The high-rise apartments on both sides provided a partial shade as they approached their destination with the water – littered with million-dollar yachts – served as the backdrop. Kwame’s apartment was only a mile-and-a-half north, but distance alone did not separate the two worlds on opposite sides of the Tampa Bay River.
Coaching had provided more stability than his fighting days but neither lined his pockets with riches. He had made a concerted effort to spend as little time in that apartment as he could, especially when it was his weekend with his daughter.
“This is a nice spot to take a girl or something,” Kwame remarked to his son, trying to break the ice as he hadn’t said much since picking up Katy that morning, “You seeing a girl or anything yet?”
“Not really,” Kam shrugged, instinctually keeping an eye on Katy as she began playing with the oversized checkers boards on the turf area near where they were sitting.
“Your mother,” Kwame quickly hesitated, almost as if he had said a forbidden word, before continuing his thought, “She told me you were dating this girl, right, back home? Y’all doing it long distance or what?”
“We’re just friends and she was going away for college this summer anyway,” Kam was a bit surprised to hear that his mother had been keeping his dad abreast of the happenings in his life.
“Smart man,” Kwame smiled, “I’m just saying, I remember the girls that had a boyfriend back home.”
“That’s foul,” Kam joined in on the laughter.
“Hey man, I ain’t saying that I did anything, just that it was open season on them girls. Especially since not everyone had a cell phone back then.”
They continued to banter about Kwame’s college days which were literal days as he dropped out before the end of his first semester. Between their words, Kam would glance back over at Katy who reminded him of his deceased sister, Anna, in all her playfulness.
He still remembered the first time they came home from the hospital, and she spent the first few nights crying for hours. He’d rejoice every time they would drop her off at their grandparents’ and he’d get to enjoy some peace. He eventually grew to appreciate her as he entered his teens with her presence occupying their parents’ attention and allowing Kam to have more freedom as he did the dumb shit that teenagers do. By the time she was three, he had grown to value her, love her and prepared to protect her from all the things that life would ultimately never bring.
Just as the tears started to well up in his eyes, his phone vibrated with a notification.
…
“Young ahh jit,” Andre’s Southern drawl crept in, making the statement even funnier to everyone except Kam as they walked out of the establishment.
“You don’t even have a fake or nothing?” Marcus shook his head, “You was on some L-4 shit up in Jersey?”
“Nah, nigga, we just had certain spots we knew where to cop the liq,” Kam defended himself, “Not my fault y’all old as shit.”
“Seasoned,” Marcus corrected him, “The bitch you were all up on last night was seasoned too, little nigga!”
Kam was out of comebacks and held his hands up as he fondly remembered the redbone he had spent the night with, “You goddamn right, I don’t give a fuck how old she was, I was trying to knock that down.”
“That sounded crazy, gang. I’m not even going to lie to you,” Johnny interjected, in between pulls from his vape.
“Not like that,” Kam sucked his teeth, “You always taking shit weird.”
“He got your ass,” Marcus added, “Pause, I know how you New York niggas be with that shit.”
“I’m from Jersey,” Kam held his hand in a fashion that formed a lower-case J.
“That shit looks like an L, bitch ass nigga,” Marcus quickly fired back.
“What we on?” Kam had grown impatient with being the butt of their jokes as the night had started to take shape with pedestrians filling the streets of Ybor.
“There’s a strip joint that’ll serve you,” Marcus led the crew as they continued walking down the strip of bars and restaurants with the nightlife forming around them, “Real underground shit off 60, shit was popping during COVID too. It’s going to be some real niggas in there, though, and the bitches liable to rob your ass too.”
“No bullshit,” Johnny laughed, having had a close call himself with one of the dancers a few years ago.
“You can handle yourself? I ain’t going to be able to babysit you with ass all in my face and around me, Jersey.”
“Nigga, please. You Florida niggas just pack pistols, I don’t know if y’all nice like that with the hands.”
“Steal off on a motherfucker then,” Johnny teased Kam, “Him right there.”
Johnny pointed to a man that was leaning on a wall next to the alleyway, sipping from his brown paper bag which had clearly gotten the better of him as he swayed a bit from side to side.
“You can take his liquor too,” Marcus joked, “A two-for-one special, little nigga.”
“Don’t let these niggas gas you into a cell,” Andre shook his head, making eye contact with Kam, "It's always a bunch of cops around this bitch."
Picking up his pace, Kam walked on over, grabbed a handful of the man’s collar before following through with a thundering right hand.
“Fuck!” he winced in pain as he shook his right hand, needing only his left hand to push the man into the alley.
He stumbled a few steps, dropping the brown paper bag with the bottle breaking as hit the ground, getting the attention of a few passersby. The man tried to defend himself, aimless swinging towards Kam which only angered him and led to fists raining down upon him before Kam was peeled off by Marcus and Johnny.
“Come on!” Marcus hurried him as they disappeared into another street.
“The motherfucker actually did it,” Johnny cackled at the top of his lungs while Kam was still seething, touching on his face to check for any lumps.
“He might be crazier than you, Flacco! Goddamn,” Marcus joined in on the laughter, “I can’t believe he actually went through with that shit!”
"You set the little nigga up," Andre said with a disapproving tone as they got into their car that was thankfully parked nearby.
"We was just fucking with him," Johnny couldn't stop laughing, "I didn't think he was actually going to do it."
"You're a wild boy," Marcus turned around from the driver seat and dapped Kam up, "My nigga will really crash something!"
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
-
Captain Canada
- Posts: 4997
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
Oh word, this man is a felony just waiting to happen, eh?
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
Scrapping just for the sake of it 
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
he's crying out for help
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
“Use your fucking jab!”
Kam watched from the sideline as his father was putting on a clinic, completely neutralizing the young prospect that had ran through his first two sparring partners like butter. So much so that the coaches had decided to ditch their practice plan of rotating every round and instead, it was just Kwame and the young Dominican duking it out for the past five rounds.
“He don’t got nothing,” Kwame spat out through his mouthpiece, ironically eating a stiff jab followed by a left hook that he managed to roll with, taking the sting off the punch.
While the younger combatant wore headgear, Kwame often opted not to, which made him an even harder target to hit while the headgear provided a large target for Kwame to pepper with a probing jab and pop shots in between.
