Something New
“I don’t want people thinking I had a fucked-up childhood or no shit like that. It was normal. We were a broke-ass, lower-middle class family just trying to make somethin’ shake with what we had. I didn’t know shit was bad until shit was fuckin’ terrible, and there was nothing I could do about it.”
“That’s the worst part.”
“What is?”
“Knowing there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“Oh, yeah. I know.”
“So, what happened after that? You went to stay with your grandmother, right?”
He dipped his chin in a quick nod. “Yup. Like I said, when she took me in, she started teaching me how to cook because she worked when she could and did what she could to provide for me and give me the best quality of life she could. But, as I got older, I started consuming myself with the streets. The people I hung with were heavy in the game, so I fell into it too.”
“Did you know, Izzy? Izaiah Lavender, my brother.”
His eyes widened. “Ah shit. I knew your last name sounded familiar. I pegged you for one of Potomac Falls elite, but I know that name holds weight in the streets to this day.”
I dipped my chin. “Yeah. I try to keep that lowkey. That was the life my father and brother lived, not me.”
“Ain’t no shame in it.”
“I guess. So, let’s talk about what happened the night you were arrested. Walk me through that,” I said, steering the conversation back in his direction.
“It was supposed to be an easy in and out job. The niggas I hung with fed me some information on a house in a nice neighborhood in Potomac Falls. I was gon’ hit it up while the owner was outta town. Y’know, take some jewelry or whatever valuable shit I could find and make a quick come up to help pay some bills and shit. All I had to do was get to the getaway car, and I was gon’ be straight. Next thing I know, shots are ringing out. I get hit, and everything goes black. The next day, I wake up cuffed to a hospital bed as the main suspect in an armed robbery where a man was murdered. It turns out the owner was still in the house. He’s the one that shot me, but someone killed him and left me there to take the fall.”
“And they didn’t find anything on you that linked you to the murder except for you being there, correct?”
“Right. I know my hands ain’t squeaky, but that body wasn’t on me. They didn’t find my DNA on him or anything. They couldn’t even link the fuckin’ murder weapon to me. But they needed a win, and I was an easy target, and it was my fuckin’ fault.”
“They still should’ve done their job,” I added.
“Yeah, well, they didn’t. They took one look at me and decided I was it. Who was gon’ fight for me? My parents were dead. My grandmother was livin’ off what little government aid she did get and working part-time. She couldn’t afford a lawyer for me. So, I got an appointed public defender that didn’t do shit but show up the day I had to go to court. I went to prison at eighteen and served seven years of a twenty-five-year sentence for robbery and first-degree murder that I didn’t commit.”
“That’s crazy to me! But at least there’s a silver lining. Let’s talk about your time in prison, what you learned, and everything leading up to your vindication.”
“By the time I was eighteen, I was a decent cook. So, naturally, I took to kitchen duties in prison. I would throw down in that mothafucka, too! Soon, word got around, and I started cooking for private parties for the warden at the prison. I was about three and a half years in before I was contacted by some law students at West Bridge University. They’d heard about my case and wanted to look into it.”
“That’s my alma mater!” I cheered.
“Yeah, well, I owe them my life. The prosecution thought they’d put the case to rest, but they did the research and got the evidence that proved my innocence in the murder. My first-degree murder conviction was overturned, and I was set free.”
“That’s amazing.”
“Like I said, I’m grateful, but those are seven on my life I’ll never get back. My grandmother passed away. She lost the house. I can’t get that back. I can’t get her back.”
I bobbed my head. He may have had a clean record, but he’d always have the scarring mental wounds that would never go away.
“Anyway, I made the connections through the warden and the upper crust of the city, and some rich man I catered for ended up putting me through culinary school six months after I got released. From there, I set up my LLC and started doing some small catering jobs, just trying to get my name out there. I had a little buzz or whatever, and then I flew out to Atlanta to do a cooking show competition that aired on the Food Network.”
“And won!” I chimed in.
He cheesed. “Yeah and won. And it was like my life changed overnight. That national exposure shit is real, and the $100,000 prize money was even more real, which of course, helped me open this spot. And this is just the beginning. So yeah, that’s my story in a nutshell.”
“Again, your story is beyond fascinating. You went from mugshots to magazine shoots, and it’s well-deserved. I’m in awe. I’m inspired. I went from hating you to rooting for you,” I admitted.
He chuckled. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” I followed his eyes down to the engagement ring on my finger. “So, you’re engaged?”