A Cheating Man's Heart

by Derrick Jaxn

  "Hey, Britt."

  "Oh, hey, Shawn, I didn't know you had class on this hall too."

  "Oh, I don't. I was just tutoring students for a math class today. You know, trying to help out when I can." There went those trusty survival instincts of mine again.

  "Well, that's sweet of you. But I thought tutoring was always after school. Did they change it or something?"

  "Yeah, well, sorta. Look, I don't want to get off subject. I have a question," I said, panicking.

  "Okay what is it?" When she asked that, it seemed as if the entire hallway got just quiet enough to eavesdrop on our conversation.

  "Umm. Well, I just wanted to know if, umm..if you have a piece of paper I can borrow."

  "Sure, is that it? You acted like it was something really major. I almost thought you were going to ask for my...never mind. Here you go. All you needed was one sheet? I got plenty," she said, flipping through her binder.

  "Wait, so what did you think I was going to say?"

  "Nothing, it's silly. Forget about it," she murmured, handing me the sheet of paper.

  "Say it."

  "No, I said forget about it."

  "Well, what if I asked you for your number? Would you give it to me?"

  She paused a moment to see if I was serious. "There's only one way to find out."

  "Okay, so can I have your number?"

  "No, you cannot."

  "So why didn't you just say that in the first place?"

  "Why didn't you just ask in the first place? Besides, I don't give out my number, but you can give me yours and maybe I'll call you." This was my first lesson on how complicated girls could be. Luckily, I came prepared with it written down, already folded, and in hand.

  "Here you go. I guess I'll talk to you later then."

  "Yeah, you guess," and she walked off.

  I wasn't sure if that was her way of letting me down softly, but I couldn't fight the optimism from her not being grossed out by my attempt. You couldn't tell me shit. I walked away feeling like Bruce Willis with a fiery car explosion behind me as Aerosmith's Don't Wanna Miss a Thing played in the background. Whether she called me or not, I had arrived.

  Contrary to my luck, she did. By this time, my cool had worn off, and I was back to being the nervous and inexperienced me I had always been. I wasn't sure what to say on the phone, but I went through the basic, "So tell me a little about yourself" spiel you'd see in your average Tyler Perry movie, and it worked. Brittney was a preacher’s daughter, the lead singer in the church choir, and a straight A student. Sexy, smart, and filled with the Holy Spirit. Bingo. I wasn't quite the saint, but I always felt guilty for my sins at church, and then started backsliding Sunday evening when I got pissed off again; you know, your average Christian. Our relationship with the Lord was our common ground, so much that we even decided to have our first "date" at church. Where I’m from, having a “church boo” meant you were serious. I was already far ahead of myself, so a few more steps wouldn’t hurt. This church date was my proof that our feelings were now mutual and you couldn’t tell me any different.

  ------

  A couple weeks went by and things were going great. We hung out at school and on the weekends at church. With no car, early curfews, and parents who found any reason to complain about gas, the 15 minute long drive between our houses meant we were in a long distance relationship.

  Both of our parents were strict but for different reasons; Hers wanted to keep her on the straight and narrow; mine wanted to keep the phone bill and babies to a minimum. So we snuck on the phone every night around 10 after they went to bed, said a prayer to ask God to forgive us of our disobedience, then talked until we fell asleep.

  Most of it was just ramble about how much we couldn't stand to be without the other. Occasionally we'd get off subject to something of substance. But one thing was for sure, I was in love with a nice girl, going to church more often, and it felt good. This new school thing was working out quite well.

  I stayed up one night gazing out the window, wishing I was brave enough to climb out of it and meet Brittney somewhere. Not sure on how I'd get to her, but in my imagination, there were no rules. Hell, I could even fly if I felt like it. I wanted to get a small rock and throw it at her window, let her come and open it up to see me dressed in a tux jumping up and down and waving my hands.

  But with my luck, I'd get profiled by one of the policemen on night-patrol who saw the small rock in my hand, got trigger happy, and sent bullets flying in my direction for being armed and dangerous. After all, I lived in Alabama and a lot of rednecks were still being sore losers after the civil war. So I snapped out of it; tried to think of something a little more realistic.

  There was far too much pinned-up infatuation I needed to do something with. Usher was singing You Got it Bad from the alarm clock radio over on the dresser, and I knew he was talking to me.

  I was no R&B star like him, but with a poem, I wanted to sing Brittney the same song to let her know how I felt. I could give it to her the next day when we passed our morning notes before class. We kept it basic with our love letters since text messaging was new and still on the come-up back then.

  I got up and turned on the lights to find some paper and a pencil. I didn't know where to start with the poem; trying to establish my manliness while expressing my feelings showed me why guys my age were typically looking to be the next MJ or Lil Wayne. But I didn't have a jumper nor cared to be a rapper, so I just started writing:

  Roses are red, violets are blue.

  Nah, I'm just kidding. Because both of those are half truths.

  'Cuz if you see a rose in the right spot you'll see that they come in different colors

  And violets are black sometimes, just ask Stevie Wonder.

  Okay, you know I'm just kidding. But hopefully it made you smile.

  'Cuz that's all I want for you, even if I'm not around to see it.

