Defining Moments

by Ben Burgess Jr.

  * * *

  We showered separately and got dressed. Terrence was hanging out in my living room while I cooked.

  “What are you making?” he asked.

  “I’m making Ben his favorite, macaroni and cheese. I’m going to surprise him with it in a few minutes and apologize for fighting with Becky.”

  Terrence gave me a look I couldn’t decipher.

  “How come you never cook for me?”

  “Oh, shut up. I cook for you all the time.”

  He laughed. “You just use me for my body and don’t even have the decency to make me a meal.”

  “Whatever, punk. We use each other.”

  His smile dissipated. “It’s funny. Ben used to chase you. Now you’re chasing him.”

  “I chase him because he’s worth it. Why do you care? You’ve been getting a no-strings-attached piece of ass for the past four years. Just enjoy it and mind your own business.”

  “Ben’s not the only successful black man out there. He loves his girl. You need to move on.”

  “Don’t worry about what I need to do. Take care of yourself.”

  “Gabby, I know you love Ben, but eventually, even you have to see that Becky’s here to stay,” Terrence said.

  “You don’t know him like I do. When I look him in his eyes, I know there’s something still there. He knows it too. That’s why we talk every day.”

  “Touching. Well, I’m out. Call me when you want company again.”

  “Ugh, you’re lucky you’re cute.”

  “I know. Bye, bitch face.”

  “Bye, punk.”

  * * *

  Ben opened his door. He stood in the doorway and stared at me.

  “Can I come in?” I asked.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Don’t be like that, Big Head. I made you baked macaroni.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I’m serious. This is a bona fide peace offering here.”

  He stepped aside to let me in.

  “I see you’re still reading up on your case,” I said, noticing the files he had on the coffee table.

  “Yeah, it’s the hardest one I’ve ever had.”

  “I believe it. Is Becky here?”

  “No, she’s out with Simone. I don’t know when she’ll be back.”

  “I wanted to say I’m sorry to you—to both of you,” I said. “I’m always going to feel a certain way because I love you, but I have to respect that you’re with Becky, and even if I don’t like her, I can try to be more cordial. You’re my best friend. I won’t risk losing your friendship because I can’t be nice to your girlfriend.”

  He smiled and hugged me. I just had to be patient. In time, I’d get what I wanted.

  Chapter 22

  Becky

  The Truth Shall Set You Free

  “What’s up, bestie?”

  “Hey, Simone,” I said.

  “I need to take my fat ass to the gym, and I don’t want to go alone. Can you come with me?”

  “Ugh, I wasn’t trying to go out today.”

  “Come on, please ... I’ll be your best friend. You know you can’t say no to your best friend.”

  “Oh yeah? Watch me.”

  “Come on, bestie. I promise we won’t stay long. We’ll go hard on the weights, do a little cardio, and then be out the door.”

  I hadn’t been as active in the gym as I should lately, so I sighed and said, “All right.”

  “Cool, can you pick me up? My car’s in the shop.”

  I laughed. “So, the real reason for the invite is you needed a ride.”

  “Nah, that’s not the real reason,” she said. “Just hurry up.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  I put on a sports bra and yoga pants and went to Ben’s parents’ house to pick up Simone. I texted her to come out to my car. I had no desire to go inside once I saw that Gabby’s Mercedes-Benz was in the driveway next to Mrs. Turner’s. I hadn’t talked to Gabby since my spat with her in Starbucks last month. When Ben’s mom and Gabby were together, their bitchiness was almost unbearable. I wasn’t in the mood for that today. Of course, Simone begged me to come inside as she got ready.

  I walked to the door, and it swung open before I could ring the doorbell. Simone was dressed in blue jeans and a tight T-shirt.

  “You’re working out in that?” I asked.

  “Nope. Come inside for a minute.”

  I sighed. We passed the living room, and Gabby and Mrs. Turner were laughing and watching the first Sex and the City movie.

