by L. Divine
“I’m glad you’re being honest,” she says, taking the overnight bag and putting it on her lap. “Think about it seriously, Jayd, and then make a list of all the good versus the bad. If the good outweighs the bad, then stick it out. But if the negative side of the list is longer, then you need to get out before it’s too late.” My mom looks into my eyes and smiles before kissing me good-bye.
“Thank you, Mom,” I say, rising from the bed so I can lock the door behind her. She’s given me something to think about. And I like the idea of making a list, although I’m afraid I already know how it’s going to turn out. And what if Rah’s negatives do outweigh his positives? What do I do then?
“You take care of Jayd. And don’t feel a bit of guilt about looking out for your own survival. That’s a huge part of why we’re here, baby,” my mom says without moving her lips, even though she’s within speaking range.
“I hear you loud and clear,” I say, giving her a hug before she’s gone. I only have two customers this morning and the rest of the day is mine to catch up on school and spirit work—no boys and their craziness allowed.
After braiding two heads and last night’s dramatic state of affairs, I’m ready to chill for the rest of the afternoon until I have to go back to Compton. Being at the beach always makes me feel better. I figured the water would give me the serenity I need to clear my head. I could run after Rahima all afternoon, clean house, and braid five heads in a row and still have more energy than I do after an encounter with Sandy. And recently, dealing with Rah has been no better.
Love sucks. That’s all I have to say about that subject, for real. I really don’t see the point of having a boyfriend. All that the boys in my life do is create misery. They either bring me drama or some female in their life does the honors for them. But I love them, I really do. When I’m not talking to Rah I feel incomplete. For the two years we didn’t talk after I found out he got Sandy pregnant, I always thought about him. The whole reason I was attracted to KJ in the first place was because he was the closest thing I could get to Rah at school. And KJ was no match for the real thing.
It’s time for me to let the past go. I love Rah, but I can’t let him drag me off my chosen path. And as for Jeremy, I haven’t had too many dreams about him. And whenever he is in a dream he’s usually catching me, or trying to save me in some other way. I’m feeling Jeremy strongly, but I don’t love him like I love Rah. I don’t know if I can ever fully shake Rah from my system, or if I really want to. When I’m ready, I know I can find something in the spirit book to help, which is at Mama’s house where it always is.
My mom’s incomplete spirit notebook has some good suggestions in it, too. I brought it with me to study while enjoying the seawater and sun. I wish I could do this every weekend, but I don’t have that kind of time. This book looks and smells like it’s been around for centuries. I’m glad we have a written account of the multiple paths in our lineage, at least for the most part. Since my mom stopped keeping up with her notes and recording the notes about her mother’s path, those sections are deficient. But I’m doing my best to keep up with what I can now. I keep pretty good notes in my spirit notebook and will transfer them to the family spirit book after my initiation.
I’m not ready to become anyone’s wife yet, which is what you spiritually become to your orisha, once initiated. I’m not ready to be Oshune’s wife, or Rah’s wifey and Rahima’s stepmama. Technically, I guess I would be a step-girl, because I’m not married to her daddy. Hell, we’re not even boyfriend and girlfriend at the moment. Trish and Jeremy’s presence in my life reminds me of that constantly. I think if I got Rah out of my system I could give Jeremy a real chance at being my man. I know what Mr. A said about dating a white boy, and he’s right. Being in an interracial relationship has all kinds of challenges. But I like him—a lot—and after the way he reacted to Emilio kissing me, I know Jeremy’s feeling me hard, too.
If I can give Rah a million chances after he’s acted like an ass in more ways than one, I can give Jeremy a break after only a couple of major infractions. If Jeremy weren’t white this would be a no-brainer. But because we have the added history of our great-ancestors being lovers per one of my dreams, the shit’s just that much more complicated for me. I don’t need anyone to tell me I’m in for it if I choose to date Jeremy exclusively.
