Trap House (29 page)

* * *

Blast, on the other hand, was all alone. When Earl ran off, she had no one to turn to. She had not
spoken with her family in Mississippi in so long that she didn’t even know them anymore. She had
millions of dollars but not one friend. She had trusted Earl, and that didn’t turn out well at all. She
had plenty of money to replace the $300,000 he absconded with, but no amount of money could
fix her broken heart.

* * *

Tiffany’s parents had told her they would not be coming to visit one weekend, so she was
surprised to hear her name called over the loudspeaker for visitation. “Okaaay! I wonder who this
could be,” Tiffany sang giddily as she dressed for her visit. Since there were no classes, group
sessions, or mail on the weekends, they were dreadfully slow. Spending a couple of hours with
loved ones was always a welcomed reprieve.

“Table Five,” the guard supervising the visitation area directed as Tiffany entered.

She stared at the familiar face, blinking to be sure her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her. Every
time she opened her eyes, she expected him to be gone, but there he was. “Oh my God! Is that
you!?” she asked, embracing the man. “What’s that on your face…and on your head?” Tiffany
asked when they separated from their hug.

“This is a beard, and this is a Kufi,” Carlos said, matter-of-factly.

“So you’re one of them Moslems now?” Tiffany asked as they took their seats.

“It’s Muslim, and yes.
Ash hadoo anla illaha illallah
!” he replied cheerfully.

“I have no idea what that means. It’s pretty though.” Tiffany laughed.

“I said, ‘There is no God but the one God, and Muhammad, peace be upon him, is His
messenger’,” Carlos replied seriously. “Oh, and it’s Ali now.”

“So your girl a Muslim too?” Tiffany asked, turning up her lips.

“I’m not with her anymore. I’m taking some time to get myself in order before I find a wife,”
he replied.

“I can relate,” Tiffany said, waving her hand around the room. “Tryina get right too.”

For the next few hours, the couple talked about everything under the sun. This was the most
conversation they’d had in years. Tiffany had a million questions about religion, and Carlos
answered them all as best he could.

When the guards announced that their time was up, Tiffany made Carlos promise to return the
following week. He also gave her a small Qur’an that he kept with him.

During the week, Carlos and Tiffany enjoyed marathon phone conversations as they rebuilt
their friendship. Tiffany was so enthralled with her Qur’an that they spent hours discussing it.

Tiffany’s parents were dismayed when she asked them not to come up for visitation, but they
were fine with it when she told them Carlos was coming . They were very fond of him and knew
he was a good young man.

“What’s wrong?” Carlos asked urgently when he saw Tiffany’s tears at their next visit.

“You think God—or Allah—can forgive me?” she asked, sobbing.

Carlos lifted her head with his hand to make eye contact before they spoke. “When you accept
Islam, all your past sins are forgiven,” he assured her.

“Okay. So what I gotta do?” Tiffany asked eagerly.

“What do you mean?” Carlos asked, unsure of the question.

“To be a Muslim, to be forgiven, what I gotta do?” she replied.

“Just repeat after me…
Ash-hadoo anla illah illallah, wa ash haddo anna Muhammadan
rasoulullah,”
he said.

When she was unable to repeat it verbatim, he broke it down into segments, and she got it.

“Now you gotta turn a back flip, and you in,” Carlos said seriously.

“You for real?” Tiffany asked, incredulous. “I can’t turn no flip!”

“Just kidding, Fatima,” Carlos laughed.

“What you call me?” Tiffany demanded with a frown.

“Fatima,” Carlos said seriously. “That’s the name of the prophet’s—peace be upon him—
daughter, Ali’s wife.”

“Oh,” Tiffany said, calming down from thinking he’d called her some other girl’s name. “Oh!”
she exclaimed excitedly when she finally caught on. “So are you asking me…!” Tiffany yelled,
unable to even get it out.

“Yes, sister, I’m asking you to marry me,” Carlos said sincerely.

“Yes, of course! Of course!” Tiffany said, still screaming. “I mean,
insha-Allah
!” She chuckled,
embarrassed by her outburst.

* * *

Over the next eight months, Carlos and Tiffany grew closer. Besides his weekly visits, they
spent hours on the phone.

Tiffany embraced her new way of life with zeal. She read everything she could get her hands
on and ordered more books when she finished those. Carlos was both amazed and pleased at how
much she learned; she was even teaching him things he didn’t know.

When the program ran its course, the residents were free to go. They had a van to take people
with no rides to the train station. Since the majority of them had long since burned their bridges,
most took the van.

