by Ni-Ni Simone
He paused as if he expected me to respond, but I couldn’t.
"So if I hurt you—which I’m sure I did—then I’m sorry. But you have to understand that I was hurting too. And if you decide that you never wanna be my girl again just know that I truly loved you and I’m sorry.”
“You really hurt me,” I said, leaning nervously from one foot to the next. “I can’t take anything and I just feel like something isn’t right between you and that girl—”
“It’s nothing going on. I told her to stop talking to me.”
“But Josiah, I feel like if it is something then you just need to come clean now. Like, just let me bounce while I can keep it together and keep it movin'. I just can’t—” I paused. “I don’t want to be hurt.”
“I would never hurt you. I love you. Now what I need to know is if you love me too.”
A million thoughts and a million reasons why I needed to turn away and leave him standing here floated through my mind.
For one, I loved him too much; and when I saw my mother fall apart after she and my dad divorced I promised myself I would never love anyone that hard….
But I failed.
And here I was in the middle of the night, with Josiah, understanding for a brief moment my mother’s tears. This kinda love was too deep to be shaky and too shaky to be deep.
I didn’t like being so connected to Josiah. Connected like … if I let him go, then I became anxious that another girl would quickly take my place. Or like … if I let him go then I’d be scared of what happened next, especially since I had no dreams without him at least being in the background. But was that connected or was that settling?
My mind told me that we needed space. As a matter of fact it screamed it, but my heart wanted him close. I couldn’t let him go, but I couldn’t let him play me either. “You can’t talk to that chick anymore,” I said, giving in.
“Already done,” he said.
“You can’t ever question me based on some mess somebody else brought to you about me.”
“Never.”
“And you have to always be honest with me.”
“I would never lie to you, Seven. So wassup?” He gave me a cute one-sided grin. “You gon’ leave me broken hearted or you gon’ be my girl again? What, you want me on one knee?” He laughed, and grabbed me by my waist. “What, you want me to sing?”
“Oh no.” I chuckled. “Puhlease, don’t sing!”
“So what are you saying?” He tickled me a little and I ended up squirming and folding into a ball of laughter pressed against his chest. “I’m sorry.” He kissed me on my forehead.
I thought about my actions for a brief moment and truthfully I was a lil extra when I was in Zaire’s face … and yeah, maybe I should’ve told him about the book situation. “I’m sorry too. I guess I should’ve told you.”
“It’s cool, but what you do need to tell me is that you love me.” He pressed his lips against mine.
“I love you.”
“You better,” he said as we started to kiss passionately and the full moon eased its shadow onto our backs.
17
I can’t tell you what it really is …
I can only tell you what it feels like …
—EMINEM, “LOVE THE WAY YOU LIE”
I’d sat in the library for over an hour and nervously tapped my pencil against my lips. My MAC lip glass stuck to the eraser every time the pencil hit it, but it was the only thing I could do that distracted me from wondering why Josiah was just coming through the door.
I hated that my heart and mind both aligned with the worst every time I thought about, how lately Josiah was never on time and was always unapologetic whenever he arrived.
I was slippin’ and I knew it; and I was being tripped and tipped off of my game and I knew that too. But I was the culprit. Because I knew better, but I couldn’t stop the train that my heart told me was bleeding its way through.
So I went along with the program, casted myself as the happy and nag-free girlfriend, and hoped that our life stumbled upon a script that let me play satisfied all the time.
Josiah walked over to the table and sat down in the seat next to me, “Hey, baby.” He leaned over and pecked me on the lips.
“Hey,” I said, a little drier than I should’ve. “What took you so long?” I asked him.
“Practice,” he said a little too quickly. “My fault.” He looked at his watch. “So wassup, did you find anything on Priscilla—Patricia—?”
“Phyllis Wheatley,” I corrected him and chuckled. “How are you going to write a term paper on someone whose name you can’t even remember?”
Josiah shook his head and laughed at himself. “I’m trippin'. In a minute I was ‘bout to call her Margaret.”
“It’s official.” I cracked up. “Something’s off with you.”
“Maybe instead of writing a term paper I’ll just write a rhyme and spit.” He started banging out a beat on the table with his hands. “Number one on the scene tryin’ to live a dream, but my professor’s tripp’in', ‘cause he’s say’ing I need to be rippin’ on a poetic chicken, but I ain’t trippin', ‘cause I’ma ‘bout to be rippin’ the court. The NBA court. Now”—he looked at me—“hit me with an old-school human beat box.”
Don’t ask me why I fell into the trap of being silly, but I did. I cupped my hands around my lips and took it so far back with my beat boxin’ that er’body in here probably thought that Slick Rick and Doug E. Fresh had made a come back.
“Wicka-wicka word!” Josiah tossed his arms across his chest in true 1985 fashion and we both fell out laughing. I laughed so hard I cried.
Now I knew why I held on to loving him: he lit up the room. “Courtney rhymes better than that,” I teased him.
“Courtney?” he said in humorous surprise. “Oh, you went to the bottom of the sea with that one.”
