Chapter Eighteen
I was frozen in place. Shock held me still as embarrassment beat on me. He paced around for a couple of minutes before snapping his attention back to me.
"All you did was fuckin' prove me right. You happy?" He snapped.
I gulped. I could think of a hundred snarky responses, but I doubt I'd be able to get any of them out. The words would probably claw their way back inside of my mouth when they felt the anger radiating off of him.
"Ain't shit to say? Grab a damn gun, and I swear if you try anything stupid..." He let the sentence linger in the air.
Maybe he wanted me to come to my own conclusions. Maybe what he would do just simply couldn't be put into words. His tone painted a better picture than my imagination ever could.
I nodded. I took two slow steps back to the table and picked up a different gun. He never took his eyes off of me.
"That's a pistol. Guns are like phones. There are different brands, different versions. That right there is a Glock, 9mm to be exact. Most people love it. Why? It's cheap, lightweight, easy to conceal and carry, and whatever else. Not every damn handgun is a Glock, only dumb niggas think so. Dumb niggas man, be knowledgeable 'bout the weapon you using. Anyways, not every handgun is a Glock, but most niggas refer to them as Glocks." He clapped his hands together and looked up at the sky.
He was either asking God to strike him down because he didn't want to continue with the lesson, or he was thinking of more things to say. I'd put my money on the first one.
While he thought, I tried to commit what he just said to memory. Ok, the small looking gun was a Glock. A 9mm. Not all handguns are Glocks. Got it.
He walked over to me and my eyes widened when I saw him reaching. He grabbed the gun from me and pointed it to the ground. I closed my eyes and sighed in relief.
"Bullets don't got names, that's why you gotta be safe with guns. Every gun don't come with a safety. Point that shit at the ground if you got it out." I wasn't sure what he was doing. I saw watched him fiddle with the gun and then take the bottom part out. "This is the magazine. The mag is where you put the bullets."
He put the mag on the table. I took that as a signal to pick it up, so I did. I held the gun firmly in my small hands. I always imagined that the first time I held one, the first thing I'd notice would be the cold steel, but my hands were already numb from the weather. It was kind of long and rectangular shaped. There were numbers on the back side and a slot on the top. He handed me the gun.
"Put the mag back in," he instructed. "Hell naw." He sucked his teeth when I tried to push it in. "The side with the numbers goes to the back."
I pulled it out, turned it around, and pushed it back in. I looked up at him and waited for more instructions. Another cold wind whipped at my face and wrapped around me. My body shook with a shiver and my teeth chattered.
"The fuck you shiverin' for?" Trey asked like shivering was the last thing I should've been doing.
"It's cold," I pointed out. It was fifty-five degrees out. For some reason I've always loved the cold, but that didn't mean my body didn't react to it.
"Yo' dumbass like the cold, remember? Plus, it's swimming weather." I wouldn't have taken him seriously if he wasn't actually wearing a tank top, basketball shorts, and some slides. He didn't even have socks on with the slides. I could see the ash on his ankles and in between his toes, but I decided to keep it to myself and roll my eyes instead.
"Yeah? We ain't all from up north."
He didn't respond to that. Instead, he instructed me to take the mag back out. I tried to pull it out by the bottom, but my efforts were in vain. I sighed in frustration and tried to pull it out again. It didn't budge.
"Press the mag release button." I
I rolled my eyes. He could've said that from the get go. I looked for the button and, when I found it, pressed it. The mag slid out with ease into my waiting hand. A big grin spread across my face.
"Where are the bullets?" I asked mindlessly as I examined the mag.
"You out yo' damn mind if you think I'm gon' put bullets in that gun for you," He answered incredulously. "Grab the next gun," he said. "Grab the next gun."
We went on for another hour or so. He had brought four guns: a 9mm, shotgun, sawed off shotgun, and a colt .45. He explained each. Why he chose them; where the safety's, if they had them, and mag releases were; how many rounds each standard magazine had, and so much more. I wasn't sure if I could retain every word that came out of his mouth, but I'd be damned if I didn't try.
"I expect you to remember everything. I ain't gon' repeat none of this next week, you got it?" He explained. I nodded quickly. I pursed my lips and tried to keep from smiling. I was excited that there would be a next time.