“Call it a day?” one of the trainers asked as the bell rang to which both fighters nodded as they were beginning to run out of gas after an intense start.
“You were piecing him up,” Kam told his dad, loud enough for everyone else in the gym to overhear.
“That wasn’t anything,” Kwame scoffed, “He’s cutting weight already, the smaller guy, only got a couple fights under his belt.”
“You was still working him though,” Kam continued, mainly because he didn’t like the stares he got from the rest of the gym when they first showed up.
Kwame served as a hired gun throughout many boxing gyms in the area, showing up and giving their guys a good look as they got ready for their upcoming fights. It didn’t pay very well but occasionally; someone the likes of Keith Thurman would offer good money for a couple of rounds and the only way to get the reputation of being a good sparring partner was to put in those thankless rounds for a few bucks.
“Can you drop me off at Marcus’?” Kam asked his father as they began packing up their things, hoping that the successful outing would have put him in a giving mood.
“You’re going to come home at two in the morning again?” Kwame asked with a raised eyebrow.
While he was glad that Kam had begun to establish roots, he had wished that they were on the football field or in the boxing gym. But for now, this unknown friend named Marcus’ would have to suffice.
“I just lost track of the time,” Kam explained, “And to be fair, you never gave me a curfew.”
“Well, it’s midnight, how about that?”
…
“He ain’t even say nothing to the man, just stole off on him!” Johnny continued to regale the partygoers, standing up to re-enact the story he had told everyone that came within their path since, “Started whaling on dude too when he fell down.”
“I don’t know,” the purple-haired girl sized Kam up, “He looks more like a lover than a fighter to me.”
“She on you, bro!” Johnny laughed, slapping Kam on the back, “What’s up, you feeling my man?”
“You’re gassing it,” she playfully rolled her eyes, “I’m guessing you’re from New Jersey?”
“Yeah,” Kam nodded coyly, needing some more liquid courage as he continued to sip his drink, keeping his eyes on his strange surroundings.
They had found themselves in someone’s backyard, drinking the night away with Johnny and Aaron’s girlfriends, Dee and Monique, along with their friends. While Aaron’s tongue was faithfully planted in his girl’s throat the entire night and Marcus was stuck to his phone and his bottle, Johnny had taken it upon himself to entertain the rest of the guests, including a purple-haired girl appropriately called Ravyn.
“You don’t sound like a New Yorker,” Ravyn mocked a stereotypical Long Island accent.
“Because I’m not,” Kam was slightly annoyed but played it off, “You look like a girl named Ravyn though.”
“It’s a bit tacky, isn’t it?” she genuinely laughed, almost choking on her drink.
She wasn’t the easiest on the eyes but was a welcome change to the typical girls that the crew had spent their summers entertaining and chasing after, mostly unsuccessfully on Kam’s part. She reminded him of the quirky, suburban Black girls he had grown up with who mostly lusted after him.
“I’m glad you said it,” he continued, seeing that she was slowly warming up to his charm.
“What are you doing here? Like, in Tampa, with these hooligans?”
“Who are you calling hooligans? We respectable members of society!” Johnny interjected with a self-congratulatory laugh as he put his arms around Dee, “Jersey might be the worst of us!”
“I’m just staying with my pops for the summer,” Kam answered honestly, having tried different lies with different girls since his arrival.
“Oh, okay, so your mom and them are still in Jersey?”
“Yeah,” he wiped his nose, deciding that his truthfulness had reached the end of its course, “What about you? Why are you here with us so-called-thugs?”
“Y’all got the best dick,” she made sure to enunciate each word, getting a big whoop from the crowd, especially the girls who seemed to agree.
“I know that’s right,” Dee was unabashed about it, grabbing Johnny’s crotch.
Kam’s initial excitement was quickly worn off by the cringiness of them making out which the rest of the onlookers seemed to enjoy and encourage. It was thankfully interrupted by Marcus who saved Kam from his misery.
“Yo,” he aggressively tapped Kam on the shoulder, “I need you to ride with me.”
The stocky Marcus usually held his liquor well, but the effects were evident on his face, speech and mannerism, struggling to stand still.
Kam looked over towards Ravyn, but she had already exited their conversation and was now enthralled in another with one of the other girls, “Aight, bet.”
Kam pondered telling her goodbye but thought better of it and instead opted for the Irish goodbye, leaving through the side gate and headed towards the passenger side door.
“You driving, nigga. Why you think I came to get you? A nigga fucked up,” Marcus laughed to himself as he tossed Kam the keys, “I’m going to still get some pussy though, please believe that.”
“Your crib or Sandra’s?”
“Don’t say that bitch name right now,” Marcus continued to amuse himself, “Hell, nah. A nigga feeling too good right now to fuck his girl, bro. It’s my little college bitch, some white bitch.”
…
“Damn,” Kam shook his head, “I didn’t even know schools like these didn’t have football teams.”
“You’re such a jock,” she laughed before passing the joint back to Kam who took a strong pull, “You football niggas love your weed.”
“I don’t even smoke like that,” Kam contested, “It’s this nigga that be having us smoking all fucking day.”
They both simultaneously looked towards the car where Marcus and her roommate, Brit, had disappeared into the back seat. Kam was doing his part, keeping Brit’s roommate, Jasmine, busy as they hung around the bank of the river which was just far enough from their dorm room to get a good smoke in and enjoy the view of downtown.
“I used to smoke like every day when I was in high school,” Jasmine shook her head, “Those AP courses were kicking my ass. You know what those are, right?”
“You really think I’m an idiot,” Kam laughed, “A nigga is smart, kind, important.”
“Look at you,” she smiled, “Quoting that bullshit ass book.”
“You weren’t fucking with it? You seem like one of those types,” Kam tested his luck, having been successful earlier in the night.
“Now what type is that?”
“The super smart, well read that can like look through all the surface layer bullshit that niggas be falling for. Fine as shit, too.”
“So, you do have some sense,” she blew the smoke into his face, which he took as an invitation.
He leaned in for a kiss, only for her to pull away and let out a wry chuckle, “Not that much sense.”
Kam watched from the sideline as his father was putting on a clinic, completely neutralizing the young prospect that had ran through his first two sparring partners like butter. So much so that the coaches had decided to ditch their practice plan of rotating every round and instead, it was just Kwame and the young Dominican duking it out for the past five rounds.
