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` CHAPTER 2 | EYE OF THE STORM | PART 1
-Spring 1994
"Say there ain't no hope for the youth and the truth is / it ain't no hope for tha future / And then they wonder why we crazy / I blame my mother / for turning my brother into a crack baby / We ain't meant to survive / cause it's a setup / And even though you're fed up / ya got to keep your head up"
Tupac's words blazed through Tremaine's headphones telling his life story as he gazed at his reflection in the window. Slowly he caressed his chest where the fresh bruises that replaced old ones had finally begun to heal. He was used to the bruises; the physical pain didn't bother him. Anytime Tre doubted his existence he could rely on him to smack him back into reality. His voice was still ringing in his ear long after the fight was over.
"Your monkey ass is so fuckin' ungrateful! Don't you know you aint got nobody, `cept your crack head ass mammy and she don't want shit to do with you neither! I got a mind to put you the fuck outta my house, Mariah come and get this pussy ass muthafucka for I punch a whole in his muthafuckin chest!"
"Dame, c'mon now! He's just a fuckin' kid, you aint gotta always hit on him like that!" Mariah yelled. She was his foster mother, she was supposed to be his support; his protection. Instead she allowed her alcoholic brother to smack him around whenever he saw fit.
"Shut the fuck up young, for I smack your dumb ass too! You lucky we gettin' a check for these muthafucka's, or I'd put all of yall outta my goddamn house!" He never paid rent, didn't have a job, and yet this was his house.
He hadn't done anything to deserve the venom that Dame shot towards him, though he never needed a reason when Tre was involved. Tremaine told him that he was going to be home late, he had other things to do. But of course Dame didn't remember, and even if he had it still wouldn't have mattered. Tremaine was supposed to be where Dame wanted, when he wanted and it didn't matter what Tre had going on. The moment he saw Dame's face, he already knew to brace himself for the blows. He never tried to fight back; all that did was make everything worse. In his mind, he could handle the psychical pain; he'd gotten used to being hit years ago. Experiences like that came with the territory. It was the other stuff that he couldn't handle, the miscellaneous shit. The awful things he said to him, about him, about his mother tore him down and he was called him a pussy so often, Tre began to think that was actually his name. He hated Dame when he was angry, but he cursed his very existence when he was happy; that's when he really caused Tre pain; pain that became too unbearable. Just thinking about it made Tremaine nauseous. He was so tired of being his punching bag, tired of never having anything, he was tired of the gnawing pain; Tremaine was tired, period. That's why he was on the bus alone, once again being shipped off to a place where nothing was bound to change; same shit, different day as far as he was concerned.
It had been ten years since he had been taken away from his mother. It had been ten years since the last time he had seen his little sister. But it didn't feel like ten years, not unless you were counting in dog years. Ten times seven, yeah, it felt more like seventy years had gone by; like he had seen so much in such a short amount of time. Tremaine felt like he had already gone through everything he needed, experienced life as a child and an adult. Now here he was in his geriatric days just waiting for the grim reaper to come and rescue him.
Mariah's home was no longer the place for him, or at least that's what his case worker had told him. After nearly six years, it was time for their journey together to end. He needed a more secure place, one that could take care of him and his “special needs”. Bullshit. Tremaine wasn't as dumb as everyone liked to think he was and he knew enough to know that spots at the YTC were reserved especially for crazy motherfuckers. The Youth Treatment Center for Troubled Teens was a special place where they grouped together all of society’s misfits and delinquents until they were old enough to age out of the system and become someone else’s problem. It was a breeding ground for tomorrow’s drugs dealers and crack whores, his mother would be so proud.
"I'm going to miss you Tre," Mariah told him before he left, turning on the waterworks for his caseworkers sake. "I really hope you take care of yourself and get better." Tre didn't respond, he just stood statuesque and allowed her to wrap her arms around him into a hug.
He wasn't fooled; he knew that it was all a show and he continued to play his position. But he knew the truth. In the end the only thing Mariah was broken hearted over was the fact that she would be a few hundred dollars short every month, that and the fact that she lost her protective shield. As long as he was around Dame seemed to take less interest in smacking her around. Mariah, like everyone else, was just out to make sure that she would be alright. She was half the reason he was being sent to the nut house now. She knew the truth; Mariah knew what really happened in that house she wasn't blind. But not once did she do one thing to stop it. She would have to take responsibility for the part she played one day, and when she did, Tre hoped she got everything she deserved.
After what seemed like hours his bus finally stopped in front of an old building.
"Time to get off now!" the bus driver called back to Tre. It was the first time the old man had acknowledged his existence since he boarded the bus. Without saying a word or ever removing his headphones, Tremaine threw his knapsack over his shoulder and stepped off the bus into the smoldering sunlight. As soon as he made it off of the bus he was greeted by a man who worked for the YTC.
