by Tiana Laveen
“What? Some wack pussy?” The boy burst out laughing, as if that was the funniest thing in the world. “Some of these bitches’ pussies are a fuckin’ mess…hoes ’nd shit. Lying, talking about they a virgin and ain’t never sucked a dick before and all this other nonsense. Then, after I fuck ’em, they are blowin’ my beeper up. I don’t know another way to describe it, but they get addicted to this dick man, like a damn crack head!”
Saint dropped his head in shame and embarrassment. This had been the beginning of his sexual addiction—and he was looking at it now in reverse. The sixteen-year-old him was none the wiser, blaming it on the girls, when it was he who was truly addicted. Needing the rush, the feeling of ‘pretend’ love, in order to fill a hole that could never be full.
“I had a few doozies, man…total waste of time. Anyway, I knew you wouldn’t cheat on her but you can’t blame me for trying, right? I like to fuck…it’s what I live for.” The boy turned serious, an almost evil vibe radiating from his thin body, filling the room with something sad and blue, angry and red.
“I know you like to fuck. You use it to escape yourself and how you really feel. You get high to escape. You run the streets to escape. You’re sixteen, and you’ve already had sex with over thirty girls… That’s not healthy, Saint.”
“Over forty-two,” the boy said smugly. “I stopped countin’ after that.”
“Look, the point is, you’ve been having sex for two years now and you have no plans on stopping or at least being with only one girl at a time. Mama wouldn’t be happy about that. I don’t think you’re happy about it, either.”
The boy didn’t say anything; he simply turned away, his muscles jumping under his skin. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he got more tense, more unnerved.
“Hey, gotta survive…” he finally said, taking another toke of his joint. “You wanna hit this?”
He offered the joint to Saint—a gift, some token.
“No, I’m good…” Saint shook his head.
“Anyway, I can’t worry about what Mama would think. She died on me and left me with that fucking bastard that beats on me and ignores my ass until I do something to embarrass him.” He rolled his eyes. “Like I fuckin’ care if he’s embarrassed. He didn’t give a shit if I was embarrassed about him tryna beat up on my friends ’nd shit…telling me they a bad influence. Bullshit! He’s the fuckin’ bad influence. He show more love to that damn matted, funky ass carpet he falls on to pray five times a day, than to me. I feel like the only mothafucka in all of Brooklyn who got a daddy in the house, but he ain’t really in the house, you know what I’m sayin’? Mothafuckas always sayin’ how I’m lucky to have my old man, that they don’t even know who the fuck their old man is. That’s all fine ’nd good, but it is like living in hell! I sometimes wish he were dead.” The boy’s lips curved upward, as if the thought were music to his ears.
His expression turned damn near diabolical. Saint realized how much he’d hated his father at the time. It tore him up a bit inside. “Why couldn’t he have died, and Mama lived?! Why did God do that to me, huh?!”
Saint was at a loss for words. He remembered feeling this way, all too clearly. He still had issues with his father due to the past, but he was trying his damnedest to move past it. His father loved him, although he’d made some mistakes…
“Look, Saint, I know it hurts and you’re upset, but holding all of this anger isn’t going to help you.”
“Oh really?!” The boy’s anger became almost tangible as Saint, the grown man, scooted closer to his older self. “You don’t know shit! Let me remind you”—he shoved his finger in his face—“since you seem to have lost your memory in your old age… All that yellin’ and bullshit he did… He keep throwin’ away my weed, bustin’ into my room like he the damn Po-Po. Pops don’t care. He just want me out of his fuckin’ way while he goes around sitting at that damn shrine of Mama, ignoring me. Remember how he punched you so hard in the gut, you lost your wind and blacked the fuck out?! A grown ass man, fighting his son like we was in the ring or some shit! I hadn’t hit him, I hadn’t done shit. He just didn’t like how I was looking. He threw my ass out when I started fighting back! Made his damn nose bleed. He thought he could just keep jumpin’ on me, taking his anger out on me for some shit I didn’t even do. Remember that shit?!”
Saint swallowed and ran his palm over his thigh. Yeah, he remembered all right…
“I know this may be hard to believe, but he is sorry about all of that now. He has been making amends.”
