A Lesson in Socio-Economics By Brendan Whitt
Photography by Daivon Shepherd
The firmness of the hardwood floor made it hard for Jay to get any real sleep. His bed for the past couple of nights had been a pallet of blankets and a single pillow. None of that mattered now. It was time for him to get up anyway. In the hallway he could hear his friend Yassir talking to his grandmother. Jay could hear them but, not loud enough to make out what they were saying. Her hand was on her hip as she pointed her finger toward the door. Yassir's head dropped.
Jay watched through a crack in the door, trying to figure out what they were saying. When the conversation ended, Jay quickly laid back down to pretend that he were still sleeping. Yassir opened the door and tapped Jay on his shoulder. "We gotta get up for school bruh."
Jay rolled over and yawned. "Bet."
"You want some cereal or somethin'" Yassir asked.
"I'm good” Jay said.
"Alright. Ima let you hop in the shower first cause you smell like hot ass!" Yassir quipped.
Jay laughed. "Naw bruh, this yo room. Whatever is in here got is smellin like this."
"Exactly. It ain't smell like this til you got here."
The friends continued to laugh as Yassir got his things ready to take a shower. Despite all of the jokes, Jay was grateful for what Yassir had done for him. He gave him a place to lay his head and a hot meal at the end of the day. Jay's home situation wasn't the best, and he was curious as to what was said in the hall several minutes before.
Jay got up and got his clothes together. All he had were the clothes on his back, and a dingy black Jansport bookbag. The bookbag didn't have much in it to do with school. Just a couple of dollars, a few basic toiletries, and the small collection of under garments that he washed daily in Yassir's basement.
It was their second to class of the day as Jay and Yassir sat through their 10th grade history teacher’s lecture. “The French are attributed with coining the term laissez-faire market. This means that a business is allowed to operate itself free from any governmental interference.” Mr. Carver, the pair’s teacher had enough of the snickering and indistinct chatter. ““Excuse me Jay and Yassir, do we have something to add to the conversation?”
“Nah bruh” Jay said.
“Then if the two of you are finished with your side conversation I would like to get back to teaching the class.”
“Ain’t nobody stopping you. You the one who stopped teachin’.”
“Well it gets difficult teaching young adults when two children are being disruptive.” Their teacher was becoming visibly upset. His attention had been completely diverted from his lesson plan.
Yassir stood up and began to gather his belongings.
“I ain’t tryin’ to be in here anyway. I’m bouta slide. Ain’t nobody in this bitch gettin’ money anyway. And I seen yo car Mr. Carver. By the looks of it you definitely ain’t gettin’ no money.”
Mr. Carver slammed the piece of chalk he holding down onto his desk. “That’s it! I want the both of you out of my class and don’t come back without the principal and your parent.”
Jay joined Yassir and began to gather his belongings as well. They were relieved. Another boring day of mediocre inner-city instruction had been avoided. The last thing either of them wanted to do on a fair fall afternoon was to be cooped up in a deficient and failing high school on the city’s east side. Yassir said it best. Nobody in that class was “gettin’” money. How do you keep a poverty-stricken youth invested in his education when he’s devoid of positive reinforcement?
Jay and Yassir had been friends since elementary. The two met when Jay and his mother moved into a house at the end of Yassir’s street. The boys formed a strong bond that even held up when Jay and his mother was evicted. Although Jay wasn’t in the neighborhood he was still in the district so he got to go to school with Yassir. Jay would often have to spend days at a time at Yassir’s house. Jay’s mother was an on again off again drug addict. Yassir’s grandmother would feed Jay as he slept on the floor in Yassir’s room. Jay hardly ever went home. As far as he was concerned, he had no home. All Jay had was a junkie for a mother, a mattress on the floor, and a kitchen full of empty cupboards. By high school he had enough.
Yassir also had a set of obstacles. Yassir’s grandmother took full custody of him as a toddler. His father was killed in a drug deal gone bad and his mother was in and out of jail. Yassir’s dad was OG and the trait had been inherited. Yassir was short in stature and had a joking nature. The bright smile and jokes would often give way to his unbridled temper. Given his grandmother’s age she was beginning to run out of options for disciplining Yassir.
“I can’t go to the house too early. My grandma gon know I left early.”
“At least she care. I ain’t been home in a week. I know my momma ain’t notice.”
