The Right Side of Reckless

by Whitney D. Grandison

  Maybe she was right. “Okay.”

  “Guillermo, I’m going to give you another assignment, another goal. Be. Happy. Forgive yourself for your past indiscretions and just be happy. We all deserve happiness, believe it or not.”

  Be happy.

  I wondered, after everything, if that were possible.

  Regan

  “He’s so fine,” Malika was saying as she sank down into the sofa in her TV room Tuesday after school. She was talking about Guillermo, or really, she was still talking about Guillermo. She had first mentioned how attractive he was as soon as first period let out, and now here she was starting up again. “I can’t believe that’s your neighbor.”

  But really, I had to agree, because Guillermo was gorgeous. It was only a matter of time before some girl came along and cuffed him. A boy that cute would not be single for long at Arlington High.

  Malika was babysitting her one-year-old cousin, a curious baby boy named Davion who needed constant attention from Malika. As she finally laid him down in his playpen beside the sofa for a nap, I was relieved for the break.

  “Yeah,” I said, trying not to make a big deal out of it. I thought of Troy and our issues; this could be a good time to get some advice. “But anyway, maybe you can help me with something.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, really, it’s just that Troy wants—”

  “Sex,” Malika said, finishing for me like a clairvoyant, as she often did. “Of course he does, he’s a boy.”

  “I’m just confused. He’s trying to be patient, but I can tell he really wants it and he’s getting a little frustrated.” Or maybe a lot frustrated.

  “Why are you confused? You love him, your parents love him—everybody loves him. You’ve got the butterflies and fairy tale, what’s holding you back?”

  “I do love him, but there’s never been any butterflies.”

  Malika made a face, her eyebrows knitting together in a frown. “What do you mean?”

  “He was always just...” Troy Jordan. I’d never chased after him or felt weak at the knees at the sight of him. I was flattered he was paying attention to me in the beginning, but to be honest, we weren’t a thing until my father found out. When it came to Troy, a prominent member of the sports section of the local paper, my father all but pushed us down the aisle.

  “So no butterflies?” Malika asked.

  I shook my head. “No, but it’s not that big of a deal, right?”

  She sat back, like she was mulling it over. “You should wait until you’re ready. You deserve to feel butterflies, so maybe you should think about this. If this thing with Troy is what you really want or not. On the surface, he seems like a pretty decent guy, but dig deeper.”

  “Yeah,” I said, “he’s amazing.”

  “You don’t even sound convinced, Rey.” Malika chuckled. “As your best friend, I gotta ask, have you guys done anything...spicy? You know, beyond kissing, under the clothes, et cetera, et cetera?”

  I cringed. “Malika.”

  “I’ll take that as a no.”

  “He almost showed me once, but I freaked out. I don’t know, I guess I’m just afraid I’ll be awful, or I won’t like it.”

  “The first time’s different for everyone, and if Troy is such a great guy, he’ll help you and make sure you’re comfortable so you can enjoy yourself and trust yourself. Guys can be selfish assholes, some only look out for themselves, and that’s the type you wanna steer away from. You don’t want a situation like I got.”

  Right. Calvin. “How are things with him?”

  Malika lifted and dropped her shoulder, then went and gathered her phone. “We’re talking, nothing serious or anything yet. This is his probation period with me.” She sneaked me a look. “Maybe that’s what Troy needs to be on if he keeps buggin’ you.”

  Maybe.

  “Yeah, but at least Troy’s trying to be romantic. Hopefully the date goes well,” I said.

  “It better.”

  “I just hope...” I paused, trying not to put my fears into the universe. I just hoped my boyfriend kept it to dinner and dancing, not anything else. “To have a good time at After Hours.”

  “Shoot, I need to go, too. I ain’t been in a minute.”

  “Maybe Guillermo will be there,” I joked.

  Once more Malika was all heart-eyes over the mention of the new boy. She lifted a brow, like she’d got a mischievous idea in her head. “Maybe he will be.”

