by Belvin, Love
About a year before, on his birthday, O took me to a bank to open up a savings account for emergencies like this. He knew better than getting it in his own name because it could possibly be seized if discovered. He trusted me with the little money he did accumulate. He’d opened the account with fifteen hundred dollars and said that he would put more in there as the money came in. He told me that if he were to die before he used it, not to use it to bury him or give it to his mother, the money was mine to keep. The only problem was that it was Sunday and the bank was closed.
The phone rang again. It was Keysha. “Girl, I had a feeling you was back home…” Keysha went on and on nervously.
“KEYSHA! What the fuck happened this weekend?” I screamed into the phone trying to fight through the dizziness that had fallen upon me. I had no time for her usual gossiping banter, particularly when I was the subject of it. My world was falling apart and I needed answers.
“Well, that night you left…”
She dropped the bomb on me. Never again would my life be the same.
According to Keysha, Friday night a little birdie told O that I had been secretly sleeping with J-Boog. O, outraged, went looking for J-Boog and found him behind building one. My life plummeted hours after I left for a college open house, Jeremy Barrington aka J-Boog was shot dead. O was arrested for the murder of J-Boog.
My brother was arrested for the murder of a little four-year-old that was caught in the crossfire of bullets exchanged between him and O. She said when Akeem came from around the corner to find his lifeless friend, he avenged J-Boog’s death.
My mother, Samantha, was at Holy Cross Hospital merely evading death from an overdose on heroin. I could take no more of this horrible story and hung up the phone in Keysha’s ear. Racing into my bedroom, I packed everything I could fit in two suitcases and headed for the door. I didn’t know where I’d go. I didn’t care. I was getting the hell up out of those projects.
One-half hour later, I found myself knocking on the door of Mr. and Mrs. Vincent Brimm, my grandparents. After giving me the latest on my mother’s condition and Akeem’s bail hearing, my grandparents asked how I was handling everything. I just kept a singular gaze on my baby sister, Chyna, as she played with her new PlayStation game that our grandparents bought. I guess they figured since she’d been spending so much time with them she should be comfortable.
“I’ll be fine. I have a few errands to run first thing in the morning. By noon I’ll need a ride to the train station.” My voice was devoid of emotion, I couldn’t cry. My entire being was numb, anesthetized from the pain of losing nearly everyone I’d depended on at that point in my life. Everyone I trusted without reservation. The people I loved without fear. My family had been destroyed, one by one. My first love had betrayed me. And I was stripped from the core of those essential relationships that help shape one’s ability to trust and love with no guards.
“Why? Where are you going?” My grandparents recited the words in unison like a sitcom couple.
“I’ll probably be headed back down to North Carolina. I need to get a head start on my studies. You know how you always told us Grandpa, Do whatever it takes to gain a lead. So I’m gonna do whatever it is I have to do.” I was gaming my grandparents. I just needed an exit. I felt the urge to run. But in that moment all I kept thinking about was Chyna. Would she ever forgive her big sister for abandoning her when she needed her most?
I was experiencing several emotions at once but one of them definitely wasn’t confusion. I still hadn’t decided against my initial plan before uncovering the melee, which was getting the hell out of Jersey. And I knew the first thing I had to do.
“Well, will you need any money? Honey, if you need us, your grandfather and I are here,” My grandmother graciously nodded with a painful smile.
“Maybe we should give your father a call and tell him that you’re here. He asked of your whereabouts when we spoke last. Do you want us to give him a call?” My grandfather chimed.
“Fu…” I paused remembering whose presence I was in. My grandparents were devout Christians and profanity, no matter how justified, was prohibited. My sentiment was ‘Fuck him!’ however, I maintained my good senses.
“No. I’m just not ready to face him right now,” was what I settled on as an appropriate response.
Later that night I located the piece of paper that published Michelle’s handwritten address and telephone number and cut out into the living room to dial her.
“What’s crackin’, girl?” Michelle greeted with the same enthusiasm that sparked my confidence when we had met.
“You will never believe…” was my response and as I oddly and freely began informing her of the events that had taken place.
“No, you’re staying here until either you get ready to go back home or you start classes…” Michelle demanded after gasping at the conclusion of each detail. That’s all I needed to hear. That’s how my relationship with Michelle was fashioned; I could share anything with her and not have to worry about judgment.
The next morning rolled around. I hadn’t slept a wink but rose just before dawn. Grandmother offered me breakfast just to have me refuse. That morning I did a little laundry to prepare for my departure and spent the remaining hours with my baby sister. Nine o’clock rolled around and I headed out for Trust Fund Bank of New York. I walked to the nearest branch to my grandparents’, which was seven miles. I got there and immediately spoke with a teller. I recalled the lady who assisted in opening the account telling me to always have identification present and the account number when I need to make a withdrawal. The only problem was that I didn’t have an account number; I’d left all that paperwork at home.
“Oh, you don’t need your account number. Just write the last four digits of your social security number on this piece of paper and I can access your account.” I smiled with instant relief upon receiving that information.
After downloading the account information she said, “Well, ma’am, you have $28,532 available in your account. How much would you like to withdraw?”
