Marc knocked on the door three times then stepped to the side. He pulled the knitted cap from his back pocket, swatted it against his thigh before pulling it over his head. It only took a minute for the door to swing open. The warmth of the apartment's heat mixed with oils and incense wafted into the hallway and defrosted the chill from Marc's face and hands. He knew he was at the right place.
"Marc Muhammad?" his old friend, the O.G. blurted out before landing into a hearty laugh as he extended his arm out to grab the younger man standing before him.
"Aye, bro! It's good to see you!" Marc declared after their embrace. "I'm glad you still a man of your word!"
"My word is bond, Akh! Man, get in here, knuckle head. It's colder than a mutha out there!"
Jaleel was visibly older, heavier, taller, and clearer in the face than Marc remembered him. He stepped to the side, reached out for Marc's bag and let him inside. Marc followed Jaleel through a small hallway and into the living area. The bright light from outside shone through the bay window and naturally illuminated the whole space. March looked around and took it all in. There were three dark wooden bookcases lined side-by-side over flowing with books. No doubt, Jaleel had probably read all of them.
"Have a sit, bro. Let me go get my fam straight. They still asleep."
"You got kids?" Marc questioned him before taking off his jacket and sitting down onto the mocha leather sectional couch. A small red and brown Oriental area rug lay in the middle of the floor, several pots of plants and small trees lined the room. There were a mixture of paintings on the wall of various landscapes and Arabic calligraphy mixed in as well. In the back of the room was old farmhouse table, a couple of chairs and boxes atop of it.
"I didn't say all that, bro! Be back!"
Jaleel walked around the corner and disappeared. Marc could his footsteps running up a flight of stairs. He hadn't meant to be noisy or intrude. Marc wouldn't have came to Jaleel if he knew he had a family. O.G. or not, stepping in on family men wasn't cool. Marc also knew that if Jaleel had a wife and kids, she probably didn't want Jaleel dragging in another felon. Marc suddenly wasn't feeling the situation at all. He got up and started to put his jacket on. He didn't want to have to go back to Junior's house, but he knew he always could if he had. Junior was his cousin through marriage. They grew up together and whether Marc got down with Junior's hustle or not, he knew Junior would always look out for him.
"Aye, Marc. Come on in kitchen with me," Jaleel called. "Hurry up, man!"
Marc grabbed his bag off the floor and walked in the direction of Jaleel's voice. He passed two other rooms and went through another hallway before he made it to the front of the house where Jaleel was in the kitchen. Jaleel had already pulled out pots and pans and had the fire going on the stove. Marc sat down at the table confused. He didn't know what was up or if he was really in the right place after all.
"You ain't gotta cook nothing for me, Bro. I'm good. I was just stopping by to see if this is where you was at. I gotta get going..."March started.
"Where you going?" Jaleel inquired as he stirred eggs in a mixing bowl. "You got some place to go? Last time we talked that didn't seem like the case?"
"Well, you know me and Junior always good...so I can go back there. Probably can get in the halfway house too once I meet up with my parole officer. I got some options, enshallah."
"You and Junior?" Jaleel laughed boldly. "Man, that joker ain't no kind of good options for you. And you know it good and well, Marc. What? You thinking 'bout hustling already? You ain't been out a good two weeks yet?" Jaleel reminded his friend.
"Not even. I know I gotta find something else to do. I just need a little time to figure it out," Marc admitted. He zipped his jacket up and stood up to pull his bag over his shoulder. He looked over his shoulder and then back at Jaleel. Jaleel seemed oblivious to Marc's discomfort. But really Jaleel didn't care. He knew Marc had a long road ahead of him. Discomfort was part of journey. Marc had to get used to it.
"Look, Leel," Marc started. "I didn't know you had a family you taking care of. I don't wanna mess that up or cause no trouble for ya'll. I'll see you around, bro," Marc finally offered. He moved swiftly trying to walk out the kitchen before Jaleel could stop him. He wasn't fast enough. Jaleel threw the spatula at Marc's head and hit him.
