Homegirl was alone and bent over on the pinball machine. Her face changed as soon as she saw me roll up.
“I thought you was gonna leave me hanging,” was her greeting to me after all of this time.
“Is that what I should’ve done?” I asked her.
“Oh, and you got a smart mouth,” she said.
“Did you show up to watch or do you wanna play?” I asked her.
“Yeah, let’s do the air hockey, I’m good at that,” she said. I put the dollar in. We grabbed our handles and started slamming that plastic puck around like our lives depended on it. She was mean on the table. I imagined she was looking at that puck like it was me. She was banging that shit with a vengeance.
Every time she leaned in, those 34 Ds bubbled out of her Danskin body shirt. I could see the white body powder in her cleavage. She had her leather belt drawn tight around her small waist and wore jeans that couldn’t restrain that ass. I was part playing the game, part checking her out. Her ten-karat gold knocker earrings dangling from her ears. She rocked Reeboks.
As I looked around the place, every teenage female had on the same thing, tight jeans, tees, and kicks, nice-looking bodies, okay faces, but not a lot of originality, style, or variety. I thought to myself, I could pick any one of these girls. It seemed like no matter what, I’d end up with the same damn thing.
After a while, I let her win the game but didn’t tell her that.
“I told you I was good,” she said, grinning.
“Let’s play Pac-Man,” she suggested. I followed her over, not really interested in the little girly game. I dropped in two quarters and she pushed “two players.” She got ate up real quick because she couldn’t be calm and steady. Pac-Man is a simple game of nerves.
All six of us ended up lined up side by side, driving the race cars against one another. I don’t know about the girls but me, Ameer, and Chris was definitely competing to run each other off the road and race to the finish line. Chris had his hands gripped tight on the steering wheel, his face all screwed up like this shit was for real. He was in a zone like he gets in a good basketball game. Ameer was serious at first, then lost focus laughing at Redbone, whose car was crashing into everything including the walls and even driving backwards from the finish line. Homegirl was looking over at me when Chris won the race.
“Let’s go somewhere and get something to eat,” Redbone said. Chris jumped in immediately and said, “Pizza.” Me and Ameer both laughed, knowing this cat was constantly concerned about the budget.
At the pizza store, Chris slid his girl some money and a motherfucking buy-one-get-one-free coupon! He told her, “Get two pies and drinks.” We laughed again. The girls went up to get the food. We hung back and took the chance to talk.
“What’s the plan?” I asked.
“We’ll take them to the 7:45 P.M. show at the Roy-Al. The seats lean back,” Ameer said, smiling.
“I brought a bag of candy in case they ask for anything,” Chris said, cracking up.
“Damn, you can’t break down and buy her a bucket of popcorn?” I asked him.
“Not when I can get twenty pieces of candy for a dollar and popcorn at the movies cost five dollars,” he said.
“You too cheap, man,” Ameer barked.
“The more I save, the more we save. You’ll be thanking me later when we taking turns driving our new Testarossa.”
“Word up,” I agreed.
Homegirl and Redbone came back with two pies. Chris’ girl carried the drinks in a cardboard tray.
I sat there staring at the two pork pepperoni pizzas before I just stood up and walked away from the table. I’m thinking that Redbone and Ameer been together now for a minute. She been chilling at his house and him at hers. He been bringing her around to all our spots. Didn’t she know he considered himself a Muslim and that we don’t eat no God damned pork? I wasn’t hungry anyway. Still I didn’t want to sit over the pig on the pie.
I realized these chicks didn’t really know us. Even if we explained ourselves to them, they either wouldn’t understand or wouldn’t care, or better yet would think we was on some bullshit.
I heard Homegirl ask her girlfriends, “What the fuck’s wrong with him now?” Chris jumped up and grabbed the two round trays with the pies untouched and took them back to the counter.
Next thing I know an argument broke out between Chris and the guy up front. The angry Italian was refusing to take back the pies. “Once the pie leaves the counter it’s yours,” he barked.
