by A. J. Byrd
“There you are, Kwan!” Bianca bounces her way over to our private circle with a big circus smile that I wish I could just slap off her face. “I’ve been looking all over the place for you.” Her gaze finally shifts over to me, and I return her fake smile with one of my own.
Bianca’s nose twitches. “I thought I smelled something foul out here.”
“Then close your mouth,” Kierra and I snap back in unison.
Kwan snickers while Bianca gives us the stink eye.
“Anyway, Kwan. A few of us are heading over to the mall. You want to come?” She is practically slathering herself all over the boy’s arm.
I think I’m going to be sick, watching her performance.
“Actually, I was just having a conversation with—”
“C’mon, Kierra,” I say, tugging on her arm. “Let’s go.”
“Yeah. Why don’t you do that,” Bianca jumps in with her two cents. It’s like she’s not going to be happy until we slap what little black she has off of her.
Kierra gives me this “Are you crazy?” look, but I ignore it. I don’t have any business trying to talk to some new guy when my heart is still aching over the crap the last one put me through.
Bianca also tugs on Kwan’s arm. “It’ll be a lot of fun and a good way for you to meet all the right people.”
“I don’t know,” Kwan says, looking me dead in my eye. “I already think I’m meeting some pretty cool people.” He smiles and I can’t help smiling back.
I push Kierra through the gym’s back door.
“Don’t forget our date,” he calls out to me.
Bianca’s face reddens as Kwan finally allows her to pull him away.
“Giiiirrl. That boy got it bad for you,” Kierra says as we march across the gym. “When in the hell did you meet him?”
“Today. He’s new.”
“Must be. I don’t think I would have forgotten someone like that roaming the halls. Do you know who he looks like?”
“Yeah. Yeah.” I try to shoo off all her inquiries. I’m too confused with what’s going on with me and wondering if it’s too soon to be jumping back out into the frying pan and risking getting burned.
Then again, Romeo certainly didn’t waste any time getting back with Phoenix.
ten
Tyler—Misunderstood
“Shoplifting? You have to be kidding me!” My dad rants and roars while he speeds down the highway.
Sitting in the passenger seat of his rusting black Dodge Intrepid, I try to block out most of what he’s going on about and just watch the boring scenery as we make our way home.
“I don’t understand,” he continues. “I thought we were doing good. I thought we were finally—” He sucks in a long breath, and I roll my eyes because I know it’s just his usual way of counting to ten. From the corner of my eye I see him grip the steering wheel tightly. “Just tell me what happened?”
I don’t have an answer for him. Besides, I wasn’t the one who shoplifted anything. That was Michelle and Trisha’s stupid asses, but since I was with them my ass has to go down in flames, too. My life is filled with shit that isn’t my fault. At this point, who cares?
At my silence, my father’s jaw tightens. So what? He’s mad and disappointed in me. Now he has a little taste of what I feel about him. Misery loves company, right? I recognize all the emotions that are playing out on his face, and a small part of me wants to laugh in his face and ask him, “How does it feel?” Let’s face it. My father has never understood where I’m coming from. He just wants me to be as little trouble as possible.
“So you have nothing to say for yourself. Is that it?”
Silence.
He hits the steering wheel with the palm of his hand and unleashes a string of curses that nearly sets my ears on fire. I guess now I know where I get my temper from.
“I swear I don’t know what to do with you anymore,” he spits.
“Why do you have to do anything?” I finally spit back.
“Yeah. You’re right. I should just kick back and watch you just ruin your life! That’s a good idea!”
“I think that you and Mom have already done a good job ruining my life, remember?” I fold my arms with a huff and recast my gaze back out the passenger side window.
“You can’t keep using your mother and me as an excuse, Tyler. You’re not the only kid whose parents have divorced. Look around. The world does not revolve around you.”
“Oh, trust me. I know that,” I snap.
“Do you? You sure don’t act like it. These little prima-donna hissy fits say otherwise. You think if you just lash out that maybe you’ll get your way? It doesn’t work like that. Hell, even your best friends’ parents aren’t around. What makes you so damn special that you feel you can run around breaking the law? You think the judge is going to give a damn?” Silence.
“Look, I get that it’s hard. But it’s time you learn that life is hard. Guess what? It’s just going to keep on getting harder. People are going to keep disappointing you. More people are going to leave you. You need to learn how to deal, or life is going to deal with you. Period.”
Silence.
He exhales another long breath and tries again. “Hell, I miss your mother, too, but you don’t see me running out here knocking over liquor stores and doing whatever I damn well please because my heart is broken. C’mon. You’re smarter than that.”
There’s no way I can stop these fat tears from burning my eyes and rolling down my face, so I don’t even try.
He’s shaking his head as he exits the highway. “You know how much money I’ve lost today because I had to leave the job and come and get you out of jail? Jail! I can’t afford this shit!”
“Here we go. Work, work, work!”
“Yes, work! I know at fourteen you think that money grows on trees, but it doesn’t. I just spent our rent money posting bail—or maybe you like the idea of us being homeless. Is that it?”
