No Boyz Allowed

by Ni-Ni Simone

  I felt like she’d taken her hand and slapped me, so I said, “It’s not like we were much anyway, your grandmother died and after the funeral your family hurried to get rid of me. None of y’all ever looked for me or my brother. So, it’s whatever. ’Cause whether you continue to be my bestie or not won’t change a thing for me.”

  Pop hesitated and then she said, “Why you trippin’ again?” And she must’ve been straight serious, ’cause not once did she snap her fingers or twist her neck. “Yeah, Janay and Kamani are my girls and all but neither one of them are my besties. So you can just cut the extra.”

  “I’m not being extra.”

  “Yeah right, if you’re not being extra then why would you say you don’t eff with ball anymore?”

  And where did that come from? “What? Why are you even on that?”

  “’Cause I wanna know what’s really good with that? Like, that just seems to be some bull dot com, dot org, dot ridiculous.”

  “What’s it to you? Ball just ain’t for me anymore. Now skip it.”

  “You’re lyin’. You love ball more than anybody I know—”

  “Well maybe you don’t know me!” I yelled and my voice boomed through the hallway, causing some of the students to look our way.

  “I know you better than you know yourself!” Pop snapped. “And I know you’re not keepin’ it real with me. And whatever you’re running from doesn’t have a thing to do with ball or me for that matter. It has to do with you. So I don’t know why you’re taking it out on us! What you need to do is deal with yourself and stop thinking that everybody is out to get you—!”

  “Don’t tell me what I need to do! And why you sweatin’ me so hard about basketball? What, does your team suck? Did your nice little college coach daddy tell you to step it up a notch so you can be recruited? Are you trying to be my friend or are you trying to get your team to win!”

  “You can’t even be serious!”

  “Dead serious!” I snapped. “As a matter of fact I’m cool on you and this bull!”

  “Gem—!”

  “Step off!” I said, and stormed down the hall, frustrated, pissed, and angry. I was sooooo over the nonsense. As a matter of fact I was over this day! And instead of hooking a left to math class, I clicked my heels down the tile runway—the same one I’d sauntered down an hour ago—and walked right out the exit door.

  I had to blow this place or it was gon’ be a situation. Trust. ’Cause the next person who came at me crazy was gon’ catch it. Believe dat. So I walked to the corner bus stop and hopped on the first thing that came my way.

  13

  For two hours I rode the city bus from one end of Newark to the other and I was heated the whole ride. I just wanted to scream, or punch something, or just...I don’t know... all I knew is that I wanted to lose it on somebody somewhere for something. I just didn’t know who, what, or why... I just did.

  And to keep it all the way one hundred, if I could ride this bus to the end of the Earth I would...but with five dollars in my pocket I knew I didn’t have enough money to get there. And the last time I tried to jet with five dollars. . . let’s just say it was a problem.

  Outside of the bus’s aged plexiglass window the city passed by in snapshots of traffic, mobs of people, children playing in the park, and memories. Memories of my mother and how much we begged her to stay home because we believed that would magically make her clean. But it didn’t, because she always chose the streets...always...

  I hadn’t seen her in almost two years and I wondered how she was. Did she think about me...or Malik...? About us being a family? Or was out of sight truly out of mind? As the bus continued to ride up Springfield Avenue I felt an urge to find my mother, and ask her if she planned on picking us up from hell or were we supposed to live there...

  I pressed the buzzer. “Next stop, please,” I yelled to the driver. He pulled up to the littered curb and I stepped off. I walked a little ways down Springfield Avenue until I got to 21st Street. Once I was on 21st Street I walked past a few abandoned buildings until I got to the one my mother lived in. It was a two family shack with boarded up windows, glass everywhere, graffiti all over it, and no front door. There was a river of trash that flowed from the hallway and down the stairs.

  It felt weird being here, knowing that once upon a time this block and this house was lit up with life and now it was dead—the people included. And I knew from the moment my heels splashed in a puddle of piss I had no business being here. But this was where my mother was and I needed to see her.