He took a black Jansport bag that was on the floor and unzipped it. He pulled out a blue blanket, placed the guns inside of it, and rolled them up. He placed it into the backpack and slung it over his shoulder after zipping it shut.
He eyed me silently for a minute before speaking. "What the heck you waitin' for? I'm leavin', you can't stay here."
I scrunched my eyebrows. "The hell you mean? It's abandoned. I can stay here if I want," I declared with a hand on my hip.
He rolled his eyes and shrugged. "Whatever."
He headed for the front of the house. My mouth gaped open and then shut. I didn't want to stay there, I just didn't want him to keep telling me what I could and couldn't do. I patted my pocket to make sure my phone was still there, then headed in the same direction he had.
I took long strides so that I could catch up to him, but slowed down as I neared him because I didn't want him to realize. A couple of seconds as I fell into step, though, he started lagging behind. The wind was whipping in all directions which was causing my eyes to water and my vision to blur. I pulled the zipper of my jacket as far up as it could go and stuffed my hands into my pockets. There was a guy staggering in my direction. He was disheveled. He had on Air Forces that looked like they were white once upon a time. I could see the scuff marks from where I was standing. His jeans were a regular denim blue, but with dirt stains here and there, and frayed cuffs. His shirt was a size too big and the collar was stretched out. There were holes on the sleeves and around the hem.
Without thinking, I moved to the left. He smiled as he got closer and I realized almost all of his teeth were stained brown. My eyes widened when he shifted to the left also. He wanted to cross paths. "Hey pretty lady," he smiled and scratched his neck, "you got any onions? I'm good for it."
I furrowed my brows. Onions? Why the hell would I be carrying around onions. I was too stunned to speak.
"Naw she ain't got no damn onions. Get out the way." Trey said in a warning tone.
"Ah ha," he chuckled, "how 'bout you young blood?" He shifted his attention to Trey.
"I ain't no damn blood." Trey reached out and pushed him, then continued walking.
My eyes bulged. I watched the man lose his balance and fall down on his knees. He put his hands out to break his fall, but I wasn't sure what good that did. I didn't question it. I continued walking, but kept looking back every now and then. What the hell was that?
Trey slowed down again and let me walk in the front as he lagged behind. My mind was still on what happened. I was disappointed with how I handled the situation. My mind was suddenly filled with all kinds of comebacks. Where the hell were they when that guy was in front of me?
I turned to Trey when we finally reached my house, but he wasn't there. I didn't even notice when he had left. I entered the house and headed straight upstairs. I was so disappointed with how I handled the situation that I went in front of my full length mirror and reenacted the situation.
"What? I ain't got no damn onions!" I barked. "Naw, I ain't got no onions." I curled up my upper lip and balled my fists. Watching myself in my mirror, I realized how stupid I looked. I shook my body and tried one more time. "Onions," I began in a calm tone, "do I look like I got damn-"
"Onions?" I heard a voice finish.
I looked up and saw Jordan peeking his head into my room. "Pshhh, no. I was gonna say..." I trailed off trying to think of a lie.
"What? You was gon' say bunions?" He guessed. He walked into the room and leaned against the frame of my door.
"Damn Jordan, at least give me a chance to lie," I groaned.
"At least think of a better lie." He smirked. "What the hell you talkin' about onions for?" He questioned. His eyes held a mix of curiosity and confusion.
There was no point in lying to Jordan. He'd known everything that was going on with me, besides the guns because I didn't know exactly where he'd draw the line.
I sighed. "I was walking home today and some homeless guy came up to me asking if I had any onions. Like, what the hell would I be carrying around onions?"
The corners of his eyes crinkled as he chuckled. "You know onions means cocaine right?"
My jaw dropped. What the hell? Did I look like someone that would be carrying around cocaine? "Why the hell he asked me? Trey was there too, but he came to me first. Do I look like I'd be carrying that around?"
He shrugged. "You can't tell a dope dealer. The movies just perpetuate stereotypes. Now, I ain't saying don't nobody fit those stereotypes, but a dope boy comes in all forms." He walked over to my bed and sat down. "I shonuff didn't dress like a typical dope boy."
"How'd you dress?" I asked.
"Man, I wore sweater vests and church shoes," he replied with a smile.
