Free Homeless by Ms. Michel Moore Page A

“Trees, females, and pills, huh?”
    Kevin was proud of what illegal activities his night was going to hold and continued to boast. “Yeah, buddy. You know how it is. We been hitting the books all week for finals and need a little something to take the edge off.”
    â€œYeah, finals is a motherfucker,” Lonnie acknowledged gripping up on his book bag. “I got two more this week my damn self.”
    Kevin nodded in total agreement. “Well, I see this you,” he motioned toward Lonnie’s apartment with a huge letter C on it. “So I’ll let you get to your food and them books. But if you feel like taking a break, my friend, you know where to find us. And in the meantime, here, take this to get you started.” Kevin reached down, grabbing Lonnie a beer out his pack and laughed, turning beet red. “Remember, weed, pills, beer, and hoes! It’s the all-American dream; well, the white dream anyways!”
    * * *
    The evening seemed to drag on. And the night was doubly worse than that. It was like the more Lonnie tried to concentrate on his studies, the more commotion he heard in the hallway of people coming and going down the way. He could easily tell they were some of Kevin’s friends by the way they came passing his door sober, then would leave an hour or so later fighting to stand up and talking loud cash shit all the way to the elevator. Part of him wanted to try to stop being so antisocial and go check Kevin out; at least for another cold beer or two since his was warm. While the other part of him knew trying to link up with some wild-style white boys that liked to get high was nothing but trouble waiting to jump off.
    Searching through the Pandora app on his cell, Lonnie tried to focus on some music and get back to the books. With the tunes on random play, he was suddenly frozen. Feeling a chill come over him and a harsh dryness in his mouth, the teen closed his eyes. Allowing the sounds of one of Al Green’s songs take over his soul, Lonnie was lost thinking about his deceased mother. This was one of her favorite songs in the world; or so she used to claim. His first thought was to turn it off, but his inner self kept saying no. Lonnie was no dummy. He knew himself better than anyone else in the world. The still very much grief-stricken youth knew if he kept listening to old Al, he was subject to get caught up in his emotions. And as if on cue, a few seconds later, Lonnie was close to tears taking a trip back down memory lane.
    Taking both index fingers, he started to slowly rub them on his temples in a circular motion. Quickly realizing he couldn’t stop the onset of a rapidly approaching headache, Lonnie snatched the half-drunken warm bottle of beer off his desk. Jumping to his feet, he ran to get a few extra-strength aspirins to help him chill out and relax. Twisting the cap off, he shook three or four pills out and washed them down with the remaining beer. I gotta stop tripping like this. I got to! I swear I got to! Lonnie, like a fool, kept turning the volume up on his cell as loud as it could possibly go. And Pandora, being Pandora, played several more songs that equally reminded him of the woman who gave birth to him and loved him until the day she died. He felt like he was going stir-crazy. Lonnie kept hearing the voices of the women he felt had mistreated him or done him wrong over the previous year. He couldn’t seem to drown them out. Finally, he not only turned the volume of the music down, but shut his cell all the way off.
    Feeling out of control, Lonnie finally broke his self-imposed code of not generating any bonds, friendships, or relationships with any of the party animals at his school. He wanted to do as he’d been doing all semester; keep his head in the books and his mind focused on something other than the streets. He’d sworn off any bullshit, including partying and ratchet-ass females that he knew ultimately meant him no