“How come y’all never hooked up?”
What I really want to know is if they have.
“Not that I haven’t tried,” he says. “Tammy’s focused. I ain’t mad at her. She’s helped me with my own focus.” He sighs. “We’re good as friends, though.”
That honesty is surprising, real.
Mature, too.
This is the big leagues, a quantum leap from high school.
Am I ready?
“Gives you perspective,” JaMarcus says.
“What does?”
“Tammy’s mother dying like that. Life is short, Kenya. Gotta go for what you want the moment you realize you want it.” His eyes find me. Something serious is brewing inside him.
Something’s brewing inside me, too.
“Life is too short to waste on complicated situations,” he says.
“Donnell,” I say. “His name is Donnell.”
Hope that mentioning his name will stop me in my tracks, prevent me from making another mistake I’ll most likely regret. Hope is a good thing. A blessed thing.
“Donnell gets to kiss those lips. I envy him.”
Fuego.
Fire.
I remember JaMarcus’s words from last night.
Master of Ceremonies for the Delta party.
My lips are on fire.
They need to be doused.
“You want to kiss me?” I ask.
“Without question,” he answers.
Life is short. Unpredictable.
Tammy’s mother died unexpectedly.
College is a quantum leap from high school.
I’m ready.
“Let me settle my complications,” I tell JaMarcus. “I’ll be back in a couple of weeks.”
JaMarcus, who will one day be a doctor, is ready as well.
“I’ll be here, Kenya,” he says.
It’s the next day, and we’re back at Concourse T.
“It’s been a real pleasure,” Carolina says. “I’m looking forward to seeing you again in a couple weeks. You’re gonna like it here. And you’ll fit in nicely.”
“That’s so nice of you to say.”
“JaMarcus is smitten.” She smiles. “I can’t say I blame him.”
Everybody knows about JaMarcus. I don’t know how I feel about that.
“And you sang beautifully the other night,” she adds. “I can’t thank you enough for that. You really saved us, Kenya.”
“It was nothing,” I say.
Tammy shakes her head in disagreement. “Don’t be modest, homegirl. People are buzzing about us like never before. I hope you’re gonna pledge Delta.”
“A Delta is what an Ah-ka ain’t,” I sing. “What a Zeta wants to be. What a Sigma can’t.”
Tammy engulfs me in the biggest hug. “See you in a couple weeks, homegirl. We’ll be waiting.”
We’ll be waiting.
I have a feeling JaMarcus is included in that number.
Carolina offers up a similarly heartfelt hug.
Funny, but my eyes mist over.
I’ve got two new sistergirlfriends. And one new…something.
“Just ’cause I can’t sing a lick, does that mean I can’t get any love?” asks Lark.
Tammy and Carolina laugh, give her a hug.
“I can hum my ass off if y’all need a fourth,” Lark says.
“One hummer’s fine, two’s a crowd, homegirl,” Tammy says.
Lark and I move off to board, to leave Georgia behind for the time being.
Back to New Jersey.
Georgia was nice. I had some great new experiences. JaMarcus is heavy on my mind. But even more than him, I think of Donnell. Back to New Jersey.
And glad about it.
I have some complications that need settling.
“There I was giggling about the games
That I had played
with many hearts, and I’m not saying no names
Then the thought occurred, tear drops made my eyes burn
As I said to myself look what you’ve done to her”
LL Cool J, “I Need Love”
Chapter 4
Kenya
I open my eyes.
My heartbeat is scattershot. Mouth is dry. The room feels like it’s closing in on me. Another bad dream, the worst of nightmares. They’re becoming a regular occurrence again.
I miss Donnell. He’d helped me through that difficult time. His love chased away everything that was bad in my life. We had a once-upon-a-time kind of love.
Until I rewrote the happily ever after ending.
I sit up on the side of my bed, stretch, focus my eyes, then reach for my cell phone on the nightstand. I check for missed calls, for text messages. No and no.
I dial a familiar number before I start to leak eye water.