"How are you doing Mr. Lons?" the man asked extending his hand for Tre to shake.
He didn't respond and he didn't shake the mans’ hand. He wasn't here on vacation and he damn sure wasn't there by choice. Tre wasn't looking for anyone to pretend to care about him and he didn't need any friends.
"Well, alright then," the man begun, taking his hand back once he realized his gesture would not be reciprocated. "I'm Mr. Douglass, a lot of the kids call me Bishop, feel free to do the same if you like. Now you can follow me this way, and I'll show you were you'll be staying."
Bishop was a very handsome man. Tall and medium built; his physique resembled that of an action figure. It was easy to tell just by looking at him that he never had a hard time with females. As they made their way to his room Bishop made Tremaine familiar with all of their house rules.
"Curfew is at ten o'clock on schools days, and midnight on weekends. We expect lights out by midnight Sunday thru Thursday. Going to class is not an option, it's a requirement. If you are cut skipping class you will get written up, if your written up three times you will be asked to leave. All meals are eaten in the mess hall; no food is to leave that area. If you are caught with anything other than water in your room you will get written up. You are not allowed inside of the girls’ dormitory, if you are found down there, you will be written up."
"Damn is there anything you can't get written up for?" Tre mumbled to himself as they stopped in front of the door to his room. Bishop smiled but pretended not to hear as he continued to break down how their facilities worked.
"Fighting is not allowed, we have zero tolerance for it. If you are caught fighting you will be written up and dealt with accordingly. Any questions?"
Again Tre didn't answer. He simply nodded his head avoiding any and all eye contact with Bishop.
"Alright then, if you need anything my office is right at the end of this hall. You can go ahead and get yourself settled in. This is Gabriel; he's going to be your dorm mate. I'm sure he won't mind showing you around a little bit more." Bishop said pointing to the Puerto Rican boy who was occupying the other bed in the room.
"Sup?" Gabriel said nodding his head in Tre. Silently Tre returned the gesture and Bishop left the two of them alone to get further acquainted.
"Yo, what's your name?" Gabriel asked, swinging his legs to the other side of the bed so now the two were facing.
"Tre."
"Cool. Yo look its cool if you chill with me. I can help you get to your classes and shit. Show you how things run."
Tre didn't answer, he just shrugged his shoulders as if to say "Whatever, if that's how you want to spend your time."
"You not a talker huh?" he asked, receiving only a simple head shake no.
"You at least play cards?"
"Yeah. War."
"What rules you go by?"
Tre looked at him for a minute and thought before answering. "Aces beat everything."
"Aight cool." Gabriel said as he pulled out his deck and began to deal the cards.
Tremaine didn't come here looking to make friends, but something about he and Gab just worked. Tremaine wasn't a talker and that's all Gabriel did. He was one hell of a talker, and could maneuver himself in and out of just about any situation; the makings of a great con artist. He looked out for him in a way no one had in a very long time, so even though his mouth sometimes got on Tre's nerves, he was content with the companionship he provided.
****
Time passed and before he knew it, summer was already rolling around. Tremaine had been staying at the YTC for a few months now and even though he couldn't stand it he managed to stay out of trouble. "Keep your head down and your nose clean" was his daily mantra. He didn't want to be in any cliques and aside from Gab he made it painfully clear that he wasn't looking to make anymore friends. He just wanted to serve his time and age out so he could be on his merry way. He soon realized that it was a task easier said than done.
It happened on an afternoon when he found himself eating alone in the mess hall. His right hand man had himself a new girlfriend and was most likely somewhere around the school looking for an empty storage closet to consummate their relationship. Gabriel had his flaws, but one thing that Tre silently admired about him was his ability to book any girl he wanted. He admired it so much, that one day Tre out right asked him how he managed to get so lucky.
"It's not luck papa, its persistence," he said with a sly smirk. "I just never take no for an answer."
"What you mean you don't take no for an answer nigga? Your lil ass on some rape shit or something?"
His question made Gabriel burst into a fit of laughter. "Fuck no man! It's just like, when a chick acts like she aint interested, I keep on asking her. I just keep tryin' at a different angle. I never get rejected it just takes some chicks longer than others to realize how much they really diggin' me. Broads go for it every time. They like that confident shit."
"Young, yous a fucking con artist," Tre laughed.
"I'm serious! Papa I'm telling you, try it and I bet you won't be able to get these broads off your dick even if you wanted to. They be throwin' the pussy at you now, you dumb ass just don't see it!"
"Whateva nigga!" Tre said responding the only way he could.