  Simone stopped walking. I waved at Gabby and Ben’s mom while they both looked at me like I was crazy.

  “Hello, Becky,” Gabby said.

  “Hi, Rebecca,” Mrs. Turner said.

  “Do you mind moving from in front of the TV?” Gabby asked Simone.

  “Nope,” Simone replied. “This is an intervention.”

  “Oh my God,” Gabby said, rolling her eyes.

  Mrs. Turner laughed. “Girl, what the hell are you talking about?”

  “We all need to talk,” Simone said. “It’s blatantly obvious that neither of you is fond of Becky and vice versa.”

  Simone faced Mrs. Turner. “Aunt Mable, you and Uncle Curtis are always telling me that people need closure to move on in life. Well, things won’t improve between any of you unless you get everything off your chest.”

  Mrs. Turner leaned back on the sofa and folded her arms. “OK, but the truth hurts,” she said.

  “Simone, I don’t know if I’m up for a conversation like this right now,” I said.

  Simone took my hand, and we sat on the opposite couch to Gabby and Mrs. Turner. They looked at me, laughing and whispering to each other.

  “What’s that about?” I asked.

  “Nothing, just an inside joke with us,” Gabby said.

  I nodded. “I’m ready to have this conversation. I’ll start with you, Mrs. Turner. Why do you hate me?”

  “I don’t hate you, Rebecca,” she said. “I just don’t feel like you’re the right woman for my son. You’re weak.”

  My eyes were teary. She was blunt right out the gate with me. I stood up and was ready to leave when she said, “You see? The first sign of adversity, you run. How do you expect me to respect that?”

  I sat back down. “You’re right. I need to stop running. Mrs. Turner, I’m not the spoiled, rich girl that you think I am, but you’d never know because instead of getting to know me, you’ve pushed me away.”

  “Oh, stop,” Gabby said. “You’re not the victim, although you’re really good at playing that role.”

  “I didn’t get to you yet, but since you had to add your two cents, I’ll say this: Stay away from my man. I love him, and he loves me. You had your chance, and you didn’t appreciate him. I don’t care if you or his entire family hate me. It will not stop the feelings we have for each other.”

  Mrs. Turner nodded.

  “Am I supposed to cower because a white woman is demanding something?” Gabby said. “Please. Life has been so easy for you being rich and white—”

  “That’s what this is really about? Me being white?”

  “Too often, in movies and media, black women are portrayed as loud, hostile, and inferior to you white women,” Gabby said. “I’d never openly admit it to Ben, but he’s a great example of a good black man, and women like you take them. Black men put you on a pedestal, while women like me, who are deserving of a man like him, are left with nothing.”

  Now I knew how Simone felt when Brooke said similar bullshit. Simone looked at me and shook her head. I faced Gabby.

  “All you ever talk about is black and white. I’m not just a color or race—I’m a person.”

  “We’re all people, but you don’t care about, understand, or even try understanding the difficulties blacks experience in this world,” Mrs. Turner said.

  “She doesn’t get what we mean when we talk about white privilege,” Gabby said. “Her little feelings get hurt, and she catch
es an attitude.”

  She faced me. “When we say you’re privileged, we’re not just talking about financially. It means you see bad things happening, but it doesn’t matter to you because it doesn’t affect your race or you personally.”

  “How do you any of you know what I care about or what I understand?” I said. “Neither of you has ever taken the time to get to know me. I don’t know what it’s like to be black, but that doesn’t mean I’m not trying to understand what my man has to deal with. Yes, I’m white, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care or see that things aren’t always fair. What exactly do you want from me? What do you want me to say? What do you expect me to do? I’m sorry, but I refuse to apologize for being white. I haven’t done anything to either of you. I haven’t owned slaves or downplayed how black people are treated in society. Stop blaming me and holding me responsible for everything wrong that has been done to black people. You’re mad at the world and how white people in the past and present have treated you and other black people. You’re taking that anger out on me, but I’m not one of those people. The same way how you told me countless times in the past that white people shouldn’t judge black people by the few that do wrong, you have to apply those same rules to whites.”

