by Nikki Rashan
“Now you can talk? That wasn’t God, baby, that was all me.” He chuckled, like he’d done something spectacular.
“No, jackass, I think the fucking condom broke!”
“Oh the hell it did.” He pulled out quickly, and sat back on his knees. I didn’t even need to look. His expression said it all.
What the hell was this bullshit? This couldn’t be what all the love songs and romance novels talked about. Somebody done lied to me! I closed my eyes and tried not to cry. I was now sexually frustrated and pissed off at this entire fiasco. I couldn’t afford to get pregnant, and damn sure couldn’t get an abortion. What the hell kind of cheap-ass condom did this fool have?
“You’ve got to be kidding me. This is what I come home to?”
My eyes flew open at the sound of my daddy’s voice as it boomed loudly throughout our small two-bedroom house.
“Oh shit. Your pops is home? What time is it?” Carlos’s voice was a frantic, rushed whisper.
I groaned, frustrated as hell. “It’s way past time for us to get up out of here.”
We both jumped up and I snuck out to the bathroom brought back a warm soapy washcloth for us to wipe ourselves down with before rushing to get dressed. I quickly tossed my yellow comforter over the small bloody spot on my matching sheets. That spot was all I had left of my virginity. I wasn’t pure anymore, and I could only hope Carlos wasn’t a mistake.
Peeking out my curtain-less window, the sky outside was just barely breaking into the light blue and grey streaks of morning. Cool white rays were creeping through the broken slats of my venetian blinds and I could hear a few birds breaking the morning’s silence with their annoying chirping. I squinted at the battery-powered alarm clock sitting on the plastic bin I used as a nightstand and cursed. Damn, we was gonna be super late again. I was usually up and out the house before my dad got home from work.
“It’s not that light outside, you can still go out through the window,” I whispered. The arguing with my parents sounded like it was getting heated, which meant Carlos had a pretty good chance of hopping the gate in the backyard unseen.
This had become our routine. I probably hadn’t slept alone for at least four of the six months we were together. Carlos would sneak in and out before Daddy got home or Momma woke up and we’d meet later at school.
“Next time will be better now that we got that out the way. Don’t worry, no one gets knocked up the first time.” He kissed my cheek.
I winced, thinking, no one believes that urban myth bullshit.
The side of my face was still sore from where the television remote had connected angrily with my cheek. I’d tried to prevent all the drama hours ago before I’d snuck Carlos in, quietly asking Momma to relocate herself from the couch to their bedroom. The remote was the closest thing to her so that was what she answered with, swinging it furiously toward my face. The lights had been shut off again because the bill hadn’t been paid and I was scared to have any candles burning when she was like that. Otherwise, I might have had some kind of light to see the blow coming so I could’ve ducked in time. Gathering my things for school I fought a silent war on whether I should tell my daddy about him.
He’d brought her home drunk again. He was the main reason she’d been drunk by the time I got home from school almost every day this week, if she was home at all. When I asked her what she was doing with him, I was told to stay out of grown folk’s business. But everyone in the neighborhood knew what kind of business he dealt with. It would hurt Daddy’s feelings if I told him, and then he’d fly off and say something to Momma and Lord knows she’d take it out on me.
My mother’s voice rose angrily, matching my Daddy’s sharp tone. “Don’t you dare come in here questioning me. You wanted this, remember? You wanted me; you wanted to be the family man. You made me choose and now all you do is stay at that job you love so much that you never come home!”
“Dammit, woman, it’s called a double shift. This job is so we don’t need nobody’s handouts. You don’t want to work, remember? You want to be Susie Homemaker or whatever it is you want to call this. I work enough hours to barely get us by; I’m paying rent on this piece-of-shit house while you sleep the day away dreamin’ about a newer one!” Daddy roared back at her.
“We had a way out. I thought you were just righteous, but now I see it’s because you wasn’t man enough to take it. A real man would keep the lights on. Make enough money for us to use the air conditioner. I’m more of a damn man than your ass.” She hurled her words at him with the same precision as the knife thrower I’d seen at the carnival. The little man could launch a razor-sharp blade and split an apple in half from nearly twenty feet away. Momma’s words were the same, meant for cutting deep into Daddy’s pride.
