Status s-1

by Jordan Belcher

  Rodrick Al-Bashir: Let’s talk about it tonight. You coming to the club, right?

  Angela youngandfly Serrano: I’ll be there. and ur gonna give me an answer, nigga! count on that!

  Angela youngandfly Serrano: did u see my status update? I tagged u in it I told u I’m not playing.

  Angela youngandfly Serrano: R u still at ur BM house?

  If they thought they were going to meet up and laugh at me and have fun and dance the night away, they had another thing coming. I shot to my feet and stormed up the steps. As I searched through my closet for an outfit that would hold up good in a fight, I dialed a number on my phone and put it up to my ear. I had my mother on the line in no time.

  “Hello?” she answered.

  “Momma, I need two big favors from you tonight,” I said.

  -

  Tyesha816: I might catch a case tonight.

  August 16th, 10:10 p.m.

  CHAPTER 9

  Strobe lights flickered down on me and the dancers and drinkers, giving just enough light to tease my eye with a glimpse of someone’s face, but not enough to see that many facial features. Thus, I was having a hard time finding Angela youngandfly Serrano amongst all these people. I had the girl’s face etched in my memory from constant webpage visits, but just when I thought I saw an Angela look-a-like, the overhead lights would stream in another direction.

  And Travis Porter’s “Pussy Real Good” pounding relentlessly out the club speakers kept everybody moving and turning around and away from my line of sight.

  Bumping into people on the dance floor, I made my way to the bar and ordered myself a drink. My nerves were bothering me bad. Would I actually swing on this bitch when I saw her? Was Rodrick really worth it? Last time I got into a fight over him, I ended up with a year probation.

  Before I let doubt creep all the way in, I threw back a shot of Ciroc and ordered another. Then I felt someone beside me tap the top of my hand.

  I turned.

  “Whatchu doin’ here?” the brotha asked, staring at me from behind black D&G shades.

  “Do I know you?”

  He lifted up his shades and showed me his deep set brown eyes. They were all I needed to see. “Marley!” I beamed, leaning in and hugging him.

  Since grade school, me and Marley Dubois—aka Fedbound Marley—had been friends. Same middle school, same high school too. I could remember times when he’d get kicked out of class for cracking jokes on teachers. I kept up with his status updates whenever I needed a good laugh. According to the pictures and statuses he posted, he was having a hard time selling drugs. He would post things like, “Somebody stole my scale,” and “This weed is bunk but I’ma still try to get it off though.” He was the most unsuccessful thug I knew.

  I hadn’t seen him in I don’t know how long, but we sort of stayed in touch through The Site.

  “How you doin’?” he asked. “I ain’t seen you in years.”

  “I’m doing okay. How about you?”

  “Just tryna stay on my feet. I’m here tryna get these sacks off so I can get my Netflix cut back on.”

  I laughed a little. I couldn’t believe that much came out of me, considering how mad I was. Probably the liquor opening me up.

  “You’re still a nut. You haven’t changed.”

  “Nope. No reason to. But neither have you, apparently. Lookin’ mighty fly tonight,” he noted. “I can’t tell you how many old females I done ran into that’s lookin’ like zombies now. High-five.”

  I sucked my teeth at him, but gave him a high-five. I had on a pair of tight denim jeans and flats. The only thing that could be considered sexy was my top—it was a cascading knit tee with tribal embroidery around the neckline—and my earrings, which were set in crystal fans that pierced my lobes in such a way that couldn’t be pulled out.

  “Thank you,” I said, as I eyed the live crowd around me, searching.

  “You sure ain’t dressed for jail.”

  “Huh?”

  “The last status update you made. I was like, What the hell? It made me laugh. Talkin’ ‘bout you gon’ catch a case. Not you.”

  My throat burned when I downed the rest of my second drink. I was thinking about ordering another. Since Marley had seen my recent status, I wondered if he saw the post Angela youngandfly Serrano made on Rodrick’s page; if he was friends with either one of them on The Site, then he had. I started to feel warm with embarrassment.

  “You got warrants?” Marley asked jokingly.

  “No. That status I made didn’t mean anything.”

