by Omar Tyree
“I was, but at practice yesterday they moved me to running back because nobody could tackle me. And I ran for like three touchdowns on eight carries.”
“Shit,” Shareef told him. “I mean, good. That’s real good,” he corrected himself. He’ll be a real star at running back. But not if he’s late for practice every day.
“Do you know all of the plays?” Shareef asked him.
“Most of them. But now I have to study them again.”
“Yeah, I bet you do. Well, I look forward to that. Are you excited?”
“Yeah. I’ll get the ball a lot now. I wish I was at practice now. But um, we’re like late all the time.”
Shareef could tell that his son didn’t want to say it. His mother was probably staring at him, too. But he could hear that the phone call had cheered his son up.
He probably had his lips poked out a mile before I called, Shareef assumed with a grin. But his grin quickly turned into a frown. And if I’m not around to get him to practice on time, it’s only going to make his attitude worse.
Shit! he cursed his dilemma. I got work to do. But now I gotta have this shit on my mind.
He told his son, “Hey, look, J, it’ll all work out. Maybe you can start getting a ride to practice with one of your friends.”
“But nobody on the team lives near us.”
That was probably true. Shareef had gone out of his way to have his son play for the Jaguars just so he could be teammates with boys his own color. He figured it was important for his son to be able to connect to the victories and struggles of being an African American. The earlier he did so in his youth, the better. The memories of a man’s childhood were the strongest, even for Shareef Sr., growing up in Harlem.
“Well, we’ll figure something out,” he responded. “And in the meantime, just try to…try to get along, Shareef. Just do what you’re told to do.”
The words came slowly only because the father felt hypocritical about them. He didn’t stick around and just get along, or do what he was told to do. When the going got too tough, Shareef Sr. found a new place to live, breathe, and dream. Now he was telling his son to do the opposite.
When he gets old enough, he’ll make his own decisions about life. But for now, he’s just a boy, Shareef rationalized. He figured a lot of decisions adults were forced to make for their kids were hypocritical. Hypocrisy was a natural part of parenthood. You couldn’t have your kids knowingly doing what you did in your own reckless youth. That would be insane. What if Shareef had been involved in the same destructive nonsense that his biological parents had been involved in? He still never even talked about them. And he wouldn’t.
“When are you getting back from New York?” his son asked him.
“Early next week.”
“You wanna talk to Kimberly now?”
“Of course I do.”
His daughter answered the phone. “Hey, Daddy,” and her voice melted him. What was it about his girl that made his heart flutter so much? For the son he felt proud, boastful, authoritative, and protective. He wanted nothing to happen to his little boy. He wanted the world for him. But for his daughter, the world just stopped moving and stood still when she spoke.
“Hey, baby girl. You miss me?”
“Yeah, I miss you. I love you,” she told him.
He said, “I love you, too. And I’ll be back home to see you next week.”
“Will you spend the night?”
Shareef paused and took a deep breath. Separating from a loving family was hard to do.
What the hell, he told himself. She only gets a chance to live once. But what if she gets spoiled by it and wants me to do it all of the time?
“Yeah, I’ll spend the night,” he told his daughter anyway. Jennifer never denied him visitation rights. He could stay as long as he wanted to. It was still his house. And they were still officially married. He just couldn’t bother her until whatever differences they had were settled.
“Daddy said he’s spending the night,” his daughter announced to her mother and brother in the car.
Shareef overheard her and shook his head again. He was spoiling his daughter the same way that millions of other daughters were spoiled. He only told her yes because he knew it would make her feel good. It was a decision of emotions over reason. But the reality was that Shareef and Jennifer were only living on borrowed time as a couple. Only a miracle could hold them together in peace, a miracle that Kimberly and Shareef Jr. prayed for every night.
When Jennifer reclaimed the phone from her daughter, she said, “We’ll need to talk.” That’s all she needed to say. Shareef knew the program. He would have to explain why he continued to make spontaneous decisions that created more family confusions.
“Yeah, I know,” he mumbled as his food arrived.
A spontaneous life was what he wanted sometimes. As a professional writer, he had enough planning, plotting, and scripting in his life as it was. Spontaneity was that added spice that kept his blood pumping. It was the reason he was back in Harlem in the first place. A return to Harlem was something brand new, exotic, and different.
Jennifer needed some spontaneity back in her life. And he would tell her so when they talked again in private.
Shareef ended the call with his wife and family and dug right into his food, like he had never eaten before.
“Excuse me, I hate to bother you while you’re eating, but could you sign my book before you leave?”
Shareef looked up and smiled to a black woman in her thirties with his mouthful of food. Then he nodded to her.
“Oh, thank you so much,” she told him. “I just missed when you were up here last month at Hue-Man.”
He mumbled, “All right. I got you when I’m finished eating.”
“Thank you, and I’ll just leave you alone to finish your dinner.”
As soon as the woman left and returned to her table, Shareef had an incoming call on his cell. He looked down and read the Miami area code and phone number of his mistress.
Should I answer this now or call her back? he pondered. Then again, Jacqueline had the keys to his condo for the week, and there may have been an emergency that he needed to handle, or at least know about right away.
