Entangled affairs

I sat at my front porch watching her closely, shyly with my side-eye as she walked towards her house carrying some groceries. She probably went to get them from the grocery store or picked them up from a friend's or got them by any other means as she did not leave the house with anything but her beautiful face and long dark twisted hair. She was our new neighbor. She and her family comprising of just her father and her 12 year old brother had moved into the neighborhood, few feet away from our house 4 days ago.

I caught a glimpse of her on the first day they moved in on my way back from school and since then she wouldn't leave my mind. Love at first sight, perhaps.

I ran into my house soon as she had walked into hers and glued my eyes to the kitchen window in an attempt to see through her own kitchen window so I could continue looking at her charming self. "yes" I whispered to myself as she walked into their kitchen to put down the groceries and tidy up a bit. I stood there glaring at my window, looking through hers and would duck and hide in fear that she would see me whenever she turned to look at her window. I would raise my head again when I felt like she had turned her eyes and attention back to what she was doing. This went on for a while until she finally drew the window curtains and I could see her no more. Perhaps she felt too strongly that she was being spied on, a feeling that was all too true. Sometimes I would wish I could see into her bedroom window or her bathroom's and not just her kitchen's. I was also at a lust for her.

Her name was Ciara. Although she didn't tell me her name and I never had the courage to ask, I had intentionally-unintentionally heard her father and brother call her that as I always tried to side-listen to their conversations and hear as much I could. She would be turning seventeen soon. This I also heard from one of the careless conversations between her and her father. I was already seventeen.

One day, while walking past her house, I came across her dad driving into the driveway of their house. Soon as he pulled the car to a stop, the passenger front seat door burst open and Ciara stormed out of the car and matched directly into the house. She had got in before the other doors of the car opened and her father and brother came out the car. I started to try to fathom what she was so upset about. Where were they coming from, what had happened there, who or what had dared made my princess that mad? As her father walked towards the door of the house, he let out the words “Ciara! You’re overacting about this” while entering the house. This fed my curiosity and made me more eager to know what had transpired. I felt like approaching her brother who was still outside trying to get some things out of the car to ask what had happened. The urge and curiosity grew but I quickly had to remind myself that I had in my stuff in my backpack to deliver to some people so off I went.

I was involved in hood gang activities and would get and deliver drugs or the other illegal substances for money. I have been doing this for as long as I can remember. Part of the reason why I indulged in this was peer pressure and a lifestyle. I was introduced to by some friends who were also gang members of a young age. I thought they were also gang members of a young age. I thought they were very cool and wanted to join them in the way they dressed, slangs they used and how they acted. I lived with just my mom all my life and never even knew who my father was. Another part of the reason was because I saw it as an avenue to make more money and support my mom who only survived us on her income as a waitress in a restaurant. The money was never enough and I was taught by life to be a man at an early age since I never had a father figure to show me how. Of course my mom didn't know what I did to bring in some money to her surprise at intervals. I would always tell her I did some side jobs after school on weekends to get some extra cash for us whenever she would ask.

One day, a boy who was about my age and was in a gang in the neighborhood got shot and died on the spot. That evening, my mom called me to the sitting room where she sat and offered me a seat right across hers.

"Jermaine, you heard what happened to Phillip today?" she asked, Phillip was the boy who got shot.

"Yes Ma’m, everyone has" I replied.

"He got shot this afternoon by some thugs" she said like I hadn't just told her I knew what happened.

"I know mom, probably some guys from a rival gang" I said.

"Look Jermaine, now I know what kind of hood we live in and what you teens are exposed to but I don't want you indulging in none of that, you hear?"

"You are all I have got" she continued. "And the last thing I would ever want is to receive a call at work or come home to hear that my boy has been shot because of some gang related activities. It's not worth it son. I would rather die than look at your lifeless body. I am proud of you and all that you are and I appreciate the little you do to help around the house financially. You grew up to be a man so fast and I am proud and for what you've become, every day I bless God for you."

These words formed a river inside of my chest in which my heart was sinking in. I felt so many emotions running through me as she said these words. I could barely look at her eyes while she starred directly at mine. I wish I could just tell her I'm already involved in the business and promise her that I would be careful, but no I just could not. How could I tell her that I am already involved in some shady practices and that was what assisted us financially? It would shatter her heart and fill her with disappointment. The talk ended with me saying very little, I did more of listening. She then said I could go back to my room now. I laid on my bed and thought about all she had said that night, conflicting myself till I slept off.

For the next week or so, the talk my mother had with me would sit side by side with my conscience and would trouble me. It wasn't the thought that one of the boys had been shot and that one day that could be my fate that bothered me, no, it wasn't the first time a young nigga got shot on the block, it was thought that I was doing something wrong and disheartening to my mother, something she would never approve of and would be beyond disappointed if she found out. The thought of quitting like it was that easy crossed my mind but I would counter it with the thought that I have already been in this too long and far for me to just quit and even my mom found out, hopefully she doesn't she would understand. This made me a bit reluctant and unconcerned about the activities of the "not so social' society I belonged and about the normal jobs I would carry out after school or at the night time. I would even decline making deliveries on the account that I wasn't feeling well or my mum needed me urgently. I would reluctantly drag my feet to after-school gang meetings or wouldn't go at all. I was constantly conflicted. This feeling and behavior lasted for about a week then I stared behaving normally again and carrying out gang activities. The conflict I felt within myself had been resolved, ignored or suppressed my guilt. What I know is that I didn't feel as conflicted anymore and the will to quit disappeared.