Click…! that’s the indistinct sound of the hammer being pulled back on a revolver, and one that I will never forget in my life. I was six years old at the time, and my stepfather was pointin’ a gun at my eight-year-old brother from the driver seat while we were on our way shoppin’ for school clothes. A time that was supposed to be exciting, but was utterly terrifyin’ in the end. The nigga Earl was drunk as usual, I can’t remember why, but I remember the tears streamin’ down Jay’s face, as my mother sat facin’ the window ignorin’ what was goin’ down. That’s when I knew she didn’t give a fuck about anybody but that nigga; the same nigga that would beat the sparks off her ass in front of us, his kids, and anybody else whenever the fuck he felt like it. I was glad when Earl turned the car around and took us back to our granny’s house. I tried to console my angered brother on the ride back, but nothin’ would take that fear and anger out of his heart.
That wouldn’t be the last incident that my brother would have with Earl, but it sure made him hurry up and go back home to Cincinnati. See, my brother Jay and I shared the same father, and he would visit with me and my granny in the summers, but after the shit with Earl, Jay didn’t come back to Indy until he was seventeen. I lost out of one of two people who protected me from my mom and her maniacal husband; I was then left with only my fifty-eight-year-old granny, until Jay’s return. My living environment was hella toxic, but I endured, and I have some internal scars that even through counseling I have not been able to shed.
Lord knows I got the short end of the stick when it came to parents. While all of this shit was goin’ down, my biological father Jay Sr. was servin’ twelve years in the state penitentiary for robbery. He was a dope dealer turned dopefiend, boy my mom sure knew how to pick ’em. Unfortunately, the fights between my mom and Earl got worse and worse to the point where I would never go to her house, but I still had to deal with her.
Splitch…sshhluck… shluck… shunk…. are other sounds I’ll never forget. Earl had sliced my uncle with a switchblade, nearly killin’ him while my younger cousins and I were sittin’ in the car waitin’ to go home. There was blood everywhere, and my mom helped Earl escape from his dirty deed. This time his drunken stupor had gone too far, and words bein’ passed made him extremely violent. He’d cut Ron long, short, deep, and wide, but this dummy helped him get away, and the law came for her.
TO BE CONTINUED
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