“Hello,” he answered.
She said, “You know I haven’t heard from you in more than twenty-four hours. I mean, you could have at least called me to say that you had made it to New York safely.”
“Or, you could have called me.”
“Well, I didn’t want to seem like I was bothering you, but still…”
“You know what? I love you, too,” he told her out of the blue. Be nice at all costs was on his mind. Cynthia had just taught him that less than an hour earlier.
Jacqueline said, “If you loved me that much, you would have taken me with you.”
“But that’s why I didn’t take you with me this time,” he told her. “I had to visit a damn prison this morning. I don’t want you around that. And tonight I’ll be around old thugs and street criminals. I’m even staying at a run-down hotel.”
He said, “I don’t want you coming to New York with me like that. I want you to have all the best when I bring you here. And I want to have time for you.”
Jacqueline paused and asked him the question that had been lingering on her mind since the moment he left for New York without her.
“Do you have a woman up there in Harlem?”
“What? Look, I’m not up here to do that. I’m up here to do research for a new book. In fact, when you asked me about Harlem that morning, you were the one who solidified the idea in my mind.”
“Yeah, and you also told me that you would take me there. Or were you just talking about the fucking part?”
Shareef had to pause for a moment.
He said real calmly, “I’m eating dinner right now, Jacqueline.”
“With who?”
Right as she asked him that, one of the waiters was walking past his table. Shareef reached out and tapped him on the arm to get his att
ention.
“Yeah, you need something?”
Shareef immediately handed him his cell phone.
“Could you tell the woman on the phone who I’m sitting with.”
The man in short dreads and a long white apron held the phone up to his ear and smiled.
He answered, “Hello.”
Shareef said, “Just tell her who I’m sitting with, man.”
“Actually, he’s dining alone.”
Then he listened.
“This is Sylvia’s Restaurant on Lenox.”
He listened again as Shareef waited.
“Yeah, I would say so. I love working here.”
He looked down at Shareef sitting in his chair and grinned. Shareef went right back to stuffing his mouth with his food.
The waiter said, “Yeah, he’s pretty cool.” Then he shook his head, “Nah, I’ll have to pass on that. But I have to get back to work now.”
He handed Shareef the phone back and whispered, “She asked me to blow you a kiss for her, but I don’t get down like that, brother.”
Shareef shook his head and mumbled, “I don’t either. But thanks, man. These women be trippin’ out here.”
“Hey, man, hold it down however you have to. That’s all we can all do.”
Shareef swallowed his food, got back on the phone, and asked Jacqueline, “Are you happy now?”
“You’re crazy,” she told him with a chuckle.
“And you asked him to blow me a kiss?”
“Well, if you’re gonna act crazy, then I’m gonna act crazy.”
“Oh, so if I jumped off a bridge, you’re gonna do that, too, right?”
“Only for you.”
She froze him with that answer. Shareef thought about how exotic Jacqueline was and how great it felt to be up inside her, and he started getting hard under the table.
“So, are you still wet for me?”
She laughed and said, “You know I am. But you’re all the way up in New York.”
He said, “Well, put it in the icebox for me. You know where that is, right? It’s inside the kitchen.”
She laughed again and said, “You know I’m gonna get you when you get back home. I’m gonna buy some tropical-flavored Popsicles, too.”
Shareef had food in his mouth when she said that and almost choked on it. He coughed and had to catch himself before his fish with hot sauce and yams went down the wrong pipe.
He mumbled, “Can you take something like that?”
“I’ll try it,” she told him.
“Well, shit, I can’t wait to get back home either then. But let me finish my dinner, because I haven’t eaten anything all day.”
“Okay, well, I love you, too, Poppi.”
Shareef grinned and said, “Now you know I love when you call me that.”
She giggled. “That’s why I don’t say it too much. I don’t want to ever wear it out. I feel like it’s a woman’s job to keep things fresh, you know.”
He nodded, in full agreement with her. “Yeah. I know exactly what you mean. And that’s exactly how I want it. Fresh.”
When he finished the call with his mistress, after just hanging up with his wife, Shareef thought, There’s no way in the world I’m going back to Jennifer with girls like Jacqueline around. Unless they don’t want me no more.
Crossing Paths
THE YOUNG HARLEMITE known as Baby G sat absent-mindedly in the passenger side of his squad’s black Mercedes CLK convertible. It was parked on the sidewalk at 122nd Street beside Marcus Garvey Park. He and his bodyguard/ driver were simply enjoying the summertime. And while he appeared lost in thought, Baby G actually knew everything that was going on around him, like a super villain with super senses. So as he felt his street soldier approaching the car from behind, he casually looked into the sideview mirror to confirm it.
“What, you trying to assassinate me, man? Fuck you sneaking up beside the car for?”
His beefy bodyguard/driver reached for his pistol tucked deep under his seat.
Baby G looked at him said, “Man, I would have been dead already if I waited that long to tell you. Fuck you reaching for this late? Put that shit back down and be ready next time. You need more practice pulling that shit out quickly anyway.”