She picks up on the third ring.
Her voice is cheery.
I can’t handle cheery at the moment.
“What are you up to, girl?” I ask.
“Watching CSI. Why? What’s up?”
“Nothing much.”
“Everything all right, Ken? You sound funny.”
“Yeah, I’m cool,” I lie after a pause.
I hear the television background noise disappear from Lark’s end. The squeak of her mattress springs. Soft footfalls across her carpeted room. A door closes. Mattress springs squeak again. “I turned off CSI for you, Ken,” Lark says. “You betta come correct. Wassup?”
“Had another dream about Mr. Alonzo.”
“Oh, Ken!”
“Been having them a lot lately.”
“Well…is…was…” She doesn’t know what to say.
I can understand that fully.
I don’t, either.
“Well, let me go. Just needed someone to talk to,” I say.
The fact we haven’t really talked is a small point.
“Ken? Holeup,” Lark says.
“What?”
“Let’s talk. You wanted to talk.”
“Not much to say. I had another dream. Been having them again.”
“Donnell really helped you through all of that.”
I sigh. “Yes, he did.”
“Stupid question. You haven’t spoken to Donnell since we got back?”
“Been a minute since I spoke to him. He sent me that text I showed you before we left. And nothing since.”
“Why don’t you call him?”
“Best to leave that alone. Move on. Let him move on. I made my decision, gotta live with it.” I pause. “Besides, I had a good time at school. We’ll be leaving soon. Donnell is part of my past. A special part of my past, true enough, but still he’s of the past. I don’t want to close any other doors that might open for me.”
Especially a six-foot-four door.
“Wasn’t anybody down there even close to Donnell, Ken. Even JaMarcus with his fine self isn’t Donnell. And you know that. Call your man.”
“He’s not my man anymore, Lark. I’m through with that situation. I’m sure he’s forgotten about me by now.”
“Just ’cause he went out with Melyssa Bryan doesn’t mean he’s forgotten about you. I bet it isn’t even serious. And you should know. JaMarcus was all up on you, and you were feeling him, too. But at the end of the day you still love Donnell. Forget about Melyssa Bryan.”
I feel light-headed all of a sudden.
The room is no longer closing in on me; now it is spinning.
I don’t know which is worse.
“Melyssa Bryan?” I touch my stomach, consider hanging up, rushing to the bathroom. I feel nauseous. Mouth is salty beyond words. I’m about as close as you can come to vomiting. “Lark, I…I need to go. I’ll…I’ll talk with you later.”
“Ken.”
“I need to go.” There are tears in my eyes, and in my voice, too.
“Oh my God!” Lark says. “Did I just put my foot in my mouth, Ken?”
I feel light-headed. Mouth is salty. The room is spinning. I’m gonna vomit.
“Melyssa Bryan…” My voice is barely a whisper.
“You didn’t know. Oh my God! You didn’t know. Did you?”
I lie down on my bed, put my free hand on my forehead. “No. I didn’t.”
Lark groans. “I’ve got foot-mouth disease, Ken. I’m so sorry.”
“I’m cool.” I say cool the way I spell it in text messages: kewl.
In another couple of weeks I’ll be leaving for good. Starting a new life. With new people. New friends. New experiences. There will be plenty of new opportunities. Good dudes. College boys. College men. JaMarcus or somebody else.
That doesn’t make me feel any better, though.
“Donnell is a good dude, Ken,” Lark says. “And he cares about you a lot. That’s not even debatable. He’s not perfect. And neither are you. But you two are almost perfect together.You’re my best friend, Ken. I’ve never seen you as happy as you were with Donnell. Ever. Don’t throw that away. I’m sure Melyssa Bryan doesn’t mean anything to Donnell. But you should call him. Before it is too late.”
Lark means well, but I’d consider her pep talk a soliloquy.
Because I don’t hear her, won’t allow myself to hear her.
“Nope. Donnell made his choice.”
“You kinda forced his hand, Ken.”