  You needed a good brother but your ex couldn't be it.

  So you lost faith in us but I'mma give you one more to believe in.

  To prove to you we not too young to know what love is

  I wanna show you enough till you know what too much is.

  Forever's not long enough when it comes to the time we spend

  but if you let me, I'll use it to be your lover and your friend.

  I promise.

  Short, sweet, and to the point. I spell checked it one time, then folded it neatly into a square. She loved thoughtful gifts like this. All that was left now was to hand it to her.

  So, I put it in the clear sleeve of the cover of my three-ring binder. I was rightfully a little paranoid about losing it. I could lose the ground if I didn't have it to walk on; especially in the mornings when I was practically a zombie. I barely even tied my shoes, just tucked the laces in and kept it moving. Lazy, I know.

  I woke up the next day to the tune of Momma's morning bedroom door pounding as usual. Got up a little easier this time, excited to pick out my clothes for the day. It was a special occasion so I wanted to spruce it up a bit. Pull out all the stops.

  One thing I knew about girls is that they could always appreciate a mature guy, and Brittney was no different. I looked in my closet, rummaged around a bit. Found some dress clothes I hadn't worn in a while that were still in good shape.

  The GQ magazine guys looked fly in their dress shirts, but all of mine swallowed me because Momma didn't shop for our clothes to fit; she shopped for clothes to grow into. They lasted longer that way, but I needed mine to fit so I could look like Denzel and 'em.

  My creative juices started flowing, and I found my way to a few safety pins in the bottom of one of my drawers. Figured tailoring a shirt couldn't be that difficult; I already knew the look I wanted. Just had to pull the shirt a little more snug to my body and keep the pins hidden.

  After about 30 minutes of nipping and tucking, I had done the best I could do. The shirt looked more like sails on a ship with the shirt sleeves dangling freely while the br
east of the shirt was pulled snugly to my bird chest and balled up in the back. My pants were still a little on the baggy side, but it hid my chicken legs so I wasn't tripping. In fact, I was proud.

  I grabbed my books and went out the room, but just for reassurance, stopped at Alvin's door. I knew he'd tell me the truth.

  Alvin was the 15-year-old spitting image of his father, Mr. Macklin, and was older than me by six months. By looking at us you’d think he was the younger step-brother. I was a little above average height, but he was a bad posture away from being a dwarf. He didn’t talk much, just stayed in his room drawing cartoons and watching wrestling all day. I never could figure him out. He always seemed really shifty. At times we were “friends", and other times exactly the strangers we had always been before we met.

  I was the complete opposite. I loved playing sports, had a slight obsession with PB&J sandwiches, and was never too mature for a good prank. Before Mr. Macklin came along, Momma ran a tight ship when it came to wasting electricity, so I knew how to find ways to entertain myself that didn't include video games, cable, or anything else that affected the light bill.

  I heard his cartoons blasting through the door. He usually briefed himself on the latest episodes so that his friends wouldn't catch him slipping in the debate about which Dragon Ball Z character was the next to die.

  "Ay yo, Alvin. Can I come in?"

  "Hold on," he said. I could see him through the door not doing a damn thing other than watching TV. "Okay yeah, come in."

  "Ay bruh, I just had to see what you thought about the fit. I'm tryin' sum'n a little different today. Tryna be on my grown-man tip. This straight or I need to change?"

  He paused the TV, surprisingly, and walked up to me. It dawned on me that I had no business asking him anything about fashion. His dad had programmed him to "the cheaper the better" type of mentality when getting clothes so his taste was all based on the best deal.

  "Turn around real quick one time." He examined me like the expert he wasn't. "Hmm...I say keep the shirt and pants, add a hat and maybe some glasses to bring out the look and you're good to go."

  "Okay, a hat like what? Like a top hat or-"

  "Come on, man, nobody wears top hats but old folks. You need you a Kango or sum'n. Daddy got a few of 'em and he already gone for work. Just grab one from his closet. He ain't gon' notice."

  "Oh, okay then bet." I set my books down and went into their room.

  Nervous as hell, I ran into their closet and flipped on the light. Their room was like sacred ground and we were just mere sinners. If I got caught, I wouldn't hear or feel the end of it.

  I found Mr. Macklin's hat collection hanging from the inside of his door. His precious Kangos were right there, live and in living color. I grabbed the black one and turned the lights off. It was a universal color, so I was told, and went with everything.

  I looked on his dresser for some glasses and saw something even better, cologne. I didn't have time to smell each one so I picked the sleekest bottle and started spraying my neck. Didn't smell it enough so I sprayed a few more times on my shirt, wrists, and behind my ears. Had to make sure it'd last the whole day.

  I came back out and heard the bus pulling up. I went into Alvin's room to grab my stuff, but it was gone. He must've grabbed it and taken it with him.

  Panicking, because missing the bus was a great way to stitch your name on Momma's belt, I flew out the house, shirt sleeves flapping in the wind. The rest of the kids saw me running and stopped the bus driver from pulling off.

  I got on and made my way to the back where the other high-school kids sat. Alvin was sitting down chilling without a care in the world.

  "Bruh, why you ain't tell me the bus was here?"