“He don’t got nothing,” Kwame spat out through his mouthpiece, ironically eating a stiff jab followed by a left hook that he managed to roll with, taking the sting off the punch.
While the younger combatant wore headgear, Kwame often opted not to, which made him an even harder target to hit while the headgear provided a large target for Kwame to pepper with a probing jab and pop shots in between.
“Call it a day?” one of the trainers asked as the bell rang to which both fighters nodded as they were beginning to run out of gas after an intense start.
“You were piecing him up,” Kam told his dad, loud enough for everyone else in the gym to overhear.
“That wasn’t anything,” Kwame scoffed, “He’s cutting weight already, the smaller guy, only got a couple fights under his belt.”
“You was still working him though,” Kam continued, mainly because he didn’t like the stares he got from the rest of the gym when they first showed up.
Kwame served as a hired gun throughout many boxing gyms in the area, showing up and giving their guys a good look as they got ready for their upcoming fights. It didn’t pay very well but occasionally; someone the likes of Keith Thurman would offer good money for a couple of rounds and the only way to get the reputation of being a good sparring partner was to put in those thankless rounds for a few bucks.
“Can you drop me off at Marcus’?” Kam asked his father as they began packing up their things, hoping that the successful outing would have put him in a giving mood.
“You’re going to come home at two in the morning again?” Kwame asked with a raised eyebrow.
While he was glad that Kam had begun to establish roots, he had wished that they were on the football field or in the boxing gym. But for now, this unknown friend named Marcus’ would have to suffice.
“I just lost track of the time,” Kam explained, “And to be fair, you never gave me a curfew.”
“Well, it’s midnight, how about that?”
…
“He ain’t even say nothing to the man, just stole off on him!” Johnny continued to regale the partygoers, standing up to re-enact the story he had told everyone that came within their path since, “Started whaling on dude too when he fell down.”
“I don’t know,” the purple-haired girl sized Kam up, “He looks more like a lover than a fighter to me.”
“She on you, bro!” Johnny laughed, slapping Kam on the back, “What’s up, you feeling my man?”
“You’re gassing it,” she playfully rolled her eyes, “I’m guessing you’re from New Jersey?”
“Yeah,” Kam nodded coyly, needing some more liquid courage as he continued to sip his drink, keeping his eyes on his strange surroundings.
They had found themselves in someone’s backyard, drinking the night away with Johnny and Aaron’s girlfriends, Dee and Monique, along with their friends. While Aaron’s tongue was faithfully planted in his girl’s throat the entire night and Marcus was stuck to his phone and his bottle, Johnny had taken it upon himself to entertain the rest of the guests, including a purple-haired girl appropriately called Ravyn.
“You don’t sound like a New Yorker,” Ravyn mocked a stereotypical Long Island accent.
“Because I’m not,” Kam was slightly annoyed but played it off, “You look like a girl named Ravyn though.”
“It’s a bit tacky, isn’t it?” she genuinely laughed, almost choking on her drink.
She wasn’t the easiest on the eyes but was a welcome change to the typical girls that the crew had spent their summers entertaining and chasing after, mostly unsuccessfully on Kam’s part. She reminded him of the quirky, suburban Black girls he had grown up with who mostly lusted after him.
“I’m glad you said it,” he continued, seeing that she was slowly warming up to his charm.
“What are you doing here? Like, in Tampa, with these hooligans?”
“Who are you calling hooligans? We respectable members of society!” Johnny interjected with a self-congratulatory laugh as he put his arms around Dee, “Jersey might be the worst of us!”
“I’m just staying with my pops for the summer,” Kam answered honestly, having tried different lies with different girls since his arrival.
“Oh, okay, so your mom and them are still in Jersey?”
“Yeah,” he wiped his nose, deciding that his truthfulness had reached the end of its course, “What about you? Why are you here with us so-called-thugs?”
“Y’all got the best dick,” she made sure to enunciate each word, getting a big whoop from the crowd, especially the girls who seemed to agree.
“I know that’s right,” Dee was unabashed about it, grabbing Johnny’s crotch.
Kam’s initial excitement was quickly worn off by the cringiness of them making out which the rest of the onlookers seemed to enjoy and encourage. It was thankfully interrupted by Marcus who saved Kam from his misery.
“Yo,” he aggressively tapped Kam on the shoulder, “I need you to ride with me.”
The stocky Marcus usually held his liquor well, but the effects were evident on his face, speech and mannerism, struggling to stand still.
Kam looked over towards Ravyn, but she had already exited their conversation and was now enthralled in another with one of the other girls, “Aight, bet.”
Kam pondered telling her goodbye but thought better of it and instead opted for the Irish goodbye, leaving through the side gate and headed towards the passenger side door.
“You driving, nigga. Why you think I came to get you? A nigga fucked up,” Marcus laughed to himself as he tossed Kam the keys, “I’m going to still get some pussy though, please believe that.”
“Your crib or Sandra’s?”
“Don’t say that bitch name right now,” Marcus continued to amuse himself, “Hell, nah. A nigga feeling too good right now to fuck his girl, bro. It’s my little college bitch, some white bitch.”
…
“Damn,” Kam shook his head, “I didn’t even know schools like these didn’t have football teams.”
“You’re such a jock,” she laughed before passing the joint back to Kam who took a strong pull, “You football niggas love your weed.”
“I don’t even smoke like that,” Kam contested, “It’s this nigga that be having us smoking all fucking day.”
They both simultaneously looked towards the car where Marcus and her roommate, Brit, had disappeared into the back seat. Kam was doing his part, keeping Brit’s roommate, Jasmine, busy as they hung around the bank of the river which was just far enough from their dorm room to get a good smoke in and enjoy the view of downtown.
“I used to smoke like every day when I was in high school,” Jasmine shook her head, “Those AP courses were kicking my ass. You know what those are, right?”
“You really think I’m an idiot,” Kam laughed, “A nigga is smart, kind, important.”
“Look at you,” she smiled, “Quoting that bullshit ass book.”
“You weren’t fucking with it? You seem like one of those types,” Kam tested his luck, having been successful earlier in the night.
“Now what type is that?”
“The super smart, well read that can like look through all the surface layer bullshit that niggas be falling for. Fine as shit, too.”
“So, you do have some sense,” she blew the smoke into his face, which he took as an invitation.
