Street Soldiers

by L. Divine

  “All right, girl. But I think you should consider going to cosmetology school for your license so you can work full time in a shop.” My mom’s mentioned this plan before as if she doesn’t know who her own mother is.

  “You know Mama would never allow me to work anywhere besides Netta’s shop. She’d have your head on a platter for suggesting it and I couldn’t live with your death on my conscience.”

  My mom playfully hits me with her dust rag as I wipe the chairs free of hair, dandruff and other particles. It would be nice to have my own shop one day.

  “No one’s saying you should leave Netta’s shop—never that,” my mom says, her bright green eyes glistening as she looks around half expecting Mama to appear. “But we all have to think about your best interest, and leaving your clients on this side of town is definitely not a good idea.”

  “No, it’s not on so many levels,” I say, thinking about the sister’s head I hooked up this afternoon.

  I could tell she’s worn extensions all of her life. Her hair was so stressed out it almost made me cry just touching it, not to mention the fact that she fell asleep while I braided her natural hair. I love what I do and I especially love it when new clients feel the difference between how I do hair and the rest of these so-called stylists out here. A lot of them could care less about their client’s needs and will use anything in their hair. Mama and Netta taught me better than that.

  “You should seriously consider it, Jayd,” my mom says, glancing at my hair tools spread across the dining room table. “What’s wrong with seeking out a license? Besides, that way you might even be able to become a partner in Netta and Mama’s shop one of these days if they let you.”

  “Yeah, right.” I sweep up the last of the synthetic hair from the kitchen floor before vacuuming the dining room carpet. I know that’ll never happen.

  “I’m serious, Jayd. Set yourself up for success, baby, and accept nothing less. If you present yourself as a formidable candidate I’m sure Mama and Netta will happily take you seriously.”

  “Mama doesn’t want me doing anything but focusing on my spirit work; school, hair and friends be damned.”

  “I know it seems like that at the moment, Jayd, but Mama’s only got your best interests at heart. Just prove to her that you can do it all and she’ll have no choice but to let you do just that.” My mom checks her reflection in the mirror above the dining room table one more time before her friends arrive.

  “I’ll take your word for it,” I say, starting the vacuum cleaner.

  “They’re here, Jayd,” my mom yells over the loud noise. I quickly finish my last task, satisfied with my work. I’ll give the place a thorough cleaning another day. I can tell by the brown bags in my aunties’ hands that they’re ready to get their party on.

  “Girls, we better be careful,” my Aunt Frankie says loudly, leading the pack. “You know Lynn Marie probably got her man hidden in the closet somewhere.”

  “We ain’t seen her in so long they’re probably joined at the hip by now,” Shannon says, the oldest and wealthiest of the crew. “We can’t have him coming to the strip club with us tonight. I’ve got a purse full of singles and intend on spending them all.” She married well, even if her husband’s older than she’d like him to be. Hanging out with her friends is her only release.

  “Turn around and let me see if he’s in her back pocket,” my Aunt Vivica says. She’s my mom’s best friend and matron of honor. My Aunt Anne—Mama’s youngest daughter and Jay’s mother—will probably be the maid of honor. I haven’t heard my mom talk about it but I know that’s what she’s hoping for.

  “After her lunch rendezvous last week I think we all need to spray some holy water in this space,” my Aunt Paulette says, closing the door behind her. She’s carrying a large bag of food from my favorite Chinese restaurant in downtown LA where they all work. My mom’s the only one who left the company they all worked at a few years ago for a change of pace.

  “What are you talking about? My mom never comes home for lunch,” I say, walking over to give them each a hug.

  “You don’t know what I do when you’re not here,” my mom says, bringing all sorts of unwanted visuals to mind. “This is still my place and I’m grown, in case you forgot.”

  My mom pats me on the hip and heads toward the dining room to move the chairs into the living room so they can all relax. That’s my cue to get out so they can be as grown as they want without me eavesdropping like I usually do. I learned how to cuss, what an orgasm was, and how to use a tampon from their conversations.

