by L. Divine
“Oh, come on, Jayd. Even you can’t be that dense,” she says, flipping her thick hair over her shoulder. If it’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s a girl of any color trying to be White. She’s about to get the shit slapped out of her and maybe some consciousness knocked in. “She’s never going to win that crown. At least not as long as my girl Laura’s running,” Tania says, referring to Reid’s girlfriend.
Oh, hell no. They’re not friends, are they? Now, see what I say about these people up here being undercover haters. But wait until the folks in South Central find out about their little stunt. Then we’ll see who’s got the real power around here.
“OK, ladies,” Jeremy says, sensing the volatile situation coming to a head. “Let’s calm down. We don’t need to get into this right now, do we?”
“The hell we don’t,” I say ready to throw the first blow. This heffa’s been having it coming to her ever since she flirted with my man right in front of me. She’s always throwing salt and now she’s about to taste some on her lip.
“Do I need to call security, girls?” the aging male substitute says, as if he’s really got any control. He’s already pulled out two office referral slips. By the time he puts our names down, the fight will be over.
“What are you going to do, jump me?” Tania says, completely unaffected by my anger. This broad’s gotten away with too much jaw jackin’ in her day. It’s time to let her feel the impact of her words. “Hitting me won’t do anything, especially not help your friend with her little problem,” Tania says, confident I won’t hurt her.
“What exactly are you two talking about,” Jeremy asks, completely unaware. He probably thinks it has something to do with him.
“She’s talking about this,” Tania says, pulling out her pink rhinestone covered blackberry, with the picture of Nellie on her screen.
“Damn,” Jeremy says, staring at the picture of Nellie next to her gym locker, totally unaware of her picture being snapped. That’s when I realize it could have just as easily been a girl who took the picture. Who else would have access to get that close with an unnoticeable camera in her phone, just like Tania’s. This heffa’s guilty and I know it.
“You stupid wench,” I yell, snatching the electronic device out of her hand and smashing it to the ground.
“Shit,” Tania screams, falling on the ground to pick up her cracked up blackberry. “You little hoodrat,” she says. “You probably couldn’t repay me for this if your whole family worked for a week,” she says, two seconds shy of her face hitting the ground like her gadget did. Before I can pimp slap her like the trick she is, Jeremy intervenes.
“Come on, baby. Let’s get some air,” Jeremy says, catching me by both elbows and keeping me from attacking Tania, who’s still on the floor.
“I don’t want to get air. I want a confession,” I say, trying to break free from Jeremy’s tight grasp. “Just admit it, Tania. Be a woman about your shit,” I yell as Jeremy picks me up and carries me out of the classroom into the empty hallway.
“Why are you defending her?” I yell at him. “Let me back in there so I can whip her ass like the trick she is.”
“Jayd, calm down. You don’t know if she did it or not,” he says, still not letting me loose. “Do you want to be suspended again?” he says, trying to reason with me.
“What’s going on out here,” Mickey says, coming into the hallway. Nellie and Mickey’s class isn’t far from here and knowing them, they were running late from break. I didn’t want to tell them like this. But, it’s better now than later.
“Have y’all heard about Nellie’s picture on the web?” I ask, trying to soften the blow for Nellie.
“Yeah, Seth told me he used the one of me from prom last year,” she says, completely oblivious to what I’m about to say. Mickey, on the other hand, looks as if she already knows.
“She’s not talking about that picture, Nellie,” Mickey says, looking from me to Nellie, letting me break the bad news. As pissed as we both are at her for her behavior, she’s still our girl and we don’t like seeing her hurt.
“Nellie, someone took a picture of you changing in the girl’s locker room and sent a mass e-mail.” Nellie becomes the picture of pure rage. Now, this is new.
“I want to see it,” Nellie says, looking around for the nearest computer, I assume.
“Here it is,” Jeremy says, showing her the image he just downloaded onto his cell. Me and my girls have simple cell phones that don’t do all of this new stuff. And, if they do, Mickey and I can’t afford the extra expense and Nellie’s parents wouldn’t go for something that extravagant, so why bother knowing about it? “I’m sorry about this, Nellie,” Jeremy says, looking as sorry as I feel.
