by Hannah Weyer
AnnMarie’s shirt had got ripped clear down the front, her ta-tas hanging out, even though they was just little nublets blowing in the wind. Teisha had covered her up but was laughing too, saying, Look how small you be. It was embarrassing. So dang embarrassing.
2
Icies!
Peanut butter punch! Grape icies. 50-cent icies.
What kind you want? Grape be 50. Peanut butter a dolla, you want the milk? I got condense milk for that extra sweetness.
No napkins. Sorry. You got to lick it fast, girl …
Lemme take your picture. You put it in this nice frame, give it to yo’ girlfriend.
Lemme get the two a you together, come on now. Record the moment.
She’d set up near Beach 19, selling half the icies and two Polaroids, each in a frame, by the time Raymel showed up close to noon. It was hotter than a poker stick. She’d gone ahead and ate two icies herself, the Kool-Aid ones, then switched over to munching what was left of the ice. Her stomach growled with hunger. Maybe she’d get a hot dog. Spend a dollar, get a dog. Her hand went to her stomach. She liked how it felt, flat and not pudging over her shorts like it done last year when she was eleven.
Raymel was pedaling his bike slow, moving toward her up the boardwalk with Wallace and Jason. All of them riding one-handed, holding super soakers with the other. Raymel so ugly, his head dented in on one side but funny too—that boy could make her laugh. Just yesterday calling that muthafucker what was eyeballing her twig leg. Twig leg muthafucker—his mama musta got fucked by a tree. She’d laughed and laughed. He was Crystal’s half brother. Different moms, same daddy.
Don’t you fucking shoot me.
Come’re AnnMarie, come’re.
Don’t get water on my stuff, you get the frames wet, you buy ’em.
That’s some ugly shit right there.
AnnMarie shoved Jason who toppled from his bike, laughing.
Shut up. Now you got to buy one. You insult me like that.
Where Crystal at, Wallace said.
She with her mother. They left off to somewhere … AnnMarie paused, then said, I tell her you were asking though, Wallace.
And before she could blink, he’d pulled the trigger, sending a stream of water arcing through the air, smacking wet and cold against her skin. AnnMarie shrieked, laughing. He was nothing to look at but she knew why Crystal liked him. That boy opened his mouth to sing, his voice flowed like silk.
You been by to Teisha house, Raymel cut in.
Huh-uh.
They said they gonna cypher, I’ma bust a rhyme for you. Something new.
Word, I be there, AnnMarie said. But let me take y’alls picture. I give you a discount.
I ain’t got no money for a damn picture.
Come on now. A dolla each, I know you got a dolla.
So the boys rolled up their bikes, Raymel, Wallace and Jason all in a row.
Nah, nah, scoot in, scoot in, make like a V.
Raymel leaning an elbow on his knee, his patent leather Reebok slanted against the pedal, throwing up Blood—blat, blat, blat.
Stop moving Raymel. Hold your hands still.
Looking at her with his funny-shaped head, Wallace and Jason holding their super soakers like Uzis. She start to laugh, dropping the camera from her eye they look so silly.
Take the damn picture.
She took the picture and when the shutter clicked, something clicked like joy inside, this feeling like she springing out.
They rolled around some. Raymel pedaling and she held on, one hand on his waistband, a finger touching skin. AnnMarie packed up her things and hid the cart beneath the stairs. Then they all went down to Beach 9, got into a water fight with the super soakers and water bottles and cups they dug out the trash.
They went down to the shore. Took their shoes off, went in with shorts and tanks on, jumping waves and throwing seaweed at each other. Laughing.
On their way back across the sand, they saw it. Just a dark bulky shape at first, they was so far away. Didn’t look like bodies. But that’s what it was, two people humping in the sand underneath the boardwalk. The man’s body on top, pants down to his knees, his bare butt thrusting and clenching, their legs entwined, one of her breasts flopping and jiggling when he rose up and thrust.
Ooohhhh, what they doin’.
They fucking.
Oh, shit.
Laughing. Laughing.
Look at AnnMarie gaping.
I ain’t gaping. Shut up, stupid.