He leaned in for a kiss, only for her to pull away and let out a wry chuckle, “Not that much sense.”
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
Kam winced as he dumped his hand into a cup he had filled with ice, muttering obscenities under his breath. He wasn’t exactly sure how he managed to injure his fist or perhaps more appropriately stated, who he had punched. The previous night was a blur, as was typically the case when Marcus and Johnny were involved which also meant drugs, alcohol and the occasional brawl.
Kam was just glad that he only suffered a minor cut on his bottom lip and that he had somehow found himself the next morning in his own bed. His streak of luck would end with his father waking him up and reminding him of their plans for that day.
“How are you liking Tampa?”
Kam was startled, quickly removing his hand from the cup of ice and dumping the contents of the cup into the sink in front of him, “Yeah, yeah, it’s straight.”
“Don’t worry,” the mocha skinned woman ripped a piece of paper towel from the hanger and handed it to him, innocently and incorrectly assuming he suffered the injury while training with his dad, “Your dad’s hands are messed up all the time, too. We have some ice packs in the freezer if you need it.”
“I’m good,” Kam quickly responded, “Thanks, though.”
“Your dad tells me you’ve decided to stick around,” Taylour continued in her desperate attempt to connect with the teenager.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” she quickly caught herself, “Just that, you know, you’re going to go to school here which is so exciting to hear.”
“It’s fine,” he shrugged.
With Lana at NYU, whose nightly FaceTime calls had already started to turn into a weekly affair, and Jamal deciding to transfer to Bergen Catholic in hopes of finally winning State, there wasn’t much waiting for Kam back in New Jersey except constant reminders of how much he had lost.
“My brother is actually on the coaching staff at Blake,” she said in between sips of her drink, “You should come meet him.”
Kam obliged and followed her out of the house and into the backyard, his eyes fixated on her derriere. His father certainly knew how to pick them as he had caught a glimpse of Katy’s mother this morning when they went to pick her up and she was certainly not hard on the eyes either.
“This is my brother, Justin. Justin, this is Kwame’s son, Kam. He’s going to be going to Blake,” Taylour placed her hand on Kam’s shoulder, which excited the young lad.
“He’s been telling me about you,” Justin quickly finished his hamburger, dusting his fingertips on the back of his pants before extending his right hand for a firm handshake, “Pretty big boy for a running back.”
“Kamal ain’t been doing too much running,” Kwame joined them with two plates, handing one to Kam as they sat down next to Justin, forming a half-circle with the five of them and Katy at their feet, playing on her tablet.
“He’s just mad I was beating him in sprints the other day,” Kam quickly fired back.
“That was three weeks ago,” Kwame quickly reminded him, “And that was also the last time you ran, fat boy.”
“I heard you were pretty nice up there,” Justin prodded, “Granted, it was New Jersey. That ain’t nothing compared to Florida ball.”
“Talk!” Kwame teased, fully considering himself a Florida native despite spending most of his formative years in The Garden State.
“Nine hundred yards is nine hundred yards,” Kam retorted, still a bit peeve that he fell a few yards short of the thousand-yard mark in back-to-back seasons, one of the drawbacks of splitting carries with Jamal during their time at Pascack.
“Danny ran for damn near thirteen hundred last year and he’s half you size,” Justin shrugged, “You got any schools looking at you?”
“I camped at UMass and Syracuse last summer,” Kam recalled, "But no offers or anything like that.”
“He was supposed to check out Pitt and Rutgers this summer,” Kwame sucked his teeth, “Deadline came and went, boy ain’t tell me nothing. USF even had an open event a couple weeks ago, signed him up and everything.”
“I just forgot,” Kam lied, knowing damn well he never had any intentions of attending.
“You ain’t scared of competition, now, is you?” Justin continued to push his buttons.
“Never that,” Kam scoffed, “Everybody in Florida swears they created football but y’all nig.....y’all haven’t won anything. The Canes trash, the Gators trash, all y’all teams trash.”
“White Mike turning things around now,” Justin quickly corrected him, “And I know someone from New Jersey ain’t talking. Y’all boys got Rutgers!”
“Y’all are going to have to show me,” Kam regretted those words almost as soon as it left his mouth.
…
“This is a tempo run, not a fucking stroll to the grocery store with your grandpappy!”
Kam tried to pick up the pace, but the lactic acid made him feel like there were 500-pounds attached to each of his legs. He reached the end of the line and tried to catch his breath, only to hear his group called back up again.
“Come on!” Danny encouraged the group, “We ain't done yet!”
“Hold on,” Coach Caleb instructed the group of running backs, linebackers, tight ends and bigger defensive backs, “Fresh meat, you are running with the bigs this round. You’re fucking up my group.”
Kam used the little bit of pride he had left in him to ignore coach and got on the line, taking a deep breath as the Florida sun continued to beat down on him.
“You better not fuck it up,” Coach Caleb walked away, letting the whistle rest on his bottom lip for a moment before blowing it.
Unlike the previous rounds, Kam got off to a strong start and was at one point challenging Danny but around the 50-yard mark, he would eventually start trailing off with the other runners whizzing by him before he once again sputtered to the finish line.
“I know Coach Caleb told you to run with the bigs,” Coach Jackson spat out some of his dip, “You better haul ass, catch up with the linemen and come back here.”
“What?” Kam asked with a confused tone, barely able to look up as he was bent over at the waist.
“Get to running, boy!”
“Fuck that,” Kam shook his head, clearly over the situation.
“Come on,” Danny helped him stand up straight, “I’ll run it with you.”
“Fuck that,” Kam pushed him away before jogging towards the linemen, as instructed.
…
Kam rested on the school benches that oversaw the terrace, using the moment of peace and quiet to both recover and examine where he’d be going to school this upcoming fall.
That morning’s grueling workout aside, he had already began to regret his decision to remain with his father as he had come to the sobering reality that the summer would soon end and instead of spending his days with Marcus, Johnny and the rest of the guys doing hood rat shit with his friends, he’d be in here, wandering the halls as the new kid for his senior year.
The peaceful quietness was soon interrupted by the sound of the double-doors in front of him opening up and out came the football team, still energized despite the running and weightlifting they had done all morning. Unlike Kam, they hadn’t spent their summers smoking, drinking, the occasional popping of pills and intermingling with strange women.
