by Amir Abrams
I grab my phone and text Sasha, giving her the 4-1-1 and asking her to come get me. Five minutes after I send the text, my cell rings. It’s her.
“She did what?”
“She slapped me,” I repeat, walking over to my wall mirror and looking at the bruise she’s left on the side of my face.
“For what?”
“Because she’s such an evil witch,” I say, pacing my floor. “All because I didn’t come home.”
“You ain’t come home one night ’n’ she’s spazzin’ on you like dat? Girl, you need to handle her. You prolly should call the police on her.”
“No. I can’t do that. She’s still my mom.”
She grunts. “Mmph. Whatever. Do you, boo. All I know is, your momz be buggin’.”
“I know. All she wants to do is try to ruin my life. She acts like I’m out in the streets committing crimes or something. All I’m tryna do is have some fun before it’s time to go back to school.”
“Girl, you betta get yo’ life! Ain’t nobody got time for dat! You need to pack your ish ‘n’ get up outta dere! Mmph. I wish my momz would. I know you effed her up real good for dat, right?”
I blink. Is this girl serious? First she says I should call the police on her. Now she’s asking me if I hit her.
Fighting my mom isn’t something I’ve ever considered. I mean, talking back is one thing, but to fight her. No. That’s going way too far. I don’t care how pissed I get at her, I don’t think I can ever hit her.
She starts laughing. “Oops. I forgot who I was talkin’ to. Li’l Miss Scaredy-Cat. You know you an undercover Oreo. So you betta do what dem white girls do ’n’ stomp her lights out.”
I blink.
She keeps laughing. But I don’t see anything funny. “You know dem rich white girlz you roll wit’ down at dat fancy school you go to be whippin’ da hot dog piss outta dey mommas. Then again, you prolly wouldn’t. I know you ain’t got it in you to go wit’ da hands.”
“She’s my mom,” I say defensively. “I can’t hit her.”
“Oh, but it’s okay for her to put her hands on you, right? Girl, bye. Miss me wit’ dat.”
“I disrespected her,” I counter. “I shouldn’t have spoken to her like that.”
She sucks her teeth. “And she disrespected you. Smacking you up. She shoulda kept her hands to herself. Girl, bye. Miss me wit’ dat dumbness. Momz or not, she crossed da line puttin’ her hands on you, boo. But whatever. She’s your headache. Not mine. So what you gonna do now?”
“I don’t know. I was hopin’ you could come get me.”
“When? Now?”
“Yeah. If you don’t mind.”
“Girl, I do mind. I’m gettin’ ready to get my box beat up.”
“Oh.”
“Where’s Malik?”
“He went into the city. And probably won’t get back until late. I gotta get out of here.”
“Well, did you call him?” I tell her no. Tell her she was the first person I called. “Well, I think you should holla at ya man ’n’ see what he says.”
I swallow. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”
“Hit me later,” she says just before the line goes dead.
I pull my cell from my ear and stare at it. How rude! It rings again, startling me. My stomach lurches as I glance at the screen.
Oh God!
I answer the call on the fourth ring. “Hello.”
“Kennedy?”
“Yes, Daddy. It’s me.”
“I just got off the phone with your mother,” he says calmly. “She’s extremely upset. She says you’ve been sneaking out and becoming extremely disrespectful. Is this true?”
“D-daddy, I-I . . .”
“Answer the question, Kennedy. It’s a yes or no.”
I fall silent as tears roll down my face. Daddy has never raised his voice to me, and whenever I’ve had to be disciplined he’s always left it to my mom.
“Kennedy?”
“Yes. I’m here.”
“Then say something. I need for you to tell me what in the heck is going on there. Because what I’ve heard so far, I am not liking.”
“I don’t care,” I blurt out.
“Excuse me? Young lady, what did you say to me?”
“I said I don’t care. I’m sick of being told what to do. I want to live my own life. I’m old enough to make my own decisions.”
“Kennedy, sweetheart,” Daddy says calmly. “What has gotten into you? This is not you. Your mother says you’ve been drinking and hanging out with a wrong crowd.”
