That shit will have you on your toes, looking around corners before you turn them, and double-checking everything to make sure you’re safe. To make sure you’re not the latest victim. To make sure you’re alive to see another day. In life, especially in the hood, you either get or you get got. Period. Fear will get you through. And sometimes it will make a straight ass of you. Knock-knock. I screamed out loud as hell, like I was in a horror flick, and rammed my hand in my bag for my gun at the sudden knock on my car window. I relaxed as my mother’s face filled with alarm. I released my death grip on my .357. I’d gone from keeping my gun in its case in my trunk to keeping it in my purse—something against my gun permit. “Hey Mama,” I said, motioning for her to back up so that I could open the door. “Did I scare you?” she asked, her eyes shifting all over my face. Shit, scared been my middle name for two days. “No, you just surprised me,” I said, sliding my bag onto my shoulder and finally climbing out the car.
