Jamal had it bad since birth. At the age of 11 his crack addicted mother accidentally caught the house on fire, resulting in her death and leaving him alone with 70% of his body scarred. Jamal played the hand life had dealt him the best he could while being shuffled from foster home to foster home.
Eventually taking his life in his own hands, Jamal quickly became knee deep in the fast life and experienced the game on a level he never thought was attainable.
Like the late Biggie Smalls said "Mo money Mo problems" which was an understatement in Jamal’s life. When things started looking up again all hell broke loose, pushing Jamal in a corner and back on his GRIND!
Jamal wondered what could have possibly happened to the other kids that could have been worse than what he’d gone through. He’d heard about Ms. Hope while he was in the group home, and he knew she always took the bottom catch, the kids nobody wanted or could really love because they were damaged goods in the eyes of society.
Tyreek continued to speak. “See, I been with Ms. Hope since I was eight. My mom was locked up for fraud, so she couldn’t provide for my little brother and me. My dad had to take me and my brother in after that, and his bitch didn’t like the idea of having us around. She was always jealous of my moms and didn’t want anything to do with us because of it. We used to get kicked out every other day. My brother was only two when he died.”
“Only two? How’d that happen? A drive-by or something’?”
“No.” Tears streamed down Tyreek’s face, and his voice grew shaky. “My step mom took us ice-skating. It was freezing outside, and we didn’t really want to go, but she insisted. Besides, Dad wanted us out the house. When we got there, it was dark already, and nobody else was there skating. My little brother was just a toddler, and he was cold and crying. She kept yelling at us to skate, so we kept trying and falling. Finally, she pulled me away from my brother and yelled in my face to let him skate by himself. ‘He’s a big boy!’ she said, and she kept stomping her big ol’ feet, breaking up the ice.” Tyreek’s face turned into a mask of anger. “When the ice cracked all the way and my brother fell in, she wouldn’t let me pull him out. I watched him drown while he was crying out for me. Then, the bitch had the nerve to tell the cops I pushed him and that I’d attacked her. She was right about that part, though, because I bit three inches deep into her face. She killed my baby brother—just stood there and watched him freeze and drown and wouldn’t let me help him—and I lost it!”
Jamal was in shock. Losing his mom had fucked him up. He’d felt helpless when he couldn’t fight the fire or stop her from burning, so he knew some of the pain Tyreek must have felt on the ice today. Fire and ice, they’d both watched helplessly as someone they loved had died.
For the rest of the night, the boys talked and talked, and by dawn—blood or no blood—they’d built a brotherly bond as strong as any family ties.