“Ohmygod! She’s such a traitor. She promised me she wouldn’t tell you about the drinking. It was only one time. I got drunk. And I didn’t like it. It was no big deal.”
“It is a big deal when you don’t come home,” he says, raising his voice. “Your mother is worried sick about you.”
“Well, she can stop. I don’t need her worrying about me. I can take care of myself.”
“Wait a minute. Where is all this hostility and disrespect coming from?”
“I’m not being hostile. I’m just sick of Mom not trusting me. I’m old enough to make my own decisions.”
“Listen, sweetheart, you’re right. You can make some decisions for yourself. And your mom and I both need to be able to trust you to do what’s right. I know that you may think you’re old enough to know what’s best for you, Kennedy. But right now, your drastic change in behavior says otherwise. I’m flying home Friday evening. I’ll be home early Saturday morning. We’ll talk about this then. Understand?”
I sigh. “Yes.”
“Good. Now do me a favor and go apologize to your mother, then promise me you won’t do . . .”
The line goes dead. I disconnect the call. I didn’t want to hear anything else he had to say. I’m not apologizing to my mom. And I wasn’t going to promise him anything. Malik promised to take me to this big party this weekend. And nothing, or no one, is going to stop me from going.
My cell rings back. It’s Daddy calling again. I let the call roll into voice mail. When he calls back a third time, I hit IGNORE. There’s nothing else to talk about. I’ve made up my mind. And he’s made up his.
I call Malik. “Yo, whaddup?”
“I got into a big fight with my mom,” I tell him. “She slapped me. And now I have to get out of here. What time are you coming back to Jersey?”
“Whoa, whoa . . . slow down. Run dat by me again.” I repeat myself. “Why she go off like dat?”
I shake my head as if he can see me through the phone. “She’s crazy. All I know is I have to get away from her.”
“A’ight. Did you call Sasha?”
“Yeah, I did. But she didn’t sound like she was interested in coming to get me. She told me to call you.”
“Oh, a’ight. I gotta go uptown real quick, then should be headin’ back dat way in a few. You think you can stay put until I can get there?”
I nod. “Yeah. I’ll just stay in my room.”
“A’ight, bet. I’ma text you when I’m on my way, a’ight?”
“Yes.”
“You ain’t gotta put up wit’ dat ish, ya heard? I’ma get us a spot next week. In da meantime you can stay at my momz’s crib.”
I swallow. “Are you sure? I don’t think she likes me.”
“Yo, she ain’t gotta like you. But she knows she betta respect you. I pay da bills up in dere, so she’s gonna do wat I say.”
“What about your sister?”
“I done already put my foot down for what went on wit’ dem broadz comin’ through to get at you. So she ain’t gonna give you no grief. She ain’t tryna have me take it to her neck again. Don’t worry ’bout packin’ nothin’. I’ma take you shoppin’ tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
Three hours later, Malik finally texts back to say he’s twenty minutes away. I know if he comes to the house there’s a chance—no, it’s a definite—that my mom will call the police on him. I don’t want that. I tell him to meet me a
t the WaWa down the street.
I won’t be needing this, I think, tossing my packed bag into my closet. As I prepare to creep down the stairs, I am greeted by mom with, “Kennedy, what is this?”
I blink. My mom is standing in front of me holding up the two blunts I’d hidden in the inside panel of my pocketbook. “I know you did not bring drugs up in this house! Have you lost your mind, huh, Kennedy? Answer me!”
I blink again. I can’t believe she went through my stuff!
“Don’t stand there looking at me crazy! You better open your mouth and tell me something, girl! Now!”
I can’t help but roll my eyes.
She scowls. “Is there something wrong with your eyes? Because I know you didn’t just roll them at me. Now I asked you a question? What. Is. This?”
“I don’t believe you!” I yell. “I don’t have to tell you nothing! You have no right going through my personal things! Do I go through your stuff? No!”
“Excuuuse you?! I have every right”—she stomps a foot—“to go through your things when your behavior warrants it. And, lately, I do not like what I am seeing. And now I see why. How long have you been smoking this mess, huh?”