  “I got warrants,” he said. “So many, I think they starting to cancel each other out. I had two no-license tickets—one in Missouri and one in Kansas. Then I got two letters in the mail—one stated that Missouri was handing the warrant over to Kansas, and the other stated that Kansas was handing the warrant over to Missouri. I’m confused! Are they canceled, or did they just trade?”

  I started laughing really hard. Completely out of my element. Then he started telling me about his homeboy that would catch the bus over his house and then ask for a ride home. A tight pain gripped my gut from laughing so hard.

  “One time I tried to outsmart him,” Marley continued. “I left the house early on his ass. But this Negro made the bus driver cut me off!”

  “Marley, please stop,” I laughed. “I can’t take—”

  Suddenly, I was yanked off my stool by the arm.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Gideon asked me menacingly.

  The sudden movement made me a little dizzy. And then I realized that, in the seven months I’d known Gideon, he’d never put his hands on me like that.

  “Gideon, are you crazy?” I snapped at him.

  “No, are you crazy? Rodrick is right upstairs. If he sees you talking to one of these niggas in his business partner’s club, somebody will get fucked up.”

  “Oh, so it’s okay for him to do whatever he wants to do?”

  Marley stood up. “You okay, Tyesha?”

  “She’s fine,” Gideon told him.

  “I’m fine,” I said.

  Marley sat back down but kept an eye on me.

  “Where’s Kylie?” Gideon asked me.

  “With my momma. I’m here to settle this shit between me and Rodrick,” I said loudly over the music. “I’m tired of his bullshit.”

  “No, you not. You never will be. Go on home before you get in trouble.”

  “I thought you were on my side, Gideon.”

  “I’m on my side. I’m worried about me. If Rodrick comes down here and fucks shit up, I’ma be forced to fuck shit up wit’ him. Because I can’t let nothing happen to him. We sell dope together. He’s my investment.”

  I was surprised by what I said next: “So now you mad because I wouldn’t kiss you! You don’t like me no more, huh?”

  “It’s not because you wouldn’t kiss me. I don’t like you because you weak. You let Rodrick walk all over you because yall got a child together. I don’t like weak bitches.”

  “I’m weak now?”

  “Stupid weak,” he said firmly. “And gettin’ weaker.”

  “I’ma show you weak. Where’s Rodrick?”

  “He’s upstairs right now. He’ll be down—”

  I stormed off, jostling through the thick crowd. Holding the rail, I climbed the metal steps up to the next floor. There was a big, bearded man in an argyle sweater standing outside the door I needed to get in.

  He started to hold his hand up. Then he squinted at me. “Tyesha?”

  “Yes, is Rodrick in there?”

  I had no idea who this big man was. They rotated security all the time. I figured he knew me the same way everybody else I didn’t know knew me—through Rodrick or The Site. Or both.

  “I know you’re Rodrick’s BM,” he said, “but I can’t let you in right now.”

  “Why not?”

  “They’re handling business, you feel me?”

  “I bet they are. That’s why he just called me and told me to
come down,” I lied.

  “He did?”

  “Yes, I have his phone with his contacts.”

  “Aw, yeah, he was trippin’ earlier about losing it. My fault, cutie.” He turned the knob and held the door open for me. “Straight down the hall, make your first right.”

  The thick door shut on its own when I entered the hallway. As I walked down to the room, I heard one man’s voice speaking in a monotonous tone. It was Rodrick’s. I started speed walking.

  “…and we thank You for getting these bricks here safely. We ask You, Lord, to bless all of us as we traffic this product that came from Your Earth. We ask for Your protection and Your strength to protect us from the captors…”

  I was awed that Rodrick had the whole room holding hands in prayer. They were standing around a huge table stocked with what looked like plastic-wrapped bricks of weird colored marijuana—light and dark green hairs, dirty oranges. And the room had a pungent smell that I could only compare to animal crackers. I had planned to rush in on him and beat his head in for even thinking about changing his relationship status without giving me a warning, but I could wait until he was finished with his prayer. I’d give him that courtesy.