He knew there was some truth to what Gabriel was saying, but he wasn't comfortable around females. He wasn't like Gab, just the thought of rejection made him sick to his stomach. So instead of ’grabbing his nuts and stepping up to the plate’ like Gabriel crudely suggested whenever the topic was brought up, Tre lived his life vicariously through his best friend. His feelings were safer that way.
"Aye young you sitting at my table!" someone said from behind interrupting Tremaine's train of thought. Tre recognized his voice before he even turned around. Cory was always looking to start a problem with Tremaine, feeling threatened because of the attention his girlfriend always showed him. But Tre never understood why. Melissa was beautiful, but Tre wasn't interested in her and he surely never reciprocated any of her forward advances. Those facts never stopped Cory from messing with Tre; in fact it seemed to only add more fuel to the fire. He thought about responding but decided against it. Instead he turned away from Cory and his friends, turning up his walkman as he continued to eat. There were several other empty tables scattered all around the Mess Hall and Cory was free to sit at any of them.
"Yo nigga I know you hear me talking to you!" he said, raising his voice as he shoved Tremaine roughly.
"Don't be putting your hands on me dude." Tre responded getting up from the table. 'Keep your head down and your nose clean' he thought to himself as he turned to walk away. He wasn't looking to fight, not over a female he wasn't even interested in and definitely not over a fucking table.
"Yeah that's right Shoestrings, walk away like the punk ass nigga you are."
His words stopped Tremaine in his tracks and he almost didn't believe he heard Cory correctly. "What the fuck you just call me?" he asked turning around slowly looking into Cory's smiling face. He knew he had him baited, now it was time to go in for the kill.
"You heard me Shoestrings! That is why you here aint it. Dumb motherfucker tried to hang himself with shoestrings how fucking stu-" he never got a chance to finish what he was saying. Before anyone could stop him, Tremaine was on top of Cory dealing out direct blows to his face. He couldn't believe he knew that and had the nerve, no the audacity to put his business out there for everyone to know. All over a bitch, a bitch he wasn't even interested in.
He knew there were people around him calling his name, begging him to stop. He could feel them pulling on his shirt wanting to pry him away from Cory. But they couldn't, he wouldn't allow them to. Repeatedly he continued to punch him in his face, bashing his head against the hard linoleum floor. He saw the blood but all it did was fuel his fire.
"You wanna talk shit? Huh motherfucker! Talk some shit now nigga! TALK SOME SHIT NOW!" he could feel his blood boiling and there was nothing he could do about it. Cory was going to die and Tre was going to be the one who killed him; that fact was evident. He was going to die for all the people who had ever mistreated him; his blood was going to be on Tre's hands and he would go to jail, the place he was destined to be; a place where he would finally fit in.
Tightly his hands began to close around Cory's neck and Tre was bracing himself for the moment where he would take his last breath; waiting for the moment that signaled the end of Cory's life and the beginning of his. But that moment never came. He was ready for it and yet it never came. It took two bodyguards and a teacher to pry Tremaine off of Cory, but finally he was allowed to gasp for breath.
"You crazy motherfucker!" was all Cory managed to say as he held onto his neck, still struggling to regain control of his breathing.
"Do somethin'!" Tre barked as the security guards continued to hold him back, doing their best to guide him out of the Mess Hall and into detention where he spent the rest of the night.
****
It was late and Tremaine's body was tired, but his mind was wide awake; the day’s events racing through his head. "Dumb motherfucker tried hanging himself with shoestrings..." He could hear Cory loud and clear in his thoughts. But Tre wasn't stupid; people just didn't understand the shit he had to go through everyday. The pain had just gotten too heavy; it seemed like the perfect way out. He wouldn't have to deal with the bullshit day in and day out, and no one had to be burdened with raising a delinquent; it could've been a win-win situation. If only it had panned out the way he planned it to.
"I'm so tired of niggas tryin' to play me!" he groaned.
"So stop lettin' them!" a voice said. Afraid Trey looked around unsure of where it came from.
"Yo' who said that?"
"I did nigga," the voice said again. This time Trey caught his reflextion in the door window and he was sure he was going crazy. He tried to ignore it, but the voice only got louder.
"That shit felt good didn't it. You punished that nigga and that's the way it should be! Stop letting muthafucka's treat you any which way. That ain't the way it’s `spose to be! Any nigga that step to you wrong need to get knocked the fuck back just like that nigga Cory. You `spose to be runnin' shit!"
"You think?" Trey asked his reflection unable to tune out the truth he was hearing.
"Nah nigga, I don't think I know. That ain't even your style though is it? Nah it ain't! I know your type young, you one of them lover not a fighter type of niggas. Don't even worry about it though dog, see `cause Hurricane got you know dude and it ain't gonna be no more of niggas thinkin' they gon take advantage."