  My Aunt Frankie’s smoke is killing me and she just lit the first cigarette of a train to come. I’d be better off chilling at the coffee house. Hopefully Keenan is working tonight and I can explain why I’ve been avoiding him since our kiss a couple of weeks ago. The last thing I want to do is unload my high school bull onto him but he needs to know why I can’t entertain getting involved with him.

  “Jayd, is that a tattoo on your arm?” my Aunt Shannon asks, pulling my shirtsleeve down to get a closer look. That’s the last time I’ll give her a hug.

  “Looks like fresh ink to me, scab and all,” my aunt Frankie says, puffing on her long, brown cigarette. I can’t believe my own aunties are busting me. Now ain’t this some shit?

  “Tattoo,” my mom says, carrying two chairs. “Who got a new one?” My Aunt Paulette takes one chair and Shannon the other. Vivica and Frankie sit on the couch across from them.

  “Your daughter,” my Aunt Paulette says, puffing on her own cigarette. My Aunt Vivica looks at her best friends and laughs at my unnecessary trial. I knew I should’ve escaped when I had the chance.

  “Jayd, when did you get a tattoo? And where?” my mom asks, walking over to where I’m standing. “Come on, let me see it.”

  I’m not ashamed. Why should I be afraid of the consequences? It’s not like I got my boyfriend’s name tatted on my neck. That would deserve a beat down, but not this.

  “It’s our family veve, a spiritual tattoo representing the Williams’ women lineage.” I turn around and reveal my art for them to see.

  My aunts stand to get a closer look. I’m falling more in love with it each day. I also can’t help thinking about Rah every time I look at it.

  “I think it’s pretty, but you know Mama’s going to have a fit when she sees what you did.”

  “I know,” I say, looking down at my red heart with a cross through it. I touch the charm on my neck and pray for protection from Mama’s impending wrath. I hope she understands why I did it. “If a broken heart isn’t permanent I don’t know what is.”

  “Oh Lawd, Lynn Marie,” My Aunt Vivica says, reclaiming her seat on the edge of the couch. “Where’s the wine. I can’t handle this heavy teenager shit tonight.”

  My mom and aunts burst into laughter, officially beginning their girl’s night out.

  “Bye, y’all,” I say, laughing at my crazy aunts and mother. I need to take a quick shower and get dressed for my solo night out on the town.

  It must be nice to have friends who have your back no matter what life brings your way. I’ve tried to be the best friend I know how to all of my friends. How is it possible to have so many people I’m responsible to yet be so lonely at the same time?

  “Why aren’t you worth it?”

  -Jeremy

  Drama High, volume 2: Second Chance

  * * *

  CHAPTER TEN: YOU GOT ME

  When I finally made my escape, my mom and aunts were well into the wedding planning, the many-parties before-the-wedding planning, and which strip club to frequent after all of the planning’s over. As long as they’re out of the apartment when I get back later so that I can get some much-needed sleep I’m good. All this friend and boy stress has been hard on my dream world and that’s never healthy.

  Keenan’s nowhere to be found yet and I can’t say that I’m surprised. He’s a hot, popular athlete and he’s single—Saturday nights are his for the taking. Without him here there�
��s no one to flirt with. Lucky for me I have a ton of studying to keep me busy. I can’t believe that I forgot my headphones. As a result I’m forced to listen to the hipster jazz music floating through the speakers. Every now and then some Whitney Houston or Mariah Carey might slip through, but usually it’s just the standard coffee shop music. I need my playlist to get into my study flow. Otherwise I’m not only subject to the manager’s pick but also to the random conversations of others around me, which can be very distracting.

  “Excuse me, dear,” an elderly white lady says to me from a neighboring table. Her frail touch makes me jump slightly almost like when I first saw Pam’s ashen skin in my dreams.

  “Yes?” I ask. Other than Keenan no one’s ever spoken to me in the coffee shop before.

  “Your glasses are so pretty. Where’d you get them?” she asks, making me smile.

