by Lolita Files
Misty. Giggling way too hard and happy.
I stood on the porch, looking around at the nice, peaceful little buppified area. Rick’s townhouse sat right on a lake. Ducks were sleeping on the surface of the water.
The porchlight came on, and the peephole went black.
“Who is it?” a man’s voice asked.
“Open the door!” I demanded, my voice calm but firm.
There was a pause, and I thought I heard mumbling.
Nigga probably thought it was one of his women, ‘bout to show out on his azz.
The lock clicked, and the door made a squeaky sound as it was pulled back on the hinges.
Rick Hodges peeked out cautiously. His wore a puzzled look on his brown face, and ran his hand across his freshly trimmed fade. He didn’t have on a shirt.
Actually, for all I know, he could have been butt nekked behind that door.
“Hey, girl! What you doing here this time of night? Something wrong?”
“Hmmmph!” I snorted, and pushed my way past him, into the house.
When I got inside, he definitely wasn’t butt nekked, but it took me a second for that to register.
The first thing I did notice was Miss Divine, laying all sprawled out on the couch in a bright red teddy, her legs cocked up, the remote in her hand.
I also saw things from our apartment. One of the hand chairs from Ikea. And the blue vase made of cracked glass. A stack of Frank Fraziers were leaned up against the living room wall.
“What are you doing here?!” Misty exclaimed, sitting up and sounding like Rick’s broken record. “Hang on a second, let me go get my robe!”
She jumped up from the couch and scampered back to the bedroom. Without saying a word, I bodaciously followed her.
When she went into the room, I was right on her heels. I closed the door behind us and locked it.
Misty spun around.
“What’s up?”
“You tell me!!” I snapped, my hands on my hip. I was in let’s throw down mode. I hadn’t had a good street fight in years.
“What do you mean?” Misty was genuinely puzzled. “Is everything all right? Did something happen at the theater toni—
“Oh shit, Reesy!!” Misty gasped, clasping her palms over her mouth. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!! I forgot all about it!!”
She reached out for me with both arms.
I slapped upward with my hands, knocking her arms away.
“Don’t touch me, bitch!!”
Her face crumbled at my words.
“Wha… ?!”
“You did this shit on purpose!” I screamed. “It’s bad enough you don’t half support what I do, but to promise me that you’re gonna be there, and then don’t even comet?! That’s some lowdown, nasty shit, Misty! And I don’t appreciate it!”
She reached out for me again, and I pushed her away.
Hard, this time.
She bounced back on the bed, looking foolish in that trampyass teddy.
“Stop acting so ghetto, Reesy,” she said softly. “I don’t wanna fight with you. That’s not my style.”
“Is that your style?” I replied sharply, pointing at her in that hoe-ish getup.
Misty sighed and reached for her robe. It was lying on the bed beside her.
I snatched it from her hands.
“Don’t try to cover up now!” I shouted. “Let me see you in all your glory!”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she mumbled, reaching out, trying to take the robe back.
“Noooo!” I sneered, holding it behind my back. “Be yourself! You felt comfortable enough to walk around Rick this way! Don’t try to front with me!”
Misty got up from the bed and went to the closet.
“Don’t… walk… away…from… me,” I said through gritted teeth.
She spun around, her face hard and feisty.
“Look… what do you want me to do? Huh? I can’t change things. What’s done is done!”
I stood there, seething.
Her face softened.
“I forgot all about it,” she whined, holding her palms out in a pleading gesture. “I’m sorry. I can’t tell you how sorry I am. Rick and I played hooky from work and moved my stuff in here today.”
Misty took a step toward me. I stepped back, breaking my silence.
“I don’t give a fuck about you and Rick!” I screamed. “I would have never done this to you! Never!! Not in a million years!”
“I didn’t do this to you!” Misty screamed back. “I made a mistake! I forgot! Why are you so freaking paranoid, like I did this to you on purpose?”
There was a knock at the bedroom door.
“What’s going on in there?”
“Fuck off, muthafucka!” I screamed.
“It’s all right, Rick,” Misty yelled. “I got this.”
“Oh?” I laughed, working my head. “You got this? So you think you handlin’ me?”
I couldn’t wait to throw down.
Misty sat down on the bed, refusing to give me the pleasure of fisticuffs. She sat there like the pathetic piece of crap that she was, and just gave in to the whole thing.
I kept on.
“How you can call yourself a friend? Anybody’s friend? I’ve had pets more loyal than you!”
“I made a mistake,” she whimpered, her head hanging down. “I don’t know what you want me to do.”
“You knew how much this meant to me,” I said in a lowered tone, my teeth bared. “You’re just so foolish, all you care about is that man. You always put a man before everything else.”
“That’s not true,” Misty pleaded. “I love you! You’re my sistah!”
“You don’t love me!!” I screeched. “You don’t know how to love nobody! How can you love me when you don’t even love your damn self? Huh?”
She softly began to cry.
“Honey, please,” I said apathetically, waving my hand in the air. “I don’t know what you crying about. You can just keep your little crocodile tears to yourself.”