“This was yesterday after lunch,” she says. “I was changing out of my rally outfit and back into my school clothes.” Maybe if she wasn’t so damn vain in the first place she wouldn’t be in this mess. But, we’ll deal with her sins another time. Right now, vengeance is mine to take out on her enemies. “Who would want to do this to me?” she asks, like she hasn’t made plenty of her own haters.
“I don’t know for sure, but I’ve got a pretty good idea,” I say. “Misty’s trying to find out if anyone said anything in the boy’s locker room. But, I think Tania had something to do with it.”
“You don’t know that for sure,” Jeremy says, again defending the broad. What’s up with that? He’s my man now. He’s supposed to be down with me unconditionally. Not reasoning with the opposition, even if it is his ex lover.
“Yes, I do,” I say, rolling my eyes and neck at him and looking at Nellie, who doesn’t seem convinced of my accusations either.
“Why would you say that?” Nellie says, as if it’s not at all possible.
“Well, first of all, she was with you yesterday in the locker room,” I say, remembering them walking off the field together after the rally ended. “Also, she was the one who broke the news in government class a few minutes ago,” I say. I can’t believe I have to defend myself against Tania after I was ready to throw blows with her over Nellie’s reputation. Ain’t this some twisted BS.
“But, none of that proves she would do something like this,” Nellie says, disgusting me and Mickey, who looks like she’s had enough, for real this time.
“OK,” Mickey says, putting her hands on her hips, demanding Nellie’s full attention. “What about the fact that Tania’s your homegirl’s man’s ex and might hate on you just because she’s a bitch like that?” she says, stating the obvious missing element to the list of why Tania’s the natural suspect. Even Jeremy looks convinced now.
“Everything’s not always about Jayd,” Nellie says, sounding just like she did the other day when she was talking about Nigel being my homecoming date. This girl is too much. Why is she hating on me like this? “Besides, Tania’s too classy to do something like this,” she says, pushing Jeremy’s cell away from her eyes, as if not seeing it will mean it doesn’t exist.
“Nellie, you can’t be serious,” I say, now pissed at her way more than I was at Tania a moment ago. “Tania told us she wants Laura, her friend and your competition, to win.”
“That’s ridiculous. She just said that so she wouldn’t hurt Laura’s feelings. Think about it,” she says, looking at the three of us, all looking at her like she’s stupid. “Why would she do this? She’s on my team. The goal is for all the club’s nominees to be chosen for the court. Wouldn’t that be perfect?”
“Nellie, you sound like you’ve been brainwashed or something,” Mickey says. And, she’s right. Popularity and crowns can do that to anyone who wants either one bad enough. But, combine them both and you’ve got an explosion on your hands, which is what we’ve got here with Nellie. Whether she knows it or not, her enemy is in her camp and determined to humiliate her. I have a feeling this was the precursor to my dream about Nellie’s homecoming disaster. And, Mama, the only person who can help me determine my next step, is still upset with me. It’s going to take more than a spell t
o get Nellie and Mama back on my team.
14
Mama’s Magic
“Take a lot more than you To get rid of me.”
—EVE
It’s Tuesday afternoon and Mama’s been pissed at me for over a week now. But, she’s going to have to get over it. I need her help to get through tomorrow’s performance and the rest of the week. When I get home, she’s in the kitchen making tea cakes, and I’m just in time to help her cut the dough.
Walking into the dingy yellow kitchen, I see Mama’s in her white housedress, pink, tattered house slippers and a white scarf, covering her freshly cornrowed hair tied neatly in a bun at the base of her neck. I like when Mama wears her hair like me. She taught me how to cornrow my hair when I was about five years old. Mama says braiding your hair into different patterns sends different messages to your Ori, or your divine path. She alternates between this hairstyle and the French Twist, opting for cornrows when her spirit needs healing.