“I’m soft?” His question was barely audible. I had to press my ear against my bedroom door to hear him. “I ain’t a real man? A lesser nigga would have put you out on the front lawn and changed the locks after whoopin’ your ass. A soft nigga would have our daughter working to help out, instead of focusing on school.”
“And a soft, scared nigga would do just like you,” Momma snapped back. “You want to keep your hands clean yet you too stupid to realize you get ’em dirty every day, wiping the white man’s ass for pennies.”
Wow, did she really have to take it there?
Five, four, three . . . Counting the seconds down I listened sure as day at any moment they’d start swinging on each other.
“Nah, I’m solid. That easy money ain’t worth the jail time for putting my hands on it. Neither are you.”
I opened my bedroom door and it was as if the bell rang, signaling the end of a championship fight as the contenders retreated to their neutral corners. Daddy shuffled toward me down the hallway, yet something was different. This wasn’t the look of a defending champion. It was the look of a fighter who’d seen too many fights, taken too many beatings, and at the end of the day finally realized that his bruised face and damaged pride wasn’t worth the title.
“Mornin’, Twinkles. What are you still doing home?” he greeted me.
I giggled at the pet name he’d called me for as long as I could remember. When I was little I’d asked him what it meant and he’d said it was because my eyes were as big and as pretty as the night sky.
“I’m late, Daddy. Have a good sleep. I love you.”
He smiled tenderly before kissing me on the forehead. “I love you too. Have a good day.”
It might have been my imagination but his smile seemed sadder than usual. It didn’t quite reach his eyes, making them twinkle their usual bright brown or crease at the corners as they usually did. Damn, could he tell that I wasn’t a virgin anymore? There was no way he could know I might be pregnant, was there? My conscience was already making me paranoid as hell.
Leaning over Momma on the couch, my nose wrinkled at the heavy dousing of White Diamonds she’d covered herself in. It was a sad attempt to compensate for the fact that she’d come home too drunk to stumble into the shower.
“Bye, Momma. Love you,” I whispered softly.
She didn’t so much as bat an eyelash.
Giving her cool cheek a small peck, I smelled the scent of White Diamonds, liquor, and something I’d noticed a hundred times before but could never place. The only reason I knew it now was because it faintly clung to my own body. It oozed out of my pores, danced behind my eyelids as memories, and lingered in my hair. Momma smelled like sex.
Chapter 2
Just Roll Over And Play Dad
I got home from school early. The record high was supposed to be close to a hundred degrees outside and with no AC it was almost inhumane to keep us in that brick oven they called a school. Besides, everyone got “the itis” after lunch anyway. When you combine that with those big-ass wind tunnel fans recycling hot air, even the teachers were either irritated or half asleep.
The house was insanely hot when I walked in. I was surprised to find the lights working and not surprised that Momm
a was nowhere to be found.
She could have at least cracked a damn window or two. Her absence was a good thing though; it meant I could watch my shows as long as I was quiet. Everyone at school had been debating over a new episode of Oz on HBO and I didn’t want to miss it. Daddy usually rested in the afternoon before going to work if he wasn’t already gone. The door to the bedroom was closed but I peeked in anyway just to make sure he wasn’t home. No point in being all quiet if I didn’t have to be.
There wasn’t any money left on my lunch ticket and Momma had forgotten to put money up there so many times the lunch ladies were at their limit for giving me hookups. I didn’t even think to get money from Carlos before school since we were on different lunch shifts. A few of my friends let me eat some of their fries and I played the “not hungry” role, opting to do my homework even though I was starving. Good thing it was a half day, because there was no way I’d have made it through a whole one.
Opening the door to the fridge, I stared inside as my stomach growled angrily. There was the ugly part left from a loaf of bread, mayonnaise but no lunch meat, no cheese. Shit, we didn’t have shit! There wasn’t anything in the cabinets except flour and an old box of biscuit mix. It was a damn shame I didn’t have eggs or milk. Pissed, I opted for the heel of the bread. Smearing on a thick layer of mayonnaise and a sprinkle of black pepper for some flavor, I folded it in half and made do with my make-believe sandwich.
