The nigga is dead?I sat there in disbelief, trying to process somebody putting him into the river. My coach pulled his phone from his pocket, scrolled through, and handed it to me. I looked at it only to see that the scouts from the league had been reaching out to him about coming to see me in the fall. Although I had been struggling all semester, between this news and having stability for my daughter, the stress was worth it. Even though I wanted to celebrate the good things, I was still puzzled about Jesaiah. The coach recommended me to seek counseling if needed, but my focus was on his auntie.
I couldn’t lie; with all the shit he had done over the years, it was probably leading up to this, but damn. I thought about Ms. Cecily again and snatched my bag up, leaving the weight room. I quicklymade my way through the yard until I got to my car. I hopped in and took off.
My phone vibrated with a call from the daycare. When I answered, there was so much commotion going on in the back that it was hard to hear.
“Hello?” I called out.
“Yes, Mr. Milton. We’re calling because we have a Faye Johnson here trying to pick up your daughter. She’s saying she’s the mother.”
“Bitch, I am the momma! Now, go get my baby!” Faye yelled in the back.
I made a quick detour, hauling ass to the daycare, trying to figure out how she knew where Breann was. It took another ten minutes before I pulled up to Faye standing in front of the building. I hopped out to go inside, but Faye met me halfway.
“Oh, so you’re a balling-ass nigga now? Got you an apartment and shit! I heard you got my daughter around some bitch.”
“Faye, you ain’t want her!” I shouted. “Fuck you here for? How do you know my fucking business?”
She tossed her hand on her hips. “Nigga, my family does go to TSU. You would know that if you got to know me, but instead, you just wanted to fuck.”
I ran my hand over my face. “Ugh! Move out of my fucking way.”
She followed me while yelling. “Yeah, I know you were trying to join a fraternity and everything. Nigga, you out here doing whatever while you got my child.”
I fucking lost it. I spun, pointing at her. “Faye, you are pathetic. Nigga, I’ve been taking care of my daughter while managing school. You got your hot ass around Cedar Oaks being a hoe instead of doing what you're supposed to, and now you want to come around on some good bullshit! Fuck you!”
Security and staff came outside to calm us down. I wasn’t trying to do this because I wasn’t trying to lose my daughter this way. Igritted my teeth as I looked down at her. “Bye, Faye. The only word I can say iscourt.”
She laughed. “I’ll be at my brother’s house until then.”
“Who is your brother?”
She smirked. “Joshua. I’ll be seeing you, nigga.”
Joshua from the line? This shit couldn’t have been happening to me. I had one year left, and I should have known things were only going to get worse. A nigga had to figure something out by the fall semester, or Faye would ruin every-fucking-thing.
Right now, I have too much riding on my progress.
XAVIER
How do we define Black Excellence? Do we choose to look at it through one lens in which excellence can only be associated with fame, accolades, and achievements? Or is it possible excellence can be rooted in you from the time you're born?
Society has a notion that one can be defined this way only when they have reached the highest altitude of success. My theory is that the greatest success comes from those who have been through trials and triumphs. I cannot speak wholly, but I can speak from truth. Growing up in a world where everyone around you experiences some form of trauma, you find ways to weed yourself out. Not only out of the mind state but the position itself. Sometimes you find yourself caught in the web, whether from friends, family, or a lover. The trauma is transferable, especially in the Black community.We tend to carry everyone’s emotions on our backs. There are some who carry the weight of everyone's trauma but somehow manage to use that not only as a way to be better, but also as some sort of superpower. The trauma is like a drug; once it’s in you, it’s hard to get rid of. Just as some drugs wear people down, some people can still function regularly. It’s the drive one needs to do better. This doesn’t mean success, but rather being stronger, better, resilient, and empowered.
I can be a testimony to how the traumas of my own and others’ lives have changed me into something I would consider Black excellence. It has strengthened me, opened my eyes, made me much more resilient, sharpened my focus, and ultimately pushed me to do better and be better. Excellence is not defined by success or achievements; it is who you are and what you're becoming. It’s your past, present, and future. It’s your drive, determination, and ability to live through your trauma. There is no space nor time that determines this. It’s what you make it.
I am Black Excellence.
Xavier Keyton.
I hit send on my paper and closed my laptop. I picked up my phone to call Jalen when a phone call came in from him. I hurriedly picked up.
“Yo, yo.” There were light sniffles. I sat up. “Yougood?”
“Ye-ye-yeah. I-I-I got in,” he stuttered.
A bright smile eased on my face. “Congratulations, bro! Fuck yeah!” I shouted.
My team stared at me like I was crazy. A tear dropped from my eye because this was a long time coming for my baby brother. Although he was starting fresh, and I was graduating next year, it was going to feel good to be around him. I finished up my call and set my phone on my laptop. I stood from the bench and made my way to the court with everyone else.