  "I thought you heard it just like I did. My bad."

  "Yeah, whatever man. You got my books?"

  "Yeah, they right here." he said handing them to me. We didn't believe in book bags. Those were for children. A part of the induction of being a high school student was to make sure you carried your books so that your high school subjects would show on the cover. They were badges of honor.

  I sat down and noticed the other students cutting eyes at me. I guess they had never seen a young brother in a Kango looking like a movie star.

  We pulled up to the school and Brittney was being dropped off by her parents. She went to public school against their wishes, but they weren't budging when it came to the transportation. The lack of supervision outside of what a bus driver could see in his rear view mirror scared them to death of how much normal the other kids could infect their precious baby with.

  She looked good. Damn good. Her hair was laid, as usual, neatly parted down the middle as if Moses himself had done it. Her sundress was wrapping around her curves and stopping just short of her freshly manicured toes.

  "Whasup sweetheart?" I said, trying to catch up to her. She gave me the 'I see you but my parents are still watching, so be cool' type of look.

  We walked in the double doors and shared a hug.

  "Hey, babe," she said, smelling my neck. "Is that cologne you got on?"

  "Yeah, you like it?"

  "My nose hurts."

  "What you mean? It stinks?"

  "No, I mean my nose hurts. I feel like I just poured it in my nostrils. Why'd you put so much on? And what are you wearing, boo?"

  "I'm just tryin' a little something new. You like it?"

  She shifted. "I mean, I guess. It is...different. It makes you look older. Much older."

  "Well, thank you, I thought you'd notice," I said smiling big enough to light a room.

  The warning bell rung, letting us know we had five minutes to get to class. We both scrambled around for our morning letters to hand to one another. I grabbed my notebook and looked to the cover.

  The poem was gone.

  I checked around my feet to see if I had dropped it.

  "Here, take this, I gotta get to class," she said, trying to hand me her letter.

  "Ugh...hold on. I got yours too. I just gotta....find...where I put...it." I looked in the binder. Nothing. I checked in my text books. Still nothing.

  "Well, it's okay. Just give it to me later on."

  "Aight." I grabbed her letter as she turned and hit the morning shopping mall speed walk down the hall that elderly people are known for.

  I knew I would lose that damn poem.

  I was thinking about it all day, wondering if anyone picked it up. I didn't put a name on it, which may have been a good thing too. Knowing the kids at our school, that poem would've been scanned and uploaded to Myspace in no time.

  I could give it to her the next day, but no way I was about to put in the same work to look and smell good too. Maybe it was bad luck. Seems like when you try the hardest, things find a way to go wrong.

  I got home later on and went straight to my room. Didn't feel like being bothered. I had suffered through stares and side chuckles at my outfit all day and it was all for nothing.

  A few hours went by and Momma and Mr. Macklin got home from work. I heard them laughing about something. Loud. The kind of laugh where your stomach hurts and you only take a break to breathe. I had to know what was so funny and plus I wanted to inquire about when dinner would be ready.

  Walked out my room and saw them huddled up around the dining room table. Alvin was there too. They all looked at me and got silent.

  "Roses are....red," Momma chuckled. "Violets. Violets are blue." Then they busted out laughing again.

  I looked on the table and saw what they were all looking at. My poem. It was there, freshly unfolded and the center of attention.

  I was livid. "What'chal doin with that?!" I went over and snatched it from under them. They ignored me and continued their laughs without even breaking stride. I looked at Alvin. He was the only one making eye contact. It had to be him.

  "Bruh, where y'all found this?"

  He shrugged his shoulders and said, "We didn't find it. It was in my room. You left it."

 
"Wait, you went in my binder? Dude, what the hell is wrong with you?"

  Momma's face snapped tight. "What did you say?" Then she got up out of her chair and rolled up on me. I got a little frightened but still had some anger left to stand my ground.

  "Momma, that was wrong, and he knew it. That is my property. He had no business taking it."

  "I don't care what he took. Don't you ever let me hear that come out your mouth again, you hear?"

  "Yes, ma'am," I said, exhaling in the back of my mind. Normally she would've already been swinging. I guess even she could understand somewhat.

  Alvin was still on the other side watching in amusement. I wanted to explode, but he'd like that too much. I went back to my room and carefully closed the door. Not because I wasn't mad; I just knew I was on thin ice after my slip of the tongue.

  I took the letter and ripped it to pieces. Balled it up. Un-balled it. Separated it into three portions. Balled it up again and threw it in the garbage. I didn't want any chance of it being read again by anyone.

  I couldn't wait for 10 o'clock to roll around so I could finally talk to Brittney again. She was about the only thing that could bring me out of a bad mood. I wasn't about to tell her what happened because chances were, she would've started nagging about wanting the poem and I'd be right back at square one.

  Then I heard the door open and Mr. Macklin barged in. My parents, like most black parents, were strong advocates in the absence of our privacy so long as the roof over our heads was in their name.

  “Boy, whatchu doin?” he said in his deep Southern accent coming through the doorway. I hated being called boy but I knew it came from a good place with him. Besides, that had been his greeting since the first time we met. Consistency was his forte.