Mayor Vivica Banks.
I turned the volume up on my phone app that controlled the bar’s TVs from my booth. One of the perks of knowing the owner.
“…and that’s why I’m committed to reducing crime in our city,” Vivica was saying, her voice smooth and practiced. “Too many of our young people are falling through the cracks. Too many mothers are losing their sons to violence and incarceration. As your mayor, I promise to…”
I muted it. Couldn’t stomach another word.
Fake-ass bitch.
She stood up there talking about saving young people from violence and incarceration like she gave a fuck. Like she hadn’t been the one to make sure her own son got tried as an adult. Like she hadn’t used my case as a stepping stone in her political career, proving to the city that she was “tough on crime” even when it was her own flesh and blood.
Especiallywhen it was her own flesh and blood.
My father had been dead for eleven years when I caught my first body. I ain’t remember him, but Vivica remembered him because she saw his face whenever she looked at mine, and she hated it. Vivica and my father had a tumultuous relationship when I was conceived. He was always cheating, which caused her to be bitter, which is why she threw herself into her political career, neglecting me so that my grandmother had to watch over me.
When I was in middle school, I never fit in. This ain’t some sob story. Some niggas are born tough, some are made. I was a fat kid who stuttered and really liked music. My lil-fat ass wanted to be a singer when I was a kid. Ridiculous. But back then, singing was the only time I didn’t stutter. And my grandmother encouraged it. She bought me a keyboard and a guitar. But Vivica thought she was making soft.
If I ever came home with a bruise or a busted lip from being bullied, she would hit me in the exact same place, to teach me a lesson. She was ruthless in her attempts to toughen me up. Quest and Justice tried to stop her, but she couldn’t be tamed. My grandmother tried to come to my defense, but Vivica hated me. Hated that I looked like my father and hated that I fell short in actually being like him. My pops was a ruthless and violent businessman, and I was nothing like him. Not then.
Little did Vivica know, I was a late bloomer
I’ll never forget the day I finally proved that evil bitch wrong.
It was a Tuesday in March.Cold as hell, but not cold enough to keep us inside during recess. I’d been taking beatings from Tre Johnson and his crew for months. Every day, something new. Tripping me in the hallway. Knocking my lunch tray out my hands. Shoving me into lockers. Calling me “Retard” and “Prime Rib” and “Pussy Banks.”
The Monday before had been particularly bad. They cornered me after school, just off school property where the cameras couldn’t see. Three on one. Tre, Derrick, and Keyshawn.
“Y-yo, leave me alone,” I managed, my voice catching on every word like it always did.
“Aw, he scared,” Tre had laughed. “Look at him shaking. Fat-ass pussy.”
Then they jumped me. Fists and feet coming from everywhere. I curled up on the ground, trying to protect my face, my ribs, but they’d gotten me good. Black eye. Busted lip. Bruised ribs. Scraped knees.
I limped home, hoping maybe Vivica would be at some political function. No such luck.
She taken one look at me standing in the doorway, face swollen, shirt torn, blood on my collar and her expression had gone from surprise to disgust so fast it made my stomach drop.
“Again?” Her voice was ice. “Again, Prentice?”
“Th-they jumped m-me?—”
Her hand came out of nowhere. Open palm, right across my already-swollen cheek. The impact made my vision white out for a second, pain exploding through my skull.
I stumbled back, hand flying to my face, tears springing to my eyes before I could stop them.
“Stop crying!” She’d grabbed my face, her manicured nails digging into my skin. “You let them do this to you? You let those boys beat you like you’re nothing?”
“I c-couldn’t?—”
Another slap. Same side. The pain was blinding.
“You’re pathetic. Nothing like your father. All that Banks blood in you and you can’t even defend yourself.” She shoved me away from her, disgust dripping from every word. “If you let someone beat your ass, I’ll beat your ass twice as hard. Maybe then you’ll learn.”
She’d walked away, leaving me there in the foyer, face throbbing, ribs aching, heart breaking.
Quest found me there twenty minutes later. He helped me upstairs, gotten me ice, told me Vivica was just stressed from the campaign. That she didn’t mean it.
But I knew better. She meant every word.
