Tale of the Murda Mamas

(Miamor)

I woke up early the next day and maneuvered silently throughout the apartment. I didn’t want to wake Anisa or the new tagalong bitches we had picked up the night before. I didn’t know Robyn, Aries, and Beatrice, but I was grateful that they were there. Things could have gone real bad for us last night, I thought as I shuddered at the thought of how close I had come to death. If it had not been for them, Anisa and I would have both been taking dirt naps, despite that fact I still did not trust them. Respect them, yes… trust them, hell no!

I thought that my heart would be full of dread, but strangely, my conscience wasn’t phased by what I had done the night before. It was like the higher my body count rose, the less it affected me. I was choosing to become a killer. I had made the decision to pick up where Murder left off, all in the pursuit of the American dream, and there was no turning back. It’s just business, I told myself as I made my way to my car.

My black skinny jeans looked as if they were painted on, and the white Marc Jacobs blouse revealed my cleavage and jewels. The white peep-toe Prada heels I wore completed my outfit as I climbed into my car and peeled out of the parking lot. I didn’t tell anyone where I was going, not even Anisa. I knew she’d hit the roof if I told her I was going to see Murder, but I had to check on him. Plus, I thought he deserved a cut of the money we’d made last night. I promised myself that I would keep money on his commissary and put the rest of his cut aside until he got out.

I couldn’t understand how it was so easy for Anisa to move on and just forget about all that Murder had done for her, because in the short year that I had known him, he would always be a part of me. I had feelings for him. If it wasn’t for him, I would have been locked up. Instead, he took the heat, and I felt fucked up because I was just getting around to visiting him. My bone-straight wrap and Chinese bangs ruffled as the wind whipped through my hair. I hoped I wasn’t making the trip for nothing. I didn’t even know if I was listed on his visitor’s log, but it was a chance I was willing to take.

I hit a department store first and picked up items that I thought Murder might need; a small care package that could hold him over for a while. Then taking the BQE toward Queens, I exited at Astoria Boulevard, then followed the city blocks until I hit Hazen Street. When I arrived at Riker’s parking lot, I stepped out of the car with the box of personal items in my hands as I made my way to the bus that was traveling over the bridge to the facility.

As soon as I stepped foot on the bus, I knew it was going to be a miserable trip. There were babies crying, ghetto baby mamas arguing and talking cash shit, and tired wives who had done this routine time and time again. I shook my head, knowing that I could never be one of the chicks waiting on the outside. I had done years of lockup on my own as a child. I wasn’t trying to do five more waiting on Murder or anybody else. It was then that I knew that I could not ride out Murder’s sentence with him. When a loved one is locked up, that time affects the inmate and everyone around him.

As I looked at an older woman with a wedding band on her finger, I couldn’t help but ask, “Are you here to see your husband?”

My question caught her off guard, but she shook her head and answered, “No, baby. I’m here for that knuckle head son of mine. He grew up watching me make this same trip to come and see his father, and now he’s landed himself in the same predicament… behind the white man’s walls. Like father like son, I guess.”

The sadness in her eyes scared me, and I fidgeted uncomfortably in my seat as I noticed the lifelessness in the woman. She had no hope, no light in her eye. That’ll never be me, I thought as uneasiness filled my stomach. As much as I cared for Murder, I knew that after today I would not come back. The best I can do is letters and make sure his money is right, I thought. I knew it was selfish, but it was real. The truth of the matter was, Murder was not my man, even though somewhere deep inside I wished that he had been.

After practically being molested by the guards and storing my personal items in a locker, I was finally escorted into a waiting room. I sat at the small table, growing more nervous as each minute ticked by. My manicured hand tapped impatiently, as butterflies filled my stomach. I was in the middle of a prison, but I felt as if I was going on a blind date. I rubbed my sweaty hands on my jeans, and then finally Murder came waltzing into view. His swagger was still so on point. Even in the jail hookup he had on he possessed an aura of respect. I smiled as he came near me.

“Hey, Murder!” I greeted as I stood to hug him.

He held me extra tight and extra close.

“My lil’ mama!” he whispered, “Thanks for coming.”

“I’m sorry it took me so long. It’s been rough. I had to let things die down, you know?”

Murder nodded his head, then motioned for me to take a seat. “I know,” he answered. “Where’s your sister?” His eyebrows dipped low when he mentioned Anisa, as if he already knew the answer to his own question.

“Um, she couldn’t make it, Murder. She told me to tell you-” I was about to make up an excuse on her behalf, but Murder waved his hand in dismissal.

“Don’t do that, ma. You’ve never lied to me before. Don’t start now because of your sister. I know Anisa. A nigga can’t keep her when he’s down; only when he at the top. I don’t want to talk about her,” he said with a hint of sadness in his voice. He touched my chin, making me smile. “You’re here. Let’s talk about that. Why did you come?”

His question had me stuck. Why did I come? I asked myself. I looked him directly in the eyes. The chemistry between our gaze was magnetic. “I owe you,” I said.

“That’s it?” he countered with a boyish charm.

“I was worried about you.”

“Uh-huh,” he responded. “You sure that’s it?”

I hesitated before I continued, but knew that I wasn’t being honest with myself. “I care about you, Murder.”

“It’s a little bit deeper than that, lil’ mama, but I’ll play by your rules. I care about you too, ma. Always have… always will,” he said as he grabbed my hand.

My heart was beating out of my chest. “I’m sorry. I feel like it’s my fault you’re in here.”

“This ain’t on you. These walls ain’t shit to me. In five years, I’ma walk out the same mu’fucka,” he said as he kissed the inside of my wrist.

Seeing him in good spirits felt good. The interaction between us felt so natural… so right. He was my nigga, first and foremost. Murder and I were friends, but the fact that my attraction to him was growing by the second had me thinking about waiting for him; had me wanting to be there for him for those long five years.

“Murder, Anisa will never understand this. She’s my sister, and I can’t pick you over her, no matter how much I’m feeling you,” I told him.

He nodded his head in understanding. “I know, Miamor. I would never ask you to. I know the type of woman you are. You’re loyal, and that’s one of the reasons why I feel the way I do about you. Like I told you before, it’s not meant to be for us, but it don’t stop me from wanting you. In five years, I’ma look you up, believe that, ma. You’re my lil’ mama always. Life moves on, and I would never ask you to wait or to hurt your sister. I’ma come check for you when I’m free though.”

I smiled and pulled my hand away from Murder’s. “I have one more thing to tell you,” I said. He was silent as he waited for me to continue. “I answered your phone,” I said. My words hit him like a ton of bricks, and his face collapsed into a mixture of sorrow and anger. “I’m on that now. Every time, I’ll have your paper put aside for you and I’ll keep your books on full in here. When you get out, you’ll have money waiting on you.”

Murder put his face in his hands and shook his head from side to side. “I didn’t want that for you, Miamor. That’s not for you. You deserve better than that.”

I stood to my feet and wiped the tears from my eyes. “I don’t think a better life is in the cards for me,” I whispered.

Murder stood and pulled me close, putting his hands in my back jean pockets as we hugged. He pulled a picture out of my pocket. “What’s this?” he asked.

I had meant to give it to him when I first arrived. It was a picture of us together on my birthday, holding up bottles of champagne.

He pulled me near him one more time and whispered in my ear. “Be careful. Never think twice about pulling a