Street Soldiers

by L. Divine

  “Really?” Daddy says, as surprised as I am by Mama’s sudden change of heart.

  Pam’s murder hit her pretty hard. Daddy’s also acting more sullen these days. Finding a dead body in your driveway will do that to anyone with a heart.

  “It’s not poisoned is it?” Daddy asks, jokingly. He knows as well as I do that if Mama wanted to kill him he would’ve been dead a long time ago.

  “I doubt it seriously. Who would keep the boys in check if you weren’t here?” I say, trying to ease his suspicions.

  Daddy looks at the plate then up at me. Too hungry to argue, he removes his goggles and gloves and claims his dinner.

  “Is that all Lynn Mae needs me for?” Daddy takes a forkful of potatoes and stuffs it into his mouth.

  I don’t know how to respond to that. It’s hard to imagine Mama and Daddy ever being in love, but it was a fact back in the day. The spirit book talks about their whirlwind courtship in detail thanks to Mama’s personal journal notes.

  “I don’t think that’s all Mama needs you for,” I say, uncomfortable with the conversation. I don’t want to put words in Mama’s mouth I might live to regret. “I know she loves you. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be here.”

  Daddy looks up toward the house and his eyes become misty. I’ve never seen my grandfather cry but I think he’s close to dropping a tear.

  “Tell your grandmother I said thank you,” Daddy says, taking another bite of his food.

  I leave Daddy to his thoughts and head back inside. Love is a trip no matter how old you are, I suppose.

  “Daddy said thank you,” I say to Mama as I step back inside the kitchen.

  I stop at the sink, wash my hands and turn around toward the two cast iron skillets on the stove. The dozen hot water cornbread patties frying between the two of them are ready to be removed. “Mama, can I take these out now?”

  Mama hasn’t moved from the kitchen table where she’s chopping onions. At first I think her tears are from the stinging vegetables but now I see it’s something deeper.

  “Mama, what’s wrong?” I turn down the skillets knowing the small breads can’t stay inside too much longer.

  “Nothing, baby,” Mama says, wiping tears on her dress sleeve.

  “Was it something I said?” I ask.

  Mama walks over to the stove and moves the cornbreads one by one onto a paper plate covered with paper towels.

  “Words are so powerful, Jayd. They can evoke feelings and emotions you thought were long gone.” Mama takes the last of the breads out of the skillet and turns off the stove. I’ll clean up the kitchen before I head back to my moms’ place.

  “I get that, but why are you crying when all Daddy said was ‘Thank you’?”

  Mama sits down at the table and puts her feet up on the step stool in front of her. “Sometimes saying ‘thank you’ can be more powerful than saying ‘I love you’ when it’s sincere. Remember that, Jayd. Love is active. Love is gratitude and appreciation.”

  I’ll have to remind my friends of this little lesson next time we’re together. I’ve never heard love described as a verb before.

  “When we lost your Uncle Donnie,” Mama says, continuing the lesson. “Your grandfather and I almost fell completely apart. No parent should ever have to lose a child.”

  Donnie used to be my favorite uncle until crack cocaine hit him like a freight train just like it did to Pam.

  “That was the first time your grandfather cheated on me. He has no one to blame for the state of our marriage but himself.”

  “Then why stay married?” I ask. It’s a question I’m sure she’s asked herself on more than one occasion.

  “Some things are only for couples to understand, chile. Don’t be mistaken for a moment. Your grandfather and I love each other, and love is not an easy path to walk. Ultimately I believe we are all soldiers for God, Jayd. And, in the end God is pure love.”

  “What about false love?” I ask, thinking about my own triangle—or square if we include Rah in the conversation.

  “That is lust, Jayd and we’ve already had that conversation.”

  As if on cue Rah’s call comes through causing Mama to roll her emerald eyes at the intrusion.

  “It’s Rah,” I say, walking toward the back door.

  “I know,” Mama says, smiling.

  I step out the back door and answer the call even if I don’t feel like being bothered with any more of his bull. Lexi looks up at me and returns to her slumber. It must be nice to sleep whenever you want to.

