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Jabril Williams is not up for negotiation, so if you don’t give a fuck, stay not giving a fuck, but don’t ever give me no fucked-up advice about my son’s life. Be clear, that is not your damn place!”
    “Oh, but it’s my place to take you on trips, spend my money on you, refurnish your house and shit, so you can ball on TV. But it’s not my place to tell you what I think about your son. Listen, it’s cool, after all he’s not my kid.”
    “And thank God for that.”
    “Yeah really,” Trenton snapped as he started to dress. “And when he grows up robbing and killing folks don’t call me.”
    “Don’t you worry about him!”
    Trenton grabbed his car keys.
    “Where are you going?” Jaise asked.
    “Listen, go take care of the thief you’re raising, and when he’s sentenced to prison and is finally out of the house, call me.”
    “I can’t believe you said some shit like that!”
    “Believe it, because I said it. You’re so busy complaining and all up in my ear about when are we going to be married. Well, from where I’m standing, outside of fucking you, there’s no future with you. You nag too much, you have a life filled with drama, and any man that comes up in here and takes you seriously will have to fuck your son up because you won’t. Here’s some advice: If you want to raise a strong and productive black man then find a man to be his daddy, because Lawrence ran away and I don’t have the tolerance for it.” And he slammed the door behind him.
    Jaise could hear Trenton’s car tires screeching down the street as she sat naked in the middle of her bed.
If only my son would behave
, she thought,
I wouldn’t have these problems
.
    A few minutes later she was dressed and practically skating down the stairs and into her car. She placed her car in reverse and saw the camera crew’s van revving its engine behind her. Jaise couldn’t believe it; they had actually camped out across the street from where she lived. She knew it was reality TV, but damn.
    As soon as Jaise pulled up in front of the precinct with the camera crew on her heels, she flew out of the car and into the station. She found Jabril handcuffed to a metal bench, surrounded by a room filled with busy officers and other handcuffed criminals. Jaise’s heart dropped. Although Jabril towered over her at six feet, he still looked like a sweet and innocent baby to her… a toddler at the most, with big brown button eyes, deep dimples, and a sweet smile. She could tell by the way he was biting his bottom lip that he was nervous.
    “Jabril,” she said breathlessly as if she’d been running in a marathon, “what happened?” She ran her hand along the side of his face. “Did anybody hurt you? Are you okay? What the hellhappened? Why are your eyes so red? Did somebody put their hands on you? And who are these so-called thugs?! And alcohol, Jabril? Why won’t you listen to me?!”
    “Man, don’t start questioning me.” Jabril sighed and sucked his teeth. His breath reeked of alcohol, and contact with the stench almost made Jaise high. She felt as if she were having an out-of-body experience, because there was no way the baby she’d nurtured in her bosom, carried on her hip, loved more than herself, protected like a grand prize, and had dreams and aspirations for was sitting handcuffed in a police station drunk … Maybe she was in space. Yeah, that was it, she was in the Twilight Zone.
    Jabril pushed his mother’s hands from his face. “What does it look like happened? And what took you so long?! And get that camera outta my face before my friends think I’ma cop.”
    The innocent vision of Jabril quickly faded. “Who the hell are you talking to?!” Jaise lost it. “I’m worried sick about you and this is how you speak to me? And on TV? You think I like coming to get you from jail? Is this what you want out of life—to be a crack-head?” She mushed Jabril in the center of his forehead.
    “I don’t do crack. It was Banana