The women were quiet. Many of them looked disinterested. After all, they had no choice but to be there. They really were a “captive audience.”
When Souljah didn’t say anything, the c.o. in front of the room cleared her throat loudly and said, “Go ahead, they’re all yours. Good luck.” Souljah looked over their faces. For two whole minutes she said nothing. Then it came out.
“I can tell that all of you used to be very pretty women. I can look at your faces and see that you once were somebody’s sweetheart, some-body’s love, somebody’s life. And I know when you were younger you thought being beautiful was the best thing in the world. But really we women don’t have to do anything to be beautiful. It’s a gift from God. The woman is.
“Somewhere along the line many of us as women are led to believe that being pretty is enough. And while we rely on that, we forget to strengthen our minds so that we can learn how to think, how to build. How to survive. We forget how to live our lives to protect our spirit, to be clean and decent. We forget that everything we do matters so much.
“Every right decision brings us blessings. Every wrong decision brings us pain. And then, when times get hard, our struggle and our pain shows on our faces and our bodies. When people see our pain and weakness in our face they say, “She used to be fine, she used to be this, she used to be that.’ When men feel our beauty has faded we become shocked at how well they ignore us and forget us. We’ll do anything to get their attention, money, love. Can I suck your dick? Can I do anything, can I, can I?
“When we hate ourselves we destroy our bodies with alcohol, drugs, casual sex, and a bunch of stuff. Then we look at ourselves and hate ourselves even more. When I first came in here, I said, “What will I say to these women? They are all dying.’ When I looked at your faces I thought to myself What have they done to themselves? But in spite of everything, your children love you. Your daughter needs you. Your sons miss you. We need you to live. We need you to want to live.
“What is a community without you, the mothers? What will a community of motherless children be like? Killers, haters, evil, negative, mad at the world, unable to love, hug, and live because they hate themselves, because they needed you to teach them how to feel, how to love, how to just be.
“So when you look in the mirror don’t see death, see life. Don’t see ugly, see beauty. It may not seem like it, but you are powerful. A change of mind, a change of spirit, and a change of actions can create a new you. You are needed. We need you to make the rest of your life mean something special. We need you to take good care of yourselves and each other, so those of us who love and need you, can still have you back in our homes, our communities. Yes, there is much to live for.”
And when I looked up, everyone’s eyes were filled with tears. Not mine. I hated her for making me think about my mother. I hated the way she thought she could get into everybody’s personal business. I hated whatever it was in her that gave her the nerve to say out loud what everyone else thought, but had sense not to mention.
She hugged those women. When she forgot to hug one, they would ask for a hug. She gave it to them. She shook their sweaty hands and stood still while the ones with many missing teeth accidentally spit in her face while attempting to express themselves. She gave out pamphlets, book lists, advice, and too many autographs. After what was way too long of a wait, we three went straight home. One by one, we took long hot showers right away.
13
The same evening she called me into her bedroom. I had almost been staying here a week, yet I had never seen it. Now, the bedroom is a place where a girl gets to say who she is. Just by the arrangement of things you should be able to tell something about the girl that maybe you didn’t know. Souljah’s bed was round. It had a big, circular base and a circular mattress on top. The sheets, blankets, and pillows were expensive. I took her to be freaky, even though that’s not how she seemed. But why else would she have a round bed? She had to go out of her way to get it. It must have been a sizable investment. I’m sure she had to go to a catalog or some custom designer to order proper linen and all that. Plus she took more pride in her bed than she did in her footwear.
On the wall there was a sketch of Souljah. It was accurate because you could tell right away that it was her. The eyes in the dark pencil sketch stood out because they looked even bigger than hers usually did. They were full of sadness. The artist even caught her earrings, big ones, like most ghetto girls rock.
“Do you like that picture?” she asked, after I guess I had been looking at it too long.
“Why do you look so sad?” I asked as if I cared.
“Well, I was in Paris when that picture was drawn. It was my twenty-first birthday. I was happy to be traveling, learning, studying there, but I missed my friends and family.”
“You mean you missed your man?” I asked. She laughed a little.
“Yeah, him, too.”
“How old are you now?” I pushed that question in.
“I’m twenty-five.” Damn, I thought. She looked younger than that. Lined against the floor were three big black file cabinets. They were completely out of place. If you’re tryna set a mood, get your groove on, why have a banging bed and set it near a set of file cabinets? Next to the file cabinet was another bookcase filled with books and papers.
“What’s with all the books?” I asked her.
“Well, the books in the living room are mostly the books I read in college. These books in here are the ones I have to read every day to keep up.”
“Keep up with what?” I asked.
“With what’s happening in our community, our world. You know.”
“Seems to me if you live in your community you already know what’s happening. You don’t need no book to tell you. Hell, I could tell you that.”
“Well, these books help you to understand why what is happening is happening. Usually in life the same things are happening over and over again, in cycles, you know? And if it’s not a good cycle, you got to understand it in order to make it stop. But anyway,” Souljah said, “I called you so we could talk about what’s happening with your life. What’s happening with your education?”
“I was in school but my family moved a couple of times and, you know, that was that.”
“So what are your plans?” she asked.