  “Hello,” I say with as much attitude as I can convey through my cell, which he purchased. I think it’s time for an upgrade in more ways than one.

  “Hey, girl. How’s the ink?”

  “It’s okay,” I say, instinctively touching my shoulder where the scab’s peeling off. It’s not the prettiest thing at the moment but I know it’ll be flyy once it heals.

  “We’re having a little session at the crib tonight if you want to come through. No Trish or Sandy, I promise.”

  He sounds sweet enough but I’m serious about leaving Rah and his chick shit behind me for good. With both Jeremy and Keenan also on my mind I refuse to allow yet another distraction to get me off of my game.

  “Rah, in all honesty I can’t afford the gas to drive over there tonight not to mention tomorrow’s a school day, but thanks for the invite.”

  “Jayd, I’ll give you gas money when you get here. Girl, you know I got you. Always.” I hear Rah’s sincerity but I’m not moved to action. Besides, he’s never been able to predict the erratic behavior of the females he deals with.

  “Yeah, I know.” And that’s the problem. Rah’s always had my heart in the palm of his hand and it’s time for me to get off of this rollercoaster ride. “Maybe next time.”

  “Why do I feel like you’re kicking me to the curb?” Rah says, sounding concerned.

  I walk down the steps and look at Daddy back to work on his latest project. My grandparents have a special bond that’s theirs and theirs alone. Mama said real love is work but our friendship feels more like torture.

  “Rah, I’m so tired of our back and forth that I’m getting on my own damned nerves,” I say.

  Lexi looks up at me in agreement. She’s witnessed more than her fair share of Rah and Jayd arguments.

  “What are you really saying, Jayd? You don’t want to know me anymore? You don’t want to know Kamal or Rahima, either? That’s impossible.”

  It hurts to think about not being there to see Rahima start kindergarten or Kamal graduate from elementary school, but I need to save myself.

  “Why prolong the inevitable? If you’re going to break my heart again by marrying Trish of all people just do it now so I can get over it. I’ve got other shit to do.”

  “Jayd, wait,” Rah says calmly when I’m anything but. The thought of he and Trish tying the knot makes my stomach turn.

  “What is it, Rah?” If I don’t get off the phone soon I might give in to his request, as usual.

  “You know you blew it, right?” Rah says. I can hear his smile through the phone.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” I’m not in the mood for twenty-one questions or his mind games. The dirty kitchen is calling and I need to answer if I plan on getting out of Compton by a decent hour.

  “When I called you last night I was at the market in the produce section about to buy you a whole chicken and bring it by. But you didn’t call me back, so that was that.”

  “Are you being serious right now?” I ask, barely remembering his call. “You’re such a brat.”

  “I’m not a brat. I’m demanding,” Rah says. His supreme ego used to be attractive but I’m over it. “Get it straight.”

  “Whatever, Rah. Act your age, not your shoe size,” I say, quoting on of my mom’s favorite Prince songs. “If you want to do something for someone just do it—no strings attached. You can’t dangle a carrot in front of my face and expect me to perform for the shit.”

  “Jayd, y
ou’re so unappreciative sometimes, you know that? You told me you were a little short on cash and groceries and shit. I’m just trying to help out,” Rah says. “No matter who you or I date on the side, we’ll always be together in our own way.”

  “Help out my ass,” I say, pissed at his reasoning. “You can take that bird and stuff it for all I care.”

  I can honestly say a little piece of me has died every time Rah’s hurt me. Each time he’s lied to me, cheated on me, or chose another chick over me a piece of my heart has broken off and shattered into thousands of pieces that the best super glue couldn’t mend. This time is no different.

  “Jayd, don’t be like that,” Rah pleads. “Come on, girl. At the end of the day we’re still friends and I want my girl around.”

  “I’m sure being around another one of your ex-girlfriends will look bad in front of the judge, right?” I ask, almost yelling. “Besides, now that you’ve got Mickey and Sandy out maybe you can move Trish in and really become one big happy family. It’s the perfect set up,” I say, my voice raising another octave with every passing minute I’m on the phone with this fool. “Sandy’s having Trish’s brother’s love child, and Trish is going to be your step-baby-mama. Y’all can have little incestuous family reunions and everything,” I say as sarcastically as I can. “Rahima won’t be confused at all.”

