by Amir Abrams
“Why? What time did you get home?”
“Miesha, don’t play with me, girl. I’m grown. You’re not. Now what time did you—”
I press my lips together and shake my head. Just because she’s the adult and can come and go as she pleases, that doesn’t mean I want to hear it. So I cut her off when I say, “When are we moving back to Brooklyn? Because it seems like you spend more time there than you do here, where you claim is home now. But it’s mighty funny I’m the only one stuck here.”
She puts a hand up. “Miesha, don’t.”
I put a hand up on my hip. “Don’t what, Mom? Don’t question you? You leave up outta here to go to work on a Monday and don’t step back up in here until two and three days later. And don’t even say you have trainings. ’Cause guess what? I called your job two days ago. And they said you were off. And I called Daddy’s job, and ding, ding, ding. . . he was off too. So what’s really going on here?”
She blinks.
“It’s not right that you dump me off on Aunt Linda like I’m her responsibility. You wanted to move us here. But you’re hardly ever here. Yeah, I’m seventeen, about to be eighteen. And, yeah, I can take care of myself. But I keep telling you, you don’t get to pick and choose when you wanna play mommy. And, yes, I’m counting down ’til my birthday; then I’m going back to Brooklyn with or without your consent. And I mean it.”
She sighs. “You know what, Miesha? I’m tired. Do whatever you want. You’re right, you’ll be eighteen soon, so do what you’re gonna do.”
I shake my head at her. “Oh my god, so now once again, you’re the victim here.” I laugh. “What a joke!”
She narrows her eyes to icy slits. “I’m warning you, girl. You’re really pushing it, Miesha.”
“Mom, don’t you get it? I. Don’t. Care. I’m pissed at you, okay? And you don’t seem to care about it.”
“What the hell are you pissed about, huh, Miesha?” she snaps, walking over and slamming my bedroom door shut. “You wanna have it out, then let’s! Let’s get it all out in the open once and for all!”
I yell back at her, “Why the eff do you keep going back with Daddy if all he’s gonna do is keep hurting you, huh?! I’m pissed that you get to go back to Brooklyn to lay up in our house with a man you left because you said you couldn’t take him hurting you anymore. But here you go, again, right back to the same place you swore you wasn’t gonna ever be back in!” I stamp my foot, pointing at her. “And I’m stuck here!”
“What do you want from me, huh?! I love your father, okay?! I’m weak for him. I know he’s a cheater. And I know he’s a liar. But he’s mine! And I know that man loves me. He loves both of us. But right now, I want him to myself. I don’t wanna share none of his other women. And I don’t wanna share him with you . . . !”
Oh my god! I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. Everything in me hurts. And before I know it, I am bending over clutching my stomach, crying my eyes out.
She doesn’t want to share her husband, my father, with his own daughter. Is that what she thinks she’s been doing all these years, sharing him with me, like I’m the one who’s taken him away from her? Oh my god. I’m hyperventilating. “I-I-I don’t b-b-b-believe this! Y-y-you’re j-j-jealous of m-m-m-my relationship with m-m-my d-d-d-dad-d-ddy. Ohmygodohmygod.” I plop on my bed and curl up in a ball. “Get outta my room!” I can’t stop crying.
“Miesha, I didn’t mean it like that,” she says. She’s sitting on the bed, next to me, rubbing my back. “I-I-I’m sorry. That didn’t come out right.”
“Get away from me! You said exactly what you meant. And you said it just how you meant it!”
“I only meant we need time to ourselves, alone time, to work on us.”
“Yeah, without meeeee! Like I’m the problem!” She tries to explain herself, but I’m not hearing her. My own mother is jealous of my relationship with my father. I feel like she’s stabbed me. And I can’t stop bleeding. I can’t stop crying. “Just get out! And leave me alone!”
“Miesha, I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to say it that way. I would never do anything to come between your relationship with you and your father. I know how much you mean to him. And I know how much you love him.”
“Then let me go live with him! Let me go back home where I wanna be! It’s not like you want me, anyway! I hate you! I hate you! Just leave me alone!”
She gets up from my bed, and walks out, closing the door behind her. I cry so hard that I start coughing and gagging. I gotta get outta here! But I can’t move. Mariah comes into my room. Tries to talk to me, to see what happened. But I can’t talk. I just keep crying. I wanna go home! I hate it here! I try to open my mouth to say something, but the words are stuck in the back of my throat. I gotta get outta here!