That stings. Not what I’d expect from my best friend in this situation. But there’s truth in Lark’s words. And they say the truth hurts. It does. Hurts like a bad tooth. Hurts even worse sometimes.
“Okay, Lark, if you say so. I’ll take the blame for what Donnell has done.” I don’t have the strength to argue. Don’t have the strength to point fingers, assign blame. I’ll just take it all. Own it as my fault.
“Not blaming you, Ken. Don’t do that. Maybe I should have said something different. I’m sorry. But you have a choice. Do something, or do nothing. You gonna sit around feeling sorry for yourself? That’s not like you.”
“I’m fine, Lark. I’m cool.”
Kewl.
“I have an idea,” Lark says.
“Oh, Lord.” I’m skeptical anytime Lark gets that edge in her voice.
Just a couple nights ago that edge had me on stage singing without any real preparation.
“I’m not kicking it with Donovan until later,” she says. “If then.”
“Okay? And?”
“You’re not doing anything but sitting around feeling down, Ken.”
“Thanks for pointing that out to me, Lark. I feel so much better now.”
“I say we get Get Smart wid it.”
“Which means?”
“Reconnaissance.”
“Pretend I’m the President. Speak English to me…slowly.”
“We can check on Donnell. See what he’s up to.”
“Oh, hells no.”
I’d checked up on my last boyfriend. Ricky. Found out he had another girl pregnant. Came away from that situation feeling foolish, violated, used. Sometimes it was better to leave well enough alone. That’s what Mama says. I’m riding with her on that one.
“Come on, Ken. Why not?”
“You’ve been watching too much CSI. I’ll pass.”
“What can it hurt?”
“He could be with Melyssa.” My voice is getting raw. To match my emotions.
“And Michael Jackson could make a comeback. If ifs were fifths, we’d spend our lives drunk. Don’t let ifs dictate your life for you, Ken.”
I love my girl. Love everything about her. But I do get sick of her constant references to the Jackson family. Michael, Janet, Jermaine, blah, blah, blah.
“Lark…no.”
“Come on, Ken. Go put four hundred dollars in the Acura…that should get you close to half a tank. And come get your girl.”
“I don’t want to know, Lark. Bad enough my mind is working overtime. Got all kinds of thoughts.”
“That’s ’bout as healthy as a yeast infection. And you wouldn’t ignore that.”
She’s right.
I wouldn’t.
I sigh.
“Something to be said for peace of mind, Ken,” Lark says.
“You get on my nerves, Lark.”
My give is like quicksand, a fast sink.
“Make sure you wear something dark, Ken. We want to see without being seen. Understand?”
Can’t believe I’m gonna do this.
I try to soften the mood, chase away my fears, joke. “Want me to bring binoculars…duct tape, garbage bags, hammer and nails?”
“Don’t be silly. What do we need with a hammer and nails? But bring the binoculars, duct tape and garbage bags.”
Lark clicks off.
I can’t help but smile.
I love my girl.
Acura TL. 2002. Close to a hundred and thirty thousand miles on it, and more than a few dents. But it’s all mine. And I baby it like…well, like a baby. Unbeknownst to me, Mama had been tucking away a dollar here and five there since I was four years old. Around the time my father caught the fever and decided to cool off in the Bahamas, without us but with two Filipino sisters that used to live across the street from us. Nurses, both of ’em. And yes, I said two. Papa was a player to the nth degree. Anyway, apparently all those tucked-away dollars added up. So when I graduated in June, Mama entrusted that small bankroll to her boyfriend, Hollywood. He found the TL. Good work. The one useful thing he’s done since coming into all of our lives. But I still don’t like him. Grown man named Hollywood. Nuff said.
“This is gonna be so good,” Lark says as she slides into my car. She’s got a nonstop mouth. Has as many miles on her mouth as I have on my car.
“Hello to you, too,” I say.
She waves me off. “We exchanged pleasantries on the phone, Ken. All eight times we spoke today.”
“That many?”