The kind of black love that Nigel and Mickey found with each other is rare at our age. And my mom and Karl’s relationship is a phenomenon if I ever saw one. The kind of love I usually witness is the torture that is Mama and Daddy’s marriage. And to be honest, I think that’s where most couples’ relationships are headed, no matter how in love they are. Mama and Daddy used to be in puppy love with each other at first. But then reality set in and the sacrifices became apparent, each feeling undervalued in his or her own way, after giving up so much of themselves for so long. And that’s the kind of love I feel Rah and I are in: that quicksand kind of love.
We’ve put so much into this relationship for the past four years, that neither of us is willing to give up on it now. But I’ve just about had it because—like quicksand—the harder you fight the faster you sink. I guess it’s a good thing that I don’t I have anymore fight left in me.
“What are you over here thinking about so seriously?” Jeremy asks, catching me in mid thought. Where did he come from and why didn’t I hear him walk up?
“Life,” I say, reaching up to meet his embrace halfway. He never officially apologized for calling me a tease. I know he didn’t mean it, but we will have to eventually address it. But now is not the time. I can only deal with one issue at a time. “What are you doing here? I thought Redondo was your beach?”
“It’s all my coastline,” he says, stretching his arms out toward the ocean.
“Okay, Columbus,” I say as he sits down in the sand next to me. I love the way the warm sand feels in between my toes. Judging by the way Jeremy’s playing in the sand with his hairy feet I’d say he feels the same way.
“Very funny, Lady J. There were too many tourists at the pier so I opted for a quieter, Manhattan Sunday.” And I’m glad he did. Jeremy’s energy is very soothing when he’s calm. And I like being around him always. “I was just about to grab something to eat if you want to join me,” he says, stroking my right arm with the back of his hand. I nod in agreement and he stands up, blocking the sun with his tall frame.
“Let me take you to lunch for a change,” I say, taking Jeremy’s hand as he reaches down to help me up. I brush the sand from my backside and Jeremy watches my every move. “Why don’t you take a picture? It’ll last longer,” I say, walking ahead of him.
“I just might do that,” he says, following me from the beach toward my car. The alarm on the brand-new Mercedes parked in front of my mom’s car beeps and the engine starts. Who did that and can we be friends? I get closer to the black-on-black sports car and take a peek inside. It looks like something Batman would drive. SL 63 AMG. I don’t know what any of that means, but I want one.
“Do you like it?” Jeremy asks, walking around the vehicle, also scoping the perfection before our eyes. This thing must’ve cost a grip.
“Like it?” I ask, following him around the vehicle. “I’m ready to make a long-term commitment to it.” I stop and look at my reflection in the dark, tinted windows with Jeremy right behind me, staring into my eyes. We are opposites, but we look good together and feel even better.
“Get in,” he says, opening the driver’s door.
“Damn, Jeremy. Y’all got it like this?” I ask. I shouldn’t be surprised. His entire block could have their own fleet of luxury vehicles. But to get a teenager these kinds of wheels is extreme, even for Jeremy’s wealthy family.
“I wish,” he says. I think that’s the first time I’ve heard him openly express envy. Good to know he wants for something. “It belongs to a friend of mine. He went away for the weekend and let me babysit her. Sweet, huh?” he says, caressing the black leather seats with his hands like he di
d me a few moments ago. I glide into the seat, positioning myself under the steering wheel—my favorite part of the car. I’d love to drive this thing.
“Let’s go,” he says, closing the door and walking around to the other side. I didn’t even have to ask and my wish came true. “Push the button and we can go,” Jeremy says, buckling his seat belt. That’s what he said in my dream when I drove his car in a race with Sandy and Trish. This must be a sign that I’m going the right way with Jeremy.
“I’ve got the perfect place to have lunch,” I say, turning on the left blinker and approaching the traffic light. “Let’s go to Simply Wholesome. You like their food and I would love a turkey burger,” I say, heading toward my mom’s neck of the woods. I don’t mind driving back out that way since it’s not my gas. And I’m going to take the long way down La Cienega Boulevard to get there. I want to savor this experience for as long as I can.