Me and Ameer stepped up. As soon as he saw us coming he picked up his telephone receiver and threatened to call the police. The girls ran up, talking about “What’s wrong y’all? There ain’t nothing wrong with this pizza.” Each of the three of them grabbed a slice for themselves and started chomping. The angry Italian hung up the phone. Now the girls were sitting with the pork pies back at the table. We fellas were still standing, our jaws tight, estimating what could be done about the rude Italian.
I knew the girls thought they was helping us stay out of a fight or from getting arrested. But I was burning anyway.
“Forget it. They didn’t know,” Ameer said, defending the girls.
“I can order one without the meat. Nobody told them to put pepperonis on it anyway,” Chris said.
“Nah, I’m good,” I told them. “I’m not hungry.” We went back to join them at the table. I sat sideways in the chair just cooling out my temper. Homegirl was staring at me outright. Redbone was getting her secret glances on. Then they would signal each other. None of it mattered to me.
At the movies I hung back and got some popcorn and a Coke. When I walked inside, I seen everybody was paired off and seated in separate rows and sections. I handed the popcorn and the drink to Homegirl.
“Thanks,” she said.
In the dark theatre Chris and his girl, and Ameer and his girl, got it on. For them, it didn’t matter what the fuck was on the screen.
After just ten minutes Homegirl got real aggravated. For some reason she started squirming in her chair and looking around. She wasn’t interested in the film, I guessed. She started exhaling real hard, then folded her hands across her body. I looked at her. She was rolling her eyes.
I don’t know what she was thinking, but I was thinking, to me she was average. Her personality didn’t shine through. She had a nasty attitude and her conversation had my mind wandering off all over the place.
Redbone’s face was buried in Ameer’s lap. As he leaned back in the flexible theatre seats, her head was bobbing up and down. I thought to myself, no wonder this brother was pushing so hard for me to get with Homegirl. If I wasn’t here to keep her out of Redbone’s face, he would’ve lost out.
“Can I say something to you?” Homegirl asked.
“Talk,” I told her.
“What the fuck did I ever do to you?” she asked.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I answered calmly. But I could tell without even turning my head towards her that she was getting real wild up.
“Since you first met me you been acting like you too good for me. What’s up with that?”
“You don’t really want to know,” I told her, still calm.
“If I didn’t want to know I wouldn’t even ask,” she shot back with attitude.
“When I first met you, you was with some other dudes,” I told her.
“So,” she said. “I didn’t know you yet.”
“You didn’t know them either,” I answered her. She sat quiet for a minute.
“Then, after you was with them, you switched up and rolled with us,” I reminded her.
“So? Your man liked my girl!” she explained.
“Right,” was all I answered.
“Right what?” she asked with fury.
“He picked her. Chris picked your other girl. But I didn’t pick you,” I said calmly. She didn’t have no quick response.
“I told you that you didn’t really want to know,” I said.
After a few seconds, she asked, “If I wouldn’tve been with them other niggas first, and you just met up with us like a coincidence, would you have picked me?”
“Nah,” I told her.
“Why?!” she screamed.
A couple of people in the theatre turned around saying “sshh” loudly.
“Relax,” I told her. Then I didn’t say nothing else.
“Why the fuck not?” she asked, getting loud all over again.
“I’m not saying nothing else. You getting too crazy,” I told her.
She stood up and in one unexpected motion dumped the Coke and emptied the popcorn box on me. As I sat there drenched in soda syrup and popcorn butter, I saw myself standing up and choking the shit out of her.
I didn’t have to be able to see my Ralph Lauren suede shirt to know that it was ruined. Now I would have to throw away a garment that cost me two weeks’ pay. The Coke was all over the already dirty movie theatre floor, mixing with the dirt and grease, and making a paste on the bottom and sides and in the ridges of my Lo boots.
But, my father told me, “Never beat a woman; if she gets crazy, just restrain her.” I thought about his words and I thought about getting out of there before this chick got so loud that next thing I would be up against the wall getting patted down by the popo.
