At the Crossroads

by Travis Hunter

  “I wouldn’t take that too personal. Maybe she’s grieving in her own little way. Some people lash out while others withdraw, and then you have some who stay in denial forever. Like me. I still don’t believe my grandmother is dead. I just can’t bring myself to believe that.”

  “Yeah,” Franky said. “Whatever gets you through your day.”

  “It’s kind of hard to study after hearing that,” Khadija said.

  “Yeah,” he said. “But I need to get off on the right track, so I gotta stay focused.”

  There was a knock on the door, and Franky jumped up to answer it.

  “Is Rico here?” asked a weird-looking girl whom Franky had never seen before.

  “Who’s asking?” Franky said, always on guard.

  “I’m just a friend of his from Nawlins,” the girl said in a low and thick Louisiana drawl. She had platinum hair that shot straight up in spikes, silver contact lenses—or maybe those were her real eyes—and African tribal scars on both cheeks. Two earrings dangled from her nostrils and at least twenty more from each earlobe. She wore a tight-fitting shirt that showed off her ample breasts and wore even tighter jeans. If she didn’t look so crazy, she would be sexy. But the weirdest thing of all was the fact that she was wearing a trench coat, in the humid and hot Georgia summer.

  “He’s here sometimes but rarely,” Franky said. “What’s your name?”

  “You just tell him his call got true, respect,” the girl said. “I’ll leave a number for him?”

  “Sure,” Franky said.

  “Gone get something to write wit, boi? The name is Donita.”

  “I’ll remember it.”

  The girl frowned but spit out the numbers and walked away. Franky walked back over to the table and wrote it down exactly like she said.

  “The next time I’ll suggest we study at the library,” he said. “It’s a million and one distractions around here.”

  “Who was that?” Khadija asked.

  “I don’t know, but she came for my cousin Rico, and he’s always into something out in left field. But I think he can do better than that … or maybe he can’t.”

  Khadija hunched her shoulders and smiled. “So can I but I’m here.”

  “No, you can’t,” he said. “You’d be lonely without me.”

  “I’m just kidding with ya, shawty,” Khadija said. “I like being with you.”

  “I like being with you, too. I was surprised you said you would come over.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, you’ve known me for only about a week now, and you’re all up in my crib.”

  “I trust you, and plus I know that you can throw them thangs,” she said, holding up her fist simulating a boxer’s stance.

  “I don’t like fighting. I’ve had only two fights—well, if you don’t count the times my cousins beat me up. That’s in my whole life. My dad put me in boxing when I was young, so I still remember a few things, but I really could do without it. Fighting is for those without brains.”

  “I hear ya, shawty,” she said. “Did you talk to Coach English today?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I have him for PE. He told me I can come out for the team, but I need to get a physical first. So I gotta find somebody to take me and get one.”

  “I can ask my dad to take you,” she said. “He wants to meet you anyway.”

  “That would be cool. I appreciate that.”

  “No problem, man.”

  “Finally,” Franky said, throwing his hands up in celebration. “I’m a man not a shawty.”

  “Boy, stop,” she said.

  Rico burst through the front door with a mean mug on his face. He paused when he saw Khadija sitting at the table “How ya doing, lil lady?” he said with no smile.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “And you?”

  Rico nodded.

  “Khadija, this is my cousin Rico,” Franky said.

  “Nice to meet you, Rico,” she said.

  “Same here. I heard a lot about you,” he said before turning to Franky. He used his index finger to call him over. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

  Franky stood and walked over to Rico. They went out onto the front porch for some privacy.

  “Some chick named Donita came by here looking for you.”

  “I don’t know no Donita,” Rico said. “What she look like?”

  “She looked crazy. Spiked hair, scars on her face. Then she had on a coat,” he said. “Hot as it is out here. She had on a full-length coat.”

  “And she asked for me?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” Franky said. “She looked scary.”

  Rico searched his brain, then all of a sudden he seemed to know who this crazy woman was.

