Truth: The Bitter Love to Swallow

Truth, The Bitter Love to Swallow

Written by: Omar A. Mills

Copyright © 2018 by Omar A. Mills. All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal. First Printing: 2018

ISBN: 978-1-387-84277-3

Omar A. Mills

2057 Brockett Road

Tucker, GA 30084

[email protected]

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.

For Lionel Williams

The calmest, most mellow grandfather that I relate to the most. Gone, but never forgotten.

Acknowledgments

When I wrote this book, I was on my second deployment with the 24 Marine Expeditionary Unit for seven months. At the same time, I was going through a rough time coping with many unlawful demons that haunt me in unexpected moments. I was also coming to grips with several of my past failed relationships. My first love hurt me pretty badly, but my ex-fiancé, who left me because she just changed devastated me, for she was not only the one who got away, but I know many enemies want me to fail as a person and as a lover. Meanwhile, I was dealing with another battle of mine, coping with the untimely deaths of friends and family members in such a short period. This book was made for me to vent, and it took me a month to do it.

A little about the book: I’m no stranger to Los Angeles, and no one can tell me anything different from what I know and what I see. No, you won’t see me on any yearbooks from Crenshaw High, Morning Side High, or Inglewood High, and no I don’t have a California Driver’s license, but Inglewood is my birthplace, and Los Angeles is home to me. With that said, there is a lot of esoteric language and visuals, including the gang bang culture. Don’t take this as me set tripping or whatnot; it’s just a setting that I, my family, and close friends know best.

I want to say I thank God for giving me just enough for me to handle. I know being agnostic, I don’t speak on God much, but I know of his existence, and he has helped me get through a lot. I want to give thanks to my mom and dad, the two who knew I had talent and would be my best fans of it. Biggest shout out to my aunt, the coolest mother I wished I had, who can relate to me on so many levels.

I want to send a personal, and extra fat shout out to Deep Chakraborty for the art work on the book. It’s been years since I drew, and I didn’t want to spend an arm, leg, and a first born just for some art work. I knew him back in the days, and he held it down at my lowest also, so I owe the existence of this book to him. If you need some good art, he’s the brother to do it!

I know I have many friends out there, but I want to give thanks to the following: Yvette, Elizabeth, Abigail, Kai, Alan, Ricardo, AK, Enrique, Chonny, Brien(Beecham), Brian (Ellison), Al, Jarryd, Tiffany, and Wesley. They held it down most when it came to relationships. You guys got me through the rougher days, and you have done so much more than say get over her, which is not that easy. Of course, I want to thank you, the readers, who I hope would have a connection to this book one way or another. Whether you laugh, whether you cry, it makes no difference. This story is all for you!

Last, but certainly not least, this book would not have been possible without the pain and struggles that I’ve experienced. I would like to give my biggest thanks to all of the women in my life who have ever caused me pain and anguish in the past. I am referring to my ex-fiancé, the girls who cheated on me, lead me on, treated me second-rate, or used me for their selfish gain. If you are reading this, I hope you eventually learn just how hurtful you can truly be, and I hope other people don’t have to put up with the same emotional distress as I’ve experienced. You, and women like you, are the very reason why I wrote this book.

Omar A. Mills

Chapter 1: The Ultimatum

After doing much growing up, I realized that high school was the least of my worries. I slept through a few classes, even flunked out of a few tests, but I still managed to get a diploma from Crenshaw High School... ...big deal. There were other football jocks, gang bangers, and all the popular kids who made it the highlight of their lives. Some got pregnant, some got shot, some got suspended multiple times, but fortunately, none of those happened to me. I was known to be somewhat of a square with no significant group of friends, not big ballin’ from the drug game; I didn’t even have a girlfriend during those four years. I wasn’t into sports, and in fact, the school was in such shit, they hardly had any extracurricular clubs for me to join. So, it’s whatever.