  “But then, how do we know if he’s single or not?”

  Malika was silent as she scrolled through her phone. Then slowly, a Cheshire cat smile spread across her face, and she turned her phone around to me. She’d pulled up Guillermo’s social media page. A few images of him were on display.

  “Malika!” I don’t know why I was embarrassed, as if he could somehow see us spying.

  She waved me off. “Girl, stop. Ask and you shall receive. From the looks of his page, he hasn’t posted in months, but he is in fact single. Lemme add him.” She continued to search through his profile, her eyes lit with intrigue. “Plus,” she went on, “he seems to be hanging around Jenaya, too, at school.”

  I didn’t care if the rumors about her were true or not, but I did know one thing—Jenaya was tough. A toughness I envied, because if I had her strength, I bet speaking up to Troy, and my dad about accounting, would be a breeze.

  “Do you think he’s into her?” Nobody else ever approached Jenaya, and yet Guillermo had done so fearlessly. The boy barely looked at me in the classes we shared together, chemistry and English, but when it came to his lunch period with Jenaya or the times I’d caught them in the hall, he was smiling away.

  Malika gave a careless shrug. “Who knows. They’d make a cute couple, though.”

  Looks-wise, I guess... Malika was right. Given their tough demeanors, I could see it.

  I abandoned that thought, deciding it was simply nice that Guillermo was making friends.

  Malika reached out, grabbing a jar of banana baby food from the coffee table in front of us. She caught me side-eyeing her, and shrugged. “What?”

  “Please tell me you’re not stealing that boy’s food.”

  Malika appeared innocent. “Listen, my aunt knows to get him the other fruits by now. This is for me.”

  “Malika.” I shook my head, watching in fascination as she spooned up some of the banana-flavored mush and commenced to enjoy it.

  Davion stood up in his playpen suddenly, his big eyes focusing on me.

  Malika noticed and softened up. “Aww, I think he likes you. Wanna hold him?”

  “Yeah, sure,” I said, curious.

  Malika gathered Davion from his playpen and carefully handed him to me. He was far from that all-too-fragile stage, able to stand on his own and hold his head up, so I wasn’t completely hopeless as I cuddled him on my lap. He looked up at me, studying me, and soon he was reaching his little hand out to clutch a chunk of my hair. Thankfully, he didn’t yank on it.

  “I love babies,” Malika gushed as she watched me with her cousin. “They’re just too cute for words, man.”

  She was right, Davion was adorable. He smelled clean, like that baby wash sticking out of his diaper bag.

  I wondered, then, could this be my thing? After volunteering at the center for almost two years, watching the kids at the playground, one could almost say I was a seasoned pro.

  But babies were different.

  The Briar Park Community Center didn’t watch infants or toddlers, just the grade school kids from kindergarten and up. Unlike Malika, I didn’t have any experience with babies. I was going to take health my second semester, and I knew the teacher, Mrs. Emerald, at one point had a baby project where kids took robot babies home for a day or for the weekend. Kids were able to partner up or do it solo, naming their babies and even signing a birt
h certificate. The project sounded like fun, although I’d overheard tons of kids complain about the realistic crying keeping them up at night.

  Davion wasn’t so bad, he was—

  “WAAAH!” Davion let out the loudest cry. One minute he was just sitting there in my lap, fine as could be, and the next, his face was wet with tears as he screamed. His toffee-brown cheeks turned red as his mouth stretched wide-open, wailing.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, panicking as I tried to adjust how I was holding him.

  Malika didn’t freak out. She simply accepted him back. “He’s probably just cranky.”

  His baby teeth were on full display, as he cried on and on, the sound threatening to end my hearing for good.

  “Can’t you give him something to make him stop?” I asked desperately.

  Malika wasn’t fazed by the crying. “Doesn’t work that way. He’ll stop on his own, they usually tire themselves out.”

  Okay. One thing was clear. I might be all right with the kids at the center, but I had no affinity for babies.