"What the hell you hit me for?" Marc spat as he rubbed his head with a smirk.
"You wouldn't of came, if you didn't need to! And I wouldn't have invited your knucklehead in here, if there was going to be a problem for me! I got the space and I told you before I left, I could use your help. Is you here to help me or are you going back to the streets so the police can lock ya behind up again? Furthermore, ain't nobody in this damn house telling me what to do.....all the time that is!" Jaleel snickered lightly, grabbed his beard before he winked his eyes with a notion. "Did you pray Fajr?"
Marc cast his eyes down and shook his head before answering his friend. "Didn't get a chance to yet."
"Well you got a chance to now. The bathroom is straight ahead. You can pray in the front room. Then we can eat and go get to work. Let's go. Time is money!" Jaleel instructed him.
Marc nodded before walking off to do as he was told. He left his bag and jacket in the kitchen with Jaleel. A couple of days ago when he was staying with Junior, his girl, and two of her friends, he didn't feel safe enough to leave his only belongings laying around them. While in jail, he'd learned pretty quickly how to read people. Most times he knew right off the back if he could trust someone or not. When he got to Junior's house, smelled the weed, saw how unorganized the house and everyone in it was, saw how quickly the women gravitated to him without knowing anything about him, and how agitated Junior had become, he knew he wasn't in a safe environment. Marc hadn't been surprised at all when his cousin invited him to commit a crime. He knew that was all Junior knew how to do. In Junior's mind he was just trying to help Marc up and get him back on his feet. Shoot, Junior was trying to inspire Marc after he been locked down for so long. Junior just didn't know that the streets weren't sweet enough to Marc any more. Truth be told, the streets put him in jail. There wasn't nothing sweet or fun about that. The excitement of chasing women, money, and cars, fighting over the block... that wasn't him anymore.
In the bathroom, Marc took off his shoes, rolled up his sleeves on his shirt, then turned on the faucet. He let the water run a little to warm up before he silently made his intentions to wash up for prayer.
"Bi -smill-ah? What that mean, bro? Marc had asked Jaleel once when they were still locked up together. Jaleel was sitting at their small desk and was reading the book with funny language in it again. Marc knew Jaleel was a Muslim, but really didn't know what a Muslim was. When Jaleel stood up and recited the word and raised his hands, Marc was confused. Jaleel didn't answer him. Marc watched as Jaleel completed a series a movements and recited words he couldn't understand until Jaleel finished.
"Sorry bout that, man. That's how ya'll pray to ya'll God?" Marc asked when Jaleel went and sat back down.
"Ain't but one Creator and He created everybody, Marc Muhammad. And yea, that's how Muslims pray. Say little homie, how you get a last name like Muhammad and why is it that you don't know a damn thing about Islam? Ya Moms just picked it out of a book for good times?"
"My Momma ain't pick my name out of no book. That was my father's last name and his father's last name and so on. My father ..he from Somalia. He came to America with his brother as refugees. They were living up in Maine then they came down here to Massachusetts. I think my mother met him in Holyoke at the mall or some where silly. She was in high school when she had me. He got locked up for attempted murder and armed robbery. He did ten years before they deported him."
"You don't say? You know his first name?" Jaleel asked turning around to face the younger inmate with interest.
"Abdi. His first name is Abdi. He's Muslim and I guess his whole family over there is Muslim, too. I never knew him. I don't know his people either. Just what my Momma told me."
Jaleel's face flushed red and his skinned warmed in disbelief. It felt like a hot flash he guessed. But he knew immediately who Marc was talking about. He wanted to keep asking questions, but he knew now was not the time or the place to confront Marc. Enshallah, one day there would be a better time and place to set Marc straight. Now, he just knew that by the decree of the Most High he was in the same jail as his own distant relative that he never knew. What Jaleel did know was that his mother and uncle would want him to do the right thing by Marc.
Jaleel silently stood up and walked over to his bed. He looked under the mattress and pulled out a small chest and unlocked it. Inside of the chest were stacks of small books that Jaleel read. Jaleel examined each one and pulled out a few before walking back to the other side of the bed towards Marc.