“Plans, I don’t know. Plans for what?”
“What would you like to become?” she asked.
“Rich,” I said right away.
“How do you plan to get rich?”
“I don’t know right now, but I’m working on it.”
“I’m asking because I would like to help you do what you want to do. You’re a pretty girl. I can tell you’re very smart. You’re quick on your feet. You seem very creative, maybe that’s the direction you want to go in?”
“Creative?” I repeated.
“Yes. I saw how you did Lauren’s nails. And your own are so beautiful. Your clothes are always so well-coordinated. Now that’s a talent. Your hair looks as good if not better than I’ve seen any hairstylist around here do. That’s a talent, too. So you just need to decide what you want to do and then get started. Otherwise, time will pass you by. You’ll look up five to ten years later and you’ll have nothing. So what do you think?” Souljah asked.
“Think about what?”
“When are you going to the hospital to see your mother?” she asked, changing the topic.
“Soon,” I said, tryna keep it all brief.
“Well, if you need a ride or anything we can make a time and take you up there. What hospital is she in exactly?”
“Long Island College Hospital,” I shot out quickly, “in Brooklyn. It’s easy for me to take the train. It’s no problem.”
“Alright,” she said, exhaling like the conversation wasn’t going her way. “There’s a book I have that you can take a look at.” She sat on her bed pointing at the book lying on the file cabinet. It was a career guide.
“If you look through the book, y
ou’ll see fifteen hundred different careers. The good thing about it is the book has a lot of ideas, jobs, and business suggestions that the average person might not even think of. Maybe you’ll see something that interests you.”
“Thanks,” I said, trying my best to seem like I was into what she was saying.
“I go to a lot of colleges to speak. I wouldn’t mind taking you to see them. College isn’t for everybody, but sometimes just taking a trip to one or two of the nice ones will change the way you look at education, yourself, and the world.”
“Can I ask you a question?” I asked her. “Why do you have change all over your floor?” Souljah looked at the quarters, dimes, nickels, and pennies she had thrown all over her floor.
“I’m just sloppy and a little careless about some things.” Well, sloppy was the right word. As I’m sizing everything up, I noticed she had more food in the bedroom than in the refrigerator. Half-eaten bags of barbecue chips and a can of onion dip with some of the dip stuck to the outside of the can. She had empty apple-juice bottles, and half-empty Evian waters. On top of that, she had an exercise bike in the room. Putting two and two together I figured she eats a family-size bag of barbecue chips with dip, feels guilty, jumps on the bike, and tries to burn it all off.
“And why do you have file cabinets in your bedroom?” I asked, laughing now.
“Oh, so maybe you need to be an interior decorator,” she kidded me. “I’d hire you ’cause I have no sense of all that. Seriously though, I get letters from a lot of people. I keep files on some of the people I work with. I write a lot. I keep copies of everything I mail out. Now, my room might not be in order, but I know every book on my shelf and would know right away if one was missing. I know where every piece of paper in this house is located. It may not seem like it, but there is an organized system to it. I guess it’s just a matter of different things being important to different people.” I had gotten her on the defense and now was the perfect time to dip out of this boring little meeting.
“Here. Talk to Boom,” Lauren was passing me the phone as soon as I got back in our room.
“Boom who?”
“You said you wanted to meet somebody.”
“Are you ugly?” the deep voice on the phone asked.
“Are you ugly?” I shot back.
“Nah, I’m just saying, though. It don’t make no sense for me to drive up there if you ugly. For all I know Lauren and Sarge could just be setting me up to give them a ride and I ain’t playing taxi all night. So just let a nigga know what you look like?”
“What you pushing?” I asked.
“A Infiniti.”
“Well, you come see for yourself,” I challenged him.
“Alright, but if you ugly, I’m just pulling off.”
“Whatever, nigga.”
My arms were folded one into another. I stood on the stoop outside the house with much attitude waiting for Boom and Sarge to pick us up. Lauren was standing in the middle of the street. Lauren’s nigga was called “Sarge” ’cause he was in the army. He jumped out the passenger seat all excited and grabbed and squeezed Lauren up. The notorious Boom had one foot in the car, one foot on the ground, as he stood up halfway out the car to check me out. He was light-skinned, with two big dimples in his cheeks and a cleft in his chin, a mad cutie with curly black hair. We smiled at the same time. “Ah shit,” he said, throwing his hands in the air. “You fine. Come on, get in.”
We checked an action flick. Don’t ask me the title. We was mostly tonguing, feeling each other up, and giving each other shotguns with Sarge’s bag of weed. When we got tired of buttered popcorn and the real munchies kicked in, Boom said, “What’s it gonna be, McDonald’s or Uno’s?”
“Uno’s is better,” I said quickly.
“Uno’s is pussy,” Boom said. “So what’s up, you gonna give me some pussy or are we going to McDonald’s?” We all started laughing. A few mixed drinks, some pizza at Uno’s, potato skins, and salad, we all was feeling good. I wasn’t worried about shit.
