story?”

I turned around and saw my mother standing in the doorway. I’m not sure how long she had been standing there, but her face was streaked with tears.

“Mom, I-” She placed her finger over my lips.

“No, Kenyatta. It’s my story, so please let me tell it.” She sat on the edge of my bed between me and Baby. “Later that night, after the shooting, I went into labor. At five forty-nine the next morning I gave birth to my pride and joy.” She cupped my cheek gently. “A few months later, Satin pushed your little troublesome self out.” She smiled at Baby Loc. “Snake Eyes moved us down here and we tried to bury our pasts and focus on making sure you guys didn’t get lost in the shuffle.

“Kenyatta, when I looked at your little wrinkled face, it eased my pain just a little bit. In the moments I pushed you out of my womb, it was all a bad dream and my soul mate was still alive. Kenyatta, I never told you the whole truth about your father, because I didn’t want to soil your memory of him. Lord knows I loved that man more than anything, but it doesn’t change the fact that he walked with the devil, because it was what he had been programmed to do, same as the rest of some of these young guys. How could I tell my little girl that her father was a murderer?”

She must’ve noticed my face stiffen because she pulled me in for a hug. “Baby girl, your father had a beautiful soul, and had he had more time here I’m sure he’d have been a great husband and father, but the streets won’t give you up that easy, that’s why I’ve busted my ass to keep you away from that side of the coin. Me and Satin know better than anyone how strong the call can be.”

Tears had blurred my vision, but I managed to find my mother’s hand. “I’m sorry, Mom, I didn’t mean to hurt you with my story, I just thought it needed to be told.”

“And it does,” she agreed, which surprised me since she was ranting about it a few hours prior. “It wasn’t that you hurt me by telling the story, it just brought back some old demons. That night at the house, we all almost died. Me, you, Baby, Satin, those men had every intention on killing us and they would’ve had it not been for Gutter. In a sense, this story is his legacy. If those people want to publish it, I think you should let them.”

“You mean it?” I asked, knowing I had heard her wrong.

“Yes.” She smiled. “By publishing his story, his memory will live on in the pages of that book long after we’re gone.”

I wrapped my arms around my mother so tight that I thought I heard her cough.

“Wow, I don’t even get that kind of love on Christmas,” she joked. “But seriously, I want you to do what your heart tells you to.”

“Thank you so much, Mommy. I’m gonna dedicate the book to you!”

“That’s nice, baby, but first things first. I’m gonna call your professor so we can set up a meeting with these publishing people, but I’m going to talk to Snake Eyes about it first. Baby”-she turned to my crime partner-“I think you’d better go on home, honey. Kenyatta’s father wasn’t the only one with a story. Your mom has something she needs to talk to you about.”

“A’ight, Auntie.” He got off the bed and started for the window. “Dollar, I’ll come check you later.” He swung one leg out the window.

“And use the door next time!” my mother called after him, as she always did when she caught Baby-Loc climbing in and out of my window. But we both knew that he never would. “Now”-she stood-“I’ve got some phone calls to make.”

As my mom left my room I suddenly felt overcome with joy. I had always dreamt of having something I wrote published somewhere other than the school paper, and it looked like it was finally going to happen. Little Kenyatta Soladine would be a published author. I wondered if they would sign me for just one book, or give me a multibook deal, and if so, what would I write about in my next one? I lay back on my bed and smiled. With all the stories I’d heard about the gangsters in my family over spring break, I was sure I’d think of something.