Portray

🎱 Mildly🏃🏾Fortunate

Four Years Earlier . . .

On a warm June night, dice rolled across the driveway of a vacant home on the block of Greenlawn and Thatcher. The two cubes skip and tumble, then stop with one revealing two dots and the other with four dots.

"Fuck!" Tray exclaimed after a bad roll, tension belt up in him to the point of tightly gripping his knee—having lost fifteen bucks in the last half hour.

He took a swig of his brandy cognac that swirled inside a red solo cup. Tonight, he played craps with his boy Tuck and two other teens from his school. It was a quarter to nine at night, the few light poles in the neighborhood flicked on. With the large number of vacant homes on the street, the neighborhood remained dimly lit. Even with the flashlight from an Android phone, light barely made it through the circle formed by the four boys. Each of them anxiously watched as the dice flew from the next person's hand. Tray held his last few bucks in one hand, sipping his cheap liquor from the other. He was in a disgruntled mood from having nothing worth putting in.

His face grimaced as the liquor made its way down his esophagus. His throat felt like he'd swallowed acid the way it stung.  He then popped the top off his water bottle and swigged it. One of the other boys, Darrell took notice of his weak stomach.

"Ha! Nihga barely hold'n his liquor!" he mocked.

"bum ass look like the mafucka ya mama warn you not to give money to!"

This gets all of them to explode in a parade of laughter.

"Cause like T-dawg," a boy named Eric chimed in "they gone spend it on bullshit liquor."

Realizing the accurate comparison, amplified them to lap-slapping laughter. Tray remained unfazed by the mockery of him. He even joined in on the laugh himself. Though he didn't care much for Eric, he had to admit that the pepperoni faced boy could clown. He was straight funny. He was notorious for cap'n on nearly any given person. It didn't matter if it was the lunch lady or the popular jock athlete. He'd pick at every clear insecurity and flaw an individual had.

"Woah... hold up," Tuck jumped in, looking dead in Darrell's direction.

"you coming for my boy, while you look'n like a cracked-out Bernie Mac from Above the Rim!" he said, referring to Darrell's extreme dark complexion and bright pink lips. 

"You don't want none of this," Tray joked "don't want none of this, whew!" he did his comical impression of the comedy legend.

Right in that moment, Tuck shot the dice and the cubes landed on seven.

"Fuck yeah!"  he exclaimed, snatching up his cash. His eyes wide opened from the adrenaline and excitement provided by the crap game.

Darrell and his boy looked at each other, both clearly disappointed.

"Foo' got mad lucky." Eric complained, lighting the blunt.

The blunt was passed among them while music played from a phone. Their heads bobbed rhythmically to the beat. The vibe was in motion.

"Tryna win yo' scraps back?" Tuck taunted Darrell, counting the money he won.

"double or nothing?" he dared.

Darrell thought to himself, hesitating to take up the bet.

"So you putting down fifty?" he asked, doubt filling his throat. 

Tuck nodded his head, "High or low bet?"

"Uh. . low."

"On you baby boy." Tuck replied, seeing right through his facade.