37
Antonio
Yo , word is bond. Miesha got my head spinnin’. I don’t know what she did to me, but last night she put it on me. Had me curlin’ my toes ’n’ singing out Drake’s “Best I Ever Had.” And real rap, I wanted her to stay the night, ya heard? I wanted to wake up to her in bed wit’ me. Heck, I mighta even got outta bed ’n’ fixed her some breakfast, for real for real. That’s how good she put it on me. She had’a go home. But, man. I ain’t wanna stop holdin’ her. And I definitely didn’t wanna stop doin’ what she was doin’ to me.
She rocked me so good, all’a brotha could do today is lay in bed ’n’ think ’bout the work she put in. I’m drained, yo. I yawn ’n’ stretch as my cell rings. I glance at the screen. It’s Alicia. “Yo, what’s good?”
“You,” she says all low ’n’ sexy. “You wanna chill today?”
Now I ain’t gonna front, I’m kinda thinkin’ ’bout it, but only for a minute, though. “Nah, yo. I’m good,” I say, lookin’ over at the poster of Beyoncé.
“Oh, okay. But if you change your mind, hit me back.”
“No doubt,” I say, glancin’ over at the clock. It’s almost one o’clock. I wonder what Miesha’s doin’. “Listen, yo. I gotta go. I’ll holla at ya later.”
“Okay, bye.”
I place my cell back on the nightstand, gettin’ up to use the bathroom, then headin’ downstairs to raid the fridge. I grab an apple ’n’ chomp into it while I nuke the rest of some Popeyes chicken. When I finish eatin’, I wash it all down wit’ a tall glass of Sprite, then head back upstairs. Damn, shorty did me in, I think, ploppin’ back on my bed. I grin, replayin’ our night over in my head. But my cell disrupts my thoughts. I reach over on the nightstand for it, and grin when I see that it’s Miesha. “Yo, what’s good, sexy? I was just layin’ here thinkin’ ’bout you, yo.”
“Are y-y-you home?” she asks, soundin’ all muffled, like somethin’ done happened to her.
I sit up in bed. WTF?! “Yo, what’s wrong? You a’ight? What happened?”
“I just gotta get outta here. Are you home?”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m here.”
“Can I come over?”
“No doubt. Do you want me to come scoop you? You sound outta it, yo.”
“No. I can drive. I’m gonna get in the shower. I’ll be over in a few.”
“A’ight. Be safe drivin’ over here, a’ight?”
She sniffs. “I-I-I will.”
“A’ight, cool. I’ll see you when you get here.”
I end the call, wonderin’ what done popped off that got my baby upset. Now I’m ready to go in someone’s mouth for comin’ at her all crazy ’n’ makin’ her cry. I pace my room, tryna calm it down ’n’ wait for her to get here before I start jumpin’ to conclusions. I pick up the clothes tossed ’round the room from last night, change my sheets, then hop in the shower.
Twenty minutes later, I’m downstairs in the kitchen gettin’ somethin’ else to drink when the doorbell rings. Good, she made it. I don’t look through the peephole or outta the window ’cause she’s the only one I’m expectin’. But when I swing the door open, it ain’t Miesha. It’s Quanda.
I look over her head out tow
ard the driveway. “Yo, Quanda, what the eff you doin’ here?”
“Tone, please,” she says, lookin’ all pitiful ’n’ whatnot. She stares at my bare chest. “I really need to talk to you.”
I shake my head. “No, you gotta bounce, yo. We ain’t got nothin’ to talk about, yo. I’m not beat for the drama. I tol’ you all I’ma say.”
“Im not tryna bring you any drama. I just need to talk to you, and I’ll leave. Ten minutes, that’s all I’m asking for, please.”
Now my gut is tellin’ me to slam the door in her face, but somethin’ in my head is sayin’ to just listen to what she gotta say, that maybe if I just listen to her, she’ll finally see that it’s over between us. I tell her to wait a minute, then shut the door in her face, goin’ back into the kitchen to get my phone. I text Miesha, walkin’ back to the door. U left yet?
I open the door again. “Talk. But make it quick.”
She blinks.
No not yet. Still gettn dressed
k, I text back, decidin’ in my head that I have ’bout fifteen, twenty, minutes before she gets here—enough time for Quanda to say what she gotta say, then dip.
“Can I please come in?”
Don’t do it, yo!
Nah, she’s only gettin’ ten minutes, then I’ma put her out.
I step back, pullin’ the door open wider. “A’ight. I let you in. Now what you wanna talk to me about?”
