From The Bottom

Chapter 1 : Back In The Day

{Before the fame,  I can really say I wasn't worth anything.  I grew up In New Orleans, going to church with my mom and grandma , my dad wasn't ever around. I was one of those kids with their father's name, but I wasn't proud of it at all. As a 7 year old boy,  scrawny and short, my mom had to always talk me into being courageous. Obviously,  I didn't have it in me. I was a loser,  but never bullied. I wish a nigga would, I promise I'd fuck somebody up. I was filled with anger, especially for my mom because she was always struggling to keep food on the table. I was young, but real smart. I was few of the ghetto kids to really want to learn something. My friends all fell into watching the violent movies and drug dealings going on right on our own block. I tried hard not to fall into their category,  listening to my mom tell me that I am special and I have a point to prove, That I have to show others that kids in the ghetto can grow up big if we try to be somebody. I went to Fisher elementary, but moved towards the east side when my mom lost her job as a maid in a nearby hotel. My grandma was getting ill, but never let that get in the way of going to church and thanking God for another day. She always taught me to stay strong and if she ever left the earth, to continue her word and promise to be all I can be. At 7 , I really didn't understand. When I hit 13 , my grandma was hospitalized, due to severe breast cancer. It hit me hard. I wanted everyone to suffer for what was happening to her. I started fights, bullying kids, and even worse, selling drugs. My partner, Rayan told me that it was the only way to get money. Back then, I thought it was cool,  and everyone else was doing it. We all were struggling, we all had that ambition to make money in common. At first it was just small nickle bags of weed. My hustle got larger, people started requesting bigger amounts, so Rayan put me on with his Hispanic connect. I started getting shipments of bricks of Marijuana.  I had nowhere to put it so I kept it all under my clothes in my closet. My hustle brought in nothing but money, and I spend half on flossy stuff, clothes, shoes, and kept some on the side to pay for my mom's  house and my grandma's treatments. For about 2 years, all was well. I tried not to cause much attention , but I just had to ruin shit by buying a new flashy dodge challenger. NOBODY else was riding in it, considering that my car was just manufactured, I was practically the first to have one in the US . I guess that's when all eyes were on me, and I mean all eyes... I got pulled over on the regular, but was too smart to keep my merchandise on me. I rarely smokes it neither, so when they suspected anything, I was in the clear. Being 15 wasn't normal to anybody but me and my people, knowing that we were young drug dealers. Girls weren't on my mind, even though they throw themselves on me daily. Only girls on my mind were my mom and grandma. I'd die if they knew about me selling drugs. They taught me so much better than this. One day, I was making a drop to a new customer who has been real cocky, ordering bundles of weed. I felt suspicious, but I played it of cool. Instead of giving him all the supply i just decided to hit him off with a few nickel sacks, so he can try it first. I met him in a secluded area, and when I showed him the good, he smiled and flashed me his badge. I wanted to run, to scream. What's worse than getting caught by the cops?  Nothing. I didn't run because in that moment I knew that they could hold that against me in court. I put my hands above me without being told, and let the cops search me. They looked upset that they didn't find anything big on me, but they still had enough for a case. They put me in the cop car and drove me to the Police Department. My heart sank. I had a family to support, my mom and grandma need me. My Mom never questioned me about where I got the money from, she was just grateful to have it. I stayed silent til we got there, answering any and every question they threw at me honestly. A week before this, I just got rid of all my supply from selling, and put the next on hold, just in case I wanted to get out of the game. I am sooo glad for this, cause I think this is a sign from God to do better. That's if I don't go to jail. They had me sit in a holding cell for 2 hours, then let me get my 1 phone call. Mom?  Yeaa... It's me, Kendrick. "What's going on baby? Why are you calling from a collect call? " I'm In jail, mom. I got caught- selling drugs to a cop. There was a pause. "(sighs) Kendrick, I've always had that feeling you were up to no good,  especially from the load of cash you get in a limited amount of time. I know it was for a good reason baby, but this is wrong." The cop came in and said I have two options, since it was a low amount of marijuana and I'm a minor, I can get bail for $12,000 or I have to spend a year in prison. Mom, you heard him?  I can get out with bail. I know you have that cash. Please mom. "Baby, I know you're a good boy. But I think it's best that you spend that jail time and get your head straight. You need to learn your lesson." Mom?  No!  Please.... I can't stay here!  I'm just a kid. " Baby, Kids don't sell drugs. That's a man's job, so you gotta face men punishment. I Gotta go baby, I Love You and I'll talk to you soon, okay? " I started to cry. Okay mom. I love you too. When I heard the dialtone blast in my ear, I knew that I would have to face prison. I was moved to East Precinct County Jail. There, I just kept to myself , staying in my cell, writing to my mom and grandma. A few guys tried to come at me, but I made sure to check them. Soon enough, a year rolled around and I was literally counting down the seconds until I heard those words I was trying to hear. "Kendrick La Cour? You're outta here, " I jumped up, scrambling to the front when I saw my mom standing before me. Mom!  I'm So sorry, I'll never betray you again. I'm stupid, I really just wanna do better. I was crying into her arms the whole ride home. After my homecoming, everything changed.