10 Years Ago

Ten years ago today, I stopped smoking weed. I know most people don't remember the exact day, but I'll never forget. I made a vow to stop and I (with the exception of 2 slip ups) stuck to it. Weed was fun, but it also got me into some situations I shouldn't be in. I originally was gonna just repost an entry from my old blog, but there were way too many stories that involved weed. Before I moved to Atlanta, I was a weekend weedhead. I was never that type that had to smoke everyday, but you best believe on the weekend, it was on. But I'm good now. I still think it should be legal, but thats another post. I don't miss weed, but every now and then, I wonder what it would be like now. I should celebrate my 10 year anniversary with a Philly. LOL

Anyway, if you are bored over the weekend, or just want to know some more about young and crazy Rashan, check out these posts from my old blog. There's probably more cursing than I do here, so be warned. Also, if you see me refer to myself as T. or Terrance, that was my old blog name. If you comment, please comment here, cuz I will not be checking the old blog. Otherwise, I'll be back Monday with a new post.

So High I Could Kiss The Sky

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

7 Days in Savannah: We Ain't That Type Of Nigga

7 Days in Savannah is a recollection of my time growing up and being a young man in Savannah, GA. All stories are true and relayed to the best of my memory.


I was sitting at home playing NCAA football on the Playstation when my pager went off. From the code, I could tell it was my man, Kareem. From the 236 prefix, I knew he was calling me from the westside. I hesitated before calling him back, as I was about 3 minutes from winning yet another national championship; this time with Wyoming. With their subpar talent and ugly uniforms, that took some serious skills. As the confetti fell on the screen acknowledging my victory over the computer, I picked up the cordless and called the unfamiliar number on the pager display. I already knew what was up.


"Hello."

"What up, Kareem! You need a ride?"

"Yeah, but I need to talk to you. Meet me over on 37th and Jefferson. It's a house right down the street."

"Over there by where ol girl stay?"

"Yeah, I'll be outside waiting."

"20 minutes. Aiight, peace."

I hung up the jack, and put the colorful Fila shirt I was wearing earlier that day back on. I ran my brush over my head, then said "forget it" and threw on the Yankees cap I liberated from my brother. Grabbing the keys and the face to my cd player, I headed to my 91 Toyota Tercel and made the trip across town to pick up my homey. When I got there, Kareem's eyes were tinged with that familiar redness, a telltale sign that he had been smoking weed, drinking dark liquor, or worse.

"Yo!"

"Go head and park a minute. I wanna finish this blunt."

I parked and got out the car, walking towards an old house, that had 3 or 4 rough lookin' dudes hanging out on the porch. It was one of those places that in a few short years would be taken over by the Savannah College Of Art and Design in the name of urban renewal. Or gentrification depending on your point of view. Politics aside, I sat down on a makeshift chair, really a milk crate, and waited for Kareem to pass the blunt. The 3 or 4 other guys paid us no attention as we inhaled and exhaled the cannibis in silence. Finally, I broke the calm.

"What's going on, man?"

"I f*cked up"

"What happened?"

"For real, I f*cked up really bad."

I sensed this was something that had to come out on organically, so I said nothing else. Kareem stared off into space, stopping only to spit occasionally. When he was ready, he spoke.

"I hit Chandra."

"Huh?"

"I hit her."

Chandra was his girlfriend. He was living with her in an apartment on the Southside of town. She was good people. Perhaps a bit naive, but her nurturing nature was perfect for my friend. I wonder if she knew at the time that he was into drugs other than weed. I myself, had just recently learned that my best friend in the world was on that powder. It shook me to the core. It was difficult to fathom and even more difficult to reconcile. I can only imagine what it would have done to her. Kareem offered me the blunt, but I thought about the constant spitting and declined.

"Son, what are you talking about?"

"We got in a fight last night and she was in my face. I was geeked up. And I just hit her."

"I don't even know what to say. We may be a lot of things, my nigga, but we ain't that type of nigga."

"I know."

"I mean, where did you hit her? Are we talking a slap or full fledged punch?"

I don't know why I asked this question. It didn't make a difference. It was unacceptable, no matter how it went down.

"I punched her in the face."

"That's some f*cked up sh*t! You can't be doing sh*t like that."

"I know. You the only one I can tell about this."

"I hope you don't expect me to tell you that it's all right."