  “He could be hungry,” Malika mentioned. “Hand me his bottle.”

  I found his bottle on the table in the next room and quickly came and handed it to Malika. She gave it to the shrieking baby, who stopped instantly. With the bottle in his hand, his dark eyes were on Malika, and then me. Was that it? Was that all he wanted?

  Nope.

  In seconds, the bottle was on the ground, the lid not having been screwed on tight. Milk spilled all over the hardwood floor.

  Davion began screaming once more.

  No. I wasn’t cut out for this career path either.

  Messes were not my thing.

  Guillermo

  I felt humbled as I pushed around a mop and bucket at Briar Park Community Center. It was a stressful task; every so often someone would walk through my clean floor and leave tracks, and I’d have to start over again.

  I’d worked my way down from the third floor to the lobby area, so I was almost done.

  One thing I was quickly learning through my stint in community service was that I hated picking up after people. There wasn’t a day I came in to work that I didn’t find the staff breakroom a mess. I had a newfound appreciation for anyone who worked in the cleaning field. After these six months were up, I was never again taking a job where maintenance was a requirement. From the kids to the adults, these people were messy, lazily leaving wrappers and trash wherever they saw fit, as if a walk to the trash can would kill them.

  Pinche flojos.

  “Slow down!” a voice yelled.

  I looked up to see a couple young girls running through the automatic doors across the lobby and around the corner. Chances were, they were going to one of the kids’ camps that ran on Wednesdays.

  Did I mention it was raining?

  My gaze fell on their muddy shoe prints, and I sighed.

  Mrs. London had mentioned an extra supply of rugs in storage in a back room somewhere. I made a mental note to go grab them after cleaning up the mud.

  The automatic doors opened again. This time Jenaya graced the entrance. By the scowl marring her face, I guessed the two girls who’d run into the building were with her.

  “Shania! Khadija!” Her yelling was futile; both girls were long gone.

  Jenaya shook her head, then paused on the only rug at the entrance when she saw me. Embarrassment seemed to seize her, and she recoiled a little.

  From the moment we met, there’d been a sense of understanding between us. Her with her rep, and me with my own shit. She didn’t need to be embarrassed. The only person who should be embarrassed was me. I was the one who had to clean up after the girls.

  Still, I lifted my hand to wave. “What’s up?”

  Jenaya rubbed her arm, fidgeting. “Hey.” She looked at the tracks the two girls had left. “I’m sorry. I’ll clean this up.”

  “I got it.”

  Jenaya inched toward me. “Please, it’s no problem,” she insisted.

  She was embarrassed.

  “I’ll get in trouble if I let someone else do my work, so trust me, I got this. It’s not an issue.” To lighten the mood, I flashed her a smile. “It’s been happening all day.”

  Finally, she exhaled. “I guess you really are on probation, huh?” Jenaya took in my uniform shirt and my work tools.

  I examined my mop. “Yep.” I looked up at her. “I got a break in ten minutes, wanna chill in the rec room?”

  I’d had my eye on the pool table from the moment I first saw it. I didn’t do sports, but I was damn good at pool.

  Jenaya appeared thoughtful. “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  Jenaya looked around before refocusing on me. “First you hang out with me at school, and now here? Why?”

  If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she looked suspicious. “Can’t I just want to be friends?”

  “No, you can’t,” she responded.

  Her guard was up again, and I didn’t know why. Her sisters had just tracked mud into the building, not dog shit or something worse. “What’s your problem?”

  “Why do you care so much?” Jenaya snapped. Her defenses were up as she edged back toward the door.

  I spread my arms, not sure why myself. “I just do, okay? You looked like you needed a friend.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I’m not a fucking charity case!”

  “I didn’t say you were,” I insisted.

  “You don’t have to—I can see it on your face. You think you know me, just like everyone else, but you feel sorry for me, and I’m telling you not to.”

  She didn’t hear me out, just walked out of the center with her head held high, like she always did.

  “Shit!” I threw my mop to the ground.