“Kam, right?” Danny walked over to him with a few of his teammates behind him, all engaged in their own separate conversation as they took a seat next to Kam.
“Yeah,” Kam responded, having been introduced to Danny earlier in the day by Justin. He was a bit wiry and sawed off, even for a running back but demonstrated plenty of strength in the weight room and could run for days, hardly breaking a sweat during conditioning.
“Coach always tries to show up the new guy,” he reassured him, “He already done beat the shit out of all the freshmen, so he was just picking on you, that’s all.”
“It’s whatever to me,” Kam shrugged as he got up from the bench.
“We’re about to hang out by the park if you’re trying to slide,” Danny invited him, which got the attention of his other teammates as they looked up towards Kam.
“Nah,” Kam responded as he looked at the notification from his phone, “My ride already here.”
…
“They must have been fucking you up,” Marcus joked as he joined Kam in the kitchen, grabbing a beer bottle from the fridge.
“I’m straight,” Kam shook it off, “Just ain’t been working out in a while.”
“Nah,” Marcus laughed, “The reason I be bringing you to these functions and not any of these other dusty niggas is because you actually know how to talk to bitches and not start barking at them.”
“Johnny dumb ass,” Kam joined in on the laughter, being reminded of an instance where Johnny literally barked at a group of girls.
“I got something for you,” Marcus pulled out two cigarillos from a pill capsule that was in his back pocket.
“What’s in this?” Kam asked, grabbing one of the cigarillos and taking a whiff of it.
“A good time,” Marcus responded, “You’re going to fuck the leather out Ravyn pussy with this shit, trust me. Have you up all night too, cleaning the cleaning supply.”
“No bullshit?” Kam looked over towards the group of girls sitting down in the living room, which included Ravyn and Sandra, Marcus' girlfriend.
“Shit,” Marcus sparked his up, “I was saving it for my girl to try to get a threesome popping tonight with all these bitches here but you my nigga and you look like you need it.”
Kam was just glad that he only suffered a minor cut on his bottom lip and that he had somehow found himself the next morning in his own bed. His streak of luck would end with his father waking him up and reminding him of their plans for that day.
“How are you liking Tampa?”
Kam was startled, quickly removing his hand from the cup of ice and dumping the contents of the cup into the sink in front of him, “Yeah, yeah, it’s straight.”
“Don’t worry,” the mocha skinned woman ripped a piece of paper towel from the hanger and handed it to him, innocently and incorrectly assuming he suffered the injury while training with his dad, “Your dad’s hands are messed up all the time, too. We have some ice packs in the freezer if you need it.”
“I’m good,” Kam quickly responded, “Thanks, though.”
“Your dad tells me you’ve decided to stick around,” Taylour continued in her desperate attempt to connect with the teenager.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” she quickly caught herself, “Just that, you know, you’re going to go to school here which is so exciting to hear.”
“It’s fine,” he shrugged.
With Lana at NYU, whose nightly FaceTime calls had already started to turn into a weekly affair, and Jamal deciding to transfer to Bergen Catholic in hopes of finally winning State, there wasn’t much waiting for Kam back in New Jersey except constant reminders of how much he had lost.
“My brother is actually on the coaching staff at Blake,” she said in between sips of her drink, “You should come meet him.”
Kam obliged and followed her out of the house and into the backyard, his eyes fixated on her derriere. His father certainly knew how to pick them as he had caught a glimpse of Katy’s mother this morning when they went to pick her up and she was certainly not hard on the eyes either.
“This is my brother, Justin. Justin, this is Kwame’s son, Kam. He’s going to be going to Blake,” Taylour placed her hand on Kam’s shoulder, which excited the young lad.
“He’s been telling me about you,” Justin quickly finished his hamburger, dusting his fingertips on the back of his pants before extending his right hand for a firm handshake, “Pretty big boy for a running back.”
“Kamal ain’t been doing too much running,” Kwame joined them with two plates, handing one to Kam as they sat down next to Justin, forming a half-circle with the five of them and Katy at their feet, playing on her tablet.
“He’s just mad I was beating him in sprints the other day,” Kam quickly fired back.
“That was three weeks ago,” Kwame quickly reminded him, “And that was also the last time you ran, fat boy.”
“I heard you were pretty nice up there,” Justin prodded, “Granted, it was New Jersey. That ain’t nothing compared to Florida ball.”
“Talk!” Kwame teased, fully considering himself a Florida native despite spending most of his formative years in The Garden State.
“Nine hundred yards is nine hundred yards,” Kam retorted, still a bit peeve that he fell a few yards short of the thousand-yard mark in back-to-back seasons, one of the drawbacks of splitting carries with Jamal during their time at Pascack.
“Danny ran for damn near thirteen hundred last year and he’s half you size,” Justin shrugged, “You got any schools looking at you?”
“I camped at UMass and Syracuse last summer,” Kam recalled, "But no offers or anything like that.”
“He was supposed to check out Pitt and Rutgers this summer,” Kwame sucked his teeth, “Deadline came and went, boy ain’t tell me nothing. USF even had an open event a couple weeks ago, signed him up and everything.”
“I just forgot,” Kam lied, knowing damn well he never had any intentions of attending.
“You ain’t scared of competition, now, is you?” Justin continued to push his buttons.
“Never that,” Kam scoffed, “Everybody in Florida swears they created football but y’all nig.....y’all haven’t won anything. The Canes trash, the Gators trash, all y’all teams trash.”
“White Mike turning things around now,” Justin quickly corrected him, “And I know someone from New Jersey ain’t talking. Y’all boys got Rutgers!”
“Y’all are going to have to show me,” Kam regretted those words almost as soon as it left his mouth.
…
“This is a tempo run, not a fucking stroll to the grocery store with your grandpappy!”
Kam tried to pick up the pace, but the lactic acid made him feel like there were 500-pounds attached to each of his legs. He reached the end of the line and tried to catch his breath, only to hear his group called back up again.
“Come on!” Danny encouraged the group, “We ain't done yet!”
“Hold on,” Coach Caleb instructed the group of running backs, linebackers, tight ends and bigger defensive backs, “Fresh meat, you are running with the bigs this round. You’re fucking up my group.”
Kam used the little bit of pride he had left in him to ignore coach and got on the line, taking a deep breath as the Florida sun continued to beat down on him.