But AnnMarie had to pull her eyes away. Never seen nobody doing it before, not like that, kids making out, sure, but nothing like this. A long, low moan floated toward them and AnnMarie couldn’t help it. Her eyes flit back to the shadowy underside of the boardwalk just as the man clutched his shorts and rolled offa her, round breasts in full view, the small brown triangle glistening between her legs.
Four o’clock in the afternoon. It was hot. Even with the breeze coming off the sand. Pushing clouds high up there. Too hot to stand in the sun with no shade. No one wanted a picture. Icies melted to mush. The other boys had gone to the rec center. She’d wanted to go too but knew Blessed would ask how much she made, and expect a dollar or two. She turned and saw Raymel coming around again, pedaling slow up the boardwalk.
How’d you do?
She didn’t need to pull the bills from her pocket. She’d been keeping track.
Thirty-seven dollas, she said.
He dropped his bike and crossed to where she stood. He said, we could buy some weed wit’ that.
Huh-uh. This is for my back-to-school.
Why you need new clothes, you look good to me. Sexy Sweet.
Shut up, Raymel … She pushed him and he grabbed her hand, holding on to her fingers.
Stop buggin’. Let go my hand.
He held on though, lacing his fingers through hers, looking at her with that dopey smile, saying, Come on now, AnnMarie …
And she let him play until her palms start to sweat and he’d stepped into her, talking in her ear: I buy you some clothes. Go out to Five Town. They got all the stores you like out there.
She smiled into his shoulder and felt the smallest twinge, something move down there, making her chest pound. It felt good. But still she pushed him away, saying, Step back, Ray. It’s too hot.
Raymel backed up, straddled the bike and sat there for a moment in the heat, both of them not speaking.
He’d told her he was fourteen but she knew he was older. Crystal had let it slip. Sixteen years old and embarrassed ’cause he was still in the 9th grade at Far Rock. She watched him push off, pedaling now in slow wide circles, rattling the planks.
Where you going, AnnMarie asked.
Raymel shrugged. Nowhere, away from you.
AnnMarie tsked, halfways smiling.
He’d told her once he thought she got talent. One time at Teisha’s—the older girls bugging out a cypher. Rapping they rhymes in turn and she’d jumped in with a three-line hook she’d come up with on the spot. He looked at her later when they was alone and said, Damn, girl, you got some pipes. But in that moment, she hadn’t cared about Raymel—the older girls were what mattered. Teisha, Niki, Sunshine. Called themselves the Night Shade. Female rappers, with they mad style and breezy takecharge attitude. Listening to them talk about clubs and open-mic night, mixtapes and producers, how they the only female rappers in Far Rock. How they gonna bust out. After she sang, Niki’d reached over and gave her daps.
They hadn’t heard her sing at IS 53 June Talent. None of them had. Hitting every single note of “I Will Always Love You” by Whitney Houston, singing so beautiful, the whole auditorium had gone wild. Her choir teacher, Mr. Preston, had walked across the stage and hugged her, then turned her to face the crowd. First time she won a ribbon. First time she won anything.
She gazed out at the sand and the sea. Couldn’t hear the surf. Man with his transistor listening to some ballgame. A girl shrieking, getting a bucket dunked on her head. Raymel riding farther
down the boardwalk now, pulling his bike up alongside some fellas who’d come up the ramp and were settling in the shade of the gazebo. Who that. That him? Had his dreads pulled back now, shirt off, tucked into his back pocket. Yeah, it was him—the boy Darius Greene, giving Raymel daps. Dang, she didn’t know they friends.
She suddenly felt dizzy, dots popping in front of her eyes. She leaned over the fountain and drank. First days living in Far Rock, Blessed had brought her down to the street to meet some kids. AnnMarie didn’t know nobody. All of them in a loose cluster up the block, playing some game with a rope.
Make friends, Blessed had said but AnnMarie refused to leave her side so when the ice-cream truck pulled up, her mother drew the food stamps from her purse and started waving them around. She said, Who want ice cream. Who want ice cream? Miss Blessed buying you ice cream. All the kids crowded in then, calling, Me, Miss Blessed! Me. Me. Me. Thank you Miss Blessed! That yo’ ma? Oh, my gawd. She the nicest ma in the world.