  “She left a number for you,” Franky said. “It’s in the kitchen. She said to tell you your call got through. Whatever that means.”

  “Okay,” Rico said, nodding his head. “Cool. I’ll get with her in a minute. Gotta get this money right first.”

  “Who is she?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said, then turned away from Franky and stared across the street. He shook his head and seemed to be overwhelmed with emotion. Franky walked over and put his hand on his shoulder. “You a’ight, cuz?” he asked.

  “Nah, I’m not good right now, whoadie. I’m not doing good at all. As a matter of fact, I think I’m about to lose my mind.”

  “What’s up?” Franky asked, genuinely concerned about his cousin.

  “You know Mrs. Bertha from across the street passed on,” Rico said, wiping away tears.

  Franky had never seen his cousin cry. Not even when his dad died and they placed his body into the ground. Nigel was a mess at the funeral, but that was to be expected. He was always the more sensible one. Rico was as hard as steel and didn’t seem to have a sensible or sensitive bone in his body. But here he was standing on the porch with a face full of tears over a woman he barely spoke to.

  “I know. Jason called and told me,” Franky said, still baffled by his cousin’s sensitivity toward the old woman.

  “You know that means?” he said, and seemed to prepare himself for the words he was about the spew.

  “What?”

  “Nigel’s charges have been upgraded. They ‘bout to charge my brother with murder.”

  15

  Franky walked down his street with Khadija. Neither one of them said much as they made their way to the MARTA bus station, a full two blocks away from his house. Khadija reached out and grabbed his hand with hers. Franky stiffened for a second but relaxed and fell into a groove with her.

  The ghetto was full of life all around them as they made their way up onto Ralph David Abernathy Boulevard. The crackheads were out trying to flag down cars in order to scrape up enough money to get their next hit. The young corner boys were out in full force, hawking their poison for profit. Shorty, the midget, was still out in front of the liquor store begging.

  “Young buck,” he said. “Whatchu know good? Good Lord, you got good taste, young buck. How you doing, ma’am?”

  “Hi,” Khadija said.

  “You two fine young people wouldn’t happen to have a dollar or two on ya, would you?”

  Franky reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a dollar. He handed it to Shorty and walked past him

  “Thank ya, young buck. You all right with me. Hey, you wanna buy a lock for a dollar? I stole it off of this fool’s bike who forgot to lock it. All you gotta do is go to the locksmith and have a key made.”

  Khadija laughed and so did Franky.

  Two girls were in the McDonald’s parking lot screaming at each other at the top of their lungs, acting like they wanted to fight, but neither of them made a move toward the other. Two police officers were sitting on the hood of their cruiser in the BP parking lot. Franky couldn’t help but wonder if they were the ones who arrested his cousin. He used to love the police when he lived in New Orleans, but seeing how they shot first and asked questions last when they w
ere dealing with hood people, he didn’t like them anymore.

  “Do you believe in curses?” he asked as they walked past the police officers.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I mean, people say God curses entire generations, but they also say He’s a forgiving God, so I don’t know. Why do you ask?”

  “Because I believe I’m cursed,” he said.

  “No, you’re not,” she said, squeezing his hand tighter. “You’re just going through some tough times right now. We all go through them, Franky.”

  “Tough times are one thing, but what I’m dealing with is a monster. I lost my mother, and although it was hard, she was sick, so we were prepared for it. My father was killed. That hurricane murdered him. He didn’t die—hewas killed—and you can never be prepared for that. My daddy was my best friend, ya heard. He was my daddy, but he was my best friend. We did everything together. And after he left, I swear a piece of me left, too. I can’t wait to go to sleep at night so I can dream about him. There wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t hear him tell me how much he loved me. Wasn’t no shame in it either.”

  “It shouldn’t be,” she said.