“Really?” The boy looked at him and burst out laughing, his brow raised. “I already done seen that son of a bitch through your eyes just now. He just an old, washed up fuckface and don’t want to be alone no goddamn more. Oh, I can see it now.” He grinned. “That’s why he went on and got married again, huh? He actually went and married someone, now aint that some shit?” He shook his head. “Now, he can torture someone else. I can’t believe anyone married his lame ass! What tha fuck he be prayin’ for, huh?! Whatever God he is praying to five times a day, I don’t want any part of that shit. Not if that is what God will do for you—make you emotionally abandon your own kid. The hell with God, too! Osaze…” He laughed dismally. “He is afraid to die alone…fucking coward.” He blew out more smoke. “He wanted you back in his life, not ’cause he love you, my man, but because he is a selfish old, dusty ass prick who cares about no one but his goddamn self!” The boy’s voice vibrated through the room, ringing Saint’s ears.
Saint looked at his younger self closely, noting the facial hair, the bunchy, thick brows that needed taming and the sweet smell coming off his body. He was ripe with hormones and confused as hell…
“Saint,” he asked the boy, deciding to switch gears. “Have you heard of a person named Koki?”
He had no idea what possessed him to ask the damn question, but something drove him to do so. That strange urge came to him like a tidal wave crashing against his brain.
“Yeah…I know that cat. Japanese brotha, cool mothafucka, or at least he was. He sell some of that good-good, some of the best weed in Brooklyn. We used to hang sometimes.”
Suddenly lightheaded, Saint felt as if he may pass out, right there on the damn floor.
“Saint…calm down…” he heard Lawrence speaking in the background and a hand lightly touch his face.
“But why don’t I remember Koki?! If you do, why don’t I recall him?!”
His sixteen-year-old self burst out laughing.
“’Cause I am high more times than not. There’s a lot of shit you won’t remember, man…and we wasn’t together that often anyway. And, he didn’t go by Koki then…he went by—”
“Kay-Jay…” they said in unison.
Boy-Saint laughed lightly.
“Yeah, Kay-Jay. Don’t worry, he don’t remember you, either. You was just one of many he did business with.”
For some reason, Saint doubted that.
“How did you meet Koki, Saint?” he asked his young self.
“I was lookin’ to score some weed. He came out of nowhere and offered…”
I bet he did…
“He gave me some for free.” He cheesed hard. “I had to stop hangin’ with Koki though, man.”
“What happened?” Saint scooted a bit closer to himself.
“He told me I ain’t really have sex, that I was still a virgin ’cause I didn’t ever not use a rubber. You see, we was talking about bitches one day…and I was tellin’ him about this chick I met and how she looked and everything. I told him I done seen too many of my boys get caught up, you know…babies they ain’t want ’nd shit. Some of ’em got HIV, too, ended up on a bunch of pills they had to take or it turned to full-blown AIDS and they died. I didn’t want that. I love fuckin’ too much to have it all end because I gotta work three damn jobs to take care of a damn baby and the baby mama. Nah, that wasn’t for me. Even worse, limit my fuckin’ because I gotta sick dick ’nd shit. Nah, not tryna have that. I want my pick of the litter. I do
n’t want to only be able to fuck bitches with HIV, too. That’s all you can get once people know you got that shit and most of them whores still make you pay for it, ’cause they fuckin’ hookers. I ain’t payin’ for no pussy!” He chuckled. “Her payment is a cum-up. All my bitches cum. Nobody walks away from me without getting sprung.” He pointed at himself proudly.
They were quiet for a couple moments.
“Anyway, Koki wanted me to fuck some girls raw… He dared me, then pulled out this big ass wad of cash. He told me to fuck three girls raw that week, and he’d give it to me. I knew he was crazy then, for real, man. What kinda mothafucka says that to someone? Makes that sort of bet? I wasn’t playin’ that game with my dick, man. I stopped getting my weed from him ’cause he kept bringing it up all the damn time.” The boy shook his head. “I don’t know what his obsession was. It was like he was infatuated with my johnson and what I did with it. It is my business who I fuck,” he said, pointing to himself earnestly, “and how I fuck ’em, and ain’t no bitch gettin’ no raw dick from my ass! Believe that!” He laughed.