Silence.
“Take another good look around, Tyler. Whether you like it or not, money makes the world go around. Money pays the bills, puts clothes on your back and keeps you from going to sleep hungry. But I guess you don’t appreciate that.”
I roll my eyes and wish that he would just shut the hell up. But clearly my silence means he can just keep on ranting.
“Damn, Tyler. I can’t do everything. I can’t work, provide and sit on top of you to make sure that you’re doing everything that you’re supposed to do. That isn’t fair, and you know it! SHOPLIFTING? SMOKING POT?” He hits the steering wheel again. “WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON WITH YOU?”
My tears are falling so fast that I close my eyes in an attempt to block everything out. But that’s impossible today.
“You’ve been in high school what—a little less than two months, and you’re already a rebel without a cause?”
I feel him whipping the car into Oak Hill Apartments. A few seconds later, he pulls into his usual parking spot. I’m hopping out of the car before he even gets a chance to shut off the engine.
“Tyler!”
I ignore him and rush toward our apartment. I know that he’s hot on my tail, and if it wasn’t for me having to slow down and fiddle with the damn lock, I would’ve made it to my bedroom and slammed the door before he could catch up with me. Instead, he grabs me by the arm in the living room and forces me to spin back around.
“You hold on, little girl. We’re not through with this discussion.”
“What is there left to say? I’m an expensive, pain-in-the-ass kid. I get it.”
“Why in the hell weren’t you in school?”
“I left so I could steal and smoke pot. I thought that we’d already gone over this?”
My father steps so close to me that I can feel his fiery anger just roll off of him. “Don’t. Try. Me. Tyler.” His gaze stabs my own. “I’m not one of these little girls you’re always trying to fight, so I suggest you watch that mouth of yours before you write a check your ass can’t cash.
”
I snatch my arm back. “No, you’re not. You’re father of the year,” I accuse him. “You’re too concerned with your job to even notice that I’m alive.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” He steps back and stares me down. “What? You want attention? Is that what this is all about? Your getting locked up is some desperate cry for my attention?”
I shake my head at him. He doesn’t get it. He won’t get it. “Just forget it.” I start to turn away, but once again, I’m forced to turn back around.
“We’re not finished talking, young lady.” He then proceeds to pull in several deep breaths, trying to calm down, but at this point I don’t think that’s really possible for either one of us. “I’m trying to talk to you. I’ve been trying to talk to you, but all you give me is either the silent treatment or snappy one-liners. I can’t tell if you’re trying to be a mute or a comedian.”
“You’re not talking to me, you’re yelling at me!”
“I think under the current circumstances that I have the right to yell, Tyler! You’re doing things I don’t understand. Make me understand what’s going on with you!”
I do understand his frustration but I can’t explain something that I don’t understand myself. My emotions are all over the map. At least I know that much. I’m angry all the time, and I don’t know what to do about it.
“Talk to me, Tyler.”
How? How can I talk to him about this huge hole my mother’s leaving left in my heart without sounding like some whining baby who doesn’t know how to deal with life? Instead of time healing all wounds, it seems like they’re just sitting there festering into some incurable disease that’s eating me alive.
While these thoughts race around in my head, my father’s shoulders collapse in the face of what he undeniably sees as another dose of the silent treatment. He shakes his head.
“So what am I supposed to do now? Huh?” He cocks his head. “Should I get a babysitter to watch you in the evenings? Do I need each teacher at that school to call me if you don’t show up for class?”
“You do what you have to do,” I say with a smirk.
“I have to do something. You have a court date now. You might have to go to juvenile hall. Have you thought about that? Once you’re in that system it’s all downhill.”
“At least I’ll be out of your hair. You can work all the hours your heart desires then.”
He stares at me. “I think you need help. Professional help.”
“Can we afford that?”
His eyes narrow while a small vein begins to twitch on his right temple. He starts pacing. “I swear I don’t know what to do with you.”
“I think we’ve already covered that.”
“I don’t know how she did it. I don’t know how your mother put up with you.”
The mere mention of my mother causes my heart to jump, but there’s an underlying insinuation that I was the reason behind her leaving. I can’t help gasping and step back at him. “It’s you,” I accused him. “It’s your fault she left. And you know what? I don’t blame her. I can’t stand you, either!” I grab a glass vase with dusty, fake flowers in it and hurl it at his head.
He just barely ducks out of the way. “What the hell?” He charges toward me, jerking his hand back, but then it suspends in the air as if some invisible force is holding him back from slapping me into the middle of next week.
“What? You want to hit me? Just like you used to hit Mom?”
My words are like a weapon of mass destruction judging by the complete devastation across his face. He lowers his hand and takes another step back away from me.
“I HATE YOU!” I scream and then take off running to my room, sobbing so hard that I can’t even see straight. My door slams like a bolt of thunder hitting the small apartment. No doubt everyone in the building heard it, but I don’t care. I lock the door and then hurl myself across the bed and cry into my pillow.
eleven
Leon—99 Problems
What the hell was I thinking?