  “I lost my daddy, my uncle, and my grandma on the same day, ya heard. That damn Katrina. Now I come here and I finally start to get some sense of normalcy again and now look. My cousin is being charged with a crime he didn’t have anything to do with. And the dude who should be locked up is gone in the wind. And the bad part about it is his sorry momma gonna let my cousin sit in jail. She knows who broke into Mrs. Bertha’s house.”

  “Y’all got a lawyer, right? I mean, we got all kinds of cameras at the school. They should be able to see that your cousin brought her up there. I’ve never stepped a foot in a law school, and I can figure this one out.”

  “Yeah, but these lawyers cost money. Money that we just don’t have. I may have something coming through, but it’s nothing like what that lady asking for. She wants ten thousand dollars and probably more, now that it’s a superior court case,” Franky said, shaking his head. “Then my cousin, Rico, wants to spend the money on some crazy witch doctor or something.”

  “Witch doctor?” Khadija asked.

  “Yeah,” Franky said, shaking his head again at the situation. “He’s nuts.”

  “What about a public defender? I mean, even one of them should be able to handle this case.”

  “Nah, Nigel ain’t tryna chance his life to some law school D student. And besides, don’t they work for the courts? So how hard are they really gonna fight to free my cousin? Prisons are big business, and they work hard to keep folks in ‘em.”

  Khadija nodded. They made it to the bus stop, and before they could sit down, Bubba and Nard walked up.

  “What’s up, my peoples?” Bubba said, slapping Franky’s hand and placing a wad of money in it.

  Franky smoothly cuffed the money and reached over and shook Nard’s hand. He turned around so that his back was away from Khadija and slid the money into his back pocket without her seeing it.

  “What’s up for the weekend?” Nard said. “We tryna hit this teen club out in Tucker. Studio Seventy-two. Jermaine Dupri’s spot. You down?”

  “Man—” Franky started, but was interrupted by his new woman.

  “Nope,” Khadija said. “He’s gonna be with me.”

  “Okay, wifey,” Bubba said, jumping back. “Put your foot down early. I guess you ain’t going nowhere, Franky. I guess we see who runs things in that household.”

  “Shut up, Khadija,” Nard said, walking up on her and bumping her with his stomach. “You always tryna boss somebody around. Boss me?”

  “Boy, if you don’t get your lil short, fat, Buddha-looking self out of my face,” she said, “I will try my best to knock the black off of you.”

  Nard laughed and held up his shirt for the world to see his big round belly.

  “Oh my goodness,” Khadija said, laughing. “That is pitiful.”

  “You know you love it. How you gonna call me outta my name? I thought we were cool,” Nard said.

  “We are cool,” she said.

  “Man, are you coming to the club or what?” Nard asked. “I know you ain’t gonna let this lil peanut-head girl run your life, is ya?”

  “Somebody needs to run you around a track about fifty-five times until you lose some weight,” Khadija said. “Then they need to take you to a doctor and see if they can stretch your head off of your shoulders so you can have a neck like everybody else.”

  “She’s killing you, dog,” Bubba said.

  “Ain’t nobody thinking about Khadija with her mean self,” Nard said.

  “We’re out,” Bubba said.

  “Go on and rub it one time for good luck before I leave,” Nard said, holding up his shirt again and pointing the big and round thing at Khadija.

  “That’s disgusting,” she said. “You shouldn’t have a beer gut at fifteen, Nard.”

  “I’m seventeen and why not?” he asked with a straight face.

  “And you’re still in the ninth grade? You’re supposed to be like a junior or a senior. Why do you even bother coming to school?”

  “There you go,” Nard said, fanning her off. “I swear y’all the perfect couple. You know your man had me sitting up in class the other day taking notes. Do you know how stupid I looked taking notes?”

  Franky laughed.

  “Don’t you tell anybody else that,” Khadija said.

  “I’m out,” Nard said, shaking Franky’s hand and reaching out to do the same for Khadija.

  She narrowed her eyes at him and left his hand hanging there.

  “I hope you find some kind of niceness now that you have a lil boyfriend,” Nard said.

