“Nah, for real. This some Tyler Perry plot twist shit. All we missing is a long-lost sibling, a cheating husband, a secret baby, and Madea kicking in the door talkin’ ‘bout‘hellurrr!’”
I chuckled.
Adrian looked at me, sincere for once. “Look, I ain’t trying to beef with you, Bryce. I respect what you and Chesteria had… stillhave. I was just trying to get to know her better.”
I stared at him for a moment, then finally replied, “Respect. We can becordial.”
Adrian exhaled like he’d been holding his breath.
“But listen… stay in your lane,” I added with an edge of warning in my tone, “Chesteria might not be mine right now, but she stillmine.”
He tossed his hands up in surrender, laughing. “You got it, man.”
“I’ma head back inside,” I announced, pushing myself up from the chair, stretching.
Behind me, Adrian dug around in his pocket and pulled out a blunt like it was a family heirloom.
“Aight. I’ma stay behind and smoke. You wanna hit?”
My face twisted like he had offered me crack on communion Sunday. “Hell nah, nigga! I’m a pilot… awholeprofessional. You already know white folks hate to seeusin positions like that. They be shocked as hell when they hear my voice on the intercom, ‘Captain Bryce Frost will be flying you today.”
Adrian laughed.
“Real shit, I’ve had passengers cancel their flight the moment they realizeI’mthe one flying the damn plane. I had this one lady look me dead in my face and ask for another pilot like I was finna crash us for fun. So if I come back from break smelling like weed? Man, TSA, HR,andJesus gon’ be waiting for me at the damn gate… all holding hands with a drug test.”
Adrian lit the blunt, took a slow drag, and released the smoke with the kind of peace only unemployment could buy.
“Damn,” he said, shaking his head. “I’d hate a job where I couldn’t smoke. Can you at least drink? Hell, you needsomethingas a stress reliever doing that kind of work. I’d probably be on heroin if I had to—” He paused, rethinking it. “Well, notheroin-heroin, but like, the baby cousin of heroin. Just something’ to cope… a lil’ emotional support narcotic.”
“You need therapy,” I said.
He shrugged, unapologetic.
“But yeah,” I went on, “I can drink. I just have to wait eight hours before flying. But trust me, after dealing with people who clap when the plane lands like I ain’t do my damn job? Yeah. I drinkfrequently… classy though. Whiskey, not weed-dust.”
“So what made you wanna become a pilot anyway?” Adrian questioned, as he leaned back against the porch post.
“What madeyouwanna be a drug dealer?” I shot back.
Adrian thought of his answer for a whole two seconds. “The money.”
I shook my head slowly. “Exactly. The difference is, I always wanted to be a pilot; money just showed up with it. You wanted fast money; I wanted legacy.”
Adrian blinked again, like that registered in his little hustle brain.
“On some real shit,” he said after a pause, “if you would’ve told me you were a pilot, I would’ve never guessed that shit. You don’t look like one, and you damn sure don’t talk like one.”
I chuckled softly, not offended in the slightest. “Just because I grew upwantingto be a pilot, doesn’t mean that was always the path I was on. For adumbmoment in my life, I wanted to sell drugs too.”
“Word?” Adrian exclaimed, eyebrows shooting up. “You?”
“Yeah…me, nigga. I did the same shit everybody else thought was cool back then—smoking, partying, staying out all night, and moving reckless just to say I was outside,” I revealed, casual but honest. “Being a kingpin looked sweet. Fast money… no boss… everybody respecting you for doing the least.”
He chuckled. “That sounds about right. I started doing this shit when I was young… fifteen to be exact. At the time, I didn’t really understand the cost, though; I just saw the highlights. Never paid attention to how tired them niggas looked, how they never really relaxed, always watching the door, always jumping when a car slowed down too much. I just wanted the money andrespect.” He paused, then shrugged. “I got a lil’ money… and some respect too. Can’t even front. But on some real shit? This shit is exhausting. Always moving, always thinking, always one eye open. That ain’t what’s up no more.”
I nodded, letting him talk.
Adrian looked at me then. “So what made you decide, ‘Nah… this ain’t really what I wanna do?’”