  She was easy to spot, too. She sat on the crowded stoop with her legs crossed and her eyes staring off into the distance. She wore the same dingy jeans that she had on the last time we saw each other.

  The oversized green T-shirt she had on hung off one shoulder and revealed her sunken collarbone.

  Seeing my mother like this was like having an out of body experience. Like was this really my mother? Really? So I was really the kid of a chicken head... I hated that.

  I started to walk, scratch that, I started to run back down the street, but quickly changed my mind. I was already here and I needed to deal with this . . . with her.

  I walked closer to the stoop and stared at my mother. I could tell by the way she squinted that she didn’t recognize me.

  “Ma,” I called out to her and everybody on the stoop looked toward me.

  My mother squinted. Hesitated. But still no recognition.

  “Ma, it’s me. Gem.” I did my all to smile but the corners of my lips barely lifted.

  My mother pulled a cigarette from her jeans pocket and lit it. She took a long pull, titled her head toward the heavens, and let out a long string of smoke. Afterward she looked back to me and narrowed her eyes. “What is you doin’ here?” was her version of hello.

  I paused, caught off guard. I took a step back and then two steps forward. “I umm . . . wanted to talk to you.”

  She sucked her teeth and shook her head. “’Bout what?” She took a puff and snorted. “I ain’t got no money, matter fact I need you to give me some money.”

  “Ain’t that right,” signified one of the women who sat next to my mother. “Sho’ need some money.”

  “Ma,” I said, not knowing what else to say. “I don’t have any money.”

  “Ain’t you grown?”

  “Ma.” I swallowed. “I’m just sixteen.”

  “That’s grown. Grown enough to go out there and make some money. Hmph.” She pointed to a greasy old man, who’d been watching me ever since I’d crossed the street. “Mr. John pay real good. And you pretty, too. Remind me of myself when I was your age.” She turned to a woman sitting next to her. “Ain’t she pretty? That’s why I named her Gem because she reminded me of a chocolate diamond. Now anybody that pretty,” she turned back to me, “should never have to walk the street with no money. And their mama shouldn’t be broke either.”

  Silence.

  “So where you staying?” she snorted. “Look like you staying some place nice?”

  “It’s okay.” I shrugged.

  “Well, you know they ain’t yo family, right?”

  “Do I have a family? Last I checked I was doing this alone.” I knew I shouldn’t have said that, but I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t.

  My mother stood up. “Don’t make me come over there and smack the crazy outta you.”

  Whatever.

  “So you better get it straight,” she said. “I’m ya mama.”

  “So does that mean you’re going to get yourself together or is this it?”

  My mother squinted, placed both hands on her hips and her burning cigarette dangled loosely from her mouth. “Who in the hell is you talking to? You don’t talk to me like that!”

  “I’m just askin’.” I shrugged again. “I mean, it’s no big deal. I’ve been doin’ it this long.”

  “Look, I did my best!”

  “Really?”

  “Hell, yeah I did. So don’t be trying to blame me for a damn t
hing! I did all I could to get y’all back home with me, but that social worker told me that I couldn’t.”

  I twisted my lips. “And why would she tell you that?”

  “Ask her. She got that answer. ’Cause I did my part. And who you really need to be questionin’ is your sister Kera with her fast behind. Lying and saying that I had men in my house touching her so I could buy crack.”

  “She said that because that’s what you did! So it’s not her fault. It’s your fault ’cause now she’s in the nut house half crazy and can’t think straight. Saying people are calling her names and she’s the only one that can hear them!”

  “Your sister lied, that’s why she’s crazy as hell! Now I don’t know what you came here for, but I can’t help you. I’m barely making it myself. So you better take your fresh behind back where you came from, ’cause I ain’t got nothin’ for you.”

  Although I stood and faced her with my mouth twisted and a don’t care attitude on my face, inside I was stoned. Paralyzed. Gut punched. Goose bumps ran down my back as I realized that I had the answer I’d been looking for—my mother planned on leaving us in hell. She never planned on saving us.