"You lyin'," I laughed.
He shook his head. "Naw man, I used to get my clothes from the Goodwill up the street where they got the Churchs. Since black people ain't donate, all they had was clothes the white people would come down and donate. Some of the kids from the preppy kids on the east side would donate they clothes when they outgrew them, or went to college. Man, I was fly. I had that preppy, white boy swag."
"Man I bet you stuck out." I could not imagine Jordan wearing everything he was describing. I pictured him with sagging pants, a du-rag, and some Air Force Ones.
"Man, I had that slick Katt Williams perm-"
"Stop!" I cackled. "Now I know you lying. For as long as I've known you, you ain't have no hair. How the hell you had a Katt Williams perm? You probably had a lil twenty-seven piece, not no damn Katt Williams."
"Damn, you tryin' me. I'm bald by choice," he defended as he rubbed a hand across his head.
"Your hairline started receding?"
"Yeah," he admitted, then we both laughed.
"Risha?" Momma called. I could hear the stairs creaking under her weight.
"Yes, momma?" I wanted to finish hearing what Jordan had to say about his younger, dope dealing days. He never really talked about it much. He only spoke about when he met momma and how much he liked her.
"Risha, we gotta talk." She entered the room and glanced at Jordan quickly before looking back to me.
"Um," I furrowed my brows. Did I do something I didn't remember? Did I forget to do the dishes? Was I supposed to clean the bathroom? Did Michael tell her I broke her rosary beads?
She wiped her palms on the jeans she was wearing and sighed. "What's wrong?" She finally mustered up the courage to ask. I cocked my head to the side and processed her question. What's wrong? That's too vague. I liked specific questions that I could give specific answers to.
I liked my room dark so I always opened my curtain for just enough sunlight to get through. A sliver of it fell on her face, while a shadow covered the rest; like a crescent moon.
When I didn't answer, she took a couple of steps towards me. My eyes widened in fear. I didn't know why. I wasn't afraid of her, but of the fact that she could've been asking about what I thought she was asking about. The thought of her knowing created a fear that crippled my heart. I stuffed my hands into my pockets to hide the fact that they were shaking and tried to breathe evenly to slow down my racing heart.
"I know there's something wrong. I just want to understand why you feel the way you do about yo' daddy, and Jordan says the best thing to do is ask you," she explained.
My eyes snapped to Jordan who looked like a deer caught in headlights. His eyes were bulging out as he held his hands up. He tried to send me an apologetic look, but I looked away.
My eyes fell back on momma. I knew she expected an answer. She wanted one and, quite frankly, she deserved one. I also owed it to myself to tell her so that I wouldn't have to ever see Marcus again, but I couldn't. Every time I opened my mouth, my throat closed up. I took my hands out of my pocket to clench and unclench them. I thought that would help.
"I- I, um."
Momma took a couple of steps towards me when I started shaking, but I shook my head and took a couple steps away. It felt like the closer she came, the closer she got to the truth of things. I felt stupid and out of control. Ever since the thing with Marcus happened, I tried to be more in control of my body. My biggest fear was losing my control again, shit! I closed my eyes to stop the room from moving. Fuck! I couldn't stop shaking; I couldn't stop my heart from beating like a snare drum; I couldn't, I couldn't breathe.
I felt someone's arms wrap around me. They were momma's. I knew because I could smell the argon oil she usually put in her hair. "Relax baby, it was just a question. Breathe. In and out. In and out."
I could feel the pace she was breathing at. Her chest heaved slowly, and I tried to match her. She stopped talking and just held me. After a couple of minutes, I was breathing normally again, though the fear still clung to my chest. I opened my eyes and stared at the wall. "When did you start having panic attacks?" She asked.
I shrugged. I didn't know if Jordan would tell her this happened once when we were on the phone and Michael and I were at Marcus' house. I didn't care. I just wanted the moment to be over. She pulled away and searched my eyes for the answers I wasn't giving. She sighed. "Nicole's husband has a friend that's a therapist. I'm going to schedule a meeting with him. Is that ok?" I shrugged again. I was tired; physically and emotionally. I'd never felt like that before.
"I'm tired, I'm just gonna go to bed," I said.
"It's only 4," she pointed out.