Despite my life being all in black and white, everything around me was colorful and loud, like walking through the streets of Los Angeles walking home. I see white bird poop painting the sidewalks underneath every tree I walk past. If I didn’t hear the jazz music sounding off in Leimert Park, it would either be due to the blaring of sirens down the road, or the barking of cars right behind the other, signaling them to start driving because the green light flashed about a second ago.  From the shoe stores to the local joints, all of the buildings were tattooed with the neighborhood hieroglyphics with words like 190 ECC BPS Stainz.K Flowers.k. I mean hell, there were too many words printed and crossed out that I could hardly even keep up. I couldn’t care less.

I finally made it home to a two-story, white color, western style home in the green zone of Los Angeles. I just came back from one of many days attending El Comino College. After stepping inside, I opened my black bag, flipped through a few papers, and procrastinated on finishing my homework, like I always do; after all, it was a Friday night. So, as you can see, there is not much in my life that’s exciting: go to school, play video games, do homework, sleep, repeat. That routine didn’t sit well with my father. Before I get into that, let me tell you about my family.

As I mentioned, we live in a safe area of L.A., which was slowly, yet surely, being gentrified. I mean before, there was nothing but black people that moved in to escape the violent areas in South Central, Watts, and Compton. Now you still have a few black families living, mostly old, but now I see a lot of Mexicans moving in, and even some white people here and there. As you can guess, my family is not the stereotypical broken home family you know about, and for being expensive, they are pretty well-to-do.  My dad, Gregory, is a proud business owner; my mom, Charlene, works at the LAX airport as a worker’s compensation analyst. I have an older brother, named Byron, who is your typical golden child in the family. My parents would never admit it, but they fed Byron with a silver spoon. I mean come on, UCLA with scholarship, football player, popular kid, you name it; he had the world in his palms, and I was left to pick up after his scraps. Those scraps being my dad always bitching at me.

So, the following Saturday morning, while I was slapping around these online bitches in a good game of Dead or Alive (they don't have nothing on my baby girl Kokoro), an elder man, who was my father, came creeping up behind me. He stood at 6’4, with black hair, blended with a touch of gray, with his scalp more exposed on top. It was one of his days off, so he was dressed in a pair of gray sweatpants and a white tank top. Hey DeMorris, my dad called. You got a minute?

Well after I finish up this game, I replied. That didn’t sit so well with Dad, as he shut both the Xbox and T.V. off with a click of a button.

Dad, what the crap! I said I was-

Oh boohoo, my dad interrupted. While you’re worried about a game stopping, the world is still moving, with no reset or pause button. I think you know what this is about.

Please Dad, enlighten me.

Your mom and I have been talking. It’s about time you get a job. You’re sitting here, and you’re playing games all the time. Plus, it’s in the middle of summer, and you’re doing absolutely nothing.

Really? What about the talk we had during high school? You said I need to do two things, which is either get a job or go to school. What am I doing now? I’m going to school! What’s the big deal?!

"Well, I’m telling you now that you need to work, son. You’re sitting around and eating everything around and have nothing to contribute while we’re out here busting our asses. You’re 19 years old and haven’t gotten a job yet. You’re older than your brother was when he started working."

Are you kidding me?! I did do work! I worked on the lawn and got $20 from you every time.

Well, that’s cute. How about some labor? How about you work for someone else’s money and not mine? Why don’t you work with the Mexicans over there, mowing lawns?

I’ve already looked for jobs, Dad. I applied for Jack ‘N the Box, Macy’s, even Walmart right up the street.

And? My father questioned sarcastically.

And none of them got back to me yet. Plus, we’re entering a recession. It’s not like the years when Obama was pushing out jobs.

Don’t give me the political bullshit. That’s not an excuse, and I’m pretty sure there are more places hiring. Have you tried to apply online at all? After all, we’re now at the age where you have to apply online these days.

Yeah, did that too. No answer. And all the jobs I looked up require a college degree... Which by the way I haven’t gotten yet.

"Dear Lord, it’s always an excuse with you, DeMorris!"

The constant bickering back and forth had my mom come down the stairs as the audience. She was a caramel-colored woman draped with a green robe over her black gown that was visible at the top of her chest. Her hair was covered by a black, silk hair net. I guess she was in the middle of sleeping.

You were never this tough on Byron, your little golden child. Plus, you hooked him up with a ‘real’ job. Why can’t you do the same for me?

That’s beside the goddamn point, son! You need a job, a J-O-B! If that’s too much of hassle, why don’t you get the hell out!