There were always a few minutes during each day when I’d sit on the couch after school and watch TV as if I were a grown-up in my own house living by my own rules. Crossing my legs I sat back and turned to see what talk shows I could find, but every local channel was showing an emergency broadcast. Something about the chief of police and a freak accident involving his air bag.
Every channel was airing footage of him in his uniform and his wife and family. He’d been the chief for over thirty years and his death was an unexpected shock. My sandwich may as well have been Styrofoam and sand. It lodged itself in my throat until I could work up enough moisture to swallow past the knot of disbelief. On the screen in front of me was a view of the chief’s car. I prayed that for coincidence’s sake he just so happened to drive a red Camry.
I decided to take a shower while the house cooled off. My make-believe half of a sandwich didn’t do anything but irritate me, and just suspecting Carlos in something as big as the police chief’s death didn’t help matters. Confronting Carlos and then going to the police if he was involved was going to be insane. Besides, he’d said it last night, I even watched him go to Tyre’s car. There were a thousand red Camrys in the area. I was probably just being dramatic. I squashed the thought for the moment as my stomach once again grumbled, only half content.
There was no telling when Momma would come stumbling back, and when she did she’d most likely be in no condition to prepare a meal. I wasn’t allowed to even think about leaving the house unless someone knew where I was going. Hopefully she’d be hungry enough to leave her snide comments about my weight at the door. The last thing I wanted to hear was, “A missed meal or two ain’t gonna hurt you none, girl. It’s no wonder why we can’t keep any food up in this house with your big behind suckin’ it all down.”
Momma loved to remind me that I was a little heavy. And, since I wasn’t supposed to have a boyfriend, the most I could do was just think about how I’d like to shut her down. How I would love to one day get all in her face pointing and going off. It’d have to be on one of those days when she was so hung over it hurt to blink,that way she’d be a little slow with the slapping reflexes and I’d get a chance to say my piece.
Well, Momma, my boo ain’t got no complaints. Matter of fact, he can’t stand them Bones McGee–looking skinny broads. And he can’t wait to slide all up in this big booty. So, poof, g’on somewhere. I’d be sure to pop my lips and roll my eyes for good measure when I was done. And after Momma’s hand flew across my face and I got up off the floor I probably wouldn’t remember my name or the last four digits of my social security number.
Giggling at the image, I just hoped she’d be hungry and possibly in a good mood whenever she finally came home. Maybe I could get enough money up out of her to walk to Brown’s convenience store on the corner and get us some five cent potato logs or some wings.
My cell phone vibrated in my backpack on the counter scaring the living daylights out of me. It was a rinky-dink prepaid phone I’d gotten one day just so I could keep up with my friends. Momma looked at me like I was damn near out of my mind when I’d asked for a phone, and Daddy was all about money. The first words out of his mouth were “who’s gonna pay for that?” when I’d asked. Fortunately some of the girls on the basketball team couldn’t afford to go get their hair professionally braided. After two or three heads here and there, I managed to have enough to get my own phone. Flipping open the bulky little no-name thing I frowned at a text from my best friend, Brianna.
Text From Brianna 12:34: You busy?
Reply 12:34: no, bri bri, whatsup?
Text From Brianna 12:35: what happened with you and carlos?
Reply 12:35: Huh? Nothing happened. What do you mean?
Text From Brianna 12:36: Shit. I gotta tell u something. Please don’t be mad.
Reply 12:36: What is it? Why would I be mad?
Text From Brianna 12:36: He asked me to meet him behind the stage in the auditorium after school but I told him no. He with you–that would be wrong. He said it was about you. But he wouldn’t tell me until I met him.
Oh hell the fuck no, was the first thought that crossed my mind. Nobody ever went to the auditorium to just talk. Bri should have known that shit from all the stories we’d heard. I never knew her cousin’s real name, just that she had a big old apple head, and that’s what we all called her growing up; the name stuck to this very day. Hell, Apple-head caught at least three STDs back to back up in there her freshman year, and if that wasn’t enough the heffa still wound up getting pregnant.