  “Why should we?” Gabby said. “Most white people assume we’re all the same. Why shouldn’t we return the favor?”

  “Because nothing changes if nothing changes. If neither of us is willing to be different, everything stays the same.”

  “It’s easy for you to say that when the world is so perfect for you,” Gabby said.

  “You think it’s easy for me? You think I don’t get dirty looks from other white people who think I’m only with Ben for sexual reasons, or fight with my family that thinks I’m just trying to be difficult and rebellious? I fight for my love for Ben every day. It’s not easy for me.”

  Mrs. Turner was surprisingly quiet and just listened to me and Gabby bicker.

  “Believe what you want to believe,” I continued. “The only thing you need to know is it doesn’t matter how much hell you put me through. I love Ben, and I’m going to marry him one day. I don’t have to justify or prove my love to anyone. I’m leaving, and I’m not running away. I don’t want to waste my time and energy on this anymore.”

  I stood and headed to the door.

  “I’m coming with you,” Simone said.

  We walked out of the house, and Mrs. Turner followed.

  “Rebecca,” she called.

  I spun around and faced her.

  “I’ve been looking for this type of fight in you for nine years. I know you love my son, but I’ll admit I wasn’t always the nicest. I promise I’ll make more of a conscious effort to get to know you better.”

  She reached to shake my hand, and I pulled her into an awkward hug. She smiled and walked inside. This didn’t fix anything ... but at least it was a start.

  Simone and I had just stepped into my doorway when my cell phone buzzed with an unknown number. I answered the call.

  “Hello?”

  “May I speak with Rebecca Preston, please?”

  “This is she.”

  “This is Maureen Hofer from Legacy Books Publishing. We’re very interested in your book and would like to speak with you about it.”

  I waved Simone over as I put my phone on speaker and laid it on the coffee table. We started preliminary contract talks for a three-book deal, with Black and White being my first published book.

  “Do you have time to meet with us on Monday?” Maureen asked.

  I could barely keep my excitement in as I answered, “Yes, Monday is perfect.”

  Maureen gave me all the details for Monday. After the call, I jumped up and down in excitement and cried. For the first time in a long time, I was having a good day.

  * * *

  Monday came. I was quiet and kept my meeting from Ben all weekend. His mind was on his case, and I didn’t want to jinx myself and have the deal fall through.

  I sat in Maureen’s office and discussed all the details about the book with her.

  “I love the raw honesty of your story. You didn’t hold back. Your characters felt authentic, and I feel that’s missing in a lot of books these days,” Maureen said.

  “Thank you,” I said, beaming with joy.

  The publishing company wasn’t a major one, but its distribution would put my book in all the major bookstores.

  “With your following from Cosmo and our marketing strategy, I believe this book will be a major success,” she said.

  We discussed the contract, and I had it faxed to my attorney to look over. Once I got the OK from him to sign it, my dream had come true—my novel was finally going to be published.

  I shook hands with Maureen and rushed out the door. I wanted to surprise Ben with the news.

  Chapter 23

  Ebony

  Chasing Demons

  “Stop it right there,” I yelled.

  Rashida and I were chasing a teenage boy down Christopher Street for robbing an elderly woman. The boy easily dipped through pedestrians while Rashida and I were bumping into everyone, trying to maneuver through people without dropping all of the equipment on our gun belts.

  The boy got stuck at the corner, where a large group of pedestrians was crossing on one side, and traffic was flowing heavily on the other. That little window of time was all Rashida needed to catch him. She grabbed him by the arm. He threw a punch at her, but she ducked and swept him to the ground. I finally caught up with them and helped cuff him.

  “This little punk took a swing at me,” Rashida said, out of breath.

  “Yo, get off me!” he screamed.