I’m so sick of this shit... I snapped back, as I got up and put on my black Vans and grabbed my black hoodie.

DeMorris, please, my mom pleaded as I headed out the door. Before I left, my dad said, this is your child.

No, this is OUR child, Greg, I heard my mom retort as I slammed the door. Way to reinforce the fact that I’m nothing more than a bastard child, compared to my privileged older brother. That’s the issue: my mom plays the good cop, and my exacting father plays the bad cop of the house. God, I fucking hated how much of an asshole he is.

As exasperating as he was, he was right. I needed a job, not just for the summer, but to help pay for my things. I hated being at the mercy of my parents, I hated being broke, but most of all, I needed to shut my dad up. I don’t need the help of my parents. That’s what I kept pondering as I walked under the morning sky, which appeared more vivacious than it was before. There was no sign of the schizophrenic crackheads and bums perched behind the corner stores, no cars bolting down the roads to beat the highway traffic, and for some reason, the streets don’t reek of piss and liquor as they would in the early morning. As I walked a few hours away from my house, my rancid mood was at ease. Hell, I didn’t even realize how far I walked until later.

I found me one of the local joints I usually go to and used the bathroom. One quick look in the mirror and I examined everything, like my bushy eyebrows, the little bit of puffy black hair on my head, my fair brown skin, and how clean my baby face was, compared to many of my high school peers who hit puberty early. I washed my hands with the warm water, shook the water off a bit and stepped outside, only to see a dear old colleague who just stepped in. He was a somewhat chubby Mexican guy, standing at 5’8 and wore a pair of black Dickey’s and a blue and green striped polo shirt.

Hey, Carlos, I called out about five paces away. I didn’t know you lived around here.

Yeah man, what’re you doing around these parts?

I just went for a walk to get some fresh air, I said, nonchalant, without even telling him of my frustrations from earlier.

I was about to grab some grub, he said. Now that he mentioned it, I was a little bit hungry, and it was about 12:36 when I checked the time.

Nah, I’m good, I lied. I didn’t have much money on me, only a few hundreds I had to conserve until the next time I mowed the lawn.

Oh, come on, I’ll treat you. It’s the least I could do after helping me with my college algebra the other week.

How could I resist? He backed me into a corner by his offer, and I would be an asshole not to accept. So, I caved in, but I got a little something simple: a succulent, warm hotdog that barely even fit in its bun smothered with mustard, ketchup and relish; plain, salted Fritos smothered in chili and cheese; and a cup of coke with a red straw stabbed into the top cover. As we sat outside of the restaurant, listening to the symphony of the busy streets, with a special feature of passing pedestrians, we both scarfed the food in front of us, savoring every bite and every sip.

So, how’s the sociology class? Carlos said to open up the dialogue.

Man, that’s some pretty deep shit, man. I don’t think I could ever look at people the same way. But Mrs. Stanzel though, I think she was one of them 70s hippies, you know?

"Psh, who you kidding? She has a black husband and everything. She’s like the biggest liberal I ever met. Don’t let her get into an argument with Mr. Lukowski though."

Oh God! Really? They be getting into it like that?

Yeah, but at least they keep it outside the classroom, Carlos laughed. I happen to catch them whenever they do argue. It’s a sight to see, I tell ya.

Yeah, but in all seriousness, I switched back, I don’t know why classes like sociology aren’t taught in schools. I mean, then again, education is failing.

Who are you telling?! We don’t even have trade classes like Home Ec. anymore!

Well damn... I said, How did that happen?

We don’t have enough funding, so they started to cut back. No child left behind, right?

We paused for a little bit and finished up our food.

So DeMorris, my friend said, What are you doing for the rest of the day?

Oh, I ain’t got nothing else, really. I mean I was planning to hit up my homework, but I got all week for that. Why? what’s up?

"Well, I was wondering if you wanted to watch the new movie ... uh, Tidal. That’s what it’s called, Tidal."

Oh, that Navy ship horror movie? Yeah, that looks pretty sick! But you’re gonna pay for the meal AND the movies?

"Relax, I work as a projectionist there. I can get you in as a guest if