AnnMarie had looked up at her then, standing tall, with hair she kept natural, styled that day with a iron and eyes that stared straight, not dragging. Those chinky eyes. Veiled smiling eyes. She the nicest ma in the world.
All the kids sat on the rail, licking they rocket pops and rainbow sherberts and chocolate crunchies, AnnMarie right there with them, the ice cream melting across her knuckles, dripping onto her knee. Even still, she tried to make it last.
She took another drink from the fountain, then turned looking over at the gazebo. Someone over there had turned up the boom box. Method Man rapping. She watched Darius dip his head, keeping time with his fingers.
Hell, no. No way she startin’ 8th grade without some Jordache. Guess. Diesel. The new Diesel jeans with the side stitch … Put the thirty-seven dollas with the hundred eighteen she got hidden in her drawer, that buy something. That get you something.
Plus she had days a summer. Days a summer still.
3
When AnnMarie walked in, Blessed was dozing on the couch, the fan blowing hot air around the room, Steve Harvey on the TV. She went straight for the fridge, pulled it open and found it empty except for the orangeade sitting there on the top shelf. Her stomach felt torn.
She knelt next to her mother, touched her leg. She knew Blessed didn’t like being woke when she in one of her dozes.
Ma … she said softly.
Ma, I’m hungry.
Her mother didn’t stir. AnnMarie wondered how long she’d been sleeping, what time Miss Jessica left off, the scent of clove and cinnamon still in the air. AnnMarie stood up, walked back into the kitchen, pulled open the fridge and stared. Mr. Chow’s Chicken Stir-fry cost $5.49. $3.99 get you the lo mein noodles. A dollar get you rice with beef juice on top. She could feel the bills pressing through her pocket. She hesitated, then reached into the cupboard and pulled down a can of Chef Boyardee.
She dumped the ravioli in the pot, turned up the flame.
Halfway home Raymel had caught up to her, pushing his bike slow. We should go to my boy Darius’ house, he said.
How you know him?
I know everybody.
Oh, you Mr. Popular now.
Raymel tsked, smiling. He got a studio set up in his room.
Word?
We could lay down some tracks. Throw in one a your hooks.
AnnMarie looked at him sideways. For real? You told him about me?
No, I’m just saying … We could lay down some tracks, see what come out.
AnnMarie glanced at him. Where he live at.
Over there by Nameoke.
He pushed the bike along, the two a them bumping shoulders, eyes on the ground.
He said, we put some work in, see what come out.
She ate standing at the counter, wiping up the sauce with a piece of bread. Steve Harvey going on about something. She tuned him out, drifting to Darius leaning back against the rail. His skin deep chocolate. A beedie to his lips. She let a picture roll out. His arm heavy on her shoulder, walking real slow, letting everybody see. She’d be wearing a halter, not this one, but another one she’d seen in Teisha’s closet, soft like silk. And her breasts would be big. Big enough to push out the cloth …
AnnMarie turned off the TV. She stood for a moment in the stillness, listening to her mother breathe.
She ran all the way down to Beach 9. The sky was changing, pale blue folding into twilight. Yellow moon hanging low and fat over Far Rock train yard. On the boardwalk, kids were still roaming, hanging by the rail.
Yo, Wallace, where Raymel at?
They went by to Jason house.
Wha—? When he leave off?
Wallace shrugged and she stood for a moment, not knowing what to do.
What, he ditch you, AnnMarie? Wallace asked.
No, he didn’t ditch me, what building Jason live at?
12-70.
She knew she couldn’t go over there, not into Redfern after dark. She missed Crystal all of a sudden. Felt her heart banging in her chest, she didn’t know why. Stop banging, she thought. Chill.
He come back, tell ’im I’ma be at Teisha’s, she said, then turned and ran back the way she came.
She swung through the door of 1440 where Teisha lived, reached up and pressed the buzzer.
Who that?
Ann Marie.
She heard the click and she was in. She took the stairs slow, calming herself. Breathe, AnnMarie. These girls your friend. Don’t matter Crystal’s not here.