  “Come on, man,” Bubba called out to Nard.

  “Y’all be easy,” Nard said, and shuffled his big body to catch up with his partner in crime.

  “That boy is crazy,” Franky said as he watched his new friends walk off.

  “They’re bad news, Franky,” she said, staring him down. “What did he give you?”

  “What do you mean?” he asked, busted.

  “What did you put in your back pocket?”

  Franky sighed. He didn’t want to lie to her, but the truth just wasn’t an option. “I had to borrow some money from him so that we can pay the rent.”

  “And how are you going to pay it back?” she asked, sitting down on the bench.

  “Rico said he would get it back to him,” he lied, taking a seat beside her.

  “Okay,” Khadija said. “But please stay clear of them. Bubba is cool, and I really wish he would stick with basketball, but he’s a lost soul. Doesn’t realize that he can make legitimate money if he just focused on the right things. He’ll be in jail or dead in two years.”

  “Yeah. You’re probably right.”

  “And Nard will live forever. His kind don’t die—they multiply,” she said, shaking her head.

  Franky was ready to change the subject. “I’m happy you came by today, and I’m sorry to put all of my problems on you like that. I bet you wish you never met me, huh?”

  “Nah, man,” she said, smiling. “I like being with you, shawty. I’m not one of those girls who run at the first sign of trouble. You’re a good dude, Franky. And all of the drama you’re dealing with doesn’t have anything to do with choices you made.”

  Franky placed a hand on her leg and turned to look into her yes. “Yeah, I know, but still … I’m happy we are here. I’m happy to be here. With you. Sorry we didn’t get much studying done.”

  “You’re good, shawty,” she said. “It’s Friday. We have all weekend long to make something happen. Do not go to that club with them or I’ll have to stop talking to you. I don’t do thugs. I told you that when we first met.”

  “I’m not in a clubbing mood,” he said. “Besides, I’d much rather spend my time with you than be up in some club with all those fine girls with short shorts, cleavage, and all of that other mess.”

  “Get knocked ou
t, shawty,” she said with a smile.

  The bus came and Franky stood. He turned around to look at Khadija, who was still seated.

  “This is your bus, right?” he asked.

  “Yep,” she said. “But I’ll catch the next one. If you don’t mind.”

  The driver opened the door and let some people off. Four more people got on. The driver looked at them and held his hand out as if to ask them what they were going to do. When no reply came, he closed the door and pulled off.

  “I don’t mind at all. Nothing but drama back where I’m headed. I could stay away forever, and it would be a’ight with me,” Franky said, sitting back down beside her.

  “Good, because I’m not ready to leave you just yet, shawty,” she said, and slid closer to him. She laid her head on his shoulder.

  Franky sat back and placed his arm around her shoulder, forcing her to lie on his chest.

  “It’s getting dark,” he said. “Won’t your parents be worried about you?”

  “Nah,” she said. “They told me to be home by ten o’clock, and it’s only nine. The bus ride is only ten or fifteen minutes from here. So I have a little more time, and I’m using it all up.”

  “That’s cool,” Franky said. “So everybody is saying we are together. I guess that’s true, huh?”

  “I guess so, shawty,” Khadija said with a smile. “You have been checked out, and you’re official.”

  Franky smiled and pulled her a little closer. She felt good in his arms, and he realized that this was the most peace he’d felt in three years.

  16

  Franky sat in the living room waiting while Rico talked on the telephone with somebody. Franky could pick up bits and pieces of their conversation, and he was grateful because Rico wasn’t very forthcoming with anything. Her heard Stick’s name mentioned several times, and he was happy because that meant Rico wasn’t sticking to the dumb no-snitching street crap. Over the last few days, he had become obsessed with finding Stick. The bum’s mother wasn’t answering her door for anyone, and although there was movement in the house, Stick seemed to have up and vanished into thin air.

  “What did she say?” Franky asked as soon as he heard Rico say good-bye.