I tried desperately to conceal my every emotion. I didn’t know O was making that kind of money! My mouth dried making it difficult for me to speak.
“All of it,” I managed with trembling limbs. You would think I was robbing the bank with the amount of adrenaline rushing through my body.
“Okay, if you mean you would like to close your account you can speak with a floor representative located over there.” The teller pointed in the direction directly across from the counter.
My heart beat double time rapid as I ambled over to a robust woman with an olive complexion who smiled and appeared as she was expecting me.
“What is the reason for closing the account, ma’am?” The representative with the nametag Tami displayed across the right side of her chest.
“Because I’m moving,” was the only explanation that escaped my lips, I was beyond nervous.
“Out of state?”
“Why are you asking me so many questions? Are you FBI or something?” I retorted.
“Oh, no, ma’am.” The rep responded, embarrassingly. Her cheeks turned a rich shade of crimson. “These are standard questions we ask to those clients who wish to close their accounts. They are for customer service purposes.”
I just wanted to give her whatever information she needed to get me out of there so that I could make my train on time. The idea of leaving Jersey behind seemed like the dream that would never happen on the slowed clock that ticked in my head. I endured the slow motion of my departure but it happened, within an hour from leaving the bank, I was on my way down to North Carolina to start a new chapter in my life.
I didn’t care what was ahead; it had to be a hell of a lot better than that of my former life. One thing I promised myself was to never trust more than a person at a time. I also vowed to never love a man so freely. Between my mother’s gullibly infused love for my undeserving father that failed her at every turn and my youthful naiveté tr
ust in O, I felt affliction that I never knew existed. I could swear the acute spikes of pain that flared in my chest at the thought of Samantha, Eric, O, Chyna, Akeem, Keysha, and J-Boog went far beyond emotions, it was physiological. But it was over; I would make sure of it.
Chapter 2
Rayna
“When are you going to put that book away? You’ve been in here all night, girl!” Michelle admonished, standing in the threshold of my bedroom door. I knew she was antsy, waiting for me to finish with my studying so that we could hit the streets. “Girl, what are you gonna do after I leave?” she continued.
I was laid out at the foot of my bed with my feet splayed at the head and my books spread out in front of me. With narrowed eyes, I glared at her impatience. Michelle was nearly done with her undergraduate studies; I’d had another year to go.
It was three years later and I was a junior in college. Michelle was preparing to graduate in three weeks and move back out to California. Since I’d left Jersey that June three years prior, I would only return to visit Caldwell Prison to visit Akeem. I would schedule my flights around his hourly visits and be on my way back to the Carolinas within the blink of an eye.
I never contacted anyone from home, only Akeem and occasionally Chyna and my grandparents. Akeem would always fill me in on the happenings of the hood. I had no idea where O was, though Akeem did. As far as I was concerned, it was over. According to Akeem, it was Keysha who told O the lie about J-Boog and me messing around. I recalled people telling me not to trust everyone. Akeem also informed me that LaTavia had mailed a baby shower invitation to our apartment, out of malevolence, six weeks after I’d left. The baby did belong to O. They had been sleeping together for months, few people knew.
Keysha was another one of O’s bedding victims. Keysha wasn’t his choice; he hated sleeping with his girl’s best friend but she blackmailed him. She told him that if he didn’t comply with her wishes, she’d tell me everything she knew about his late night creeping. She’d especially tell about the time when he wouldn’t have sex with me for over a month because he had gotten crabs from an older girl named Lisa. So he fucked her two or three times and when he refused to continue she told him a lie that would permanently scar him. She told him that I’d been sleeping with J-Boog, hence his fatal confrontation. Hypercritical, yet true.
Akeem would encourage me to contact our mother—let the past be the past is what he’d always say. I tried to explain it wasn’t that simple and not go much further than that. But the truth of the matter was that my mother, Samantha, represented a dark aspect of life that I didn’t want to revisit. It was one thing to know your mother got high, but it was a disgrace to know your one and only true love was her supplier. Yes. That was the reason why Akeem grew less supportive of my and O’s relationship. He had gotten wind of the news but had no proof. That night of the shooting, Akeem and J-Boog were going to confront O anyway. Unfortunately, O got to J-Boog first.
No one but Akeem could get in touch with me. I’d made arrangements for Chyna to visit me a handful of times but that would eventually cease. For the most part, Chyna loved being with our grandparents and had become a part of their world as much as she was theirs. My mother, Samantha, on the other hand was still struggling to get clean. The last I’d heard she was moving out of the Malcolm X Housing Projects, but I had no knowledge of it ever happening.
As for my father, Eric, he visited Akeem a few times when he was first incarcerated. From what Akeem would speak of it, the two were very distant during each visit, but I’m sure at the prompting of my grandmother, Eric felt that the least he could do was visit his son who he basically abandoned on unredeemable soil.
There was no way that I could believe that O forgot about the account he had established and maintained in my name. I’d just hoped he figured after all the turmoil he put me through, I deserved every dime and then some. He did, however, want to know of my whereabouts. Akeem had heard through the prison walls that he put word out, but nothing had come up for years. O learned from his cousin who was a friend of Akeem’s that only Akeem knew where I was and he was tight lipped about it. My father never attempted to reach out to me, furthering my fury for him.