“Didn’t you leave there on bad terms?” Jeremy asks, remembering the drama behind my career change a few months ago. He has a great memory for a self-proclaimed pothead.
“That’s not the point,” I say, gunning the engine hard down Aviation Boulevard. I feel like a rock star in this Benz. Jeremy’s got some good friends, because if this were my car, I wouldn’t let anyone drive it. “They have good food.” And it’s where everyone meets up to show off his or her bodies and cars. It’s an LA thing: Jeremy’s from the beach and can’t relate.
“You’re driving, Jayd. I’m just along for the ride and loving the view,” Jeremy says, pulling his sunshades over his eyes and sitting back in his seat. His long legs barely fit in the cozy car, but I fit just right. “As long as you’re this sexy behind the wheel, I’ll go wherever you want me to.” I never noticed how tight Jeremy’s game is before. He’s fine, got money, intelligent, kind, and he likes him some Jayd. So far, that’s a pretty positive list.
When we get to Simply Wholesome the parking lot is packed, which is typical for a sunny Sunday afternoon. The cruisers are out today, their shiny cars still clean from a weekend wash and wax. It’s a ritual for most people on this side of Los Angeles to hit up Crenshaw Car Wash on Saturdays so that their rides will be fresh for the rest of the weekend. I keep saying I’m going to take my mom’s ride over there one day and let them work their magic, but I can’t see spending fifteen of my hard-earned dollars getting the car washed, when I could pay one of my uncles five dollars to get the job done.
I find a parking spot on the side of the building and pull into the small space, causing heads to turn as I shut off the engine. I love driving this car, and it’s the perfect day for it. We both get out and head to the restaurant side of the building, passing several customers hanging out and enjoying the nice weather and good food. I miss working here but I don’t miss working with the shift manager, Marty.
“Damn, that’s a sweet ride,” Jeremy says, checking out Shakir’s flawless Jaguar parked in front of the main entrance, as usual. I’m surprised Shakir doesn’t have a permanent sign that says “reserved for owner” in his customary space, not that he needs it. Everyone knows the Jag belongs there.
“You act like you’ve never seen his ride before,” I say, walking through the open double doors. The scent of coconut shakes and sweet-potato fries welcomes us in. I miss the vibe in this place and so does my stomach.
“If I have, I never noticed it,” Jeremy says, still stuck on the black luxury automobile. Shakir, the owner, loves that car more than he loves Summer—the supervising manager and love of his life. “There’s something different about it, I’m sure.”
“It’s the new set of twenty-twos I just purchased,” Shakir says, smiling at Jeremy as he gives me a big hug. His locks have grown, but I can tell no one’s keeping them up for him. Maybe I should offer him my services.
“I knew it,” Jeremy says, like an excited two-year-old boy. What is it with dudes and cars? I return Shakir’s warm embrace, glad he’s happy to see me. I’ve missed working here, and he’s always been good to me. My mom hasn’t been up here since I quit, but I know she and Shakir still keep in touch. They went to high school together and will always be friends, just like Rah and me.
“It’s good to see you, Jayd. It’s been a long time,” Shakir says, letting me go to shake Jeremy’s hand.
“Jeremy, this is Shakir, the owner of Simply Wholesome and my former boss. Shakir, this is my friend Jeremy,” I say. Although Jeremy picked me up from work several times he never came in and met the crew.
“Ah, the infamous Jeremy,” Shakir says, making me blush. When I worked here Jeremy was all I could talk about, just like I used to talk about Rah, who is a regular up here because his house is right up the street. Rah was probably more distraught over me quitting than I was. We both hate that there’s no more discounted healthy food. The menu prices are pretty steep, but well worth it. “It’s nice to meet you, man.”
“Likewise,” Jeremy says, refocusing his attention on the Jaguar. Are we ever going to make it all the way inside the restaurant? I’m hungry, and the smell of the food is working my senses overtime. Everything is made fresh to order, and I need them to get on my turkey burger and black beans, stat.