"She need some milk," Jordan joked. He was trying to lighten up the mood, but it didn't work. Momma glowered at him and I just climbed into the bed and pulled the covers over me.
I heard the door closed and I could hear them speaking in hushed tones outside of the door. I grabbed the headphones Trey gave me, plugged them into my phone, and went to sleep.
I woke up at three in the morning hungry as hell. I staggered downstairs. My mind was wide awake, but my body still needed time to wake up. I pulled open the fridge and saw a covered dish. I assumed it was mine because momma didn't like half eaten plates of food in the fridge. I uncovered it and my stomach immediately grumbled at the sight. It was white rice and oxtail. Jordan usually cooked, but I knew momma made that. There wasn't much she was good at making, but when it came to oxtails, she could cook it for God himself.
I put it in the microwave and leaned against the counter. My eyes fell on the teddy bear that Chris had delivered here. I grabbed it and held it until the microwave beeped. I sighed. What was I going to say to him? I had three hours to think about it. I didn't even know if he'd even want to hear me out. I put the bear back on the counter so I could eat. Deep down I knew I liked him. I liked him more than I should've allowed myself, and I knew it. I couldn't help it. Now, not only did I have to watch him with Maria, I had to deal with the fact that he'd probably never talk to me again. It was my fault though. Every decision I made was for me. I never thought about how he'd feel.
Someone was coming down the stairs. They creeped with every step.
"Risha?" Michael walked into the kitchen rubbing his eyes.
"Hey kid," I greeted.
He sauntered over to me. "What are you doing up?"
"What are you doing up?" I directed his question back to him.
"I heard the microwave beeping. You look sad," he observed. I didn't say anything. He's the one person I didn't want to lie to. He lifted the corners of my lips up with his fingers. He then smiled to match the makeshift one he made on my face.
I laughed. "Go back to sleep. You've got like two more hours before you have to get up."
He shrugged. "I can sleep on the playground. Wanna play Uno?"
"Uno?" I couldn't remember the last time we played that game. We used to do game nights every Saturday, but momma got busy with work.
"Yeah!" He beamed. "I'll go get the cards." His little feet shuffled to the living room and I got up to wash my dish. When I was done, he was already at the table waiting for me.
His eyes were filled with excitement and the smile on his face was infectious. "It's ok, I shuffled already." He said with a smile when I reached for the deck.
I arched a brow. Michael was a known cheater. We never let him shuffle or deal the cards; especially if we were betting on the game. "You can deal the cards if you don't trust me."
I arched my eyebrow even higher. Was that reverse psychology? He wanted me to think he wasn't up to anything and let him deal. But maybe he wanted me to think what I was thinking so I could deal and fall into whatever trap he set. I'd be the first to admit Michael was too damn smart for his age. He watched too many shows like House, NCIS, and Graceland.
"Noooo, you deal," I replied with uncertainty in my voice. He smiled in response. That's when I knew I was screwed. Throughout the game he kept hitting me with draw fours, reverses, skips.
I refused to lose. I had a couple of draws saved in my hand. When he hit me with a draw two, I dropped a draw four. He then dropped another draw four, I smiled and dropped one too. "It's ok Michael, just pick up. Let me count it for you and see how much it is. Two, six, ten, fourteen, damn, I guess you're losing."
He dropped a draw two. "Kid, I've been saving these for you." I dropped a draw four on the pile. "I does this man!" I beat on my chest and laughed.
He sighed and shook his head. I couldn't help but laugh at his cheating ass. "How the hell you cheat and still lose?" I teased.
He shrugged. "I didn't cheat, I just-, " he dropped a draw two on me, "I just don't lose. Bam!"
What the fuck? How the hell man. I threw my hand down. "I ain't drawing no damn twenty two cards Michael."
He laughed. "It's ok, you don't have to. But that means you quit, and you know the quitting fee."
I sucked my teeth and crossed my arms. We had a quitting fee on our games, and whenever someone wanted to leave the game because they were losing, they had to pay five dollars. "I'll give you your money," I muttered under my breath.
"What?" He cupped his ear with his hand. "I don't think I heard you Risha. You're speaking too loserly."
I rolled my eyes. "I'll give you your money man. We need to put a damn cheating fee in place."
"I need it today. I owe someone money," he admitted.