  “…and keep us from being bound. Because You teach us, Lord, that Your Word is not bound. We also ask You to protect our families as we go through our trials and tribulations. We ask You to touch Skooly’s brother’s heart and restore his consciousness as he recovers from his gunshot wound. We ask You to watch over our girlfriends and wives—and my soon-to-be wife and our 4-year-old daughter—as we risk our lives day in and day out to shelter them.”

  My bottom lip hung in shock. He referred to me as his soon-to-be-wife in front of all of his friends, and seemed so earnest about it. I wasn’t on fire like I was when I walked up the steps, but I was still sizzling.

  “We know, oh Lord, that we sin and walk in ways that aren’t Your way,” Rodrick continued, “but we ask you to show us Your way and guide us out of this game one day. We have so much to be thankful for and we praise You and…”

  One of the phones in my pocket beeped. And one of the men at the side of the table nearest me turned his head and I was noticed for the first time. He looked at me curiously—part what-are-you-doing-in-here, and part damn-you-look-good. I mouthed the word “sorry” and left the room.

  With my back against the hallway wall, still listening to Rodrick finish up his prayer, I found which phone went off.

  It was his.

  And he had a notification.

  I pressed the icon that took me to his messages. There was one from none other than the infamous Angela youngandfly Serrano. My anger tightened again as I read what she posted in his private inbox:

  Angela youngandfly Serrano: hey handsome I’m outside the club right now standing in this long-ass line. can u come get me in or do I have to pay? U better get me in VIP in the next 2 minutes or I’ma leave with this brotha standing in front of me who smells like some of ur good-ass weed #ticktock

  The ho was outside! I whisked down the hall and struggled out the thick door. I paced down the metal steps—I think Gideon saw me coming down. So I hurriedly pushed my way through the crowd. I got out the front door and saw the line of people stretching as far back as I could see.

  “Is it packed in there?” a guy near the front of the line asked.

  I ignored him and started walking quickly down the line, scanning the faces of the girls, giving them each a one-second glance.

  Where the fuck are you, bitch?

  Walking faster down the line, I saw a few light-skinned girls that could have resembled Angela youngandfly Serrano in the face, but none had the body to match. Angela’s breasts were huge, according to the images in her photo album. And her butt was just as big.

  Then I saw someone step out of line in a hurry, about thirty feet ahead of me. It was a girl that gave me a fleeting look of shock, wearing a dress far too small for her thickness. When the girl speed-walked down the sidewalk, her tush wobbled within her tight skirt, struggling to stay tucked in.

  I was almost sure it was Angela!

  “Hey!” I called.

  The light-skinned girl looked back for a second, turned and started working her long legs harder. She was nearly running now.

  “Angela!” I screamed, picking up the pace in my step. “I know that’s you! Stop!”

  But the girl didn’t. In her armadillo high heels, she was moving unbelievably fast. It was clear she was trying to get away.

  I pushed on, breaking into a full run. “C’mere, ho! Don’t make me chase you!”

  The girl ahead of me suddenly stopped from exhaustion. She turned around, planting her hands on her hips, fatigued. I halted when I saw the girl’s face up close. I gasped.

  “Deja?” I uttered her name in confusion.

  She looked at me as if she were tired—not just from running, but from hiding the truth.

  “Go ahead and cry,” she said flatly.

  As much as I didn’t want to, I couldn’t help it. The tears began to trickle, burning my cheeks.

  “How long?” I asked her.

  Sighing, she said, “We’ve been fuckin’ since the day after he got out of prison. Of course, he was with you the first day. But we’ve been writing each other before he got out.”

  “Fa-real, Deja? Are you serious? Yall been makin’ me look like a complete fool. I can’t believe you! You put up this fake name on The Site, fake pictures, and that bitch has been you the whole time? I used to complain about her to you and you fuckin’ played along. What did I do to you?”

  “He was mine from the beginning,” she retorted. “I told you I liked Rodrick back in high school. And not only did you steal him, you got pregnant by him too.”

  I wiggled my hands in my tight pockets nonchalantly. My left hand found the brass knuckles my mother used to fight with in her gang days. My fingers prodded through the finger holes.

  “You always thought you were better than me,” she went on. “You teased me about being fat even when I decided to start working out with you. I was always the fat friend. You’re little sidekick that had to sit back and watch all the niggas in school gawk over you.”