“Then she wanna come around talking about her period late and all that other bullshit, and then I gotta wait nine months to see if the bastard look like me and some other shit. Ain’t no tellin’ how many other dudes she was fuckin’, but she’ll pin it on me ’cause one, I’m the mothafucka wit’ no kids and these bitches always running around telling me I’d make some cute babies.” He rolled his eyes.
“Anyway, Koki, crazy man. I figured he was in the closet or some shit. I dunno.” He shrugged. “But that shit didn’t sit right with me.”
Saint felt his head about to burst clean open. He bent low at the waist and grabbed his hair with both hands, slowly rocking back and forth, trying to gather his thoughts the best he knew how.
“Saint, do you know what Koki is?” he asked his sixteen-year-old self.
“What do you mean? He’s just some strange guy, man, with a lot of money, bitches ’nd shit. He stay low-key.”
“No, it’s more than that. Do you know you’re an Angel Child? Do you even know what an Angel Child is?”
“Of course I know…my mama told me. We couldn’t tell my dad though, man.” He sucked in air. “He wouldn’t understand. He’d think we both were crazy. My mama was an Angel Child, too.” He smiled sadly.
“Yeah…” Saint debated telling his sixteen-year-old self that Osaze was as well, but thought better of it. It may send the poor kid into a tailspin of more anger, and then he’d have to feel it for the rest of the day.
“Anyway, I’m glad you stayed away from him. Koki, that is. As you suspected, he was up to no good but you know what? As fucked up as you see yourself, your life, and the hand you were dealt, do you know something? Despite all of that, Saint, you’re a smart kid with a lot of potential.”
The boy took another toke of his joint then flicked it across the room. Saint saw it move through the air, but then it disintegrated, as if it had never existed.
“Yeah…I figured you’d try to tell me some shit like that.” He chuckled.
“I’m serious. You’re smart. You’re not happy being like this. That shows in most cases, you know right from wrong. Most importantly, as messed up as your mentality is, you go on and put yourself through college. Did you know you would be going to college, Saint? Did you know you’d make the Dean’s list every semester, go onto medical school and study under some of the best and brightest scholars in the world…and did you know, you’d be studying your favorite topic and teaching others?”
“Nah, man. This is all news to me. Look, you seem not to understand what is going on here. This is how this works, man.” The boy cleared his throat and put his hands out in front of him, ready to prove a point. “I get to see pieces of you, of what you’re doing. I don’t know your whole life story. I just know what happened to me from birth to age sixteen. Everything else I know comes from the Indian and from sitting here right now, sharing your heartbeat, murmur and all. I’m just glad I’m still gettin’ pussy on the regular…even if it is from the same damn broad.”
Saint burst out laughing.
His sixteen-year-old self did, too.
“She real cute, too… I saw her in your eyes just now.” He pointed at Saint, grinning wide. “I see I still have good taste. But anyway, no, I had no idea I turned this shit around, you know? Honestly, I didn’t think I’d live to see my twenty-first birthday, let alone, go to medical school, get married and knock my wife up, turn around and be happy about the shit.”
“Well, you did, obviously, or we wouldn’t be talking right now. And on top of that, you studied and now teach human sexuality and sex therapy…what you love most.”
“Word? You buggin’! You got to be shittin’ me?!” The boy grinned.
“You are one of the best in your field. Also, you are the CEO and owner of a secret organization called, ‘The Rainbeau Knights.’”
Now he had the boy’s full attention.
“What’s that?”
“You talk to men just like you, about how to date, pursue and cater to a woman of color…a black woman. That’s your preference.”
“You ain’t gotta tell me,” boy-Saint said, smiling. “I love black girls… They are the best in bed…plus their conversation is on point. You may think all I like to do is fuck, but I like to talk to the females, too. I don’t just want a warm body. I can’t stand some simple ass female…a fuckin’ dummy. I mean, not that the Puerto Rican and white bitches I fucked were stupid, but sometimes they just don’t get me. I met plenty of dumb black bitches too, but the ones I connected with had some shit upstairs, some smarts in their head. Plus…” He shrugged. “It’s just an attraction thing, I guess. I’ve always been this way. I can’t explain it. I would’ve been shocked if I hadn’t married a black woman. I’m surprised I’m married in the first place, but shit, if I was going to do it, she’d have to be black, you know?”