As for me, I was a new creature. College did me very well and knowing Michelle was equally as beneficial. The first thing I had to work on was my vocabulary. Every third word out of my mouth had become one of profanity or some sort of broken idiom since my ordeal back in Jersey. My vocabulary had to be lengthened to communicate articulately with professors and other intellectual students. Being from the hood was less evident with me than most girls with the same humble beginnings. With the help of Michelle, I worked very hard to create a new identity. I wanted to disassociate myself from my past, totally. But there were still a few nasty habits that were difficult to part with.
One late May night, Michelle, April, another friend named Britni and I had gone to a club in Greensboro called Night Life. Michelle knew Britni and April from California. They somehow ended up at Duke together, so by mere association, I’d hang out with them from time to time.
I had created fashion awareness among my peers in North Carolina. If I’d learned anything in high school in Jersey it was how to dress. I wore a pair of Calvin Klein blue denims with a Louis Vuitton silk scarf, which belonged to Michelle, wrapped around my upper torso leaving my arms and shoulders exposed with a pair of gold Nine West stilettos to complement the ensemble.
I’d always been in shape growing up because of sports, but my body had formed beautifully now that hormones had taken over and weight settled in the right places. No longer did I run daily and I had begun eating more socially. I did, however exercise several times a week and was conscientious of what I ate. All of these behaviors were learned by association and taking science and nutrition courses during my tenure at school.
I loved the club and everything it brought with it. I usually sat alone quietly, absorbing the humid, smoky atmosphere. I loved it. I would order two drinks to satisfy my alcoholic appetite and just observe the other patrons who played the dance floor. I would occasionally get up to cut a move, but generally I’d survey the environment. This particular night as I sat with my back turned to half the bar, watching the dance floor while nodding my head to the rhythm, I felt someone tapping my shoulder.
It annoyed the hell out of me causing me to swivel my stoop to the individual. “Can I help you?” I hissed to the mildly handsome gentleman inappropriately attempting my attention.
“I’m sorry. Would you like to dance?” His eyes were a mix of green and hazel, and his clear caramel skin glowed even amidst the smoke clouds in the dim lighting. He had fairly handsome features from what I could make out, but I knew instantly that his exotic eyes would make up for any shortcomings his features may or may not have yielded. I’d soon learn the gentleman’s name was Tyquan.
“Why should I dance with you?” I was still perturbed by his lack of finesse.
“Well, why don’t we dance and you’ll see.” Tyquan winked. It was corny, but in a cute way.
I’d become accustomed to the guys I encountered not possessing the style and approach that I’d grown familiar with from home. I didn’t have much else going on at that time so I decided to warm up to him. I thought to myself, He’s sort of handsome and I’ve finished my drinks. Hell, ain’t nothing but herbs in here anyway. Let me get it while it’s good.
“Okay.” I grabbed his hand while rising from my seat.
As I danced with Tyquan, we got past all the formalities of names, where we were from, and the little cute jokes that guys told to break the ice.
Tyquan was from Atlanta. He moved to North Carolina to be closer to his ailing grandmother in Cary. He also had family in the Greensboro area. He had two children, both living in Florida with their mothers. Yes, two baby mommas. I didn’t speak too much about myself other than being from Jersey and attending Duke. Things got quiet providing the opportunity for other senses, I began to smell his cologne that made my nip
ples hard.
“Mmmmmm… Obsession huhn?
“Yeah. How’d you know?” Tyquan giggled. So corny.
“That’s one of my many talents.”
“Oh yeah? What are some others?” Tyquan quizzed.
“What the fuck?” trilled from somewhere behind me. The voice was familiar but my buzz coated my sharp reasoning.
I turned to find Michelle who wore an expression of total shock as she was waiting for an answer from the girl across from her. I later learned the girl purposely bumped into Michelle and caused her to spill her drink all over her white outfit. The girl gave Michelle an unapologetic glower. My heart began to race in my chest and instinctively I dropped my arms from Tyquan’s shoulders; my mood shifted gears. I hopped through the crowd to Michelle’s side and recognized the girl from a few pictures I’d seen. The girl was Tommy’s, Michelle’s current fling, ex-girlfriend. Michelle had been having problems with her, but never to this altitude.
“What the fuck is going on here, Shelly?” I fumed with fire in my eyes.
“That’s what I’m trying to find out!” Michelle stood awaiting an answer from the girl.
“Who is dis?” Tiny, Tommy’s ex, snapped. Tiny was short and chubby, a far cry from Michelle. Beauty is subjective, but desired body shapes usually hold a pattern. Michelle was slender and curvy in the hips and Tiny was shaped like a damn penguin, even wobbled.
“This is the bitch whose about to put her foot in yo’ ass if you don’t apologize to the lady for fucking up her Chanel setup,” I demanded knowing damn well Michelle was not wearing Chanel. All you could hear from the crowd was, “Ooooo!”