"Excuse me!” The librarian stormed over and said in a forceful and stern whisper, “You must quiet down or you will have to leave.” She pointed to the door. “This is a library. Not a night club!”
“I’m sorry,” I said as I struggled to stop myself from laughing.
“My fault,” Josiah said. “It’s cool. No problem.”
The librarian walked away, and Josiah whispered, “I got it, we ditch the research and ask the librarian’s old behind about Phyllis Wheatley. I’m sure they knew each other.”
I snickered and as the librarian whipped back around toward us we quickly acted as if we were reading. She walked slowly back to her desk and shot us the evil eye every few seconds. “You better not get me thrown out of the library,” I whispered to Josiah.
“Come on.” Josiah smiled. “Let’s get thrown out.”
“Are you crazy?” I chuckled. “Heck no.”
“You play it too safe, Seven. You need to change it up a little bit.”
“Change it up to what?”
“I don’t know.” He looked me over in my tight jeans and pink fitted tee that had a rhinestone tiara on it and script that read, ANTI-DRAMA QUEEN, and he said, “Like wear another color besides pink all the time. Try blue.” He laughed. “Don’t be so resistant to change; everybody needs to try something new.”
I didn’t think that was funny. “Seriously,” I said, holding back the urge to ask what exactly did that whole spiel mean? “The only newness you need to try is studying and writing this paper. Unless you want to try a new position off the court called benched—especially if you mess up in your classes.”
He paused. “Funny, Seven.”
I knew that pissed him off—but whatever, I didn’t like the slickness of his last comment.
When I saw how quiet Josiah became I thought … maybe … I was being a little extra and too sensitive.
But so what? Where was he that he showed up here an hour late?
He said practice.
I don’t buy that.
Why am I doing this?
‘Cause you’re crazy.
“Josiah.” I p
ointed to a stack of books on the table that I’d gathered when I first arrived. “I pulled out several books for you. After we see which one is the best source of information, I think we should check a few things out online, and then head to the caf for dinner, ‘cause I’m starving.”
Josiah looked at his watch. “Let’s sort through the books first and then we’ll see,” he said as his cell phone started to ring, “what time looks like.”
He’s conscious of time now … okay.
Josiah quickly looked at the number on his phone, sent the call to voice mail, and slid the phone back in his pocket. He picked up the first book on the pile and thumbed through it.
I wanted to ask him who was calling him, but I was scared that question would lead to an argument … which is why I guess it caught me off guard when he volunteered the information. “That was Big Country. We’re supposed to hook up. He’s probably wondering where I am, because I was supposed to be there already. But I wanted to come and kick it with you.” He kissed me on the lips. “A’ight, now let’s get back to the books.”
"Kick it with me?” I said, taken aback. “This is not about me; this is about you needing to do your term paper for your American Literature class or risk riding the bench.”
“Would you stop saying that?” he snapped. “I got this.”
“Okay,” I said nonchalantly.
“So which book do you think I should use?” he asked.
“Well …” I said, shifting the pile of books and pulling out one from the bottom. “This one seemed to be pretty good. It gives a wonderful breakdown of Wheatley’s poetry.”
“Really?” he said as his phone rang and he acted as if he didn’t hear it.
“Are you going to answer that?” I just had to ask him.
“Nah. Country can wait a minute.”
“Why don’t you just call him and tell him that you have to finish gathering information for this paper?”
“Seven,” Josiah said as if he needed me to calm down, “it’s cool, I got this. Now finish what you were saying.”
I fought off the urge to sigh and instead said, “This book gives a good breakdown of Wheatley’s poetry and explains that most of her work speaks of being saved from Africa and being grateful to be enslaved in America.”
Josiah looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. “Really?”
“Yeah,” I said, excited, “look at this.” I turned to one of Wheatley’s poems and said, “What do you think she meant by ‘Twas mercy that brought me from a pagan land?’ She was speaking of the slave catchers saving Africans from Africa and bringing us to America.”
Josiah frowned. “I don’t want to support that type of thinking in my paper. Nah, we need to find someone else.”
“No, we don’t.” I paused. “No, you don’t, I mean. You’ll write about the interpretation of Wheatley’s poetry and then you’ll explain in the body of your paper that although Wheatley had a philosophy that we know was never true, she was representing the thought process of her time. And you’ll also write about how she defied and challenged the systematic brainwashing of the ruling society, by even being able to read and write, and having the talent to formulate such poetry that has stood the test of time and will always stand the test of time.”
“Damn.” Josiah blinked. “You got a thing for this kinda stuff, huh?”
“I love poetry. I write poetry.”
“Really?”
“Yes!” I smiled and my heart skipped beats at his interest. “My favorite poet is Gwendolyn Brooks.”
“Yeah, that’s wassup. She used to be with some old brothahs or something.” He snapped his fingers and when a lightbulb seemed to go off he stopped. “The pips. Gwendolyn Brooks and the Pips.”
“That was Gladys Knight; and they were a music group, not poets.”
Josiah laughed. “I’m just messing with you, Seven. I knew that.”
No, you didn’t. Which is why I didn’t crack a smile. I simply said, “Okay.” And returned my attention back to the books on the table.