“That’s none of your business,” I snap. “Why can’t you stop being a joy-killer and just stay the heck out of my life?”
“Everything you do is my business, little girl! You have no life unless I say you do! And for the rest of the summer the only joy you’ll see will be punishment!”
“You can’t do this to me!” I scream at her.
“Oh, I most certainly can. Now get your ass back upstairs! I don’t know who this new crowd is you’re hanging with, but it stops today. Do you understand me?”
“You can’t tell me what to do!” I try to brush by her. “I don’t have to listen to you!”
She snatches my arm. “Girl, you had better watch your tone with me! You have no business bringing drugs into this house! And I will not stand for it!”
“Ohmygod!” I shriek, snatching my arm back. “Get a grip! It’s only marijuana! You’re acting like it’s some hard-core drug or something! It was hidden inside of my pocketbook. Not out in the open. So what’s the big deal?!”
“The big deal is, it’s illegal! And you brought it into this house! I don’t care where you had it hidden. If the police found this”—she shakes the plastic baggie in my face—“on you you’d be arrested! Is that what you want? To be carted off to jail?”
Tears spew from my eyes.
“No, I want you to stay outta my life! You’re gonna have to let go and stop tryna ruin my life!”
She raises her hand to strike me, but quickly stops herself. “I’m warning you, Kennedy! So help me God! I will smack the piss out of you! You will not speak to me that way! I am your mother! I will never let go of trying to guide you in the right direction. And right now, I’m trying to stop you from making some horrible mistakes. The last thing I want is seeing you hooked up with the wrong crowd. All it takes is one time being at the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong crowd and you could end up a jail cell, or worse.”
“I’m already in jail!” I scream at her. “So it can’t get any worse than it already is. Anyplace would be better than being here with you!”
I brush by her, practically knocking her over. I run down the stairs and out the front door, cursing and hollering at the top of my lungs, without looking back.
I hear my mom running behind me, calling out for me. “Kennedy! Kennedy! Get back here! Do you hear me?! You get back in this house, right now, or I’m calling the police!”
I keep running and running until my chest aches and my lungs burn. My mind is made up.
I’m never going back there again!
36
Malik makes me feel safe. Simple as that. He makes me feel special. And wanted. And, with everything that has happened over the last week, Malik is all I need to get by, to survive. I haven’t spoken to (or heard from) my mother since our fight. And I don’t want to.
I don’t even know if she’s tried reaching me on my cell because I threw it in a fit of anger and broke it. Malik had to purchase me a new phone. Now I don’t have any of my contacts. And I haven’t been on Facebook to see if she’s looking for me.
Knowing her, she is.
A part of me feels so bad. And knows that I am probably in deep trouble.
Then there’s the other part of me that just doesn’t care. Not right now, anyway.
Sasha was right when she said I needed to get my life. Well, guess what? That’s exactly what I’ve been doing. Getting. My. Life. I have been having nothing but fun. Going to parties. Going to clubs. Shopping. And spending every waking moment with Malik.
He’s been so supportive. He even got us an efficiency room two towns over because he said we needed our own space. Truth is, I overheard his mother telling him when he came back at two o’clock in the morning to pick me up that she didn’t want me staying in her apartment. “She too young ’n’ too hot in the tail. And she ain’t gonna be nothin’ but trouble. You need’a git you somebody yo’ own age. And leave dat li’l girl alone.”
“Ma, you need to go ’head wit’ dat dumb ish,” I heard Malik tell her. “Kennedy ain’t gonna bring me no heat. Her momz threw her out ’n’ I ain’t tryna see my girl out on da streets.”
His mother grunted. “Mmph. You need to call DYFS ’n’ let dem deal wit’ ’er.”
“Chill, ma. Ain’t nobody callin’ DYFS on nobody. It’s all good. We outta here, a’ight? I already got us a spot.”
“What? What you mean, you got y’all a spot? You still gonna pay this rent ’n’ make sure me ’n’ Mercedes got money to live off of?” I heard him tell her that he had everything covered, then the last thing I heard her say is, “I can’t believe you gonna turn ya back on ya own family for that li’l uppity girl.”