  “Jayd, it’s not even like that,” Rah says.

  I notice he’s not denying the ridiculous plan I’ve laid out in for him. Who knows what the hell he’s feeding Trish about their future? Why would I think she’s so different from me, falling for Rah’s charm time and time again? Personally, those days are over. I will never again take a dude by his word alone.

  “Rah, I could honestly give a shit what it’s like,” I say, looking toward the backdoor. I don’t want my Mama to hear me cussing like a sailor. “All I know is that you can take me completely out of the equation. I hope Rahima’s best interest is always at the center of everything you do. Deuces,” I say, ending the phone conversation once and for all. I love him but enough’s enough. Rah can kiss my ass and then some, and he can also take his chicken and bull with him.

  “It’s just like black folks to fire your ass at the end of the day.”

  -Jay

  Drama High, volume 5: Lady J

  * * *

  CHAPTER TWELVE: DEUCES

  Jeremy hasn’t called me since our run-in Sunday morning and I’m not calling him. I have no idea what to say when the time does come. I was slightly relived when he didn’t show up at school today. We can’t avoid each other forever nor do I want to. But like Rah, Jeremy has a bad habit of attracting crazy broads and I’m tired of catching the backlash.

  I should be at the shop this afternoon but when Mrs. Carmichael called to inform me that our papers were ready I told Mama why I needed to leave early. She didn’t sound surprised at all. In fact, she’d already filled a larger container of her special honey and olive oil body butter for me to give to Mrs. Carmichael, as if she knew what was coming. One day I hope to rock my powers like my grandmother does. Until then, I’ll continue following her lead.

  “You hungry, Jayd?” Chase asks, pointing at the carving board piled high with cold cuts, fresh bread and an array of condiments. They eat well around here at all times making Nigel feel right at home.

  “Yeah, I could eat.”

  Chase begins making me a turkey sandwich on rye with plenty of mustard—he knows me so well.

  “People are people so why should it be that you and I should get along so awfully?” I sing along with my iPod at the top of my lungs.

  Chase laughs at me and shakes his head before passing me the plate. I’m surprised he’s not signing along.

  “What the hell are you singing?” Nigel asks, entering the room with more snacks. Barbeque chips are just what this sandwich needs to complete the perfect meal.

  “It’s old school Depeche Mode. Familiar?” I ask, continuing with my massacre of the oldie-but-goodie. Creed and Alanis Morissette are also on this playlist.

  “Hell no I’m not familiar with that shit,” Nigel says, sitting on the stool next to me at the kitchen island. I love Chase’s house. It’s not as big as Jeremy’s house but it’s just as fabulous with an equally spectacular view of the ocean. “And if it sounds anything like what you’re trying to sing I don’t want to be.”

  “They’re not that bad,” Chase says, grabbing the chips out of Nigel’s hand. “My mom keeps the band in rotation.”

  I don’t know why Chase is fronting. We both know I downloaded this song from his iPod.

  Nigel looks from me to Chase realizing he’s not in LA anymore. I know he misses hanging with Rah. I don’t think I’ll ever understand why Rah does half the shit he does. He’s as much an enigma to me as he was five years ago when we first met. As soon I think I know him he pulls a fast one bringing us right back to the beginning. I guess to some people it’s nice to keep the mystery alive, but to me it’s just plain exhausting.

  “Chase, you can’t listen to whoever the hell Jayd’s listening to and listen to Lil Wayne,” Nigel says, taking a sip from his drink. “It’s against the rules, man.”

  Chase laughs at Nigel but I can tell he’s nervous. I would bust him out telling Nigel it’s because of the dude formerly-known-as-Chance that I like alternative music in the first place. Chase will be hearing about this later when we’re in private. I’m all for him finding his black self but the white part of him is hella cool, too.

  “Anyway, like I was saying before the karaoke show,” Nigel says, tossing a bag of chips to Chase. “Me and Rah have to find a new supplier. Lance is tripping and it’s affecting our bottom line.”