"I know it's not. And I know you will tell me the truth."

"Have you talked to Chandra? Is she okay?"

"She says she's okay. She wants me to come home, but I can't face her."

Then more silence. I didn't know what to say next. Part of me wanted to beat the tar out of him, but the other part wanted to be there for my friend.

"I'm not taking you over there. I'll drop you by your mom's crib, but I can't bring you back over there."

"I need to see her, dawg."

"You gonna have to find another way."

"She wants me there."

Tears formed in his already red eyes, although I could tell he was trying to hold them in. I could see what looked like grief and remorse on his face. I could sense an absolute sense of panic in his words, and against my better judgement, I finally relented.

"If she says its okay, then I'll do it."

We got in the car and drove back to the southside. No further words were exchanged by us. I sat there dazed, a little from the weed, but mostly from what I had just heard. Redman bumped from my 6x9 speakers as I pulled in the apartment complex.

"You ready to roll this weed up? Whateva, man"

"Turn the music down, Rashan."

"You ready to get this chedder? Whateva, man"

"YOOO!!! Turn it down!!!"

Kareem had a serious look on his face. I muted the cd player and listened.

"Park in the back, dawg."

He got out the car and sat on the trunk. I followed suit and did the same. I barely recognized the quivering voice that soon followed.

"I need to change my life. I can't keep doing this same sh*t every day. Getting high, running around with Tori. I got a good woman, and I treat her like crap. I need to get back with God, man."

"Do it."

"I need God's deliverence. I need him to deliver me from this coke."

"True."

"Jesus is the only one that can save my life."

"Word, son. I feel you."

"Pray with me, dawg! I got to get these demons out of me"

"Aiight."

So we prayed. Two high cats in the parking lot of an apartment that just hours ago was the scene of domestic violence. Kareem's tears flowed freely at this point. No longer did he hold them in. He had a breakthrough. I wont lie. I was filled with hope. Time would tell what would become of him, but in that moment, I had hope that my friend would turn his life around. The weed and liquor was inconsequential to me at that point. If I needed to give that up to get my brother back, then so be it. In his darkest moment, I felt closer to Kareem than ever. He walked to the door unlocked it and then turned around.

"You're right. We ain't that type of nigga. Thanks for reminding me."


There really is no moral to this story. What he did was horrible, and I don't know if at this point in my life I could be there to work through it with him. I'm not as forgiving now as I was 10 years ago. Nevertheless, this was one of the days in Savannah that always sticks with me. One of the days that I realized that people do messed up things to people they love. And sometimes it's people you know.

Junkie

He woke up in the morning thinking "Hmm.. this aint so bad. I can do this." One hour went by and he was okay. He went for a ride to clear his head, to get his mind off his addiction. When he got back to the crib, he felt the itch again. "I'll just take a shower. I won't think about it." After the shower, he was still looking for his fix. "Sleep will take this off my mind, he thought" but woke up feenin' again. This cold turkey stuff is hard...

Ladies and gentleman, he is I and I am him! I'm a junkie. For real, Saturday and Sunday I was fine, but Monday I was going crazy. My addiction? The Internet.. I was in Gainesville for Jameil's birthday with her and Stace this weekend. We were always doing something Saturday and Sunday, so I didn't really notice. Plus there was a little wifi action at the school and outside the restaurant, but today when Jam was in class? Yo, I just about lost my mind. I was sitting there with no computer and no tv. I was going stir crazy. I was wondering what you all were posting about. I was wondering who sent me an email. I was wondering what the web was saying about Barack and Biden. I would have settled for TV, but that would been like a cokehead smoking weed. I wanted that hard stuff. That interweb...I needed it in my life. It be calling me. My phone internet hasn't been working for months, so I turned the service off. I started to find a library in the area, but I needed the internet to give me directions. My desire got so bad that I did something that I'm ashamed of. Don't tell nobody but... I started to read... a book!!! I know. Rashan don't read. I couldn't help it. It's the only thing that took my mind off that internet!

Okay, I'm being silly. I just got back in town about 4 this morning, so I'm gonna call it a night. Here are a few pictures from the weekend. I have to get my editor to approve the rest before I post them, but I know she likes these. Maybe stories too. Oh yeah, you should ask Stace about the dudes in the women's pants and the documentary that she'll be starring in. I'll be around to check your blogs out soon. Have a good day!

