One Mic...

"Do we need to make some other arrangements with the police, maybe a guard?”

“A guard? Nah, Dad don’t make me laugh, my face hurts. I’m small time, that’s movie shit, stuff but thanks for the concern. I’m not important enough to run up in a hospital for and don’t wet it as soon as I’m up, I’m outta here.”

“Yeah, Donte I want to talk next steps when I get back. Your mother and I have some conditions. Rest up though and we’ll discuss.”

I didn’t want to make a fuss. I fully understood since they saved my life there would be conditions attached to any future assistance.

“Ok, Dad. I’ll be here.”

He exchanged smiles with the new nurse as she walked in. She was a gem too,

“We have to get you out of bed for a second set of x-rays, Mr. Baxter” and my face was the size of home plate.

I hoped she’d mistake my quite approach for maturity so I answered with a smile. So lost in her caramel complexion and bouncy, dark black curls I rehearsed at least seven witty one-liners under my breath to spit her way. She had curves like a drug dealers girlfriend like a character from one of my stories and in a panic I realized my journal was back at the lab. It had to be what they tossed my crib for,

“Umm, is there any way I could make a phone call before we leave?” Her smile was like cinnamon toast, “Sure, Sweetie, we won’t be ready for another five or so minutes. I’ll come back when your doctor arrives.” It made sense that Angel was after the book. I’m sure he read it before he dropped off the map. I started to write seriously in ninth grade after I read, the Catcher in the Rye but Tupac’s Soulja’s Story inspired me to write about everything on Boutin.

In a panic I must have dialed the wrong number at least four times and she let it ring like twelve times, “Hello?” She was scared, “Eb.”

Until she heard my voice, “DONTE! What the fuck, nigga! Where are you? What the fuck happened to your place, yo? The cops have been in there and everything, yo, it’s serious.”

“I know, Eb, that’s why I’m calling. Listen, I need a huge favor. I need something outta my place. I need my book, you know the marble one I’m always writing in?”

“Donte that shit has been in my place for like a week now …”

“What?”

“Yeah, remember we got fucked up? We smoked like twelve blunts that night. No wonder you don’t remember.”

“Ebony, I love you! Oh, my fucking god, you saved my life, yo. You don’t even know.”

“Whatever nigga. I do know and stop saying you love me unless you mean it. Where are you?”

“I’m in the hospital. They fucked me up lovely, whatever my place looks like, I look ten times worse.”

“Damn, yo, it’s like that? Should I be worried?”

“Well, not really because they haven’t figured out if they should be worried. I mean it’s just my journal, you know, I’m just writing stories and shit. But that’s some snitch shit to them niggas. I’m just saying it’s not like niggas be keeping journals and shit.”

She paused for a long while, “What floor are you on?”

“I don’t even know but my parents are coming back later. Maybe you can catch up with them.”

“What! And let your mother shoot me full of holes? No, thank you, D. I can get myself there.”

I was scared for Ebony and her body language confirmed my concern, “You know they came back, right?”

She quietly placed the notebook on the table “Who?”

“Basil and those friends of yours Angel and Jones. By the way that nigga, Jones had a forty in his hand at ten in the morning. Who does that shit? Anyway, I saw them coming into the building while I was waiting for the elevator, so I took the stairs and went out the back. What did you write? You know what, forget I asked. Here’s your book. You’re mad cute, Sweetheart but way too much drama right now.“ She bent low, kissed forehead, “Forget you have my number and call your Grandmother, my nigga.” and she was gone.

M