“So, wait.” Josiah placed his hand over mine, as I went to turn a page. “What kind of poetry do you write?”
“What?” I blinked in disbelief. Was he really interested or was he playing with me? “I write about different things. Mostly about love.”
Josiah’s face lit up. “So you over there curled up in your dorm room, writing poems about me?” He smiled.
I paused. What did he just say?
“So hit me with it.” He carried on.
“Hit you with what?”
“One of the poems you wrote for me. I’m listening.” He folded his arms across his chest.
For a split second I thought about losing it and cussing him out for having turned into an arrogant creep, but something inside of me quickly said, Chill. So instead of flipping the script, I looked in his eyes and said, “Well, recently I wrote a poem … and umm … right now it’s titled ‘Incomplete,’ because I haven’t finished it yet, but this is what I have so far:
We once shared a pulse
the same air … easy … free
And then you started
to see me … as one with you
but not you with me …
And I tried to fight
for a defining space in your life
But it was the universe’s plight
for yesterday to be our sweetest
and today be our weakness …”
Josiah stared at me for a moment and I wondered if he understood what I’d just said to him. “That was deep, Seven,” he said. “You need to put a beat to that, send it to Nicki Minaj or Trina and they would probably rip it.”
“Excuse you?” I blinked in disbelief and frowned.
“Oh, God, here you go,” he said, exhausted. “I was simply saying your poem was hot. And you’re about to throttle me. Now look, if you wanna play with some words, handle that, I’ll support you all the way. But what’s gon’ put us on the map is me. And I got us covered. All I need for you to do is stay fly and by my side.”
I put on a fake and extremely exaggerated southern accent. “Yas, sah, boss. Do you needs me to throw meh shoes way too? ‘Cause I’ma sho’ you want me barefoot and belly big.” I rolled my eyes so hard I’m surprised they didn’t fall on the floor. “You have lost your mind.”
“So what, you don’t believe in me?”
“I believe in you. But I believe in myself too … and ummm FYI … I’m not getting a degree in bare feet and babies.”
“I never said that.” He shook his head.
“Let’s just get back to your paper.”
“Yeah, let’s.”
We each picked up a book and after a few minutes of scanning through them, Josiah said, “I need a favor.”
I wanted to say, You need to ask whoever you been hanging with, but I didn’t. “What’s that?” was the alternate.
“I need you to help me out—well, in the long run it’ll be helping us out—and hook this paper up for me.”
“Hook it up?”
“Write it.”
“Your brain must be sucking on lollipops, ‘cause that idea was utterly crazy.”
“Seven, you already know that being on the team I have to keep my GPA up.”
“Then you need to study or get another dream.”
“Listen, Seven, you’re good at this type of stuff—” He pointed to the books. “Me, not so much. Especially since, when I read poetry all I see are a bunch of words on a page that make my head hurt. Now math, I’m straight, even science, but that English literature nonsense, nah, not for me.”
“Well, it needs to be.”
“So what are you saying, you can’t help me out?”
“I’m helping you, right now. I could be partying, but I’m in the library. I’m hungry, I could be eating, but I’m in the library. I could be working on my own paper, but I’m in the library with you. It’s a thousand other things I could be doing. But since you’re my boyfriend I’m here to help you.”
“There’s a simple answer to all of that, Josiah.”
“What’s that?”
“Do your work.”
“So after we’ve been together for three years, you can’t help me out this one time? That’s what you’re saying?”
“I don’t believe you’re asking me something like that.”
“Seven, listen, I got a million things to do.”
“Me too!”
“But you’re not an athlete. You don’t have the pressure that I have. And for real all these coaches care about is being at practice and working the court.”
“Then ask your coach to write your paper. Your emergency is not my problem. I’m not writing your paper for you. I’ll help you, but writing it? No way.”
“Okay, so forget me, right? All of a sudden you can’t be there for me?”
“You are really going to the left.”
“I need you.”
“And I need you!” I said a little louder than I should’ve. “I need you to be my boyfriend. The old one. The one I had in high school who loved me! Not this new NBA, riding-his-own-jimmy one!”
“Is that what you think of me?”
“I don’t know what to think of you,” I said as his phone started to ring again. “Oh my God!” I spat out of frustration.
“Look,” he answered the phone, “I said I’ll hit you later. I’m doing something.” And he hung up. Then he turned back to me. “You know I love you, Seven. And what I’m trying to do, I’m trying to do it for us—”
“Us? I don’t even know us anymore.”
“Really?” He paused and became extremely silent and so did I….
A few moments later he said, “Maybe I need to join Country earlier than I planned.”
“Maybe you should.” I really wanted him to feel the sting of my words, but I didn’t want him to leave. Why didn’t I just control my mouth?
My mind told me I was being extra. My heart told me to ride it out. But what was I riding out? This was not the script I’d mentally rehearsed when I stood in the mirror and put my cute and happy face on. The plan was to act like the beautiful, wonderful, and understanding girlfriend. Not the nag, the witch, the ungrateful chick who had a man and couldn’t appreciate him.