Ameer and Chris was on their way over towards us. I got up calmly and told them. “Don’t even worry about it. I knew I didn’t want to fuck with this crazy broad. I’ll check y’all tomorrow.” I moved to roll out and Homegirl stuck both her feet forward to block my path. I stepped over her and left.
Back on the Deuce, wearing a wet and stained shirt in the night chill of spring, I walked right into a nearby narrow Army & Navy store. I picked out a new crispy green army shirt and pants and popped the tags and put them on. At the register I paid cash and regretfully dropped the Ralph Lauren and my wife beater into the steel wastebasket.
Outside I cleaned my boots off with a bunch of napkins and bottled water I copped from a frank stand.
28
CONFLICT
A lot of cats were milling on my Brooklyn block that night. Springtime brings everybody out who was either hibernating or hiding for the winter.
I was walking through on a humble, home much earlier than I planned to be, maneuvering to stay out of any one guy’s path or clique. Still I was watching, catching everything going on to my left and my right, as well as directly in front of me.
Of course I seen Kelvin, aka Conflict, hosting an outside conference in the corner in the dark. I had noticed his black Camry first, with the white leather interior and the big Mercedes-Benz sticker he had plastered across his back window. DeQuan was standing with him in a tight circle of four, his brand new Kawasaki bike parked close by with one of his brothers standing on post to make sure nobody fucked with it.
Conflict broke his quiet conversation off and called me over. Instinctively, I ran my hand over my Caesar cut, paused for a minute then walked over slowly. They all slanted inwards, converting their circle into a semicircle with everybody facing me. Conflict was doing all the talking.
“I see you wearing fatigues tonight,” he said. I didn’t respond ’cause it wasn’t a question and what the fuck did he want anyway? His ten-karat so-called gold, hanging from his neck, was a poorly crafted pendant of a gun.
“Are you a soldier?” he asked me.
“What’s up? What’d you call me over for?” I asked him solemnly. He broke a half smile. The other three of them, including Ronald and Rolland Smash, were straight-faced.
“Nah, you ain’t no soldier ’cause soldiers know how to get in line,” he said. DeQuan cut in. “Nah man. He’s good. Lil’ man is good,” he said firmly.
“You still calling him ‘Lil’ man’ and now he’s bigger than you,” Conflict reprimanded. The other two laughed. I remained solid.
“This man is about to spread his wings and take flight,” Conflict said to the three of them.
“If you don’t want nothing, I’m gonna push on,” I told Conflict.
“You checking him out?” he asked the other three.
I folded my arms in front of me and looked Conflict in the eye. My green army shirt rose up a little so the metal on my piece could flash a warning into his eye. I knew he was holding. I knew DeQuan was holding. I could see Rolland was holding too. They were all nine or ten years older than me but my nine milli made us even.
“I see how you walk through here styling every day. What I don’t see is how and where you earning,” Conflict said, sporting his two-piece corduroy Lee suit and brown suede Wallabees.
“So?” I answered.
“This is my hood. I hold it down. You should already know that. Anybody earning out here gotta run it through me. Ya know what I mean?” he threatened.
“I got a job. I ain’t hustling,” I said dryly. There was a pause and a standoff.
“What about a woman?” he asked out of left field. “Every time I see you, you for self. You got some sugar in your tank?” he asked, still serious faced.
“What?” I asked, not knowing what he was asking me. Ronald and Rolland busted out laughing. DeQuan and me remained silent and straight-faced.
“Go ahead, man,” Conflict said to me. “And stay in your lane.”
I pushed off knowing one thing—this dude, who acted like he already had the best of everything, was hiding some kind of jealousy towards me. He was like a nervous, deadly, and dangerous rattlesnake. I knew he had plenty of bodies under his belt. In fact, he was one of the main cats raising the corpse count in our building.
In the jungle, a rattler, python, mamba, and boa are all poisonous creatures. A tap from the tooth, a too-tight squeeze and death comes quickly. But as my grandfather would say long ago, “There is a mongoose for every snake, a hyena for every lion. Never underestimate anyone.”