He looked back at his soldier, who was standing at attention outside the door of the car and said, “What’s up, man? What you got to tell me?”
The boy couldn’t have been more than eighteen, but he was loyal. Loyalty was written all over his stern, young face. He loved being part of a unit. And when he could speak to the young general, Baby G, in person, with valuable information, it made him feel valuable. He felt like a Green Beret with a special mission to bring back information from the enemy’s front line.
He said, “They finally found that body today, son. I saw like thirty five-ohs and detectives all up in there.”
Baby G nodded to him and took the information in calmly.
He asked, “Don’t nobody know shit, right?”
His soldier shook his head, “No, sir. We don’t know nothin’.”
“We don’t have nothing to worry about then. Just keep ya’ cool.”
Baby G then dug into his roll of green cheese and pulled out a hundred-dollar bill.
He said, “You doin’ all right today?”
His young soldier saw the money and answered, “I’m good. I don’t need that from you. It’s just love for the team.”
Baby G paused and looked his young soldier in the eyes.
He said, “That’s the right answer. It’s always about love for the team. And why is that?”
“Love for the team is the only way we win,” his soldier answered.
“That’s right. Now take this money and know that I’m good to you.”
The soldier remained hesitant.
Baby G said, “Look, man, don’t make my motherfuckin’ arm fall off. Take the money.”
His soldier finally cracked a grin and took the hundred-dollar bill.
Baby G told him, “That’s ya’ bonus for good work. When you work hard, you should be paid for it. But if you don’t, then don’t expect shit back. Does that sound fair to you?”
The young soldier nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. You dismissed now. Go on back out there and do some more work.”
“Aw’ight, son,” the soldier commented and started to move.
“Ay,” Baby G called him back.
The soldier hustled right back over to the car and stood at attention again.
The general told him, “You still young, man, but I like you. So here’s what I’ma do. I’ma give you something extra. A little bit of wisdom on ya’ dome.”
He said, “All that little money you get from me. It’s nothin’. And when you spend it fast, it get even smaller. So what you do, right, is keep that shit. And you let it stack up. Then you start looking at setting bigger goals for yourself. Always have goals. ’Cause if you out here spendin’ up money with no goals, then it’s like sand blowing out your fuckin’ hand in the wind. You dig me?”
The soldier nodded his head to him.
Baby G continued. He said, “You got a big advantage while you still young. You don’t have no babies, do you?”
The soldier shook his head and frowned. “Naw.”
The general said, “Me either. So while you don’t have no kids, no bills, no car, no credit, that’s the best time for you to stack ya’ cake. And please don’t let your family know you got no money. They the last people you want to know. ’Cause all of a sudden, they sick on the job and shit, and lookin’ at you for health benefits. You know what I’m talkin’ ’bout?”
He said, “They start coming up with all kinds of emergencies and shit. And they be needin’ exactly how much you got in your pocket. So if you got four hundred dollars in your pocket, ya’ sister’ll need three hundred and ninety. And if you got a thousand, your mom’ll be late for rent and need groceries. But you know you can’t turn your mom dukes down. So you gott
a get in a habit of saying you broke.”
The young soldier started laughing, but Baby G wasn’t finished with him yet.
He said, “Let me hear you say it.”
“I’m broke,” the young soldier told him.
The general looked at him and frowned. “Nah, man, you gotta say it like you mean it. I wouldn’t believe you with that shit. You gotta say it like, ‘I’m broke, man, I ain’t got it.’ And then you raise up your hands like Jesus, and pull at your pockets. Let me see you do it.”
The young soldier did a better job of it. He said, “I’m broke, man, I ain’t got it.” He raised up his empty palms, pulled at his pockets and everything.
Baby G smiled and said, “That’s more like it, B. That’s why I don’t like my family now. I wish somebody taught me this shit when I was your age. Now I feel like I’m everybody’s daddy. And shit, my name ain’t Puffy.”
The young soldier started laughing again. But he was taking every word of it to heart. The general was spending extra time with him. That was special in itself. So he planned on heeding the wisdom.
Baby G asked him, “You hear me on this, man?”
“Yes, sir.”
They looked each other in the eyes before the general nodded him off.
“Aw’ight, you can go now.”
“Are you sure?” the soldier asked him.
Baby G said, “Yeah, I’m sure, man. Now get on out of here.”
The soldier chuckled. “Yes, sir, thanks for schoolin’ me.”
When he walked off on his way toward 123rd Street and beyond, Baby G stared at the boy’s back for a minute.
He looked over at his bodyguard/driver and said, “You see how he looked at me, man?”
His beefy driver nodded. He said, “Yeah. He was taking you to heart.”
“That’s the way it should be. But everybody don’t take it like that, man. But that boy right there, I’ma call him The Truth from now on. T for short. And I’ma see if he live by what I just told him.”
His bodyguard said, “He will. I can see it in him.”
Right then, Baby G’s cell phone went off. He looked down at the screen and noticed the undisclosed number.
“Hello,” he answered.
The caller said, “I read the Harlem newspapers today. Did you get a chance to read them?”