Cult of Personality

It’s not like me to hold my tongue for an extended amount of time. Usually if I think something, then I’m gonna say it. Or even if I don’t say it, I’m gonna write about it on my blog. Well, this situation is about 7 months in the making. Sure, I’ve mentioned it to a few people, but I haven’t really let all my feelings out on the situation. Enough buildup? Okay, here goes…I think my friend Kareem is in a cult.

I’ll pause here for you to snicker. I’m well aware that the first reaction to that statement is laughter. It sounds funny. I even wrote a joking post about cults last year. It sounds implausible and ridiculous, but I think it may be true. I’m sure some if not most of you recall my turbulent history with Kareem. He was my best friend, my brother from another mother, calling him my homeboy is an understatement. We rode hard from 7th grade until the year 2000, through school and girlfriends and partying and bullshitting. When he graduated from the green to the white, and stayed there, I had to make the painful decision to cut him off. I couldn’t bear to see la coca do to him what it did to my father. Call me sensitive if you want, but it was really a hard thing.

I moved to Atlanta , he went in and out of jail. I gave up the greenery, he had powder binges. I got on with my life, he, uhh, didn’t. My mom used to see his mom at church every now and then and would ask me if she should give him my number. For a long time I resisted. I didn’t know what was up with him. I didn’t know if he was off that stuff. I didn’t know if he would be going back to jail in the next month. I couldn’t take it. Finally, last year after some soul searching I decided that enough time had passed for me to get back in touch with him. I told my mom to go ahead and give Kareem’s mom my number.

The day he called me was a little strange. I didn’t recognize the number with the 912 area code. Usually I don’t answer unidentified numbers, but for some reason I took a chance. It was Reemy-Reem… We caught up on the years, he apologized for his drugged out antics (including but not limited to stealing my CD’s, running to my crib when he was hiding from the popo, and general boorish behavior). It was pretty cool. I was still apprehensive, but he sounded like his old self. In the course of the conversation, he told me that he was getting married. Fresh out of the pen and already getting married. He asked me to consider being his best man. I didn’t immediately agree, just cuz I needed to make sure that there would be no further relapses before I invested myself in him again. It wasn’t anything personal, just knowing the ways of addicts. In another conversation I spoke with Claire, his fiancée. She was extra enthused that Kareem and I were becoming friends again. It was weird to me that this woman that I knew nothing about, knew everything about me, but that’s how it goes. I hoped that everything was cool, but there were a couple of things that kinda seemed off to me.

One was Claire. Not saying that people can’t find love with ex cons, but for real? You gonna just marry this guy that just came home that lives with his moms and doesn’t have a car. And you are a graphic designer with multiple degrees from the Savannah College and Art and Design? I’m not hating on my boy, but that’s not exactly an equally yoked situation. It started to make more sense the more I got into the story. Claire was from Uganda , and was in the country on a rapidly expiring Visa. In order to stay here, she either had to find an educational sponsor, or get married. In my mind, that’s where Kareem came in. I know, that’s mad cynical, and I could be completely wrong, but that’s the vibe I got. Anyway, when I went down to Savannah for Thanksgiving, I got up with Kareem and Claire.

Kareem told me that he and some of his buddies from church were gonna be hanging out. Supposed to play some cards and eat leftover Thanksgiving vittles. I met Kareem at the Krispy Kreme parking lot on Skidaway. Pounds and hugs were exchanged. He looked healthy. His eyes didn’t have that familiar drugged out yellow tinge and slant. I followed him down some back streets to his church brother’s crib. When I got there, there were teenagers watching the BET Hip Hop awards while the adults were chilling in the kitchen playing cards. I was introduced to Claire, who gave me an all too familiar for my tastes hug. I sat back on the couch and observed the scene. There were a few random Jesus mentions, a few stories about the revival they just had, but nothing that led me to feel uncomfortable. Even though I don’t frequent church, I’m still able to politic about religion and hold my own in those discussions. Plus I grew up in a prayer meeting. That’s what my grandma’s house was like. If there is one thing I know how to do without trying, it's be respectful. And so I was… We adjourned to the kitchen to play some spades…