  A compliment on the specs I resent so much was the last thing I expected to hear from her. My dad forced me to go to the eye doctor, accusing me of wasting his insurance if I didn’t use it and I came out with a prescription. Who knew I needed help seeing?

  “The optometrist in the mall,” I say, showing her the case with the information on it. “Here’s the number.”

  “Oh, dear. I haven’t been to a mall in ages, but they look so nice on you.” She smiles at me displaying a row of yellow teeth from years of smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee I assume. The huge diamond rock on her ring finger says she’s not hurting for cash, so why not spring for a teeth-whitening session?

  “Thank you,” I say, leaving her to her book and me to my stack of work.

  “Making new friends, I see,” Keenan says, much to my surprise. I don’t need glasses to see his fine ass light up the dimly lit café.

  “Hey,” I say, accepting his peck on my right cheek. “I didn’t think you were working tonight.” But I’m so glad that he is. Keenan’s soft blend of cologne and dark roast coffee makes me forget all about my issues and responsibilities.

  “Where else would I be?” Where else, indeed. “I’m on my last break. I get off in a couple of hours.”

  “Oh, I see,” I say, tapping my fingers on the work piled up in front of me.

  “You look like you’re making your way through that notebook of yours pretty quickly,” he says, noticing my iyawo journal. I’ve caught up on my entries this week.

  “Thank you, much. If I could just get through my senior year as victoriously I’d be the happiest black girl in LA.” The stack of school essays and other assignments towers over my spirit work, as usual. If Mama had her way it would be the complete opposite.

  “What colleges are you applying to?” Keenan asks. He places his leather backpack down on the floor and takes the seat across from mine. “I hope UCLA’s on your list.”

  I don’t think I could handle it if we ended up attending the same school. I’m nearly sprung on him as it is and we only see each other once a week.

  “I’m not sure yet. There’s this program at my homegirl’s church that pays for your college applications as long as you attend the meetings, and five out of the ten colleges have to be HBCUs.”

  “Sounds like a good opportunity, but you know black colleges don’t pay.”

  “So I’ve heard, which means I can’t go.” Not to mention that Mama would have a conniption fit if I went to school out of state.

  I know she’s secretly praying that I attend Cal State Dominguez or Long Beach State—both schools within minutes of her house. Personally, I’m planning to apply to the University of California, San Diego and San Diego State, which happens to be Jeremy’s first choice of schools, too.

  “Don’t give up so easily,” Keenan says, leaning his fine self back in the wooden chair and crossing his muscular arms across his chest. If The Game had a college version of the show he’d definitely be a cast member.

  “Oh, I’m not. As a matter of fact I have a scholarship fund already set up from the cotillion I participated in last month, if my benefactor doesn’t succeed in getting her sorority to revoke it.” I won’t tell him that the woman happens to be the mother of his team’s top high school recruit.

  “Why would she do that?” Keenan asks. How many times have I asked myself the exact same question?

  “Because I embarrassed her by leaving the dance early due to an unforeseen illness,” I say, recalling my hot head that night. “I’m fighting it, though. She didn’t even tell me I won the damned thing.”

  “You know you can get that money put into a trust if you have a bank account set up in your name,” Keenan says. “As long as you attend an approved school she can’t touch it.”

  “Word?” I didn’t even think about that. I bet Mrs. Esop didn’t think I’d ever find out about that option, either.

  “Fo shizzle,” he says. I love it that Keenan and I can switch our conversation from smart to hood in an instant. It’s a skill few successfully acquire. “If you bring your laptop I can show you how to download the link and get started with online banking.”

  This brotha’s on his game and then some.

  “That’s cute,” I say, shifting from my left butt cheek to my right. I’ve been sitting in the same place for over an hour and my ass is falling asleep. Too bad, because I have at least another two hours worth of work to do. As packed as the café is, Keenan looks like he’s got plenty of work cut out for him this evening, too.