I pull in several deep breaths and then pace around in a circle. I have half a mind to storm back to Tyler’s bedroom and remove the hinges off that damn door. Who in the hell does she think she is talking to me like that? I’m trying to calm down, but it’s hard. I hate you! Those words are ringing in my head. Mainly because those are the exact same words Victoria shouted at me countless times.
“What? You want to hit me? Just like you used to hit Mom?”
She got that shit backwards. It was Victoria who used to do all the throwing and hitting. I don’t know what the hell she’s talking about. I was the one doing all the ducking and diving just like I was doing a few minutes ago. Tyler definitely has her mother’s temper.
I know I need to try and finish this argument, but what else can I say? I’m not getting through to the girl. That’s just a fact. I know it may sound jacked up, but for the gazillionth time I found myself wishing that Tyler was a boy. Boys are easier to deal with. They mess up, you just pop them on the back of the head one good time. When your little girl messes up, it’s like your heart is being scooped out of your chest with a jagged spoon.
You insinuated that her mother left because of her. No. I didn’t. Yes, you did. My mind hit an instant replay button and I hear myself saying, “I don’t know how she did it. I don’t know how your mother put up with you.”
After hearing that, I start groaning under my breath. Damn, I’m starting to wonder if I’m causing just as much psychological and emotional damage to the girl as her mother did and I’m the one who stuck around.
Music suddenly blares from Tyler’s bedroom. It’s so loud it sounds like Jay-Z is performing in the apartment. A part of me wants to storm back there and demand that she turn that racket down, but another part remembers the days when I used to pull that same tired stunt on my own parents. She just needs to vent better with music than with throwing things at my head again. My daughter has a good arm on her.
I continue pacing around the living room, remembering how scared I was to receive that call from her from jail. Jail! I still can’t get over it. How did I get here? I never imagined that I would be the kind of father who had to deal with a child who went to jail. That sort of thing happens to other people’s children—not my own.
I shake my head, suddenly needing something to drink—something strong. Swiveling around, I storm out the door and give it a good, hard slam myself. The only problem is that Ms. Maureen, Anjenai’s grandmother, is stepping out of my neighbor’s door, and she gives me a look that questions my sanity.
I clear my throat. “Sorry about that,” I say, embarrassed, and then quickly storm off.
Back in the car, I peel out of the apartment parking lot like a bat out of hell. However, I don’t have any idea where I’m going. Sure, I needed a drink, but tangling with alcohol right now would not be such a good idea. I just need space. We need space.
Ten minutes later, I end up at the Waffle House. It’s a small diner that’s just slightly better than a truck stop. Most people come for the grease and not necessarily the food. Just seconds after walking into the brightly lit, square-shaped diner, I spot Deborah sitting in a corner booth. I ain’t going to lie, just that cursory glance at her has brightened my day. I walk up to the breakfast counter and pop a squat on one of the small, round stools. All the while, I keep one eye trained on my beautiful neighbor. And I’m not the only one. Every dude up in here is peeping her out and probably trying to work up the courage to approach her.
Hands down, Deborah Combs is a stunningly beautiful woman. It’s no secret in this neighborhood that she’s the main attraction down at the Champagne Room. From time to time our paths have crossed, but not as much as one would think since one of her sisters is one of Tyler’s best friends. At least she was spared being called down to the police station.
I remember when Deborah first took in Kierra and McKenya, about three years ago. Actually, the Combses’ situation made all the city papers. Mich
elle Combs, whom I used to think I knew pretty well, was sent upstate for killing her husband, Kenneth Combs. Now, I didn’t really know Kenneth all that well, but what I did know of him, I didn’t like. I think it was the way Michelle took out her husband that surprised many of us who followed the trial. There was no screaming or hollering. No guns or artillery. She simply cooked him a feast of all his favorite soul food and laced it with some type of poison that I don’t remember offhand. He died while sucking on some ribs.
Pretty cold-blooded.
If I remember correctly, Michelle Combs never gave a motive, and therefore she was sentenced to life in prison without the chance of parole.
Deborah seemed supportive at first, but then I think the stress of being so young and now being responsible for her two sisters is weighing down on her. I can easily relate, and I have just one child to deal with.
“What can I get you?” my waitress suddenly pops up at the counter to ask.
Hell, I haven’t even looked at the lunch menu. Reluctantly, I pull my gaze away from Deborah and pick up the plastic menu. “Just, um, get me the number one with a Coke.”
“How would you like your burger?” she asks, not bothering to hide how bored she is.
“Well done.”
“All right. Coming right up.” She turns and yells my order to the guy working the grill, even though he’s just two feet from her.
I steal another peek over toward Deborah’s booth, but this time my gaze crashes right into hers. I try to pass it off with a nod and a polite smile.
“Care to join me?” she asks, loudly.
Every man’s head swivels in my direction. “Don’t mind if I do.” I climb back off of my stool and catch my waitress’s attention. “I’m moving over to the corner booth.” By the time I slide into the empty space across from Deborah, I have to admit that I’m a bundle of nerves. “I didn’t know that you like to hang out at the Waffle House.”