In the end, only Tiffany and Blast remained. They were both hoping their rides showed up
quickly to avoid conversation. Tiffany knew Carlos and her parents were en route, but Blast was
looking for Earl. Even though she had not heard one word from him or even knew his whereabouts,
she kept up hope. She knew what they shared was true love, and she held faith in that.

When Carlos’s truck pulled up, Tiffany ran down to meet it. Halfway down the steps, she
stopped and went back. She gave Blast a hug that spoke volumes without uttering one word.

“Go. I’m all right,” Blast said, fighting the urge to cry.

“You sure? We can give you a ride,” Tiffany offered as they broke their embrace.

“No. Earl is coming. He’s just running late,” Blast said, believing it herself.

“Okay,” Tiffany said sadly. She knew no one was coming for Blast, even if Blast wouldn’t
admit it. “Take care,” she said over her shoulder as she went to the truck.

* * *

After a tearful reunion with her family, Carlos steered the truck toward Atlanta.

“Where we going?” Tiffany asked curiously as they passed the exit that would have taken them
home.

“To the masjid on Fourteenth Street…to get married,” Carlos said proudly.

“You asking or telling?” Tiffany shot back playfully.

“Telling!” her mother and father replied in unison from the backseat.

“Okay! Dang! Let’s go get married then.” Tiffany laughed.

After a short Islamic service, Carlos and Tiffany dropped her parents off at their house before
heading to their own. Carlos had purchased a new home in a surrounding county several months
earlier, but he’d waited for Tiffany’s release so they could move into it together.

* * *

Blast finally admitted to herself that no one was coming. She called a taxi to take her to her
house. “Girl, you healthy and rich,” she told herself to combat the urge to cry. Still, she gave the
driver the directions to the house that Earl had run for P.I.G. before he left.

She accepted the fact that Earl was gone, but she still hoped he wasn’t. Besides, there was no
way she was going to step foot in the house of horror on Moreland Avenue ever again. She debated
whether she should sell it or burn it to the ground.

Blast thanked the driver twice, once verbally and then again by allowing him to keep the change.
She fished out the keys and entered the musty house. Her heart sank again when she saw it was
indeed uninhabited.

“Oh well.” She shrugged. “Five hours, three cars, and two mill,” she said, counting her blessings.
She then set about opening windows to air the dank house.

Blast got misty-eyed when she got to the master bedroom, the place she and Earl stole moments
together when they could. An envelope taped to the mirror instantly caught her attention. She
smiled at the familiar handwriting as she tore into the package. Blast disregarded what she thought
were brochures that fell out, eager to get a letter. To her surprise, it wasn’t dated a year earlier, but
only the day before. She fumbled to get it open and read it as quick as she could:

“Hey, baby. Wipe that smile off your face! I’m sorry I left the way I did, but it was for the best.
Had I bailed you out that night, we would have both went back to the same life. We would have
ended up in jail, dead, or worse...still junkies. I’m clean now. Have been since the day I left. I’m
at home now—our home—waiting on you. Enclosed is a one-way ticket. I’ll see you tonight. Love,
Earl.”

“I’m coming, baby!” Blast screamed, scrambling to pick up the fallen tickets.

CHAPTER 28

A
fter pleading out to two life sentences in Atlanta, Marcus took his other murder charges
to trial just for the hell of it. Dekalb County gave him two more life sentences without the
possibility of parole.

At the age of twenty-one, he was facing living the next forty or fifty years in prison , until he
died. They were never gonna let him out. He spent six months at a diagnostic prison undergoing
a battery of physical and mental evaluations. Then he was sent to a Level Five prison to serve his
time.

New arrivals came into the prison system every Tuesday and Thursday. This allowed the
predators to develop a routine. When the new inmates were brought into the dorm, the robbing
crew would duck off into a cell and see who was who.

If someone was a known snitch, they wouldn’t be allowed to stay. If they were bait, they were
robbed. If they got robbed and didn’t get anyone back, they were getting fucked next. The Georgia
prison system’s motto was “Fuck, fight, or wash clothes.” If you were fucking, then so be it. If you
fought, you earned respect. If you opted to wash clothes, it was only a matter of time before you
were fucking.

Marcus was spotted the moment he walked into the cell house. “I know dat ain’t the nigga
dat kilt my daddy,” Red’s son, Lil Red, announced. He was serving a life sentence of his own for
armed robbery and murder.

“Who?” his homeboy, Willie B, asked, crowding the small window in the door. Willie B earned
his nickname by looking just like the legendary gorilla from the Atlanta Zoo, and just like his
namesake, he was a gorilla.

Lil Red was about to rush out and attack until Willie B restrained him.

“Chill, shawty. Let’s wait till after count,” he reasoned.

“That’s what’s up,” Lil Red agreed.