  People gathered around and filmed us with their cell phones.

  “I saw the whole thing. That kid didn’t even do shit. The pigs grabbed him for no reason,” a woman yelled.

  The crowd cursed at us. None of them knew that this kid just robbed an elderly lady. They just assumed that Rashida and I—the police—were the villains. I held on to the boy and advised the radio dispatcher that we’d made an arrest while Rashida ran to get our patrol car.

  “The black cops be worse than the white ones,” one person said. “All of them be trying to show out to appease their massas. Y’all should be ashamed yourselves, ruining this kid’s record.”

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. These people didn’t understand that it wasn’t my intention to hurt this kid’s future. When I looked at the boy, he favored my deceased twin brother so much. He had the same complexion and brown eyes. He was about the same height that Akeem was at that age too. I missed my brother. Since he’d passed, every day felt like a part of myself was missing. The scene of him dying in Billy’s arms replayed in my mind countless times and haunted my dreams.

  Rashida came to the corner with the car, and I searched the boy before placing him in the back, ignoring the insults from the crowd gathered around me.

  We pulled away and headed to the precinct.

  “What’s your name, kid?” I asked.

  “Fuck you,” he said.

  “Let’s try this again. What’s your name, kid?”

  “I’m not telling you shit,” he replied.

  “Well, if you want to sit in the cell all day and night, that’s up to you, but if you want to go home eventually, you’ll listen to me and answer my questions.”

  “Faizon Jackson,” he said.

  “How old are you, Faizon?” I asked.

  “Fifteen.”

  He was only a minor.

  “Faizon, why did you rob that old woman?” Rashida asked.

  “I was hungry, and she was an easy target,” he said.

  We pulled up to the precinct, and I brought him to the juvenile room. Lucky for him, because he was still a minor, he wouldn’t have to sit in the cells with the older criminals.

  “Faizon, what’s your mom’s name and phone number?” Rashida asked.

  “I don’t have a mom,” he answered flatly.

  “OK,
what’s your dad’s, then?”

  “I don’t have a pops neither.”

  “Who do you stay with?”

  “Right now, I stay with Mrs. Janelle Richards. She’s my foster mother.”

  “All right, what’s her information so we can reach out to her?”

  He told us the number, and I jotted it down. I called Mrs. Richards and let her know what had happened. She said she was on her way to the precinct, but this was becoming an every-week occurrence with Faizon all over the city.

  I couldn’t get over how much he reminded me of my brother.

  “Faizon, Mrs. Richards told me you’ve been getting picked up by the cops a lot. Why?” Rashida asked.

  “Mrs. Richards is nice and all, but she’s broke. She barely has money to feed the two of us, so I gotta do what I need to, to survive.”

  I sighed. “Where are your parents?” I asked.

  “My mom’s dead, and I don’t know where my father is. My brother and sister ... We all got split up in foster care.”

  Rashida saw I was getting emotional. She patted my shoulder.

  Faizon brought back his tough-guy demeanor. “So, what are y’all charging me wit’? Y’all takin’ me to juvie or what? Let’s hurry this up.”

  “I’m trying to help you—” I said.

  “Y’all don’t care about me. Nobody does. Even Mrs. Richards is full of shit. She only took me in so she could get money from the state to help her with her bills. You’re gonna talk shit and load me up with charges, just like all the other cops do.”

  “That’s not true,” I said. “I want to help you. I’m not letting you off completely, but I’m not going to add that you tried to assault Officer Harrell.”

  Faizon rolled his eyes. “Whoopee.”

  He was arrogant, but I still felt sorry for the boy.

  I looked out the small glass window on the juvenile room’s door and saw the elderly woman Faizon robbed walk into the precinct. She moved slowly, looking lost and confused at the front desk. She looked like she was in her midsixties, and her salt-and-pepper hair was pulled back into a long ponytail. Rashida and I left Faizon cuffed in the juvenile room and spoke to the woman.