Saint grinned. “Yes, I know. That’s one thing that never changed. It was always your preference and still is, but now, it is even beyond just your attraction; you’re doing important stuff. You speak of all sorts of things surrounding that very issue. You also are part of an exploratory team within the organization that investigates hate crimes against Rainbeaus and women of African descent. You help people, Saint! You’ve become someone that matters!”
Boy-Saint looked truly astonished. He was tripping off looking into his golden eyes, despite them being red where the whites should be at that moment.
“I…I do all of that? Are you for real?!” The boy seemed to become suddenly angry, as if a cruel joke was being played on him.
“Why would I lie to myself?! That doesn’t even make any damn sense!” Saint laughed, causing the boy to do the same. “Yes it’s all true. As you’ve seen, you have a beautiful, supportive wife and three wonderful children.”
“Three? Dayum! I been busy!” he laughed garishly. “I thought I just had a son.”
“As I was going under, you heard me talking about my son. That’s how you knew I was having problems with him, and the first thing you wanted to say to me was not to ask you for advice…but I must. Please, I’m begging you, Saint.”
The boy sat there for a minute and scratched his freshly faded hair, deliberating, rolling it over in his mind.
“And by the way…you and Raphael are still best friends.” Saint grinned.
“Awwww man!” The boy lit up like a Christmas tree. “That’s my boy! Some good ass news… Okay…what is it? What did you want to ask me?”
“I know he’s only nine, but is there anything I can say to my son to make it a bit easier for him as he goes through this process of growing into his powers and what that entails? I no longer have the mindset of a child, Saint. I am a grown man. I can’t go back in time and think like you or a nine year old. I’ve tried, believe me, I have. You, on the other hand, are in between both worlds. You have the body of a man; you are almost physically sexually mature. As you know, you can get a girl
pregnant right now if you’re not careful. You have facial hair, pubic hair, your voice is deepening… Your body is more like how it will be when you are my age than how it was before, even when you were twelve…but the outside of you doesn’t match the inside. You have the mind of a child, as most others your age do. I need to know what I can do that I’m not already doing, to help him.” Saint brought his hand up and laid it against his heart. “I’ve accepted I can’t change his fate, but I refuse to sit back and not make him understand that I love him, and I will always be there for him. I need to say it in a way that he better understands and believes, though. He isn’t talking to me, Saint…he isn’t talking to anyone, actually, except his mother, and even that is strained.”
The boy thought long and hard for a while.
“Let me tell you what to tell him.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out another joint, lit it, and took another toke. The room filled with wispy rings of smoke. “You tell him that he is greatness, not because YOU are greatness, and he came from your fuckin’ nutsack. No, you tell him he is greatness because he just fuckin’ is! Let him know it got little to do with you—you were just the man to bring him into this fucked up world, okay?” The boy’s eyes narrowed as he drew serious.
“You tell him ain’t shit that can happen, not even the death of his own mama, to make you to stop loving him and supporting him!” The boy’s eyes welled with tears, his bottom lip trembled, after the troubling words left his mouth. He was in serious pain, falling apart in front of him. Saint knew this was taking everything out of the boy, so he appreciated his sixteen-year-old self even more for giving him this gift. Saint wiped a tear away from his eye as he felt the emotional tumor growing and growing and growing…
The boy pointed an unsteady finger in Saint’s face. “Keep being the best father you can be, man,” he said, shuddering. “That’s another reason I wanted to make sure I never slipped up and got no girl pregnant!” Tears streamed down the boy’s face now—hot, angry tears. “Not just because I’m too young and didn’t want my freedom gone, but also because I didn’t want to be like my old man! I knew I would…I sure as hell would because I don’t care about shit right now and just like my old man didn’t want my ass to ever be conceived, I don’t want no fuckin’ baby at this time. A kid deserves better than that! They got the right to be wanted, loved. He ain’t never want me and still don’t!” He was sobbing now, crying into the palms of his trembling hands. Saint reached out and touched the boy, but his fingers went right through, as if his sixteen-year-old self were made up of the same particles that created dreams.