“Oh yeah bruh, my grandma said you can’t stay over tonight. She got a bible thing at the house.”
“Alright. I’ll just call Key to see what she up to. You know who got some bag?”
Yassir thought on it for a moment. “That nigga Boon got bag.”
“Is it gas though?”
“Straight 93 supreme. Nigga got that piff. Don’t fuck wit it.”
“It’s a bet. He got $10 a g right?”
“Nah. This that shipment from Detroit. He doin’ $15 but I can finesse a eighth for $30.”
“All I got is $10.”
“We straight then.”
The boys made their way through the urban terrain of an east side Cleveland neighborhood. Looking at an abandoned brick building with smashed out windows or empty windowsills paints the illusion of peering into a person’s eyes whose soul has been snatched from them. The cracked pavement is a trash receptacle covered in empty swisher packs and the discarded plastic tips of Black & Milds. A light pole covered in dirty stuffed animals surrounded by empty liquor bottles paid homage to a young angel called home too soon. Imagery that painted Jay and Yassir’s daily commute to and from school.
“So Boon really that man huh” Jay asked.
“Yeah. He got all that shit. I don’t fuck with him strong but I know he be holdin’.
“I been thinkin’ bout gettin’ me a pack. I need some money.”
“Well Boon is definitely the nigga you need to see.”
Yassir and Jay arrived at a house on a long street with mostly vacant and dilapidated houses. Yassir walked ahead of Jay. “Stay down there. This nigga take his shit serious” he said. Jay stood and watched anxiously as Yassir walked up the rickety wooden steps towards an uncharacteristically fortified door. He knocked twice. One of the blinds covering the windows pulled back slightly as an eye peeked out from behind it. The eye disappeared as a voice shouted from the other side of the door “Go to the back.” Yassir and Jay made their way to the back of the house where they were greeted by a stoic black man dressed in all black with a domineering stature and dreads that went down to the middle of his back.
“What yall need” the man inquired.
“I need an eighth for $30” Yassir answered.
“I can’t do that. I can do it for $45.”
Jay shot Yassir a look of disappointment. “What can we get for $30?”
“This why y’all asses need to be in school. $15 a gram mean two for $30.”
“Alright, bet” Yassir said.
Jay handed Yassir a Hamilton who paired it with a Jackson before handing the dread-head the money. “Hold on. I’ll be back.”
“Bruh I thought you said a eighth for $30.”
That ain’t Boon though. I don’t know who the fuck this First 48 lookin’ nigga is.”
Jay shook his head in disappointment as the back door opened up. The man handed Yassir a sandwich bag with a few nuggets of green gold. “I threw in some extras. We good?” Yassir sniffed the contents of the bag before passing it to Jay for his approval. The pungent smell infiltrated Jay’s nose briefly relieving him of all stress. Yassir turned around and gave the man a strong dap. He closed the door as Jay and Yassir thought it best if he and Jay went to a friend’s house to spark up.
“If I was the plug I’d be up as fuck right now” Jay said. “Just stack my bread and stay out the way.”
“I wanna rob the plug. Hustlin’ take too much work. I’m cool on that.”
“So you’a rather do a kick do’ than hustle?” Jay asked.
“Hell yeah. Kick do’ like ten minutes if you slow. Hustlin take days bouh.”
“I guess so. Is Boon really the plug?”
“Yeah. He might not serve you but he the plug. That nigga rich.”
“What’s rich to you” Jay said. “Like what make a nigga rich?”
“Shit nigga, money.”
“Nah. Like rich forreal.”
“Ain’t money real”, Yassir countered.
“Think about this. If I got five bands and you got two who got more?”
“You.”
“If I got five bands and you got two but you got a house who got more?”
Yassir thought on it for a minute. “Still you. You got five bands. I only got two.”
“Wrong.” Jay took the liberty of correcting Yassir based on his logic. “If you got a house you can flip it, sell it, even rent it out. You can make more money. All I got is five bands. That money can’t make more money.”
“What’s yo point?”
“The way we value money as Black People is fucked up” Jay said. “My Uncle Redd be flippin houses. You know he got bread.”
“Bruh, I’m still lost.”
Jay looked down at the cracked and uneven pavement that their feet touched and shook his head. “So is the rest of us” he said.