This is the first time she’s been able to cook since our plumbing disaster. When I got home Sunday evening, the bathroom was back to normal and Mama’s mood has been lightening ever since. After Netta does her hair she looks radiant, as if she’s released all of the anger she’s been holding in. Thank God, because I sure could use a hug.
“Hey, baby,” she says, putting down the sifter full of cinnamon and sugar to give me a hug. She smells like sweet buttermilk and flour. By the looks of it, she’s been baking all afternoon. It’s almost six in the evening and she’s on her fifth dozen.
“Who are you baking for this time?” I ask, walking over to the sink to wash my hands before taking my customary seat at the kitchen table.
“For you,” she says, picking up the sifter and shaking the contents over the flattened dough. “I thought it might help with your dancing tomorrow,” she says, cutting the glazed dough into small squares. “You and your friends will need the carbs, no?” she says, placing the cakes onto the parchment paper in four neat rows.
“I’m not going to say no to tea cakes and I’m sure they’ll appreciate them, too. Thank you,” I say, taking one from the fresh pile cooling on the table and stuffing the entire thing into my mouth. My friends will be lucky if they each get one. These are my favorite treats.
“Did you find a date for the dance?” Mama says, making small talk while the last batch bakes. It smells so good in here, completely covering the scent of broken toilets and funky men. Mama’s good at making it feel warm and clean again. She heals through this kitchen.
“Yes. Myself,” I say, on my second cake. “I’m going stag.” I’m officially done trying to get a date for the dance. Sometimes a girl has to stroll by herself. And now is definitely one of those times. I made my decision after Jeremy and I talked about it last time. I don’t need anymore drama where dudes are concerned. And, the only way I can see that happening is if I don’t have a date.
“That’s my girl,” Mama says, cracking a smile before taking the hot sheet of golden sweets out of the oven. Damn, she’s good. If Jeremy had one of Mama’s cookies, he’d probably do anything she asked him too.
“And, how’s Raheem?” Mama asks, taking me back to Friday’s session. He’s so sure of himself, it’s frightening. And, I’m not so sure if I’m completely over Raheem, which isn’t a good thing if I’m pledging myself to another man.
“Raheem’s fine,” I say, taking the Ziploc bags out of the cupboard to store the tea cakes that have cooled.
“We’d better put these in our room so nobody gets to them,” Mama says, taking a couple of bags and filling them, careful not to smash a single cake. “You know how your Daddy likes his treats,” she says, leading the way to her bedroom. I don’t think she’s talking about tea cakes. Daddy’s more of a cobbler man. Mama’s always salty about Daddy’s girlfriends.
“Mama, how come Williams women can’t seem to keep a man?” I blurt out. She’s clearing off her desk on her side of the room, making room for the cakes. We usually store anything we want to save in here. The boys don’t dare come into Mama’s room.
“Is that one of the lessons you’ve written down from Maman’s history?” she asks before sitting down on her bed. She takes an old church fan with her and Daddy’s picture on it and cools her glistening forehead while laying back on her pillows. “If so, it needs rephrasing,” she says, searching for her herbs and water glass with her eyes. I follow her gaze to the nightstand, anticipating my need to get up and prepare her evening concoction.
“Rephrasing how?” I ask, retrieving the glass and pouch before heading to the kitchen.
“You said it as if we don’t have the power. Girl, haven’t you learned anything about our legacy?” she asks as I walk back into the room with her thick drink.
“Well, actually, I have been reading a lot about Maman’s relationship with Jon Paul,” I say, taking a seat on my bed and reaching to grab my spirit notebook from the side of the bed where I hide all my books, magazines, letters, and other things someone might mistake for scratch paper or a coaster. “And, it seems she cheated on him with his best friend, Pierre, a White man,” I say, recalling last night’s reading.
“Yes, go on,” Mama says, swallowing the last of her herbs and settling back in bed, ready to be impressed.
“So, how come Maman cheated on Jon Paul? Why can’t we ever be happy with one man?” I ask, realizing we are all walking on the same path of heartbreak after all.