It was there when I started to get a strange vibe. They were talking more in depth about their church. Kareem got involved with the church while he was in jail. Apparently the church was big on the prison ministry and reforming criminals. I know it all sounds good so far. Stay tuned... The pastor was the one that hooked Kareem and Claire up and ordained that they would soon be married before they even dated. The church also held Thanksgiving revival away from their families out in the woods somewhere. When I heard that, my ears pricked up a bit. I controlled my smirk, as I continued to listen. Not everything discussed was church related, like when we talked about The Swagger (read that post if you haven’t read it… I’m hilarious. LOL) or when the conversation about how Chris Brown is the only young singer who can actually sing now a days. But most of the night was all about the church. It might just be me, but I don’t know if you praise Jesus for the Big Joker…

Okay, I’m prone to overactive imagination so I tried not to get carried away. But when they were talking about some of the donations they gave to the church, I was like this is a little excessive. How can you sign over your paycheck to the pastor, or donate your car to the church? Under other circumstances, it would be considered charitable, but if you are broke and can’t make ends meet, pastor gonna have to wait. Here is the biggest thing…GUESS WHAT THEY CALLED THEIR PASTOR: DADDY!!! A bunch of African-American men and women, calling their Caucasian pastor, Daddy. Oh, did I forget to mention that part. Yeah, he’s a white man, with an all black congregation that calls him Daddy, while retreating in the woods away from their families on a major family friendly holiday. Something just didn’t seem right about that. Can you say "Jim Jones (and not the wack rapper.)?"

Even with all that, I wasn’t thinking anything untoward was going on. It was mad strange, no lie, but at the end of the night I was still okay with it. Kareem and I talked about his wedding, which was to be this Saturday the 28th. He asked again if I would be his best man. I was leaning towards it. But guess who has not heard from his friend since that day??? That’s right. I never got an invite to the wedding, a call to ask if I was coming, tux specs, nothing. Not even a call to say what’s up? I don’t know if I was too heathenly, or if he’s disappeared with his cult, or Claire found someone else to marry to stay in the country. I just don’t know. His phone is off. My mom hasn’t seen his mom at church (they go to different services) to ask. I just don’t know. I hope he isn’t really in a cult, but more than that, I hope he’s not back on the drugs. Cuz truth be told, that’s my bigger fear.

The Trap House

Okay, I think one of my neighbors is operating a trap house. I think I mentioned seeing some crackheads the other day. But this morning my fears were all but confirmed.

It's 5AM and I'm outside smoking a black. I know its a nasty habit and I'll stop one day soon. But that's not the point of the story. This is the point. I'm in the parking lot just chillin', playing with my new phone, when I see those same 2 characters from the other day. They are walking fast as hell. I decide to get my surveillance on and see where they are going. They are being trailed by a woman this time. They go to an apartment that I thought was empty which is across the way from me, but no more than 100 yards from where I stay. The 2 men go inside, while the woman stays outside. 4 minutes later, they emerge from the apartment and start walking back towards the entrance of the complex. The woman keeps looking back at me, looking mad paranoid. Of course, I didn't do anything to allay her fears, I stared back as if to say "get the hell out of here" which they do.

Another one of my neighbors comes out of her apartment and asks me if I just saw that. I replied that I did. She tells me that they moved in 2 weeks ago, but didn't have a uhaul or boxes or anything. Gotta love Rosie the Nosy Neighbor. She says that she thinks it's a drug front. Says someone needs to drop a dime on them. As we are talking, another unsavory looking character does the quick walk to the same apartment only to leave 2 minutes later. I'm thinking, damn she's right. This really is a trap house going on. Now, usually I'm not one to knock one's hustle, but for real? You gonna just open up a trap house in an apartment complex? You just gonna bring crackheads (and I have no idea where they are coming from because its not the type of hood where I would expect crackheads to live) right where the school bus comes and picks up kids every morning. I don't know what to do next. I hate to see another Black man go to jail, much less be responsible for it, but this shit right here? Not gonna work for me.

I can also be completely wrong. I could be jumping to conclusions. After all, there hasn't been a rash of break ins or broken crack vials all over the place. For the most part, other than just coming and going at all times of the morning (which I do too) there is no evidence that my new neighbors are d-boys. Perhaps I'm just falling into that trap (pun intended) of suspicion that so many others do. But I know this much, I'm gonna keep my eyes open. Can someone get me McNulty's phone number?