Her shoulders shook, as the tears fell heavily with each of my words.
“How can I make this up to you?” she asked, looking up at me with her sorry little expression.
I took a deep breath, disgusted. I looked at her, sitting there in that teddy like a two-dollar hoe, and wanted to spit.
Enough was enough. I was through with her ass.
“You can’t make it up to me. It’s over. As far as I’m concerned, you and I are no longer friends.”
Misty’s face went through a million contortions.
“What do you mean, we’re no longer friends?!” she asked with fear in her voice.
“Just what I said. From now on, you stay the fuck away from me. I’m moving out of your apartment, and I don’t wanna have no parts of nuthin’ to do with you!”
“You don’t mean that,” Misty said, jumping up from the bed. She made a move toward me.
I held out my palm, stopping her.
“If I were you,” I warned, “I’d stay over there. I’m not feeling too cool right now, and I can’t promise you that I won’t whip your ass right here in your brand-new home.”
Misty stared at me like I was a stranger.
She had her nerve. If anything, I didn’t know who the hell she had turned into.
“Don’t move out,” she said. “The rent there is free. I’m sorry, Reesy. This was just an honest mistake.”
“Well, it was the last straw,” I replied. “I’m calling game. Friendship over. You forfeited. Stay your ass as far away from me as you can get.”
I unlocked the door and snatched it open. Rick was standing there, his mouth wide.
“Get the hell out my way,” I hissed, shoving him aside.
“Why are you treating your friend like this?” he asked. “You know Misty loves you!”
I turned around sharply and walked up to him, all in his face. I pressed my forefinger against his nose.
“You don’t know shit about me and Misty
,” I growled. “So don’t be telling me what’s what. Actions speak louder than words.”
I pushed his face with my finger, dismissing him, and his woman, from my life. I rushed toward the door.
Misty called out to me.
“Reesy,” she begged. “Please. Don’t trip like this.”
I held onto the doorknob, listening to the pain in her voice.
It was nowhere near the pain I had felt tonight at the theater, when I realized, after an hour of waiting, that I was ass out and all alone.
I turned around and looked at her. She was standing in her bedroom doorway, looking every bit like the tramp she had become.
It occurred to me that I still had her robe in my hand.
I flung it at her.
“Put some clothes on!” I spat. “Your mama would die if she could see you right now!”
Misty gasped, throwing her hand over her mouth.
“And when this relationship turns raggedy, like you and I know it will,” I chided, “make sure it’s your mama that you run to, ‘cause I don’t wanna ever see your dumb ass again!”
I snatched the door open, and slammed it shut behind me.
I ran as fast as I could to the cab that was waiting. The motor, and the meter, were still running.
“Back to the train station,” I panted, slipping into the backseat.
My eyes were wet and my chest was hurting.
Inside my heart, there was a big ol’ gaping, throbbing hole.
On the ride back on the train, I stared, zombie-like, out the window, my head feeling as though it were about to explode.
What was supposed to be one of the best days of my life had turned into shit.
Sure, the opening of the show had gone well. But the thing that mattered most to me, having my best friend there, who was, for all intents and purposes, my family, had been a total bust.
She had ditched me like a dirty diaper.
That hurt my heart like you wouldn’t believe.
And I had allowed myself to get worked up into such a rage, that I had practically lost all control.
When pressed, I could be very physical, very emotional. I didn’t handle anger well at all. At least I knew that much about myself. I’d gotten into many a scrap as a child. Whenever other girls tried to jump bad with Misty at school, I was always the one who had her back. No one ever dared to challenge me, ’cause they knew I’d whoop up on some ass in a hot second.
I don’t think Misty realized how close she had come to that very thing happening to her today. It’s good I got outta there before I let that side of me loose.
When the trained stopped again at 125th Street, I studied the black folks getting off a little more closely.
To my own surprise, just before the train was ready to take off again, I had jumped outta my seat and headed out the doors.
Into the great big ol’ black world of Harlem.
I ambled across 125th Street.
I walked, noticing the people bustling all around me. There were bright lights everywhere, and black folks in all shapes, colors, and sizes.
There was enough fried chicken to feed all of Africa.
Kennedy Chicken, Kansas Chicken, Ya Mama’s Chicken… damn!
African braid shops and clothing stores galore. Fried fish and shrimp joints.
It was late at night, and a lot of stuff was closed. But you couldn’t really tell it from all the people that were out, that’s for sure.
I looked up and saw that I was right in front of the Apollo Theater. I couldn’t help but smile. I mean, there I was, right in front of it!
I considered all those times I’d watched the show on television. I thought of all those artistic giants from our culture that had gotten their starts there. I was overcome with pride.
As silly as it sounds, I wanted to feel the place. You know, just let some of that history pass right on to me.
I sidled up to the building, trying to play off what I was doing.
And as I walked alongside it, I just let my left palm kinda pass over the surface.
Touching it, I don’t know, sort of made me feel better. Like I had been infused with the spirits of the masters. It may sound corny, but it’s true. At that particular moment in my life, I was feeling mighty alone. I needed to make a connection with something. And running my hand along the Apollo Theater allowed me to do just that.