“Do you want to take a look inside?” Shakir asks Jeremy, taking out his keys and pointing the remote at the vehicle. Not only does Shakir turn off the alarm, but he also starts the car, rolls down the windows, and starts the music, causing all heads in-and outside of his business to turn. Men and their toys.
“Oh hell, yes,” Jeremy says, mesmerized by the car. We just got out of a vehicle that makes this one look like yesterday’s news, yet Jeremy’s salivating all over the onyx cat. I guess dudes can never have too many pretty things. If it were a woman, I’m sure he’d have no problem leaving me for the chance to be with her. “You don’t mind, do you, Jayd?” Oh, now he remembers that I’m here.
“Not at all. As long as you don’t mind me eating without you,” I say, giving him a big smile. He’s so cute when he’s excited about something that I can’t be mad at him for too long.
“Yeah, of course. I’ll take whatever you’re having,” he says, reaching into his jean pocket and pulling out a twenty.
“It’s on me, remember?” I say, putting my hand up in protest. “I got this, man.” Jeremy bends down and kisses me on my nose.
“Thank you,” he says before following Shakir to his car. It feels nice to be able to do something for Jeremy. After all, he’s always so generous with me now that we’ve established that I can’t be bought. It’s nice to be able to treat him for a change.
I walk through the front door, almost running into one of the three palm trees next to the customer bench where people usually wait for takeout orders. When did the trees get this big?
“Jayd,” Sarah, my former coworker, says, scaring the hell out of me. I’ve missed her loud Jamaican ass. She runs around the counter to give me a hug, damn the long line of customers at the register. “My girl!”
“What’s up, Miss Sarah? How have you been?” I glance around the restaurant and see nothing much has changed. Summer walks in from the business office across from where we’re standing and smiles my way. It feels nice to be missed.
“I’ve been good, girl. Except we’re still working under Satan’s daughter, but it’s not as bad as it was before,” she says, getting back to work before someone says something. The customers may be bougie, but they’re still black and will get ghetto if need be.
I take my place at the end of the long line like everyone else. I wish I were still employed here, if only because I could walk to the back and put my order in myself instead of waiting behind all the other customers. I also wouldn’t mind receiving the thirty-percent employee discount.
Sarah works at one register while Marty controls the other. Alonzo nods “what’s up” to me from the juice bar behind the registers he’s got under control this afternoon. As luck would have it, Marty’s register frees up first when I finally make it to the counter, forcing me to place my order with h
er. But before I can give her my request, I notice her dandruff-ridden shirt. This woman needs my help and doesn’t even know it.
“You know, my grandmother makes something for that,” I say, watching Marty dust the dandruff off her shoulders, which is even more apparent because of her black shirt. I look up at her hair and see the large white patches all over her scalp. She must’ve been scratching it all day. Poor thing. I can’t help but want to heal her head.
“That’s okay. I’ve got it under control.” Whatever. If the trick doesn’t want my help it’s her loss. She’s such a hater she can’t even tell when someone’s being genuinely nice to her. As a hairdresser I hate to see people suffering needlessly when we have the tools to make their lives better. Marty unconsciously scratches her scalp, releasing even more flakes onto her shirt. I can’t take it anymore. It’s grossing out me and the other customers in line. I look over at Sarah, who sucks her teeth in disdain.
“Marty, for real. The line of products will work wonders on your scalp and hair. If you don’t believe me, I can give you a sample to test.” She looks at me angrily. I don’t know if it’s because her involuntary snowflakes embarrass her or because she just hates me that much. But whatever the reason, I know she needs my help. “I think I may have some in my purse,” I say, sifting through my bag.
“Why do you care?” Marty’s got a point there. Why do I care? I’m willing to give this heffa some of my own personal supply and she’s such a hater she probably won’t even use it. How can she be so proud and stupid at the same time?
“Never mind,” I say, rolling my eyes and placing my order. Marty takes my money and gives me my number. I hope she doesn’t think she’s getting another tip. Good hair advice is just as valuable as money, and she threw it back in my face. “Thank you,” I say as I step to the side of the counter near the store entrance and wait for our food.