That Lonely Black Boi

[12] Side Hustles

|Imran Adebayo Ibrahim|

"Let me go."

In Zayd's car, I said to him, kicking at the car's dashboard like a possessed entity.

"Let me go!" I repeated again as he drove to the driveway, he did a great job in ignoring me. I know I should be thankful that he came for me, but I couldn't give him the pleasure of being a great big brother - it makes me feel bad - he was different from the person who adviced me to change my wallpaper from the picture of the Kahaba to something else. As he pulled over, my heart rejoiced, I had been feeling the urge to throw up.

Like a log, he carried me up and threw me on his shoulder; my stomach pressing against his broad shoulders, causing a groan to fly out of my stoned lips. "Let me go!" I yelled again as he locked the car. I slapped his back with greater might as he carried me to the front door. I could hear Mr. Axel's dog barking, just like the German shepherd always did whenever I was minding my business and watching anime.

Zayd Raymond was an hesitant and dedicated person. If only he devoted half as much dedication to his future as he did to our journey, he would likely find success at his age. Despite my attempts to resist, he remained unaffected, effortlessly overcoming my defenses. As we travelled from the abandoned complex to the house, his careful steps made my stomach churn with hunger, causing me to fear for my organs, especially my innocent lungs.

Throughout the journey, I kept my eyes shut, only to find myself abruptly tossed onto my less comfortable bed, resulting in a painful collision with the frame. "Ouch. Omoale!" I exclaimed in Yoruba, expressing both pain and frustration.

"I'll look that up later," he replied casually as he exited the room, momentarily leaving me feeling abandoned until he returned with a silver bucket and an apple cider. Placing them beside the bed, he explained, "You'll need these to feel better."

"I don't need them," I seethed, questioning his sudden concern. "Why the pity party?" I added, managing to sit up.

Ignoring my inquiry, he cautioned against eating a chocolate bar I reached for, insisting it would only worsen the situation. "Why do you care, I can eat what I want, you're not my father!" I said to him, picking another bar.

"You don't get it, do you?" Zayd remarked, perched on my bed, looking at me with vexation. "Ma won't be pleased if she finds out you skipped school, and worse, Pa will be deeply disappointed in me, blaming me for your actions, saying you've learned it from me, that I'm a bad influence," he explained, seeming at ease for a moment.

Amidst his explanations, all I could focus on was the thought that Mum - my mum - was mine, solely mine. "My mum is not your mother and never will be. You can stop pretending and calling her mum - please, we both know you don't want her around. Just know that she is not, and never will be, your mother," I yelled, mostly in anguish. I didn't intend to be overly possessive of my mother, but the idea of him taking her after his dad had taken her from me was infuriating. I couldn't bear to lose her as I had lost my dad.

"So, that's the only thing you heard?" he asked, his surprise evident. "You've got nothing but garbage for brains, kiddo. You can do whatever you want with your life, you little piece of shit-" he yelled, clenching his first, "-drown in your own vomit for all I care, so ungrateful," he spat out as he left my room, pausing at the doorway before turning. "Nigerians are so arrogant," he declared, walking away this time.

"How dare you! You're just as despicable! American trash! If we're proud, then you're the embodiment of evil, godless creatures!" I cried out in agony, saying the first word that I could remember from an English series. I didn't curse him in response to the insults he hurled at me, but rather in reaction to the mistake I had made. All those insults were directed at me. What was I thinking, skipping school and doing drugs? America had surely changed me.