She sighs. “First, I wanna apologize to you.”
“For what?”
“For everything. I was wrong for going through your phone and for acting all crazy when you slept with other girls. I know you always kept it real with me. And I know you told me from the gate that you were gonna sex other girls from time to time. I just couldn’t handle that. I thought I could. But it was hard for me because I really started catchin’ feelings for you, Tone.”
I glance at the time on my phone. “Look, can you speed this up? What you gotta say, Quanda? ’Cause so far I’m not hearin’ jack that’s keepin’ my attention.”
She blinks back tears. “Tone, why are you treating me so mean and nasty? All I ever did was love you.”
I gotta laugh to that. This chick ain’t love me. She loved the sex. She loved bein’ able to sport me around as her man. That’s it.
“What’s so funny?”
“You, yo. You standin’ here talkin’ ’bout you loved me. Why’d you love me, yo? Answer me that.” She hits me wit’ some BS ’bout knowin’ how’ta make her feel, that I made her feel loved. I shake my head. This broad’s confused. “Quanda, all we ever had was good sex. There was no love, yo. Not by me. I mean, yeah. I liked you. But love? Nah. I ain’t tryna be mean, yo. But the only thing I loved from you was the sex. That’s it. And then when I tol’ you it was a wrap between us, you wanna start buggin’, actin’ all reckless ’n’ whatnot. For what, yo?”
I don’t wanna go in on her, but damn. She needs to hear it once and for all that I’m done. That there is never gonna be us or we. I want her to hear it loud ’n’ clear. It’s. Over. “I want—nah, I need—for you to fall back, Quanda. Like for real for real. Let this crazy ish you got goin’ on in ya head go, yo.”
She swipes at her face, wipin’ tears. “You really like her, don’t you?”
“This has nothin’ to do wit’ Miesha, yo. This is ’bout you. I don’t want you, yo. Why can’t you just accept that?”
“I know you don’t want me. B-but . . . it’s been hard for me to let go of you. I mean, in my head I know it’s over. In school, I see you with her. And I know it’s over. But, it h-hurts. It hurts seeing you with her. When you were just having sex with other girls it bothered me, and I was mad, but it didn’t hurt—not like this. I know you like that girl. I can tell by the way you look at her. It hurts knowing you never looked at me like that. It hurts knowing you don’t want me. I know, I know...I finally get it. It’s over. And I know she didn’t do this to us. I did. But my heart won’t let me let you go, Tone. I know I need to. But it’s hard.” Her shoulders start to shake. “I-I-I know I messed up things with us. And I know I can’t do anything to change it. And it . . . hurts.”
Quanda buries her face in her hands, then falls to her knees and bursts into tears.
I ain’t never see her like this. All broken up ’n’ ish.
“C’mon, Quanda, yo,” I say, walkin’ over ’n’ tryna help her up. “You gotta pull ya’self together. You gotta let me go, feel me? This ain’t good, you know what I’m sayin’? I’m not gonna ever be wit’ you, yo.”
“I know, I know, I know,” she says wrappin’ her arms around my neck ’n’ holdin’ on wit’ all her strength. I try to pry her arms from around me, but she won’t let go. “I won’t ever bother you or her, again. I promise, Tone. Just kiss me, please. Let me feel what you give her, please. Kiss me and do it to me one last time, please.”
“C’mon, yo,” I say, tryna push her off me wit’ out man-handlin’ her. “You wildin’. I ain’t kissin’ you, yo. And I ain’t ’bout to sex you. How that sound? That’s crazy, yo. Like, you buggin’, for real for real. It’s over.” She starts tryna wrap her legs ’round me ’n’ the next thing I know she’s kissin’ me on the mouth ’n’ I’m tryna get her off ’a me, movin’ my head outta the way. I’m wrestlin’ wit’ her to get her off’a me. But she won’t let go. She keeps pleadin’ ’n’ beggin’ me to get wit’ her. She’s not hearin’ nothin’ I’m sayin’. Her legs, her arms, she’s wrapped all tight ’round me like an octopus. “Yo, Quanda, for real, get the hell up off ’a me, yo. C’mon. I’m not playin’.” I trip on somethin’, maybe she tripped; all I know is I fall back over the arm of the sofa ’n’ she falls on top of me.
“I love you so much, Tone. Just do it to me. I wanna make a baby with you. . . .”
“Oh my god! What the hell?!”
