Homeless (7 page)

It's been often said that drugs were the devil. Well, if that statement rings true, then alcohol is his sister, and pills definitely a first cousin. For Lonnie, the past six months he'd been friends with good ole Kevin from down the hall proved to be a constant family reunion of the substances. Not used to being under the influence of anything stronger than a gigantic dose of sugar from his Halloween candy or a cherry-flavored Arctic Blast from 7-Eleven, Lonnie stayed lifted. Thankfully, the teen was blessed to be one of the ten percent of the population that could actually hold their liquor, be high as a kite, and still function from day to day. With Lonnie born and raised in the hood, Kevin and his other close-knit circle of fellow students found it amazing that Lonnie had never once even experimented with weed or pills. They couldn't believe he'd never so much as tasted a bottle of Boone's Farm or Wild Irish Rose. They joked with him often, that he was whiter than they and had missed out on real life growing up in the ghetto; as if they really knew.

Lonnie not only maintained his grades, in some of his classes, they even improved. It was as if the pills especially proved to be an aid to his overall creativity. Easily fulfilling all his obligations to keep his scholarship intact, the teen felt like he was living in an entirely different world than his deceased mother had raised him. Elated to be sometimes delivered from the severe headaches he was used to having and nightly dreams about his moms still being alive, Lonnie welcomed getting high.

Still harboring a deep-rooted hatred for most women he'd come in contact with, Lonnie played the game with Kevin and the other dudes when they wanted to throw wild parties. They invited females with loose morals that wanted to get buzzed and do just about anything with anyone for kicks; Lonnie's outwardly weird ass included. In most instances, he'd avoid contact with the women as much as possible; yet, this would soon prove to not be one of those instances.

* * *

“Hey, Megan, why don't you and my guy Lonnie go in the bedroom and see if any more beer's left? I mean, we need some more out here if we wanna stay feeling good.”

Megan, just like her other two friends, giggled, knowing what the real deal was. “Yeah, right, Kevin. You so damn bogus. Stop messing around so much. You know there isn't any beer in the bedroom.”

“There just could be,” Kevin, drunk and in a good mood, stood to his feet pointing to Lonnie. “Why don't you two go and look just the same. I think I may have left a case stashed underneath my bed.”

Megan wasn't the prettiest of the three, but she had by far the biggest breasts. Watching Lonnie's eyes grow twice their size while focusing on them made her feel even sluttier than normal. Always wanting to see what all the hype was about venturing on the “dark side,” Megan licked her lips and grabbed Lonnie's hand. Leading him into the room, she took charge, closing the door behind them. Using her palms, she seductively placed them on Lonnie's chest, then pushed his body backward onto the bed. Empowered, Megan untied the string on his track pants. Practically snatching them down to his knees, she exposed his manhood.

“Oh my freaking God! Lonnie, it's so big, and it's not even hard yet! I've never been with a black guy before, but my friends all said yous all had big dicks.”

Lonnie was at a loss for words. He'd messed around here and there back in the old neighborhood with a few random girls, but this female was much different. Besides the fact she was white, Megan was a grown-ass woman; one that seemed like she'd been around the block on more than one occasion. Fighting his demons, Lonnie was a nervous wreck. He'd been drinking whiskey and popping pill after pill since early noon. Sadly, no matter what tricks of the trade Megan tried, his dick wasn't in the mood to stand at full attention. He wanted it to get hard, or so he thought. However, banging Megan or getting some head just wasn't in the cards for him.

After ten minutes of being in the bedroom, Lonnie and Megan emerged. With several more people gathered in Kevin's small apartment, another one of his infamous get-high parties was in full swing. Ashamed, Lonnie ducked out without saying a word. No sooner than the door shut, he heard Megan and her friends laughing, saying he was no more than a broken dick slave. Wanting to storm back inside and slap the fire out of all three of their prejudiced mouths, he opted to just go home where he belonged in the first place.

* * *

A week had flown by since Lonnie had inconspicuously left Kevin's crib. Trying his best to avoid his friend, the mentally drained teen added Megan and her homegirls to the list of females that were no more than pieces of shit. Sneaking up the back staircase, Lonnie's luck ran out when he swung the door to his floor wide open without checking to see if the coast was clear. Unfortunately, Kevin was standing at Lonnie's door knocking.

“Hey, dude, where you been?”

“Oh, yeah, hey, Kevin. What up, doe?”

“Man, I been calling you; texting you, and down here damn near beating your door down.”

Lonnie was ashamed he couldn't sexually perform that evening with Megan and was still not in the mood to get dogged out behind the fact. “Look, guy, I just been trying to stay straight and focus on the books, ya know what I mean?”