"For what?"
"I lost rock, paper, scissors," he answered sheepishly.
I shook my head. "Can't cheat at that, huh?"
It was around four thirty so I figured I could take a long shower, take my time getting dressed, and go over my homework to pass time. Momma went to work, so Jordan took us to school. The car ride there was filled with music and Michael's out of tune voice singing along.
When we dropped him off, Jordan turned to me, "So, you ok?" He asked.
"Yeah, I'm ok," I replied.
"You scared us a little. Maybe the therapist will be good for you. That's the second time you had an attack right?"
I shrugged. "I'm not sure the first time was an attack," I answered.
He sucked his teeth. "My ass. I would never tell her; you know?" He added on after a couple of seconds. "That would have to be your decision and your decision only. I only encouraged her to talk to you when she brought it up," he admitted. His tone was genuine and I knew he'd never tell anyone.
"I know. I'm not mad at you. Even if you did tell, I wouldn't be mad. Shit, I'd probably tell if I were you."
"Watch your mouth," he warned.
"Shoot," I emphasized, "I'd probably tell too."
He reached over and rubbed my head. I laughed. "Have a good day at school, bug."
"Thanks," I answered as I got out of the car. The first person I saw when I entered was Trey. His eyes fell on me, but he didn't acknowledge me. He was hanging with the football players and a couple of the wannabe dope boys.
"Man, slurp, slurp. You heard me?" I heard one of them say in excitement.
"Naw, man, not good girl Becca," another replied in disbelief.
"Nigga you know it be the good girls giving the best head. I want a pastor's daughter. They be wild. Suck me up with the Holy Ghost nigga!" The group laughed.
I looked for Chris. I wanted to make sure he wasn't as mad as I thought he was. I walked into the cafeteria and scanned the area. He usually wore a backpack that had pictures of all the great rappers from New York. I checked the lines and the tables. If he wasn't in there, he was probably at the tables on the patio. Once I walked onto the patio, I noticed the bag. His head was down, so I knew he was praying over his food. He was always quick with it, and probably thought we never noticed, but I did. I walked nervously to him and was a couple of steps away when Maria intercepted my path.
"Hey, Risha!" She greeted, bubbling over with excitement.
From my peripheral, I saw Chris look back for a split second before returning his attention to his breakfast.
"Hey," I answered back. I didn't know if she heard the impatience in my voice, but I was hoping she did.
"How was the date?" She drawled. "I've tried asking Mario, but he wouldn't answer. Are you going on a second date? Did you guys kiss? Ahh!" She squealed.
"It's- I, can I talk about it later? I need to talk to Chris."
"Ok Risha, but the excitement is killing me. I could just die." She threw her hands up in the air.
Please do. I turned away from her before I said something mean that I honestly probably wouldn't even regret. I sighed in frustration. Chris had already left the table. I'm sure he heard Maria asking me about the Mario and I. He couldn't have gone far. Knowing Chris, he probably went somewhere a little less crowded. I rounded a corner and saw him walking towards his first block class. I took long strides to catch up to him and tapped him on the shoulder.
"What?" He asked when he turned around and saw me.
I took a deep breath. "Can we talk?"
"About?"
About? He knew damn well what I wanted to talk about. I sighed. "Look, Chris-"
"Are you done?" He interrupted.
I furrowed my brow. I was getting mad. "No, I'm not done. I obviously just started," I snapped.
"Word? I was trynna spare you whatever lie you trynna spit at me. You want to talk? Talk 'bout how you a damn liar, yo. I ain't never once lied to you, but I'm runnin' out of fingers to count how many times you lied to me," he spat through clenched teeth.
I'd never seen him so angry. Whatever I planned on saying just went out of my mind. "And you probably thinkin' I'm mad over some nigga when I'm not. You know how tight that had me, walkin' in the joint and you with some nigga after saying over and over how you ain't want no relationship? And now you wanna talk? You buggin', yo. It would've been cool if you were straight with me from the get go. I don't get that shit." He sucked his teeth and threw his hand to the side. "Man, I ain't even trynna talk."
He walked away. I tried to clear the air, he goes on a rant, and then tell me he doesn't want to talk. I sighed in frustration and walked in the opposite direction, even though my class was in the direction he was walking in.
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