  I didn’t feel sorry for her. I genuinely liked her, shitty rep and all.

  I sighed, then collected the mop and finished up the floor, my arms aching the whole way through. When the lobby was spotless, I placed the Wet Floor signs down and laid out the extra rugs near the other entrances.

  Ten minutes later I took my break in the empty rec room. There was a stereo system set up where you could sync your phone via Bluetooth. I set mine up and soon was immersed in the sounds of J. Cole.

  I sat back against the sofa, closing my eyes and trying to let the tension go. My mind had other plans, stuck on Jenaya, stuck on the hurt and anger on her face.

  A knock on the door caused me to open my eyes and sit up. Jenaya stood in the doorway, nervously playing with her hands. My guard went up, cautious for round two.

  “The boy at the front desk said you were back here,” she explained as she came into the room. “I...I was kind of mean, I mean, I was mean. You’ve been nothing but nice to me, and I guess I’m a little skeptical.”

  “I don’t know you,” I acknowledged. “But I want to. I don’t know what made me sit with you that day, but I don’t care either. We like the same music and we get along. I don’t need a huge reason.”

  Jenaya sighed as she came and sat down on the couch, folding her arms across her chest. “It’s not you, it’s just...everything. I’m not even supposed to be watching my sisters, but my grandma offered for me to look after them without even asking me.”

  I could see she needed to vent, so I kept quiet and let her tell as little or as much as she wanted. “I’m listenin’.”

  Jenaya faced me. “I got a lot of shit, Mo.”

  She’d taken to calling me Mo immediately when I told her my nickname. She’d told me people called her Naya for short.

  I liked her full name. Jen-nai-yah.

  I gestured to myself. “Not trying to have a contest with you, but I’m on probation, remember?” I looked away. “My family hates me, so I get what it’s like to have shit at home and at school.”

  My revelation loosened her
up. “The school stuff is just bullshit. People have been calling me out of my name since middle school. I don’t even care anymore, they don’t got the balls to say it to my face.”

  I liked her strength. She was right, I could tell no one would challenge her face-to-face. I didn’t have to know her well to discern she could hold her own.

  “And home?” I wanted to know.

  “Your folks really hate you?” Jenaya asked instead.

  Something told me if I admitted my wrongs to Jenaya, she wouldn’t judge. I didn’t fear scaring her off, unlike... Regan.

  There was an immediate difference between them the more I thought about it. Regan was shy and raised sheltered, and Jenaya held a story that left her resilient and tough.

  “Three strikes should’ve had me out, but they pulled strings this last time and I’m on probation instead.”

  Jenaya studied me. “Must’ve been real bad.”

  I held out my hands, examining my scarred knuckles. “This last time was an assault charge.”

  Jenaya peered at my hands. “Was it worth it?”

  I was enveloped in the memory of Tynesha screaming and me leaping into action and pounding into Shad’s flesh.

  Even if the outcome was the same, would I do it all over again?

  “Maybe not,” I said.

  Jenaya was gentle as she ran a finger over a scar. “At least you learned. And you got out.”

  “Out?”

  “Do you live around here in Briar Park, or do you stay up in Briar Pointe?”

  “Briar Pointe.” The little suburb of wonders.

  Jenaya lifted her chin. “That’s what I mean. I’d kill to live in a place like that.”

  “I don’t know about all that.” Even if my old neighborhood housed temptation, life in Briar Pointe didn’t seem so appealing.

  “Why?”

  “I feel trapped.” I leaned over and wrung my hands together. “This place just makes me feel boxed in, it’s too much. Like I’m some defect that doesn’t belong.”

  Jenaya placed her hand on mine. “Don’t deny yourself a better shot because you messed up in the past. Your place is safer than my neighborhood. See, there’s the right side of Brown Street, and then there’s the houses and neighborhoods on the left side. I stay on Lovers Lane, and trust me, it goes down on the Lane. My neighbor’s dog just got shot the other day for no reason.”