Kevin had been drinking and popping pills before puberty and already knew the side effects that could and would occur. In reality, the same thing had happened to him on more than several occasions as well as the guys who ran in his druggie crew. Not wanting to lose a friend behind Megan and her band of pill groupie freaks, he spoke out. “Look, man, we better than that; at least I thought we were. Fuck them skanks; especially Megan. She ain't shit but a crack whore anyhow. It's always gonna be bros before hoes!” Kevin grabbed his manhood and yanked it slightly downward. “Shiiiiiddd, my hookup wouldn't wanna holler at her ugly ass neither. The bitch just got some huge-ass tits, that's all!”

Lonnie was relieved his boy had said what he had, but it still didn't make him feel any better as a man whose dick wouldn't get hard. “Yeah, dawg, I feel you, but—”

Kevin cut him off midsentence with some news that would take Megan and any other chick off Lonnie's mind. “Man, forget all that from the other night. I got a proposition for you. One that's gonna get us more pussy and ass and props from motherfuckers than you can ever imagine. That's why I been looking for you.”

Lonnie was intrigued and couldn't pretend he wasn't. Sticking his key in the door, he unlocked it and stepped inside. After Kevin entered the apartment, he informed him of what was the opportunity of a lifetime. His father's business partner was being temporary transferred overseas for the next year and wanted Kevin to housesit. After explaining that he had to pay absolutely no rent, no utilities, and the upscale neighborhood home had an inside heated pool and a high-tech game room, Lonnie was all in. After the year he'd been having, he felt like it might be like having a small vacation from the cruelness of the city.

Kevin informed Lonnie his dad's business partner had already given him the green light to have one of his college classmates stay there with him as well. So, in Kevin's mind, it was a no-brainer. He knew the rest of his buddies were knuckleheads and didn't deserve any breaks or come ups. For the most part, they, or their parents, were like him and his family; financially stable. However, Lonnie was different in his eyes. Not because he was less fortunate. And not because he was often the voice of reason when they were getting too high and needed to slow up, but the brutal honest fact, Lonnie was black. Crazy as it seemed, their other get-high counterparts were intimidated by Lonnie's mere presence. Kevin wasn't prejudiced by a long shot, but wasn't a fool either. He understood Lonnie's being there could make others not get so wild and out of hand when they were partying.

After a few more minutes of Kevin laying out the details of the arrangement, the two friends celebrated with popping a few pills and downing a few shots of rotgut cheap gin as chasers. Lonnie may have been avoiding contact with Kevin and didn't miss him, but his urges for the pills his boy always was holding was something else. He'd become almost dependent on them to stop the reoccurring dreams and nightmares of his mother's death.

It had been less than four months since Lonnie left his low-income apartment and temporarily located to the suburbs. Smart enough to keep his grades up and the small sum of thirty dollars a month paid up for his rent, Lonnie took the time he was granted right outside the city as a privilege. The house he and Kevin were chilling in was exactly everything Kevin said it would be, and more. And just like Kevin claimed when he first gave Lonnie the good news of their change of address, the parties they had grew and grew. It seemed as if they had more and more classmates, friends, bitches, hoes, and just random motherfuckers somehow finding themselves stopping by.

Growing up in the hood, Lonnie was exposed to just about a little of everything. In the ghetto, there was no-holds-barred. The gloves were off in just about every aspect of life you could imagine; good, bad, and ugly—but for the most part, bad. He'd seen no-morals heroin addicts standing on the corner in their gravity-defying lean, delusional crackheads floor surfing, searching the carpet for a small sliver of rock that wasn't even there, and young girls barely out of junior high pregnant by old men that promised them the world if they could just get some pussy.

However, this life Lonnie was caught up in living in the white world of privilege was something else altogether. He'd never experienced folk who openly lived like this with no shame. These people he was hanging with had no off buttons or pause. They felt the world owed them something; a sense of entitlement. The drinking, the drugs, the pills, and all the promiscuous sex was like it was nothing. In Kevin's world, this bullshit was apparently second nature. Yet, as much as Lonnie had grown to love popping pills and drinking, he not once had an urge to venture over to the stairway to the next level: hardcore drugs. He knew how he was living was next to foul, and his mother would be disappointed, but he reasoned with himself that she was gone and he was still here on earth to fight the good fight; even if that meant he had to pop a few Xanax or Norcos to help him wage the battle.

* * *

Late for class, Lonnie waited for the bus as he did every morning. Not blessed enough to have a car like Kevin, the now semiaddicted-to-prescription-pills teen did what he had to do when need be. If Kevin had class and was going to the city, then he would catch a ride with him. If not, the iron pimp was Lonnie's only recourse. Putting up with the unwanted attention from suburban residents who felt like a young black teenager out in their neighborhood could only mean one thing, many days he had to swallow his pride. Part of the functioning pillhead wanted to just move back to his apartment near campus and save him not only the hassle of the travel time, but the sheer hatred he was forced to endure. Most of the women he'd come in contact with there would hold their purses extra tight, advise their kids to walk on the other side of the street, or just plain ignore him, like he didn't exist. Lonnie knew if it wasn't for the pills he was taking that kept him pretty much numb when it came to emotions, he would've snapped. Instead, he focused on his books, going to class, and getting back to the party house so he could get even higher.