  “I can hook you up with a couple of my boys in the O.C. but it’s high-grade, top shelf type herb,” Chase says, pointing to the liquor cabinet in the adjacent dining room. I could probably pay my college tuition with just a few of the pretty bottles in the glass case. “It takes green to get green, you feel me?”

  “We’ve barely been breaking even the past few weeks,” Nigel says, frustrated. He needs to take his stubborn ass back home. “What are we going to do? The weed man don’t take credit cards.”

  “I feel you, man,” Chase says between bites. “Look, we can take a meeting with them and see what they’re willing to invest in a start up.” Chase sounds more like a Wall Street businessman than a teenager hustlin’ on the streets. This sandwich is too good for me to give my verbal input but I’m taking mental notes.

  “Start up?” Nigel says, tossing his food onto the plate. “Fool, we’ve been making money since you were in diapers.” Nigel stares at Chase who doesn’t back down. Nigel cracks first realizing how ridiculous he sounds, especially since we’re all the same age.

  “My brotha,” Chase says, imitating Jesse Jackson. “What I am trying to convey today is that you have been dealing with one type of supplier, and I am going to introduce you to his daddy.”

  We all bust out in laughter. Chase can be so stupid sometimes.

  Chase walks around from the opposite side of the island to stand directly in front of our friend. “Can the church say amen?” Has he been watching my grandfather’s sermons on YouTube?

  “Chance, what are you doing?” Mrs. Carmichael asks, stepping into the kitchen. She still calls her son by the name she gave him rather than the one his birth mother chose.

  “Nothing mom,” he says, kissing her on the cheek.

  She looks great, wearing a trendy yoga suit and sneakers. Mrs. Carmichael’s a living testimony of how getting rid of dead weight can work miracles on a person’s entire being.

  “Here, Jayd. Hand deliver these to Teresa and make sure you let her know that she has exactly three days to get back to me with her response.”

  Nigel looks pensive at the mention of his mother’s name. He has to miss being home, even if his mom’s a lot to handle.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Carmichael. I’ll drop them off on my way home,” I say, wiping my hands clean with a napki
n. Mrs. Carmichael hands me the heavy manila envelope three times as thick as the papers Mrs. Esop served Mama. Whatever’s in these pages is no joke.

  I know Mrs. Carmichael’s been busy working on her own divorce. From what Chase has said, not only is she going for half of all of his dad’s assets—claimed and unknown—but she also wants half of his law firm, and for he and his secretary to be fired for professional misconduct by getting knocked up on company time. Her legal swag is so fierce that she almost makes me want to become a lawyer.

  “No problem. And tell your grandmother I said thank you for the sweet gift,” Mrs. Carmichael says, smelling her hands. “Text me after you deliver them.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I will.”

  It’s going to be interesting seeing Mrs. Esop again after all that’s happened. She hasn’t been in the best shape since Nigel left home and blames one of my best friend’s for it. I don’t blame Mrs. Esop for being hurt by a few of my actions even if I had no power to prevent them, but she didn’t have to drag Mama and Netta’s shop into this mess. I hope she’s ready because one thing we Williams’ women don’t do is back down from a fight.

  *

  I park my car in the driveway behind Mrs. Esop’s Jaguar. Her rose garden looks slightly neglected—I guess she hasn’t been in the mood for pruning. I ring the front doorbell twice and wait but no one answers. After several minutes I gently push the screen door open and hear two female voices shouting in the living room.

  “Mom, this is Regina. She’s a captain in the Navy, and she’s my fiancée.”

  “Fiancée.” Mrs. Esop looks like she’s about to faint. Her husband had better step behind her and get ready to catch.

  It’s hard to feel sympathy for Mrs. Esop with all of the unnecessary drama she’s caused in my life. She’s been on a serious power trip lately and thankfully my grandmother is putting it to an end, even if it’s probably only temporary. I have a feeling Mrs. Esop always has her nose in someone else’s business.

  “Excuse me,” I say, entering the foyer. I don’t want to overhear any more of their family feud—I think I’ve heard too much as it is. “I just came to drop these off,” I say, holding the envelope out like it’s a white flag.