Damali's Journal: Volume One

By

L. A. Banks

Okay, Journal… it’s me again. Yeah, about the same old yang, too. Something has got to be wrong with me! Every night—thinking about this stuff? That’s not normal, is it? To be so fixated on “one thing.” Marlene and the gang swear I’m some superhero—and yet, I’m crazy about some guy from five years ago, who, I might add, is hustling? That happens to everyday sisters. I’m not so special in that regard.

They said I’m supposed to be on the side of The Light—yeah, right! But, Journal, let me tell you—if I didn’t have all those big brothers out there packing glocks, and Marlene… I can’t even explain this mess to anybody. It makes no sense. I’m too embarrassed.

The dreams are getting worse than when I was with him and we were kids. I haven’t been near him in years, and he’s got me trippin’ in a shower… calling him by name in my dreams… has me writing songs for him, and whatnot. Stupid, sentimental… I’m over the top—out of control, probably need a therapist. I’m sitting here writing and crying and laughing, just scribbling stream of consciousness, because my body aches so bad. I’m rocking just thinking about it. But I tell you no lie, it’s almost as though I can feel him. Need to feel him… see, here I go again. Just the thought of being with him makes me get wet. Makes no sense!

I keep telling myself that I just want to find him to make sure he’s safe; I’m worried about him—that much is true. Carlos has never been anywhere safe in his life. I should be mad at him for the way he lives, and if he gets nicked, I should be the first one to tell him: I TOLD YOU SO!

But, aside from all that, and vampires added to the mix, if I really get down with the truth, fact is… I almost can’t write it. I want to do more than just find him and cuss him out for being so damned stubborn—have for years. Each time I see him, and Rider cold busted me during a two-by-two detail about it, my mind isn’t totally on brotherman’s safety… you know what I’m saying. I couldn’t even look my Guardian brother in the face—just thinking about Carlos was making my hands shake. Then I went off, went into this blood-lust… it had been so crazy. Love will do that to you… oh, no, did I say love? Scratch that, now I’m really losing it.

Plus, with a doggone prayer line around me, a white bath for protection… I have to laugh. The last place I want to be is locked inside this compound and stuck in my room. Maybe I got nicked in one of the street fights, who knows? Because one thing is for sure, tonight… tonight… I was about two seconds from putting on my clothes, grabbing the keys to a Hummer, and breaking camp—yeah, going to look for what I know is trouble on two legs. Just for one night… one indescribable night, then I’ll come back. The night is calling my name like I’m one of the night creatures. I keep asking myself, what if… I keep wondering what being with him would be like.

Listen to me, Journal. I’m talking myself into something I shouldn’t even be considering. But it’s way beyond considering—this is primal. Basic. I’m practically chanting on it. This is unfinished business that I should have finished a long time ago. Now I’m suffering, sitting here about to slide out of my chair. I’m scared—no “sca-ered” to get in my own shower, even to take a cold one, ‘cause facts being what they are, I don’t trust myself. If I roll out of here… and if I run into homeboy—all he’d have to do was blow on me from twenty-feet away, and I’d be done. What am I talking about, I’m done now.

And I have the choice between sitting in here and trying to chill or going in the rec room with the entire team and trying to chill. Either scene is torture. By myself, my mind wanders into places it shouldn’t go. Being around them works my last nerves. Can’t go clubbing. If I put the key in an ignition, and I turn over an engine, my Hum-V is going on autopilot to around the way… I’ll be cruising the streets, stopping at corners like a junkie, looking for Rivera—trying to act all casual like nothing is up. I’ll put out an all-points-bulletin, will be praying in my mind, brother come on and get with this tonight. Please!

Marlene will have a heart attack, and then might be so mad she’d be tempted to throw some serious Ju Ju that would definitely compromise her soul. Shabazz will have natural heart failure then get up shooting—no cool whatsoever, not when it comes to Carlos. Rider will go to jail for flat-blasting a brother in the streets, no matter what he said in the Jeep. I know dude. Big Mike might blow up hombre’s house with a damned shoulder cannon. JL and Jose will be roaming the streets on the hunt for a sure take down. Naw, I need to stay home. It ain’t worth all that. But, daaayum… 

All right. It’s all good. This is part of that martial arts discipline ‘Bazz was talking about. The mind over matter rhetoric that works when you’re forty-something. The philosophical yang that prevails when you’re getting yours with regularity, and can be cool. Maybe I need to ask Mar, in a round-about-sorta way, if she’s got something herbal to remedy this problem.

But how would I seem, going to my mother-seer and just dropping this on her like Shabazz always drops his science—straight with no chaser. Journal, I ask you, how am I supposed to just say, “Yo, Mar, I’m horny as hell for this man. Do you have something to take the edge off?” Never. Now I know I’m crazy!

Laughing hard now to keep from crying, excuse the smudges—laughing ain’t working, because the tears are still hitting the page. No offense, Journal, but you know one day soon you’re gonna have to hit the fireplace, right? If my secret side ever got out, ever got told… I can’t even think about that right now, because I’m sitting here still trembling, still feeling like I was almost with him. All I did was go to sleep and woke up in a cold sweat… need to finish what my mind started so bad I can barely hold this pen to write it out of my system.

All right. Enough whining. It is what it is. One day the right one will come along, and this burn will go away. Just need to focus, get into my music, think about the mission, remember what’s at stake, get real—be logical… mind over matter. Need to stop playing with my own head. They say I’m The Neteru. What the hell is that, anyway, though?

All I know is there’s this brother from the barrios that has my nose wide open!