It'd been over an hour, and the bus had yet to come. Lonnie was slightly buzzed but not out his mind enough to want to miss class. He had been staying up studying for his business management test all night. Having missed a few days during the semester and getting an incomplete on his project, Lonnie knew he had to make at least a strong B on the test if he wanted to keep his scholarship intact. He'd already been placed on academic probation from the “once a month used to be bleeding cunt” dean of students, as he nicknamed her. So, Lonnie getting to school was crucial. He'd already lost a part-time job he'd gotten at a law firm through the work study program by being suspected of possibly being “high” off of some substance. In his emotions, Lonnie refused a drug test; so, of course, that was that.

Starting to feel panicked, the always cash-strapped youth checked his pockets for cash thinking maybe he could catch a cab. Coming up with nothing but a few coins and a crumbled up dollar or two, Lonnie knew that option was straight out the window.
Shit. I gotta get back to the city. I gotta get to class and take that test before they kick my black ass out of school. I can't let my mother down! Fuck!

Lonnie got back to the house he was staying at. Letting himself in, he found Kevin still knocked out with two naked females in the bed with him. All three reeking of alcohol, Lonnie picked up a bottle of Grey Goose that had a small amount left inside. Turning the bottle up, he killed it, along with an ice-cold beer he'd gotten from the refrigerator. Snatching Kevin's car keys off the table, Lonnie figured he'd drive to the city, take his test, and be back home before his homeboy even woke up to take an early-morning piss.

With not much practice when it came to driving, Lonnie was like any other dude from the hood. Where there was a will, there was a way. He knew after a few quick right and left turns to get out of the upscale community, it'd be a straight shot on the freeway. Backing out of the driveway, he popped in a piece of gum in hopes of masking the smell of his beer and Grey Goose mixture breath. Still spinning off the Percocet he'd taken when he got up this morning, Lonnie turned on the radio to try to refocus on what was really important: making his mother proud.

Changing the station from Kevin's annoying rock station, Lonnie found some music to his liking. With both hands on the wheel, he drove toward the freeway. As if he wasn't mentally drained enough and worried about getting to school on time, the unthinkable happened. Tears started to pour out of Lonnie's weary eyes as Al Green's voice sang through the speakers. Lost in thoughts of his mother, the distraught, unlicensed driver blew by a stop sign in a crowded intersection. Before Lonnie knew what was happening next, flashing red and blue lights were flying up behind him. Roughly snatched from the car by two white cops, he was thrown to the ground, then handcuffed, accused of everything one could imagine, including shooting Martin Luther King and J. F. Kennedy.

“Please give us a reason to shoot your black ass,” one of the cops, a female, tried to get tough with her hand firmly gripping up on the handle of her pistol.

“Yeah, why are you out here in our jurisdiction this early in the morning? Don't you think you're out of place?” the male officer joined in on the unwarranted verbal assault but was nowhere as near as mean-spirited and gung ho as his female counterpart.

Lonnie had been spaced out, but his high was totally blown by the quick chain of events that were jumping off. Losing the feeling in his hands because the cuffs were so tight, he yelled out in pain. “Hold up, Officers. Hold up. Why y'all going on me like this? What I do? Hold up! This bullshit wrong as hell!”

Using more force than necessary, the female officer smashed Lonnie's face down onto the filthy concrete street with her department-issued boots. Making sure no one was looking, she then bent down, shoving her knee in his lower spine. “Okay, look, we don't need any of your ghetto hood mouth talk. You smell like you been drinking, and your eyes look like you on that stuff. You done fucked up this morning, for sure.”

“Naw, wait,” Lonnie pleaded, knowing he was indeed buzzing when he got behind the wheel, but was trying to drive as carefully as possible. “Y'all got it all wrong.”

The female cop was amused and laughed in response to his statement. “Nah, I think we got it right! Now is this your car or what? One answer; yes, or damn no?”

Lonnie struggled to speak as she gorilla-style interrogated him as if he was resisting. “It's my friend's car; Kevin O'Brian.”

“You hear this?” she glanced back over her shoulder talking to her partner. “This guy claims he has a friend named . . . get this . . . Kevin O'Brian. Yeah, come on now, Lonnie McKay,” she arrogantly read the name off his state-issued ID. “You gotta come a lot better than that with your lie. What's a guy with a Detroit address in the heart of the war zone doing with a friend named Kevin O'Brian? Just tell us the truth and things will go much smoother for you. My partner is running the plates now.”

Of course, when the plates came back registered to Kevin, the dominate female officer was even more pissed than the initial moment she'd assisted with snatching Lonnie from the vehicle. With the car not being reported stolen, they still arrested him on other charges that were easy to see and prove. Driving without a license, driving while under the influence of alcohol and drugs, disorderly conduct, refusing arrest, and a few other choice items the white spiteful female officer decided to throw in for good measure. For Lonnie, his run of good luck had just played itself out.