“You better not fuck it up,” Coach Caleb walked away, letting the whistle rest on his bottom lip for a moment before blowing it.
Unlike the previous rounds, Kam got off to a strong start and was at one point challenging Danny but around the 50-yard mark, he would eventually start trailing off with the other runners whizzing by him before he once again sputtered to the finish line.
“I know Coach Caleb told you to run with the bigs,” Coach Jackson spat out some of his dip, “You better haul ass, catch up with the linemen and come back here.”
“What?” Kam asked with a confused tone, barely able to look up as he was bent over at the waist.
“Get to running, boy!”
“Fuck that,” Kam shook his head, clearly over the situation.
“Come on,” Danny helped him stand up straight, “I’ll run it with you.”
“Fuck that,” Kam pushed him away before jogging towards the linemen, as instructed.
…
Kam rested on the school benches that oversaw the terrace, using the moment of peace and quiet to both recover and examine where he’d be going to school this upcoming fall.
That morning’s grueling workout aside, he had already began to regret his decision to remain with his father as he had come to the sobering reality that the summer would soon end and instead of spending his days with Marcus, Johnny and the rest of the guys doing hood rat shit with his friends, he’d be in here, wandering the halls as the new kid for his senior year.
The peaceful quietness was soon interrupted by the sound of the double-doors in front of him opening up and out came the football team, still energized despite the running and weightlifting they had done all morning. Unlike Kam, they hadn’t spent their summers smoking, drinking, the occasional popping of pills and intermingling with strange women.
“Kam, right?” Danny walked over to him with a few of his teammates behind him, all engaged in their own separate conversation as they took a seat next to Kam.
“Yeah,” Kam responded, having been introduced to Danny earlier in the day by Justin. He was a bit wiry and sawed off, even for a running back but demonstrated plenty of strength in the weight room and could run for days, hardly breaking a sweat during conditioning.
“Coach always tries to show up the new guy,” he reassured him, “He already done beat the shit out of all the freshmen, so he was just picking on you, that’s all.”
“It’s whatever to me,” Kam shrugged as he got up from the bench.
“We’re about to hang out by the park if you’re trying to slide,” Danny invited him, which got the attention of his other teammates as they looked up towards Kam.
“Nah,” Kam responded as he looked at the notification from his phone, “My ride already here.”
…
“They must have been fucking you up,” Marcus joked as he joined Kam in the kitchen, grabbing a beer bottle from the fridge.
“I’m straight,” Kam shook it off, “Just ain’t been working out in a while.”
“Nah,” Marcus laughed, “The reason I be bringing you to these functions and not any of these other dusty niggas is because you actually know how to talk to bitches and not start barking at them.”
“Johnny dumb ass,” Kam joined in on the laughter, being reminded of an instance where Johnny literally barked at a group of girls.
“I got something for you,” Marcus pulled out two cigarillos from a pill capsule that was in his back pocket.
“What’s in this?” Kam asked, grabbing one of the cigarillos and taking a whiff of it.
“A good time,” Marcus responded, “You’re going to fuck the leather out Ravyn pussy with this shit, trust me. Have you up all night too, cleaning the cleaning supply.”
“No bullshit?” Kam looked over towards the group of girls sitting down in the living room, which included Ravyn and Sandra, Marcus' girlfriend.
“Shit,” Marcus sparked his up, “I was saving it for my girl to try to get a threesome popping tonight with all these bitches here but you my nigga and you look like you need it.”
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 4997
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
You telling me this dude in high school smoking dust off the rip? You're a sicko author.
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
you def smoked PCP in the boys locker room, stop frontingCaptain Canada wrote: ↑25 Jun 2024, 10:08You telling me this dude in high school smoking dust off the rip? You're a sicko author.
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
“These bitches was ready for whatever,” Marcus shook his head, taking a deep pull of his cigarette as Kam hurried back into the car, “Of course, my girl had to be on some hating ass shit.”
Kam couldn’t care less as he closed the car door, taking a moment to settle himself as the scrambling he had done inside of the apartment to get his stuff had left him feeling a bit wobbly.
“She always says she’s down to bring other bitches in,” Marcus continued as he peeled out of the parking lot, “But soon as its an actual pussy in front of her, she wants to act fake drunk or say she too tired.”
Kam continued to ignore Marcus as he focused on not dying, the lingering effects of the previous night still within his system.
“Don’t worry,” Marcus pulled into the school parking lot, “I didn’t fuck Ravyn, you be some personal shit with your bitches. I know you was faded off that good shit but I’m telling you bro, we could’ve run through all these bitches! Especially if my hating ass girl wasn’t there.”
“Ain’t nothing good about that shit,” Kam muttered as he opened the car door before turning around to dap Marcus up, who seemed to be as chipper as ever despite the ten-hour shift in front of him.
"You just got to get used to it,” Marcus sparked his cigarette, his third of the morning, “If Johnny hits you up today to hang, ignore the nigga, aight?”
“What?” Kam asked in a confusing tone but soon lost interest, “Yeah, whatever.”
He closed the door and hustled – as best as he could – towards the athletic building which of course had to be all the way across the school campus. He had hoped to run into another player that had also been running late but given the fact that an hour had passed since they were expected to arrive, they were futile dreams as he pushed open one of the double-doors that led into the weight room to find the first lifting group getting ready to hit the track.
“They gonna fry you up,” muttered one of the players as Kam got looks from the rest of the group, mostly puzzled by his presence while others were amused by his tardiness.
“I don’t even know why you showed up,” said one of the coaches as he erased the workout that was on the board and was in the process of replacing it with another.
“I’m sorry, coach. I overslept,” Kam managed to get out, “Won’t happen again, sir.”
“Talk to the big man,” he replied flatly, not bothering to turn around and look at Kam.
Before Kam could go find him, he had found Kam.
“Go the fuck home,” Coach Sutton scoffed, “You’ve got to be fucking shitting me.”
“I can make it up coach,” Kam pleaded, even though he was in no condition to go through a leisure walk, let alone a rigorous workout.
“I got no need for you,” Coach Sutton didn’t break his stride as he continued walking towards his office, “I don’t want you, I don’t need you, I don’t like you. Get the fuck out of my building.”
…
“Put your mouthpiece in or don’t, it doesn’t really fucking matter to me.”
