5 Minutes and 42 Seconds by Timothy Williams Read Free Book Online Page A

he had me.
    He stared me down. I was looking him in the eye at first, then the face, then the heart, and pretty soon my head was tilted down to his feet. I ain’t never wanted to call my momma so bad in my life.
    I was about to cry and I ain’t want him to see me, so I turned my head away and acted like I had something in my eye. He moved closer and I felt his hand in my braids. He said, “You sure got a lot of white in you.”
    I thought, Oh shit, now he really gonna kill me since he found out I’m mixed, because that always seemed to bring shit out of people. I tried to change the subject.
    â€œMister, I ain’t know nothin’ about you. I ain’t know nobody was sellin’ down at the school. If I had known I wouldn’t had been all up in your spot like I was. Mister, please. Please don’t hurt me.”
    He was still stroking my braids. Said he like long hair. Said he noticed me as soon as he saw me. I should have known the deal right then and there, but I was too scaredto think. He pulled out an orange juice from under his bed and told me to drink it. I did. He told me to keep drinking because he didn’t want my mouth to be dry.
    It seemed like he was on some executioner-type shit. Even the way he handed me that orange juice was gangsta. I thought the nigga was ’bout to cap me fo’ sure. I ain’t much for that Christian shit, but I started to pray this one prayer I learned in Head Start:
    Â 
    God is great, God is good. Let us thank him for our food. Bow our heads, we all are fed. Give us, Lord, our daily bread.
    â€”Love, Smokey
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    I closed my eyes and said it again. I was really gettin’ into it. The teachers at the church said it’s sposed to keep you from getting sick. I was hoping it worked on ass whoopings too. When I opened my eyes Fashad was even closer to me than he was before. I scooted over so he could have room to sit, and he scooted every time I did. I didn’t want to piss him off, so after a while I decided to just sit still.
    He put his hand back into my braids and said, “You like to sell, don’t you?”
    I wanted to answer but couldn’t think fast enough. I wanted to say whatever he wanted to hear so he would leave me alone. I just wanted to go home to my momma. I promised myself if I ever saw her again I would stop hating her for being white.
    â€œIt’s okay, you can tell me the truth.” He put his arm around my neck.
    I didn’t know what the hell was going on. It seemed likehe was trying to be friendly now, but Fashad didn’t seem like the old-head type—you know, the thirty-year-old nigga that roll with a bunch of young ones.
    I think he could tell I was scared and confused, so he pulled out a pipe full of chronic. “You want to hit this?”
    I ain’t want to at first—that nigga might have put some other shit that was dangerous in there. But I knew I couldn’t say no to him.
    So I said, “Hell yeah,” and took the pipe. Shit, I couldn’t handle all that stress no more. One minute he seemed like he was gonna kill me, and the next he was tryin’ to smoke up with me like we was boys. So I thought to myself, Fuck it! If this nigga gonna kill me, I’m gonna be high when he do it and not feel a damn thing.
    It ain’t take me more than two puffs before I was gone. That was some good shit. I didn’t even notice Fashad wasn’t doin’ none.
    I started coughing like it was my first time or something. He patted me on my back and asked, “How would you like to work for me?”
    I was loose then from all that chronic. Plus, I knew no gangsta nigga was about to share his chronic with somebody he was about to kill. So I was told him, “Hell yeah.” Shit, the nigga had a fly-ass car, a big-ass apartment, a big-screen TV, rapper suits, and chronic to waste anytime he felt like wasting it. I could tell he was doin’ big thangs, and I