Down The Rabbit Hole Of Love

My Introduction

It was the middle of February; I walked into a small basement apartment on the Northwest side of Chicago with my boyfriend, Mickey. I was introduced to his “best friend,” Carlos, aka Smiley, who had just been released from prison. All I knew about Carlos was that he and Mickey had been best friends since childhood, and he had just spent sixteen years in federal prison for the stabbing of a man who once was his friend.

The moment Carlos and my eyes met, my soul shook. It felt as though a bolt of lightning struck through my entire being. My first thought was, “he’s going to be trouble.” He was handsome; bald, with dark eyes, an olive complexion, not too tall but not too short, a perfectly cut body covered in tattoos, and oddly he was shirtless. What was most captivating about his physical appearance was his SMILE! Those deep, prominent dimples and the noticeable scar that ran through his top lip were sexy and intriguing. His smile was sincere but dark; he wore it like a mask.

As we sat there, I listened to the two of them reminisce on their past that I was not a part of. I was very entertained listening to stories about the two of them gangbanging together and the different bitches they would f**k. Their stories wound down a path I wasn’t expecting.

Carlos began explaining the crime that landed him sixteen years in federal prison, doing six of those years in maximum security. I was taken aback by how open and willing he was to share the story about how he premeditated a man's murder and went through with his strategic plan. The reasoning behind his action was even more preposterous. He claimed he did it for love.

His disposition changed as he began speaking about women that he had just spent sixteen years of his life in prison for. There was a vulnerability in his voice. Carlos spoke of his crime as if he didn’t have a choice and, in every way, possible he believed he had done the right thing. There was no remorse whatsoever. He took pride in his decree to take another man’s life.

Carlos’s way of expression and how his words dance with truth and reality swarmed my brain, forcing sympathy on a cold-blooded murderer. I was, to say the least, intrigued. I wanted to dissect the entirety of his story, but unfortunately, we were out of alcohol and Mickey was noticeably annoyed that he wasn’t the center of attention.

As usual, Mickey, who had no money, offered to get another bottle, promising we would be back as soon as possible to continue our night of exciting stories. As we were leaving, I noticed one of Smiley’s tattoos that ran across the lower part of his neck. It stood out in big, bold, black letters. “YOUR SOUL IS MINE; “As I read the words, I shivered and jokingly thought, “WHAT IF I MADE YOUR SOUL MINE, MR. SMILEY.?”

As Mickey and I drove away, I asked him if he had the money for the bottle of Jack Daniel's he had promised his best friend. He, of course, told me that he did not but promised he’d somehow pay me back. This led to yet another one of our many arguments. We never made it back to Smiley’s house that night or any night after that together.