Kam was still half-asleep as he was trying to put together exactly what he had found himself in.
“I’ll be damned if my son is going to be spending the night god-knows-fucking-where!”
It had only been a couple minutes since he had been woken out of bed by his screaming father, told to get in the car and driven to the boxing gym. As he entered the gym, he had resigned himself to enduring what he figured would be a grueling hour or so on the bike and maybe even a jog back home under the midnight moon.
Instead, his dad had fitted him with headgear, wraps, boxing gloves and was now waiting on him to insert his mouthpiece.
“I already told you,” Kam groaned, “I just fell asleep at a friend’s house.”
“I don’t give a fuck,” Kwame spat out through his mouthpiece, landing a stiff jab on Kam’s sternum.
Kam took a few steps back, still an unwilling participant in this endeavor.
“I’m not doing th…”
Before Kam could finish his sentence, a looping right hand caught Kam right on the forehead, sending him to the canvas. He quickly popped back up, fumbling his mouthpiece in his right hand before guiding it inside of his mouth and biting down.
…
Kam threw everything he had into what would have been a thunderous right hand, only for Kwame to slip it and come up underneath with a shattering uppercut which shifted Kam’s headgear. He tried to adjust it, but Kwame did not let up, continuing to pressure him into the ropes before unleashing heavy shots to the body.
“Don’t tap out now, bitch. Come on with it,” Kwame took a few steps back, eventually turning his back to Kam, “Here lies the big bad motherfucker that thinks he can do whatever the fuck he wants, whenever the fuck he wants.”
“Fuck you,” Kam spat out his mouthpiece.
“We ain’t done,” Kwame caught his breath as the youngster had started to find his groove, “Ain’t no huddling in boxing, little boy. This ain’t that football shit.”
Between the drugs still coursing through his veins and the concussive blows he had endured, Kam wasn’t sure how he was still standing up and was in no mood to continue to find out.
“Fight with yourself,” Kam waved him away as he took off one of his gloves.
Kwame approached him with his guard up, as if they were still fighting but Kam remained unfazed, unstrapping the other glove.
Kwame tapped Kam gently on the forehead with a light jab, which only elicited a push from Kam, “Fuck off, man.”
“You want to be a grown ass man, right? Be a grown man, fight a grown man!”
“It’s too late for these fucking daddy lessons,” Kam held back tears, “I don’t fucking need this shit.”
“Stop feeling fucking sorry for yourself,” Kwame removed his mouthpiece, “You ain’t the only motherfucker that went through shit!”
Both men were breathing heavy and looking at each other, having earn the other’s respect with the last five minutes or so they had spent in the ring.
“I wouldn’t wish what happened to you on my worst enemy,” Kwame lowered his tone, “But everybody got their story, they got their struggles, they got their trauma. You think the people you see on the street, sleeping on benches, woke up one day like that? No, they fucked up and they kept fucking up and they kept fucking up after something bad happened to them. Something that allowed them to feel sorry for themselves, allowed them to accept their situation as just being a fucked-up situation that they can’t change. I haven’t gone through what you’ve gone through, but I’ve been fucked up, we’ve all been.”
“I just….” Kam opened his mouth, “I fucking hate everybody right now. And when I finally stop fucking hating everyone, they give me another fucking reason to. Like…fuck!”
“The anger either fuels you,” Kwame held Kam’s head in between his gloves, “Or it fucking drowns you, man. I’ve seen it happen; you have to fucking control that shit.”
“Where the fuck were you, man?” Kam mumbled in between tears, feeling a connection with his father he had never felt before with Cory, despite his best efforts to be more than just a stepfather, even formally adopting Kam and giving him his last name.
“I was trying to figure out my life,” Kwame explained, “Your mom…she was a fucking rockstar, man. She was going to go fucking places further than I could ever imagine and I already felt guilty for bringing her down and fucking up her college shit when she got pregnant and…I didn’t want to fucking fuck up your life when I saw how great of a man Cory was. I mean, shit, I’d want to be like that guy, I’d want him to be my pops.”
“You’re still my dad,” Kam wiped his nose with the collar of his shirt, “You were like the coolest nig…guy ever to me when I was a kid.”
“I didn’t want to lose that shit,” they took a seat on the canvas next to each other, the midnight moon peering through the opened door, “I was already a washed-up bum to the rest of the world by that point, last thing I needed was my son seeing me that way. And then when I had Katy, me and her mother were going through it so that was a whole another thing that I didn’t want to bring you into and see me that way. Listen, it ain’t no motherfucking excuse and I should have been there more.”
“I understand, I don’t blame you for it anymore. I’m just going through my own shit right now.”
“I love you boy,” Kwame kissed his son on the top of the head.
“Love you too,” Kam cracked a smile, “You hit like a bitch though.”
“Get your ass up then,” Kwame laughed, “You ain’t think I heard you groaning and moaning with those body shots?”
“It’s the middle of the night,” Kam scoffed, “Get some water in me, some sleep and I’m whooping that ass, believe that."
"Getting put to sleep more like it," they continued to laugh the night away.
Kam couldn’t care less as he closed the car door, taking a moment to settle himself as the scrambling he had done inside of the apartment to get his stuff had left him feeling a bit wobbly.
“She always says she’s down to bring other bitches in,” Marcus continued as he peeled out of the parking lot, “But soon as its an actual pussy in front of her, she wants to act fake drunk or say she too tired.”
Kam continued to ignore Marcus as he focused on not dying, the lingering effects of the previous night still within his system.
“Don’t worry,” Marcus pulled into the school parking lot, “I didn’t fuck Ravyn, you be some personal shit with your bitches. I know you was faded off that good shit but I’m telling you bro, we could’ve run through all these bitches! Especially if my hating ass girl wasn’t there.”
“Ain’t nothing good about that shit,” Kam muttered as he opened the car door before turning around to dap Marcus up, who seemed to be as chipper as ever despite the ten-hour shift in front of him.
"You just got to get used to it,” Marcus sparked his cigarette, his third of the morning, “If Johnny hits you up today to hang, ignore the nigga, aight?”
“What?” Kam asked in a confusing tone but soon lost interest, “Yeah, whatever.”
