After
whipping up the remaining portion of his tears the boy swiftly picked up the
clutter of clothing and toys scattered across his bedroom floor.  He figured being fresh of the lamb from a
first thing in the morning whooping he’d be more thought full and fly through
his chours before going outside.  After
he finish straighting his room he went in to the bathroom and brushed his teeth
and washed his face.  He’d already gotten
into his dress clothes before sitting down at the breakfast table that morning
so he needed not change into anything. 
So after whipping the crude from the corner of his eyes he rushed out
the bathroom, down the hall and pass the man sitting in his recliner.  The boy reached the front door when he heard
his dad,


                “Slow down son. Don’t forget.”

The boy
stopped pivoted and looked at his father trying to determine where he was
coming from.  Then it hit him. He rushed
in to the kitchen snathed up the plastic trash bag sitting next to the kitchen
trash bag.  He snatched out a bag from
the partially filled box of unfilled kitchen trash bag. While holding the end
he swung snapping I opened and put it into the trash can. He then  popped it open picked up the filled back next
to it and ran toward the front door.  The
two eye briefly made contact as he passed by his father and the boy realized
that his fathers expression read,

                “Almost slipped up and got one
anyway!”

And the man
read the boys expression which was one of relief as he and his father had
already estabilished that the boy could have and would have received a whooping
had he rushed out to play with out first taking care of his chours. 

Once outside
the boy rushed down the concrete stair case leading from the second floor
balcony of the apartment complex to the ground. 
He tossed the trash bag in the direction of the open trash ben and by
then the routine was so consistent that he did even wait to see because he knew
it went in.  Then without pause he slowed
his run to a trot and approached the group of his friends standing in the court
yard.

                “What’s up dawg?” spoke out to
the group once he got in range.  A couple
of the responded in kind and one responded,

“Man
Bud for a minute there it looked like you were about to commit suicide
homeboy.  What happened up there?” 

“Huh?”
the boy responded.

The guys
continued on,

“Well,
we were sitting out here waiting for you to come outside when we saw you open
your bedroom window.   And from the looks
of it; you were crying like a little biaaatch!” 

 “Oh that!” The boy paused before continuing, “Nah, nah that wasn’t
it.  I had got some table salt in my eye
this morning at breakfast and I was trying to let the wind to blow it
out”. 

The boy
chuckled of the accusation that he was actually crying and was confident that
his explanation would hold up against the scrutiny.  One of the guys continued,

“You
sure man?  Cause from down here it look
like you had snot strings and spit coming out of your mouth.  It really looked like you were crying.” 

The boy barked
back at the group,

 “Have you ever had table salt thrown in your eyes Niggas?” The crowds
sat silent studying the boy, “Well, have you? Didn’t think so!  Because if you had you’d know that table salt
makes your nose run and your eyes water.” 

“But
how did you get table salt in your eyes man?” One of the boys asked.

“That’s
the only way my parent’s know how to control me when I get angry.  They got tired that whooping crap, because
that just makes me angrier.  So recently
they’ve been pouring table salt into my eyes to punish me.”

“Daaaamn
that’s fucked up dawg!  You want me to
tell my parents?”

“Nah…
It’s all good homeboy.  I told my mom I
wasn’t drinking any more of that bullshit ass powdered milk.  So she had to get my dad to hold me down
while she poured salt into my eyes.  I
felt kind of sorry for cussing them out… So I apologized and told them to never
put there fucking hands on me again.”

One of the
boy’s closes friend, Quincy, who had a speech impediment combined with a
stutter, spoke out in the boys defense.

“I…I…I  ta ta ta ta TOLD you you you you you YOU
FOOLS– that tha tha tha THAAT my nig nig nig nig NIGGA….. wasn’t cry cry cry
cry cry cry CRYING!”

“Forget all
of that”, Bud explained.  The boy then
asked the group “Where is my lizard?” He noticed the jar he kept it in next to
the court yard fence was turned on its side and the cap removed. 

“I
don’t know dawg; it must have climbed out!” One of the youth responded.

“Unscrewed
the topped, knocked over the jar, and just walked out.  Right?” the boy asked the group
sarcastically. 

 “Yeah.  That’s what I’m thinking”,
one of the kids responded while the rest of boys stood silent looking at
Bud. 

“What
do you think, I’m a fucking idiot or something? 
Quincy, Tyrone, LIL Bobby you three go look behind the trash can.  Lil Kenny, Omar, Woo Mamba you three follow
me we’ll check in the canyon.” 

The six
youth disperse in their respective directions and begin looking for the runaway
lizard. Before long and almost expected one yelled out,

“Here
it is! Over hear”. 

The boy
raced from one side of the court yard to the other; jumping over bushes and
fences on his way toward the apartment complex trash dump.  The trash dump was a huge wooden crate that
contained nine or ten, 60 gallon trash cans. 
The wooden fixture was built into the bottom portion of a hill covered
in cactus to conceal the trash and swarms of buzzing flies.

 Embedded in between the cactus where hundreds
of wolf spider webs. When the boys weren’t catching, raising and dissecting
lizards they’d spent time using rubber bans to pop flies that swarmed around
the trash cans.  Then they’d toss the
dazed flies into one the hundred of webs embedded into the embankment of cactus
and watch the spiders wrap them up and suck out the bugs’ blood.  The day prior the boy
was trying to feed the lizard that he caught flies caught the same way.  However; all of its days in captivity it
never really seemed to be hungry. 

Behind the
hill covered in cactus, was an open canyon making up the background of the
entire complex.  Kids and parents alike
ran across all kinds of wild animals living in the canyon; including stray
cats, dogs, opossums, rats, snakes, hookers, crack heads and winos.    The boy was out of breath and depressed
when he reached the side of the trash dump where his friend was standing
pointing at an opening between the cactus filled hill and the wooden crate.


 “That’s not my lizard.  It’s not even the same color”, Bud sighed.

©2020 KLEO Template a premium and multipurpose theme from Seventh Queen

CONTACT US

We're not around right now. But you can send us an email and we'll get back to you, asap.

Sending

Log in with your credentials

or    

Forgot your details?

Create Account