  I eased my fingers back out the holes. “Deja, I wasn’t teasing you to be mean. I was trying to motivate you to lose weight. You always complained about being big and I wanted to help you. Look at you now. I helped you get there.”

  “No, I did this!” she screamed at me, flowing her hands over her curvaceous frame. “Don’t try to take credit for this. That’s all you do is take. You took my self-esteem. You took my dignity. And you took my man!”

  “Them bitches is fightin’!” someone yelled from behind.

  I turned for a second, then—

  Bam!

  Deja punched me so hard I don’t know which side of my face she hit, as I found myself fighting with gravity. The wall of the building saved me from going down. Right when my eyes started working again, I saw Deja—clenching her teeth in rage—charging towards me. I covered my head as she swung at me again and carelessly struck the brick wall behind me. She howled in pain, and I seized the opportunity to grab her throat.

  “Bitch!” I snarled.

  She grabbed my throat too. We were choking each other.

  Biting my lip in anger, I pushed her up against a parked car and made her do a back bend, slamming her head down against the hood. I squeezed harder and she started wheezing. Impulsively, she grabbed my wrists and tried to pry them off. She couldn’t.

  I wanted to kill her. “I’m tired of people fuckin’ me!” I screamed. “No more! And it starts wit’ you!”

  There was a crowd around us now. I could hear the taunts and the laughter. Someone yelled out, “Don’t break it up! I’m getting this shit on video!”

  I grabbed her hair and slung her to the concrete. Deja looked furious. She kicked her heels at me but I got ahold of her ankles and threw them to the side. I dropped down on top of her and rained punches down on her savagely,
with my bare fists.

  The bridge of her nose split first.

  Then her left eye turned bloodshot.

  “Don’t break it up! Get back yall! Let ‘em fight!”

  -

  Fedbound Marley and 107 others commented on a video Tyesha816 was tagged in.

  August 17th, 2:00 p.m.

  CHAPTER 10

  Deja Michelle tilted her head back and let the second eye drop drip into her left eye. She blinked repeatedly as she dabbed the excess moisture with a tissue. Staring at her stark naked reflection in the mirror, she could barely recognize her face.

  Her left jaw was swollen red. There was a half-inch gash on the bridge of her nose that was now sealed with a butterfly closure. On her neck, where Tyesha had stomped her, there was a nasty brown bruise. And her lip was busted.

  She pulled her hair back and saw another bruise behind her ear. Titling her shoulder toward the mirror, she saw red scrapes on her back from the concrete. It looked like a tiger clawed her.

  “I should press charges,” she said.

  “Deja, don’t talk like that,” Rodrick said. “Yall fought. It’s over. Don’t bring in the law.”

  She turned around immediately. Rodrick was sitting on the ruffled bed Indian-style, trying to figure out the operating system on his new phone. He didn’t have on any clothes either.

  She quickly snatched the phone from him and tried to log into The Site.

  He shot to his feet. “What the fuck are you doing?!” he said, as he wrestled the phone back out of her hand.

  “I was changing your status!”

  “You not about to change shit,” he retorted.

  “Why not? You said you was, nigga! Are you gonna continue to make her think yall still together? Or am I the one getting played here?!”

  He plopped back down on the bed and lowered his face into his palms, sighing.

  “You need to make up your mind,” Deja said. “Is it gonna be me or her?”

  He kept his face buried, didn’t say a word. She crossed her arms and waited. Since Junior High she had wanted Rodrick Brown to be her man. But he had never dated big girls back then. She waited until he got locked up, after he’d already had a child by Tyesha, to confess in a letter that she’d had a crush on him. To her surprise, he wrote back and said he’d liked her too. But not sexually, because he couldn’t see himself sleeping with her because she thought lowly of herself. He told her if she didn’t like herself, why should he? The very next day after she got his letter she started exercising with Tyesha. She saw improvements within a few months’ time, and when she sent Rodrick pictures, he gave her glowing compliments and motivation. He taught her that God’s Spirit dwelled within and that she simply had to let His spirit shine outward. What once was a crush became an intense desire to have his love. She sent him money weekly and went to see him every day Tyesha or his family wasn’t there.