Hey y’all. What up—we cyphering?
No we ain’t cyphering, Teisha snapped as AnnMarie stepped in.
Damn, Teish. Why you so nasty. This from Niki who was sitting with Sunshine at the kitchen table rolling and unrolling the sleeves of her red tee ’til they looked just right. Where you at today, AnnMarie, Niki said. We was here spittin’.
Raymel told me later.
Raymel stupid, Teisha yelled from the other room. Niki ignored her, picking up her story again—telling Sunshine how Nadette had chased her down the block, trying to run her over.
AnnMarie slid into a seat. She watched Niki pull the loose curls of her cinammon-colored afro back into a ponytail.
Shoulda seen her face, Niki said, shaking her head.
Sunshine just looked at her, rubbing cocoa butter on her elbow, the scent filling the air.
Teisha stuck her head into the kitchen. When we leave, I don’t want no fighting in my house. Just tell the girl you sorry.
I ain’t gonna be here, Niki said. I’m coming wit’ y’all.
Sunshine tsked. You should tell the girl you sorry.
AnnMarie looked up at Teisha. Where y’all goin?
Open mic.
Oooh, where at? Can I come, can I come?
No you can’t come. You twelve.
She followed Teisha to the bathroom. Leaned against the door and watched her put on her lashes. Sephora brand.
They got glitter on them?
Mm-hm.
AnnMarie’s eyes drifted from the mirror to Teisha’s jeans that fit snug, cuffed just above the heels of her silver mules. Some people say she look like Lil’ Kim. Skinny waist with a big ass. You could put a damn coffee mug on that thing and it won’t fall off. AnnMarie wished she had a butt like that.
Can’t I come? I’ll go home and change.
Teisha cut her a look through the mirror. Where Crystal at?
She with her mother.
Teisha didn’t answer, didn’t look at her again, so AnnMarie wandered back into the kitchen where Sunshine was saying to Niki: I’da kill you myself.
Niki flounced. But I ain’t done nothing.
Who you foolin’, Sunshine said. You need to keep your hands to yourself, yo.
AnnMarie slumped down for real now. She didn’t know what they was talking about. She just knew she was about to get left. Well. She wouldn’t tell them about the boy Darius and his studio. Didn’t want to make nobody jealous.
The apartment door flung open just then and there was Nadette, standing in the m
iddle of the room, glaring. Burning holes into the back of Niki’s head. The room got quiet. Sunshine stood up, giving Niki a look but still Niki didn’t move. She just sat there ’til Teisha came clickety-clack across the floor, looked at the two a them, told ’em to work it out, go in the other room and work it the fuck out.
Then Teisha left with Sunshine. Both of them dressed up fine, out the door and gone. Niki followed Nadette into the bathroom, closed the door, and AnnMarie sat in the stillness for a while, listening to the muffled sounds of their voices ’til it got quiet. AnnMarie stood, walked into Teisha’s room, crossed to the closet where she reached up and brushed her fingers across the clothes. All them pretty clothes.
Last time she was in there with Raymel, he’d come up behind her.
He said, You gonna learn to dance?
Whatchu mean.
Teisha dance. My cousin saw her down at the club. She’s good too, he said. They put mad money in her string.
But she hadn’t been listening. She’d been touching the clothes. Oh, my gawd. Look at this, Raymel … Seventy-nine dollas, she ain’t even take the tag off yet.
His hands had gone around her waist and she’d felt his lips brush her neck. She turned into him, put her hands on his shoulders and closed her eyes. She pretended she was Teisha, lifted her chin and waited for his lips to find hers.
The night air had cooled some but it still lay down and stuck to your skin.
She went along the ramp, passing the Beach 9 sign, and stood watching the couples move in and out the pools of light all the way down the boardwalk. Strolling slow, nowhere to be but here, appearing suddenly out of a patch of velvet dark where the lamp-light broke and no longer shone. She looked for Raymel, itching now to see Darius’ studio.
Spring out and touch something.
You never could hear the sound of the ocean, she thought. Not from up here. You had to go all the way down, all the way across the sand, put your foot in, you hear it then.
Darius Greene
4