He closed the door and hustled – as best as he could – towards the athletic building which of course had to be all the way across the school campus. He had hoped to run into another player that had also been running late but given the fact that an hour had passed since they were expected to arrive, they were futile dreams as he pushed open one of the double-doors that led into the weight room to find the first lifting group getting ready to hit the track.
“They gonna fry you up,” muttered one of the players as Kam got looks from the rest of the group, mostly puzzled by his presence while others were amused by his tardiness.
“I don’t even know why you showed up,” said one of the coaches as he erased the workout that was on the board and was in the process of replacing it with another.
“I’m sorry, coach. I overslept,” Kam managed to get out, “Won’t happen again, sir.”
“Talk to the big man,” he replied flatly, not bothering to turn around and look at Kam.
Before Kam could go find him, he had found Kam.
“Go the fuck home,” Coach Sutton scoffed, “You’ve got to be fucking shitting me.”
“I can make it up coach,” Kam pleaded, even though he was in no condition to go through a leisure walk, let alone a rigorous workout.
“I got no need for you,” Coach Sutton didn’t break his stride as he continued walking towards his office, “I don’t want you, I don’t need you, I don’t like you. Get the fuck out of my building.”
…
“Put your mouthpiece in or don’t, it doesn’t really fucking matter to me.”
Kam was still half-asleep as he was trying to put together exactly what he had found himself in.
“I’ll be damned if my son is going to be spending the night god-knows-fucking-where!”
It had only been a couple minutes since he had been woken out of bed by his screaming father, told to get in the car and driven to the boxing gym. As he entered the gym, he had resigned himself to enduring what he figured would be a grueling hour or so on the bike and maybe even a jog back home under the midnight moon.
Instead, his dad had fitted him with headgear, wraps, boxing gloves and was now waiting on him to insert his mouthpiece.
“I already told you,” Kam groaned, “I just fell asleep at a friend’s house.”
“I don’t give a fuck,” Kwame spat out through his mouthpiece, landing a stiff jab on Kam’s sternum.
Kam took a few steps back, still an unwilling participant in this endeavor.
“I’m not doing th…”
Before Kam could finish his sentence, a looping right hand caught Kam right on the forehead, sending him to the canvas. He quickly popped back up, fumbling his mouthpiece in his right hand before guiding it inside of his mouth and biting down.
…
Kam threw everything he had into what would have been a thunderous right hand, only for Kwame to slip it and come up underneath with a shattering uppercut which shifted Kam’s headgear. He tried to adjust it, but Kwame did not let up, continuing to pressure him into the ropes before unleashing heavy shots to the body.
“Don’t tap out now, bitch. Come on with it,” Kwame took a few steps back, eventually turning his back to Kam, “Here lies the big bad motherfucker that thinks he can do whatever the fuck he wants, whenever the fuck he wants.”
“Fuck you,” Kam spat out his mouthpiece.
“We ain’t done,” Kwame caught his breath as the youngster had started to find his groove, “Ain’t no huddling in boxing, little boy. This ain’t that football shit.”
Between the drugs still coursing through his veins and the concussive blows he had endured, Kam wasn’t sure how he was still standing up and was in no mood to continue to find out.
“Fight with yourself,” Kam waved him away as he took off one of his gloves.
Kwame approached him with his guard up, as if they were still fighting but Kam remained unfazed, unstrapping the other glove.
Kwame tapped Kam gently on the forehead with a light jab, which only elicited a push from Kam, “Fuck off, man.”
“You want to be a grown ass man, right? Be a grown man, fight a grown man!”
“It’s too late for these fucking daddy lessons,” Kam held back tears, “I don’t fucking need this shit.”
“Stop feeling fucking sorry for yourself,” Kwame removed his mouthpiece, “You ain’t the only motherfucker that went through shit!”
Both men were breathing heavy and looking at each other, having earn the other’s respect with the last five minutes or so they had spent in the ring.
“I wouldn’t wish what happened to you on my worst enemy,” Kwame lowered his tone, “But everybody got their story, they got their struggles, they got their trauma. You think the people you see on the street, sleeping on benches, woke up one day like that? No, they fucked up and they kept fucking up and they kept fucking up after something bad happened to them. Something that allowed them to feel sorry for themselves, allowed them to accept their situation as just being a fucked-up situation that they can’t change. I haven’t gone through what you’ve gone through, but I’ve been fucked up, we’ve all been.”
“I just….” Kam opened his mouth, “I fucking hate everybody right now. And when I finally stop fucking hating everyone, they give me another fucking reason to. Like…fuck!”
“The anger either fuels you,” Kwame held Kam’s head in between his gloves, “Or it fucking drowns you, man. I’ve seen it happen; you have to fucking control that shit.”
“Where the fuck were you, man?” Kam mumbled in between tears, feeling a connection with his father he had never felt before with Cory, despite his best efforts to be more than just a stepfather, even formally adopting Kam and giving him his last name.
“I was trying to figure out my life,” Kwame explained, “Your mom…she was a fucking rockstar, man. She was going to go fucking places further than I could ever imagine and I already felt guilty for bringing her down and fucking up her college shit when she got pregnant and…I didn’t want to fucking fuck up your life when I saw how great of a man Cory was. I mean, shit, I’d want to be like that guy, I’d want him to be my pops.”
“You’re still my dad,” Kam wiped his nose with the collar of his shirt, “You were like the coolest nig…guy ever to me when I was a kid.”
“I didn’t want to lose that shit,” they took a seat on the canvas next to each other, the midnight moon peering through the opened door, “I was already a washed-up bum to the rest of the world by that point, last thing I needed was my son seeing me that way. And then when I had Katy, me and her mother were going through it so that was a whole another thing that I didn’t want to bring you into and see me that way. Listen, it ain’t no motherfucking excuse and I should have been there more.”
“I understand, I don’t blame you for it anymore. I’m just going through my own shit right now.”
“I love you boy,” Kwame kissed his son on the top of the head.
“Love you too,” Kam cracked a smile, “You hit like a bitch though.”
“Get your ass up then,” Kwame laughed, “You ain’t think I heard you groaning and moaning with those body shots?”
“It’s the middle of the night,” Kam scoffed, “Get some water in me, some sleep and I’m whooping that ass, believe that."
"Getting put to sleep more like it," they continued to laugh the night away.
-
Captain Canada
- Posts: 4997
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
Putting boxing gloves on your son and whooping his ass is crazy 