“Yeah, girl. I’ve had to keep my eye on you. Feel like paparazzi trying to get pictures of Brangelina’s twins. I was about to hide out in the bushes outside your house to keep an eye on you 24/7.”
“There aren’t any bushes outside my house.”
“See how difficult this has been for me?”
I wince. “I’ve been that bad?”
“You haven’t dangled any babies over a balcony, or driven with any babies in your lap.” She stops, reroutes. “Why is there always a baby involved when a celebrity loses their natural mind?”
“Why are we always talking about celebrities?”
Lark shrugs. “I’ve been programmed and conditioned by the media. FOX network and People magazine have ruined me, girl. Totally messed up my impressionable mind.”
All I can do is shake my head.
Buffoonery.
I grip the steering wheel, but don’t take off. If Lark had her license I’d let her drive. My hands feel shaky, but look steady. My nerves are shaky, even if my hands aren’t.
“Speak now or forever hold your peace,” Lark says.
I wince again. “I’m a long way from a wedding. Can’t even keep a boyfriend.”
“Dramatic. Vivica Fox better watch her back.”
Celebrities again. Maybe Lark has been ruined.
“Cut that,” I say.
“Sanaa Lathan better sharpen her sword.”
“Lark, focus.”
“Jada Pinkett Smith better hurry up and get back in the game.”
“I’m done talking to you, Lark.”
She touches my shoulder, straightens her posture. “I drank at every vine. The last was like the first. I came upon no wine so wonderful as thirst.”
I frown, look at her. “Okay, I’ll bite, Lark. Who’s that?”
“Edna St. Vincent Millay.”
“Who dat? One of the stars on Dancing with the Stars?”
Am I the only person that doesn’t know half of the so-called “stars” on that show?
“Silly ass,” Lark says. “She’s a poet.”
“A poet? I don’t know how you and my brother never hooked up, Lark.”
Lark frowns. “Er
ic’s like my baby brother. Please.”
“You’re both so damn articulate and well-read.”
“You, too, Ken. Don’t front. Reading Toni Morrison on the sly. And yet all you have listed in the Books section on your MySpace page is Zane and Relentless Aaron. That’s false advertising, Ken.”
“Anyway. So what does it mean? And how does it apply to my current situation?”
“What?”
“What you just said. Edna what’s her face.”
Lark waves me off again. “Ken, nothing. It just sounds pretty. And you’ve been down. Thought that might pick you up.”
“That’s not how it usually works, Lark. You don’t quote poetry unless it has meaning to a situation.”
“You don’t usually break up with a boyfriend that is perfect for you, either.” She shrugs. “Guess some rules are to be broken.”
Touché. And ouch.
“Why do I feel like Laila Ali just punched me?”
Lark smiles. “Everyting gon be irie.”
Jamaican slang. Everything is gonna be all right.
“Donovan,” we say in unison.
And laugh like the girlfriends we are. For a brief moment, everything is all right. Everyting is irie.
No worries.
But that bottom will fall out shortly.
“I don’t know about this.”
“Don’t get cold feet now, Ken.”
“His car’s in the front of the house. He’s home. Let’s just go.” I move to put the Acura’s transmission in Drive.
Lark grabs my hand, turns me facing her. “His car’s running, sweetie.”
“So?”
She taps the side of her head, makes a duh face. “Well, I’m going to use my intuitive powers, which have been sharpened by watching episodes of CSI, to deduce that Donnell is on the verge of leaving his house.”
Just my luck we’d pull up and this is what we’d find. I wanted Donnell to be home, mourning me, not getting ready to go God knows where. I can’t stand this. Another repeat of the disaster with my previous boyfriend. Ricky. You kick aside a rock and you’re gonna find dirt and ants under it. I shouldn’t have let Lark talk me into kicking aside this rock. My heart can’t take it.
“Here he comes, Ken. Get ready.”
Crap!
“He’s dressed casual,” Lark says. “Shorts and a button-up.”
Dirty South Page 6