  Ever...

  I sniffed. Fought back tears and rocked my game face. “It’s really not that serious. And you sure don’t have to worry about me coming around here ever again. ’Cause I got this and me and my brother gon’ be good without you!”

  “Later,” my mother said unimpressed.

  I swallowed. This was crazy. Absolutely crazy. Problem was if I knew this was crazy then why did it make me feel soooo messed up, like I was spinning out of control.

  I did all I could to shake it off as I walked back to the bus stop and my mother disappeared into the distance behind me.

  “I need to hollah at you for a minute,” Pop said with a serious attitude as she folded her arms across her breasts and tapped her foot.

  I’d just stepped off the bus and had crossed the street when I spotted Pop sitting on the porch, obviously waiting for me.

  I turned to her and just as I went to tell her that I wasn’t in the mood she said, “I’m not leaving until I say what I have to say. So we gon’ either do this out here or do this in your room. But either way you will hear me out today. Right now.”

  “Whatever,” I said as I walked into the house and she followed me. I cut through the living room, which was empty. Thank God, because I didn’t have to deal with a million questions about where I’d been and why I’d cut school.

  I walked up the stairs to my room. Pop shut the door behind me and instantly started going in, “That lil gabba-gabba-bustin’ off at me you did in school, when I didn’t even do anything to you, I didn’t appreciate. Now I don’t know what your problem is, but we need to deal with it!”

  I shook my head and fought back the tears I felt beating against the back of my eyes like drums. A big part of me wanted to scream on Pop and tell her to just beat it, but I couldn’t. Tears had already started down my cheeks and I knew there was no way she would leave now. No matter what I said.

  “Gem,” Pop said in a panic as she sat on the bed next to me. “What’s wrong? Tell me.”

  Silence. I did all I could to suck back my tears, but they wouldn’t stop coming and instead it felt like behind my face a dam had broken.

  Pop wiped my eyes with the back of her thumbs. “You gotta stop trying to be so tough all the time. You can’t do everything alone. Let somebody in. Yo, we’re best friends and after all these years we’ve found each other. We’re like family again. Don’t shut me out. What’s up? Tell me. ’Cause that’s what besties are for.”

  Just tell her . . . ugg . . . just say it. “I’ve been soooo pissed off.”

  “Why?”

  “’Cause...all of these years I really thought that one day my mother was gon’ get herself together.”

  “Well maybe she will. You never know—”

  “Pop,” I said, wiping my eyes. “It’s not gon’ happen.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “’Cause I went to see her when I left school.”

  “And?”

  “And she didn’t even know who I was. And once she found out, she didn’t even care. It didn’t even matter to her. She didn’t ask me how I was, how my brother was, nothing. Do you know what she asked me for?”

  “What?”

  “Money.” Pop gave a low gasp as I continued. “And when I told her I didn’t have any, she told me I was too pretty not to have any money. So she pointed to this dirty old man on the street and told me to go and see him ’cause he paid well.”

  “What?”

  “She was trying to sell me.” Tears raced from my eyes. “My mother is nothing. And if my mother is nothing then I have to be less than that.”

  “Gem . . .” Pop paused and then hugged me. I cried until all I could see was a faded blur.

  Don’t look now, but I’ve perfected pathetic. After a few minutes of giving in to feeling sorry for myself I held my head up from Pop’s shoulder and to my surprise we were both wiping tears. “Now look.” She fanned her face. “You gon’ have to chill with these tears ’cause I didn’t wear my waterproof mascara and G is downstairs. I can’t be looking all black-blue and crazy.”

  Leave it to Pop.

  “Now listen,” she continued as she reached for my hand and held it between hers. “You gon’ ruin yo insides by keeping all this mess, and anger, and ra-ra in there. You can’t keep everything all bottled up. It’s not good for your system to be walking around on ten all day, ready to get it crunked at any moment. That’s the kind of stuff that makes your make-up look crazy and your ballin’ all busted. You already know peeps be lookin’ at girls who play sports extra-sideways, waiting to see if we gon’ spin around and bust out into a double-breasted suit and gaiters. Okay.”