“Yo, sexy, what you over there thinkin’ ’bout?” Malik nudges me, taking his eyes off the road ahead of him. “You a’ight?”
I nod, looking over at him. “Yeah. I’m okay.”
“Oh, a’ight. Just checkin’ on my baby. You seem like you kinda lost in thought.”
I shake my head. “No, not really.”
Truth is, my mind has been reeling back and forth between my fight with Jordan and the haunting words of Mercedes. Last night, as usual, I was left alone at Malik’s mother’s while he went out to make “a run” into the city with two of his friends. And, once again, his sister with her ole messy, mean self felt the need to corner me in the kitchen when I’d come out to grab something to drink out of the fridge.
“I keep telling you, silly girl, all my brotha’s gonna do is use you up. Screw you up. And have you somewhere rockin’ in a corner tryna slice ya wrists.”
I blinked, then scrunched my face up at her. “Why are you telling me this? Malik’s your brother.”
She snapped, “I know who da fuqq he is. Do I look stupid to you?”
“No, not at all.” But you sound crazy, I thought as I stood there staring at her. “I’m just wondering why you would say mean things about him; that’s all.”
She scowled. “Say mean things ’bout him? Girl, bye. I ain’t said nothin’ mean ’bout my brotha. But you too stuck on dumb to see dat I’m tryna school ya.”
She rubbed her swollen belly, then pulled a chair out from the table and sat. “Sweetie, all you ever gonna be to Malik is a young piece until he finishes runnin’ all up in you ’n’ guttin’ you out.”
I cringed.
“Mercedes!” her mother yelled from the living room. “Leave dat girl alone!”
She snorted. “I ain’t botherin’ her. I’m tryna school her.”
“Well, don’t school her! Leave her be! I don’t feel like hearin’ Malik’s mouff ’cause you effen wit’ dat girl of his. If she wanna be drunk in love over him, let her. She gonna have ta find out da hard way, like the rest of ’em; that’s all.”
Like the rest of them, I thought, wondering what she meant by that.
When I asked Mercedes what her mother had meant, she simply smirked and said, “You’ll find out soon enough.”
I’m not sure what I’m supposed to find out, but what I do know is, I need to know this: “Umm, how many kids do you have?” I finally ask Malik, shifting my body to face him.
He takes his eyes off the road for a split second to look over at me.
“I mean, I know you have a baby with that girl Hennessey.”
“Dat ain’t my baby, yo.”
I raise a brow. “Say what? I thought you said she was your baby mother.”
“Nah, I never tol’ you no ish like dat.”
I blink. I am certain that he told me that that night she showed up at the restaurant. I could have sworn he did. Okay, maybe he didn’t.
“But I keep hearing you have other kids with other girls, too.”
Malik’s face turns up into a scowl. “Who tol’ you dis?”
“Your sister.”
“Dis thot,” he mutters, shakin’ his head. “Listen. I got two kids, a’ight. A four-year-old and three-year-old. They both down south wit’ dey momz.”
I give him a confused look. “So Hennessy’s baby isn’t yours, but you have two kids with someone else?”
“Yeah. Both my BM’s live in Atlanta.”
Both my BM’s?
“But what about Hennessey’s baby?”
He reaches into the ashtray and retrieves a half-smoked blunt, slipping it between his lips. He presses the lighter, then a few seconds later lights the weed-stuffed cigar. Smoke quickly fills the interior of his truck.
“I already tol’ you. It ain’t mine. She keep tryna put it on me, but I ain’t beat. I know wat time it is. She tryna get a come up, but it ain’t gonna be on my dime. I mean, yeah, I smashed, but it wasn’t ’bout nothin’. Dat broad’s a freak. She let all my manz ’n’ dey boyz run all up in her.”
He says this as if what he’s telling me is not that serious.
His sister Mercedes’s voice haunts me. “. . . You prolly da dumbest ho he’s been wit’ so far . . . raw punnany is da only thing my brother is gonna ever love. He doesn’t know howta love anything other than what’s between yo’ legs, li’l girl . . .”