I kept walking, drinking in the sights.
There were sistahs with big hair, sculpted into all sorts of over-gelled styles. There were braided heads, like mine. All kinds of braids—dookie braids, microbraids, blond braids, squiggly braids. A style for every reason and season. Dreads and locks were all over the place, and so were brothers, and sistahs, with zeroes.
I closed my eyes and breathed in the rich air. My heart began to heal a little around the edges, although the hole was still there and was noticeably tender.
“’Zup, lady?” said a fine chocolate specimen who was passing me by.
He smiled at me as he strutted his stuff down the street.
You know how brothers kinda lean to the side when they walk? Well, my boy had his lean goin’ on and was rubbin’ his chin, checkin’ me out. He wasn’t being obnoxious. Just friendly.
Harlem-style.
Didn’t mean me no harm at all.
“Hiya doin’,” I said and smiled in return.
“Lookin’ good, girl!” he tossed back at me, never stopping to slow his roll.
I liked this place. I liked this place a hella-bunch.
I kept walking.
I turned corners here and there, feeling my way around, not in the least bit threatened.
People (read, white folks) always tried to make Harlem sound so battered. Made it seem dark and dangerous, like the jungle.
It felt like home to me. All the smells, sounds, and people filled the night air with a richness that reminded me of Carnival. It was like a party. And this probably wasn’t even its busiest.
There were renovations going on all over the place. Harlem was being revitalized in a big way. It was getting its second wind. Or third, or fourth, for all I knew.
I found myself on Lenox Avenue between 126th and 127th. Right in front of Sylvia’s. Ummph, ummph! A sistah could sure have gone for some of that good ol’ soul food. But it was much too late for that. Sylvia’s had closed hours before.
Oh well, I thought. At least now I knew where it was.
Sylvia’s was historical. Hell, all of Harlem was. To think, this place had been right up underneath my nose the whole time I had been living in New York. And, even worse, it took having a blowout with Misty for me to take the time to discover it.
I needed my behind whipped for that.
This was a match that was obviously made in heaven. Harlem and Reesy went together like smoked neckbones and collards.
A million-and-one thoughts were racing through my head. My brain was on fire.
I had some decisions to make, and I wasn’t going to waste any time about it.
To borrow the words of brother Julian…
Gotta make moves.
UPTOWN SATURDAY NIGHT
I moved out of the Milano with a dust behind me.
I took my stuff out piecemeal, so Len wouldn’t notice, with his nosy behind. He would have been all up in my business, trying to assist.
I mailed the keys to dem and dose.
You know. Dem thangs up in Greenwich… dose fools that I no longer wanted to have anything to do with.
I did have to get a new phone number, but I explained that away by telling my parents that I was getting my own line inside the apartment.
I went to the post office, pronto, and filled out a change-of-address form. The last thing I needed was for my mail to be sitting around at the Milano, unanswered, and for me to have to go into it with Tyrone and Tyrene about why I wasn’t living with Misty anymore.
I didn’t tell Len I was moving. I just told him that I was going to be house-sitting a place for a friend for an
indefinite period of time.
The fool believed it. Or, at least, he acted like he did.
“I don’t see Miss Fine that much anymore,” he commented. “She must come in at really odd hours.”
“I guess,” I shrugged. “I’m at work a lot.”
He rubbed his chin, eyes scouring my body.
“Well, since the two of you are away so much, you want me to check on the place periodically, just to make sure everything’s okay?”
“Doowhatchalike,” I said, stepping into a cab, instructing the driver on where to go, and watching Len and the Milano disappear out of my life for good.
My new place in Harlem was all that.
It was a newly renovated prewar apartment building, spacious and solid, around 138th Street, near the City College campus.
My building was very safe and well lit. The tenants were mostly buppies and youngbloods around my age or so. It was definitely a cool spot to be in.
My apartment was a two-bedroom, very roomy and comfortable. Why I got two bedrooms, I’ll never know. I was so used to Misty’s funky behind coming over and crashing at whatever crib I had. I guess I just got the extra space out of habit.
But it wasn’t like she’d ever be crashing in my space again.
I loved the hardwood floors in my place. They reminded me of my Grandma Tyler’s house… sweet, feisty thing that she was.
Tyrene and I got our attitudes honestly, that for sure. Grandma Tyler was nots to be messed with.
I thought about her as I walked around, looking at everything. She would definitely like it here. Even though I didn’t get to see her very often, being the wandering spirit that I was, I still talked to her quite frequently. Maybe once or twice a week.
I loved Grandma Tyler. Sometimes talking to her was easier than talking to my own mother. Grandma Tyler took way more time to listen, and wasn’t always sitting around trying to tell me what to do.
“Live your life, Tweety,” she would say to me. “Ain’t nuttin’ to it but to do it. Wish I was younger. I’d be out there now, shaking my bony little ass right ‘long witcha.”
She knew about me dancing in Black Barry’s Pie. She was the one person, other than Misty, who I wished could have been there opening night.
The day after my fight with Miss Divine, I called Grandma Tyler.