Upstairs Naja heated up the dinner that Umma had prepared and put to the side for me. She served it out nicely and sat beside me while I ate. Umma was in the living room placing finishing touches on a few items.
“So how are you feeling?” my little sister asked, smiling.
“I’m good. What about you?” I asked, turning it back around.
“Oh, your life is so much more exciting than mine,” she said knowingly. I smiled.
“Is that right? Tell me all about it,” I asked her since she looked like she knew something I was supposed to know but didn’t.
“Somebody came looking for you today,” she said.
“Who?” I asked, surprised. “Somebody came up to our door?” I asked again.
“No, she came down to Ms. Marcy’s place,” Naja admitted.
“Ms. Marcy let someone in her place?” I asked, concerned for real.
“Ms. Marcy was asleep when the girl knocked on the door,” Naja said. “I opened the door for her and she came inside,” Naja said.
“That couldn’tve been what happened because you know better than to open anybody’s door. You know not to speak to strangers or let them in the house. I know you know. I taught you that,” I said, growing tight.
“She’s not a stranger. She spoke to me three or four times before. On the way to the bus stop sometimes, but usually after school,” Naja said.
“And where is Ms. Marcy when all of this is going on?” I asked her.
“She says hello to Ms. Marcy too. Every time she asks about you. She likes you a lot,” Naja added.
“Give me her name and stop playing around,” I said firmly.
“She has a strange name, Heavenly Paradise. Isn’t that the same thing?” Naja asked. “Aren’t Heaven and Paradise the same place?” she asked again. “I know in the Quran, Heaven and Paradise are the same place.”
“What did she ask you?”
“Once she asked if you have any girlfriends. I told her no. Then she asked what school you go to. I told her I didn’t know the name of your school. That’s not a lie, is it?”
“Anything else?” I pressed.
“S
he asked how old are you. She asked how come you’re never home. She asked if me and her could be friends. Today she asked if I could give you something for her,” Naja said.
“Is that it?” I asked, wanting to collect all of the information while Naja still remembered it clearly.
“One minute, I’ll go and get the letter.” Naja dashed to her room. She returned. “Here, Heavenly said to give this to you. She said to make sure no one else sees it.” She handed me the envelope. I opened it and read:
I’m ready to make you my God. Stop frontin’ and come see me, apartment 8F. Peace. It was signed, “Heaven On Earth.” Even without her signature I would’ve known it was her by the words she chose.
The Five-Percenter females covered themselves with what they called “three-quarters of cloth.” But what difference did it make if she was covered and still living foul?
“What does the letter say?” Naja asked.
“Don’t worry about it,” I answered. “Just sit down right here so I can tell you the rules again. You have to listen carefully to what I say. It’s for the security of our family. Do you understand?” I asked Naja seriously.
“That’s not all,” Naja said strangely.
“What?” I asked.
“Heavenly gave me a gold chain. She put it on my neck so I wouldn’t lose it. She made me promise to give it to you and no one else,” she said sweetly.
“Where is it?” I asked, worried about how the story kept spreading out more and more.
“Umma has it,” Naja answered. She might as well have hit me on the head with a brick.
“Heavenly said to give her chain to you and if you wear it, then you’re her God and she’s your Earth and she’s my sister. She said, ‘If you don’t want my chain, you should bring it back to my apartment and only give it back to me in my hand.’
“She asked me to tell her what you said the next time me and her talk together!” Naja sat there really seeming like she thought Heavenly was her friend. I wanted to tell her that no seventeen-year-old girl’s gonna hang out with a seven-year-old child who she’s not related to.
“I wasn’t gonna mention anything about the necklace to Umma, because Heavenly said not to, but when I took off my hijab, I wasn’t really thinking about the chain. Umma saw the necklace right away. Then I had to tell Umma the whole story,” Naja said, looking worried that she had gotten me into some trouble.