“Did you read anything about how controlling Jon Paul was with Maman or how she was the one the community came to with their problems, including Jon Paul’s people?” Mama says, sitting up to look at me. “Jayd, it’s not that we can’t keep men. It’s that men can’t keep us,” she says, smiling seductively. It’s the same look my mother had on her face when she was talking to Jeremy the other night. The flirt before the sting. “You say it as if we want the men who want us, and that’s not always the case.”
“Well, I can testify to that,” I say becoming a little too comfortable. I always have to remember Mama’s my elder, not my homegirl, no matter how cool she can be. “Well, then why didn’t Maman leave before Jon Paul killed her? Why didn’t she just be with Pierre?” I ask, knowing life isn’t always that simple.
“Oh, girl, you talk like you don’t know what the hell love is,” she says, becoming impatient with my line of questioning. “Besides, times were different then. And, Maman was very tied to the community. She couldn’t just leave them behind. So, she stayed and continued to work as his wife. Because that’s what marriage is without love: free labor,” she says, massaging her hands with oil.
“I thought they were in love,” I say, reviewing my notes. “It was a deep, pervasive, intoxicating love, from what I jotted down,” I say, reading my quotes.
“Yes, at first. But, as soon as he became jealous of her power and started that possessive crap, love went out the door.” Mama takes the spirit book from the nightstand where I left it after last night’s reading and turns to Maman’s story. “Did you notice the bath she gave herself when she was dealing with Pierre?” Mama says, alluding to my problem with Raheem.
“Mama, I’ve got bigger problems,” I say, needing to ask her about Nellie’s situation. “There’s a picture going around of Nellie getting undressed in the girl’s locker room and I think Jeremy’s ex is behind it.” Mama looks up from the big book, horrified.
“Poor girl,” Mama says, looking worried for Nellie. “And she probably doesn’t know who her enemies are, does she?” Mama says, as if she was at school when it happened.
“Not at all. She wants so badly to win this crown and be in the popular crowd she won’t believe me. But, I know that wench did it,” I say, wishing I’d slapped Tania when I had the chance.
“And, so, what are you going to do?” Mama says, looking at me as if to say I’m on my own with this one.
“Well, I was kind of hoping you could help me in that department,” I say, getting up to sit on the edge of her bed and hugging her legs. I used to
sleep like this when I had nightmares as a little girl. As soon as I’d touch Mama’s legs, all the bad thoughts would leave my head. But now, it’s not that easy.
“Oh, Jayd. I’ve told you time and time again, everything you need to solve all of your problems is already within you. Call on your powers, child, and your path will be cleared.” She gently runs her freshly painted nails through my hair. “If Nellie won’t listen to you, pray that she gets the message another way. Remember, it’s not about your victory, but hers. Take yourself out of the equation and you will have a greater perspective of the situation.”
“But, I’m too close to it,” I say. “How can I separate myself when I’m all up in the mix? It’s my friends, my club, my man’s ex, and I’m the campaign manager. Where am I going?” I say as Mama shoos me off her legs, swinging them to the side of her bed where her altar rests.
The altar is the family shrine for the women in the household. The five-tiered white shelf is filled with pictures of our deity, Oshune, Mama’s ancestors, pictures of me and my mother, my auntie and uncles, and many other family and friends. There’s food, candles, and other things covering each tier, making it appear cluttered to the outside eye. A visitor probably wouldn’t even know it was in here, protected under a white veil in the corner of the room, between her bed and the window. There’s hardly any space for Mama to kneel before it. But she does, at least twice a day.
“Pray to the ancestors. My legacy is yours to call on.” She takes a picture of Maman from the altar and hands it to me, telling me to concentrate on the eyes of the ancient face.
“The women in my father’s family loved Maman. They served her as they would a queen, and so did the women in the community. When Maman died, they took me in, caring for me and showing me what a mother’s love can do and how a spirit transcends physical death. Maman was there. She was always there. She never left, just came back in different ways through different people.”