I jump, pushin’ Quanda off’a me. She hits the floor. I left the front door open. Forgot to close it. Nah, I ain’t wanna close it ’cause Quanda wasn’t s’posed to be here long. “Yo, Miesha, hol’up . . . it’s not what you think. I, I mean she was, um . . .”
“Kissing you!” she snaps, backin’ outta the door. Quanda gets up from the floor. And the next thing I know Miesha bum-rushes her ’n’ they start goin’ at it. “You skank-azz ho! You didn’t get enough of me beatin’ ya face in the last time, did you?” Miesha is hookin’ off on her, like a dude. Real rap, I ain’t never see a chick rock like this. And I’m kinda shook that she’s gonna crack Quanda’s neck back.
“Ho, he ain’t ever gonna be yours!” Quanda yells, swingin’ her arms around like a windmill all fast ’n’ hard. “You’re not enough woman for him, trick.”
Miesha swings her into the coffee table. And things start smashin’ to the carpet. I’m tryna break them up, but they fightin’ like they tryna kill each other ’n’ all I keep thinkin’ is they gonna eff up my crib ’n’ Pops is gonna flip.
“Yo, y’all chill. You can’t be fightin’ up in here. C’mon, Miesha, get off’a her.”
Quanda’s screamin’ now at the top’a her lungs, like she’s bein’ tortured. “Get off my hair, slut! Aaah! Get your crazy whore off’a me!”
I get in back of Miesha ’n’ hook my arms up under her arms and yank her up, while tryna hold back Quanda. But Miesha still got Quanda’s weave all wrapped up in her hand, while she’s swingin’ punches wit’ her other. And now she socks me in the mouth. And now I gotta manhandle at least one’a them to get them calm down. I ain’t into puttin’ my hands on females, but I can’t let them tear up my crib.
“C’mon, Miesha, let go of her hair, yo.” I pry her fingers loose. She punches me again. This time in the chest. I tell Quanda to bounce. “Get out, yo! Just get the eff outta here, yo!”
Quanda hits the door, fast.
Finally I let Miesha go ’n’ she starts pacin’ ’n’ cursin’, goin’ off like a wild woman. “I knew I shoulda never effed wit’ you! I knew you were an effen dog! That’s why you sent me that text wanting to know where I
was, so you could screw that rusty skank-trick-ho!”
“I swear—”
“Shut ya face!” she snaps, glarin’ at me. The look on her face effs me up, yo.
“Please, yo. Let me explain. It’s not what it looks like.” She’s lookin’ at me like I’m the no-good, cheatin’ dude she thought I was from the rip. But I gotta let her know that I’m not that dude, that I’m all about her. But how am I gonna say anything that she’s gonna believe when she walks in ’n’ finds my ex on top of me, wit’ her lips on me. And I’m standin’ here in only my boxers?
38
Miesha
It’s been a whole week since that incident at his house. A whole, loooong, excruciating week since I’ve stopped taking his calls. Stopped responding to his texts. Stopped talking to him in the halls. Stopped looking at him. It’s been a week since I’ve told him to leave me alone, told him that I wanted nothing to do with him. But it’s killing me! I am not supposed to be thinking about him. But I am. Antonio Lopez. As bad as he hurt me, I can’t stop thinking about him. His name scrawled across the top of my sketchbook. His lips, his hands, his body, all etched into my head. This is not supposed to be happening. Me feeling some kinda way about that boy. He’s a player! A dirty, panty hound! This is not a part of the script—me thinking about him, me wanting him. But those kisses. Oh, and those lips. And his hands. The way they felt on my body.
They were soft.
Warm.
Oh so sweet.
I can’t stop thinking about his kisses. The way his hands felt on my body.
But he hurt me!
I can’t stop thinking about how he told me about his mother and cried in front of me.
But he’s a liar!
The way we made love.
It didn’t mean anything to him!
What the heck was I thinking? I shoulda never messed with that boy. I shoulda stayed away from him. Why didn’t I just beat that crazy ho up and be done with it? I didn’t have to walk up on that boy and kiss him like that. And I didn’t have to ever go out with him, or let him into my house, or make out with him. And I didn’t have to start spending so much time with him, either. And I didn’t have to give myself to him. But I did. I wanted to. I wanted him. And now I can’t stop thinking about him. Can’t stop playing his kisses over and over in my head. Can’t stop wondering if he’s thinking about me, our kisses, our touching, too. Is he missing me, too? Is he hurting the way I am? Probably not. He’s probably already laid up with some stank skeezer skank right now.