Boom’s basement was damp and dark. The little lamp he had in the small matchbox house located in Queens didn’t even light up the entire room. But I could see the mattress he had on the floor with no sheets. The “room” Lauren and Sarge went into was only a room because it was divided by a blanket hanging on a string. Before I put my pocketbook down next to me on the side of the mattress, I could hear Lauren and Sarge ripping off their clothes. The sound of Sarge’s belt buckle clicking, the zipper noise, and their heavy breathing got me good and ready.
Boom flicked off the dim light and it was pitch-black. I like lights on, but there was no time for complaining. When Boom found my titties, he started rubbing my nipples between his fingers. At first my body got excited, but he rubbed them so long that they were burning. I turned onto my right side. I moved his hands off my titties, saying, “Suck ’em, suck ’em.” He sucked them, but it was like he thought they was popsicles he sucked them so hard. I pushed his head down further so he could eat my pussy. He licked all over my hairs before he could find the inside of me. I heard him tryna spit the pussy hairs caught in his teeth out. When he found the inside of me he was licking all the wrong places. He wasn’t sucking my clitoris which would have sent me over the top. “Come on, baby, just fuck me,” I said.
“That’s right,” he said, all gassed up on himself like he was doing something. A few pumps, maybe eight, and he was laid out all over my body, tired and finished.
“Nigga, what?” I said.
“Ah girl, you know what,” he said all cocky like he had just busted me down.
“Was it in?”
“Don’t even play yourself, girl,” he said all calm.
“Was that it?” I crawled around the mattress looking for the little lamp. Finally I fumbled, then found it. I clicked that switch real fast and flipped the lamp over like a flashlight, shining it on his dick. “That little fucking worm. That’s it? And you got the nerve to call yourself Boom!” I yelled at him.
“Ah baby, you missed it, shit was this big.” He held his fingers for a ten-inch stretch. “It’s just cold in here, so you know, after I busted a nut my shit just shriveled up.” By this time Lauren and Sarge’s naked bodies had rolled onto the floor. They laughed so hard that Sarge kicked his foot and the curtain wall fell down.
“Ah nigga, I knew there had to be something wrong with your ass. Good hair, dimples, all that, and you just a little dick nigga. Take us home,” I screamed on him.
Lauren couldn’t stop apologizing. But she couldn’t stop laughing either. I decided I would choose all of my dates from here on. How I expected her to understand my desires, I don’t know.
On Sunday, the pressure was on for many reasons. First off my stash was down to three hundred seventy-five dollars. It was the smallest amount of money I had in a long time. I was surrounded by a sense of panic. All I could think about was loot. Several times I caught myself pacing back and forth with various calculations racing through my head. As my pacing got faster and faster I grew more and more angry. Every plan I would start to cook up would hit a dead end for one reason or another.
With Souljah out of the house for the afternoon, and Lauren, who woke up mad late, in the shower, I began to walk all over the apartment. I looked at everything on the fifth floor. Believe it or not, there was nothing of value that I could see. Maybe the answer was on the second, third, or fourth floor. I pictured myself going to the pawnshop with an elephant tusk. I erased that thought. I knew Doc might have some jewelry down there in her apartment or maybe even a strongbox or safe. Now, the bottom line was I couldn’t carry or crack a safe. It wasn’t my line of work. But as my forehead broke out in a small sweat, I was willing to consider anything.
Second cause of my tension today was the womanhood meeting. I was itching to bounce. The reality that I had no place to go was pissing me off ’cause I’m not the dependent type. I would be forced to attend another boring event. Somehow I was hoping that I could make it work for me. Th
e difficulty would be seeing Rashida again, who I was determined to avoid completely.
“Let’s go see Doc,” I told Lauren.
“Nah, you go. I gotta make some calls,” she said. Perfect. I went down to strike up a conversation and to see what I could see. Doc was on the first floor. I heard her moving around behind the two wide wooden doors. I knocked softly. There was no response, so I knocked a little harder.
“How you doing, Sasha?” she said in a pleasant voice, but looking distracted.
“I was a little bored. Curiosity led me down here to see you.”
“Oh really, what are we curious about?” she asked, like I was a preschooler.
“About what you do. I’m fascinated with the fact that you’re a doctor,” I said, speaking her language while gassing her up for my plan.
“I didn’t know you were interested in medicine.”
“Yeah, very.” I looked past her figure into her office.
“Well, come on, let me show you around.” Now all I had to say was I was interested in medicine. She showed me every slide under a microscope, every test tube, instrument, and even the tables her patients lie down on. She pointed out charts on the wall, breast self-examinations, pregnancy information. She even asked me, “When is the last time you had a checkup?”
“I don’t remember,” I responded.
“Well, that doesn’t sound good,” she said, looking as if she wanted to examine me or something. “Well you know once you become a young woman like yourself, you need to get regular exams and a pap smear every six months.”
“Pap who?”
“Pap smear. It’s part of a vaginal examination. We check for any sexually transmitted diseases, cervical cancer, everything. Since your mom has cancer you have to be extra careful.” She pulled out a long steel tool. “It looks worse than it feels,” she said. “This is a spectrum. It’s used in a gynecological exam.”
“Don’t point that thing at me!” I joked, as if it were a gun.
The Coldest Winter Ever Page 23