"Take a look at these, youngin'. You might learn something that you never knew you needed to learn," Jaleel had spoken softly. The books he'd given were small pamphlets on Islam and couple of National Geographic magazines on the Horn of Africa. He was still overwhelmed by this pairing, in jail no less. He felt certain that Marc was his kin. But he would have to find out for sure. In the mean time, he had to make it his business to watch after Marc Muhammad.
In the bathroom, Marc took off his shoes, rolled up his sleeves on his shirt, then turned on the faucet. He let the water run a little to warm up before he silently made his intentions to wash up for prayer. He made ablution just like his homie Jaleel had taught him how to. He'd done it hundreds of times alone after Jaleel left and he had even started teaching new Muslims in jail as well how to perform wudu and salat.
Marc dried his hands off on a towel in the small bathroom before walking through the small hallway back into the living room. Jaleel had already put out a prayer rug for Marc in the direction of Kaba for Marc to pray on. He rolled down his sleeves, inhaled deeply, straightened his body, then raised his hands above his head and pronounced softly: "Allahu Akbar!"
Standing watching with satisfaction and relief dripping from his being, Jaleel watched Marc perform the Morning prayer with focus and proper form. Jaleel knew eventually he would have to have a really difficult conversation with Marc. He had a right to know the truth and the lies when the time was right. That time wasn't now. Marc needed to grow and see his own potential on his own. He needed to be strong before he cut him down with the sins of others. Jaleel grabbed his beard and began to rub it through his fingers as he pondered the outcomes. All he could do was build the boy up and set him right as best he could and prepare him for what was to come. Marc needed to be with his family.
Jaleel had been there waiting on him since he got out of jail. Jaleel even drove all over Holyoke looking for Marc when he didn't show up the first night at his apartment like he told him to do. He'd been worried sick thinking about all the what if's and shouldas! His wife Hodan had to calm him down and order him to pray to clear his mind by the end of the week because Jaleel was seeing nothing but blood...of his blood.
"What's wrong with that boy? I told him I had him. I told him I was gonna take care of his little behind," he yelled angrily. Jaleel had it in his mind to ride through Marc's old block and pull up on Marc's old little crew with a couple of his boys and some hot hammers. Jaleel was always just a couple of steps of away from stumbling back into a misunderstanding or altercation that would lead him right back to the streets and eventually jail. It was his own mother's death and dying last words for him to obey Allah that was stuck on his life preventing him from going too far any more. He'd promised his mother, by Allah, he would redeem himself and their family. His mother had been a refugee as well. Her brothers came to America first while the rest of the family waited and prayed that Allah would make a way to get them all back together again. Her brothers did all they could to send money back to Somalia. By time Jaleel's mother Ayaan arrived in America, her brothers had lost their way. She heard so many horrible, ugly rumors of their shameful behavior. She was hurt and crushed by the things their people had said her brothers were doing and had done. Ayaan didn't want to be around them. She distanced herself. She found an American Black man to marry her. He wasn't Muslim and she didn't care at first. He said he would take care of Ayaan and take care of her paperwork for citizenship. Three kids in, Ayaan knew he lied. He hurt her and their children bad so many times. No matter what she would do for him, the beatings kept coming. She had to get out.
One cold November night Ayaan waited for her evil husband to drink his favorite beer that she put cold medicine in. Ayaan waited for her husband to fall asleep so deep before she tripped over the bat. She called for her brothers. She needed their help. She'd done something so wrong to her husband. She hadn't meant to hurt him so badly, but she had. Her brothers were her brothers though. Abdi and Ayyub told her not to worry. Abdi promised Ayaan he would do what he'd had to do to protect his sister and her children.
Uncle Abdi had always kept them safe, Jaleel thought. He knew his uncle had been a good man who faced too many obstacles. It hadn't been his fault.
Marc finished his prayed and sat folded on his knees as he turned to the right and then the left as he offered: "As salamu alykum - As salamu alykum."
Jaleel knew he'd do whatever he needed to keep his young cousin safe - come hell or high water.
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