  “Pop, this is soooo not about ball.”

  “I know that. I’m just making a point that we are way too cute for tears. And you’re my girl, Gem, so if something hurts you then I’m ready to jump in two fist swingin’. Dig? But we can’t beat up ya mama because that will not make her change.”

  “We could sneak her one good time.” I chuckled as tears continued to roll down my cheeks.

  Pop laughed and wiped my face with the back of her right hand. “Look, your mother is who she is, but one thing she isn’t is you. So if you think that, you need to drop it.”

  “But that’s my mother and I feel like when people see me, they see a foster kid with no family and a mother strung out in the streets.”

  “No they don’t, Gem. They see you. Period. But you have to make up your mind what side of you that you want people to see and get to know. Do you want them to know the side of you that’s ready to slap folks for saying hello? Or the side of you who I know that’s fun to kick it with?”

  “I don’t want people hating me.”

  “Then you need to chill and act sixteen and not like that miserable sixty-year-old lady who lives on my street. ’Cause, newsflash, just ’cause she’s old doesn’t mean anybody likes her. I can’t stand her. And in order for her to be a nasty-face-frowned-Polident problem at sixty, means she was giving people the business at sixteen. Feel me?”

  “Yeah, I feel you.” I shook my head. “But Pop, you have to understand that being sixteen to me—means moving from place to place, having to fight for everything. Having nobody but me and wondering if the people I live with will like me from one day to the next. Or will I be waking up one morning with them telling me it’s time to roll.”

  “Dang, girl. That ain’t being sixteen, that’s a hot mess.”

  “Exactly. My life.”

  “Look, you got it twisted. Maybe that was your life before you came here, but these people are different. And I’m not just saying that because I need you to become my sister-in-law and keep an eye on G for me. I mean, I need that, too, but still. I’m saying this because when I told G that you left school and he didn’t know where you were, he looked so worried. And he wa
s so sensitive at that moment that we almost got back together and everything right then, but then I remembered what he did and put him on pause. And after he begged me to reconsider and I didn’t, do you know what he told me?”

  “What?”

  “That he loved having you as his little sister. And he loved Malik, too. He said his mother and stepfather wanted to be here for you, but that you had so much attitude that you couldn’t even see it. G said the day that Cousin Shake dragged you down the stairs and tossed you into the kitchen that he knew you were in like Flynn. So I’m telling you pay attention, ’cause they love you. Just chill and ride the wave. Stop thinking about tomorrow, ’cause at sixteen all I think about is today. Tomorrow is a whole other problem. Feel me?”

  “I guess,” I nodded. “A little.”

  “You need to feel me all the way, ’cause all you need to be thinking about is boo-lovin’ and ballin.”

  I chuckled. “That’s what’s most important?”

  “Fa’sho. Now stop buggin’ and just roll wit it.”

  “Is it really that easy?”

  “It’s as easy as Janay after a football game.”

  Pop and I cracked up laughing. We laughed so hard that we fell back on my bed in tears—happy tears. And I thought, maybe . . . maybe . . . Pop was right.

  Or maybe she was wrong . . . which one I really didn’t know. All I knew is that me being upset and uptight all the time didn’t do anything more than work people’s nerves and cause me to stay steppin’ to folks.

  I was tired of that.

  And I was tired of a bunch of thoughts about my mother, my life, and where I was going to lay my head at night crowding my mind all the time. I just wanted to think about silly and simple, like boos, and parties, and clothes, and shoes, and Twitter, and Facebook, and make-up, and maybe ballin’. Things that meant nothing, but meant everything all at the same time. I didn’t want to worry another day—about being kicked out of another foster home. Like Pop said I just wanted to be sixteen—her version of sixteen. “Just boys and ballin’, huh,” I said.

  “Yep, that’s it.”