  I wish I could live in Jeremy’s world for a day. It must be nice knowing his future’s secured because of his parent’s wealth and connections. Chase could have the same future but he’s chosen to apply to a historically black college or university, much to his mother’s horror—not because she doesn’t want him to attend a black college, but because she doesn’t want her only child leaving home.

  “Did I say something funny?” Keenan’s sincere in his offer to help but he has to know that I can’t afford a computer of my own.

  “Everyone’s not as blessed as you are, Mr. Cosby,” I say, making him laugh. From what he’s told me about his family the reference sounds about right.

  “Do you know how much I paid for my MacBook?” Keenan asks, pulling the sleek, silver computer out of his bag.

  “At least two grand,” I say, admiring his notebook. “I’ve been to the Mac store and daydreamed.”

  Chase has an iPhone, an iPad and probably a few more i-contraptions I know nothing about. Most of the students at South Bay are just like him. Nigel’s the only one in our crew with a computer at his parent’s house but since he’s not there anymore, he and Rah share the PC they mix beats on. They also let me write on it when need be if I don’t get my computer work done in the library.

  “Try two hundred.” He places the MacBook on our shared table, smiling at my surprise.

  “I never took you for the type who buys his electronics off the back of a truck in dark alley downtown,” I say, gently touching the computer. I wish I could take it home. When I get my hands on some extra money the first thing I’m going to do is hook myself up with one of these.

  “Girl, I know you know better than that. I’m trying to hip you to game.” Keenan types in a web address and moves his chair closer to mine so we can share the screen.

  He needs to scoot back over before it gets too hot in here, and it’s already pretty warm from where I’m seated.

  “Why are you all up in my space?” I ask, catching another whiff of whatever else he’s wearing besides coffee grounds.

  “You don’t mind, do you?” he says, making me blush. He’s too sure of himself for me to make a smart-ass comeback quickly. “This site’s for students across the country. They sell refurbished computers at a fraction of the original costs. Check it out.”

  Keenan expertly surfs through the site looking at the latest online deals. There are thousands of computers in all makes and models.

  “You’re just full of useful information, aren’t you?” I ask, scanning the page.

  Keenan looks up from the screen and into my eyes, making my heartbe
at faster with each blink.

  “I can be if you let me.” Neither one of us has addressed the huge elephant in the room. The kiss was good—very good, and that’s the problem.

  “Keenan, I’m sorry I didn’t call you after my mom walked in on our hair session,” I begin. Keenan touches my hand, silencing my apology.

  “Jayd, it’s okay. I’m glad you came by tonight. As a matter of fact, I’d like to treat you to a late night dinner if you let me.”

  “Keenan, I’d love to but honestly my life is so complicated that I can’t even imagine beginning anything new.”

  Before I can give any more excuses, Keenan squeezes my hand.

  “Dinner, Jayd. That’s all I’m asking,” Keenan says, standing up. I guess his break’s over. “I’ll even let you use my laptop while I finish my shift.”

  The compact computer is just as tempting as its owner’s offer and just in time, too. The leftovers from Tuesday’s festivities ran out two nights ago and I’m tired of eating noodles.

  “I could always go for a good meal,” I say, running my fingers across the smooth keyboard. I bet I can type a hundred words a minute on this thing.

  “Good, then it’s settled. You can email yourself the documents you create so you don’t have to worry about saving them on a flash.”

  I do have a free email account that I rarely use. I never thought of using it as a mobile flash drive.

  “Another good idea,” I say, opening a new document. This is going to make my schoolwork so much easier. “Have I told you how grateful I am that we met?”

  “No, but you can repeatedly remind me over dinner,” Keenan says, lifting my hand from the invisible mouse pad and kissing my knuckles. “Be good.”

  I don’t know if being good is an option around this brotha. Keenan makes me excited in a way I’ve never felt before all while opening my eyes to new possibilities. Maybe Keenan’s just the distraction I need to calm my energy so I can move forward and let go of the negativity holding me back. Perhaps being good is being with him.