Carlos was my damn boyfriend. Whatever she had to tell me was probably outside of her friend boundaries. Just the thought of him looking at her with his “come hither” eyes made my blood run molten hot. I wanted to wrap every strand of that straight black hair of his that he took so much pride in around my fist and just yank it right out of his scalp.
Carlos was in the twelfth grade and I was in the tenth, and I’d had a crush on him since I was in the third. That was when he’d first moved into my neighborhood and Brianna, “my best friend at first sight” as she put it, knew that. It was hard enough to get his attention, strategically placing myself in a position to become his closest female confidant. It took years to build that kind of friendship with him. Years of playing third wheel and watching him go on dates. Years of painfully helping him pick out flowers and gifts for other girls and talking him through breakups. It was even harder to finally make him do what I wanted all along and cross the friend line. All the hard work I’d put into getting him and now this?
Ugh! The fact that she even spoke to him without me around had me fighting the sudden urge to Hulk smash every piece of furniture in the house. I deliberately hadn’t told her about this morning because I didn’t want everyone knowing. Bri couldn’t hold water sometimes and I hadn’t made up my mind on exactly how much I wanted her to know.
Cringing at the thought of what she might have done with him, I could only shake my head. Why would he even go there, and with my best friend of all people? And Brianna’s fake ass was just as wrong. I could just imagine her big-ass, To Wong Foo Thanks for Everything, Julie Newmar Wesley Snipes in drag–looking man hands all over him! She always wore these bright-ass, made-up-ass exotic colors, like Pompeii Purple, Marry-me Mojito, or Passion Pink. All that bright polish and acrylic did was make you look at her hands and realize, wow, that girl has some big-ass mannish hands. The thought of her touching him and him letting her do it made me want to break his face and all of her fingers.
Text From Brianna 12:43: You still the
re, girl?
Reply 12:43: Yeah.
Text From Brianna 12:44: He was all sweaty and nervous acting. So at first we just walked around and played with the props from all the old plays. Then he grabbed me and kissed me. I swear I was caught off-guard and when I tried to push him away he said that you weren’t nothing like your flunky momma.
“My flunky momma?”
Grabbing my towel and a change of clothes I headed to the bathroom. I needed to calm down before I texted Carlos and cursed his ass slam-the-fuck out. The fact that he even knew about my momma and her escapades was mortifying. My phone vibrated but I didn’t even bother looking at it. I didn’t want to see the messages or feel the shame at whatever else they had to say about me, or Momma, or her activities.
Brianna was going to owe me so big whenever I finally decided to forgive her for her man-touchery. Juggling the phone and my underclothes I felt it vibrate three or four more times, before going silent. I was happy that I hadn’t activated the voice call service. That girl was going to be texting me for the rest of the night because she knew she was wrong. I walked into the bathroom, flicking on the light, the words “flunky momma” whirring through my mind. They were bouncing between my ears, haunting me like the last song you hear after you turn off the radio after you get out of the car.
My “flunky momma.” I was physically shaking my head at the exact thought when bright red flashes caught my attention. Gagging and gasping, I tripped over an invisible speed bump and went tumbling backwards into our small hallway. My things went spilling from my hands onto the once-tan, but now completely red-stained bathroom floor. Trembling, I just sat there momentarily petrified, staring as the few remaining stark white fibers of my bath towel slowly turned bright red. Buzzzz. Buzzzz. Buzzzz. Buzzzzz.
My heart lurched in my chest at the sound of my phone somewhere under my pile of my things. It was as if I were suddenly struck by lightning and jolted back to life at the scene of terrifying crime scene. This wasn’t a dream; the tears burning down my face were real, the blood on the floor was real, and all the rumors about my mother were real. Standing on shaky legs, I steadied myself using the wooden door frame. “Please let me wake up, or let this be a mean joke,” I repeated over and over, as I wrestled the dark feelings of desperation that were rising up to overtake me from the pit of my stomach.