“Come on over here and let Aunt Cookie grease your scalp,” Aunt Cookie said, not realizing at first that Taj was the one who answered the phone. “Wait a minute. Hello?”
“How are you?” Taj said.
“Who is this?”
“Taj.”
“Hey, Babyboy, show me whatcha workin’ wit’! Where is my Vera?”
“Right here.”
“Oh, ’cause I’ll fuck ’em up!” She laughed. “You know how I do it!”
Taj took the phone off the receiver and handed me the earpiece while he clicked off the speaker option.
“I see Taj sticking around.” Aunt Cookie chuckled. “Don’t go jumping the gun.”
“He answering your phone and you telling me not to jump the gun? Hell, the way I see it, the only thing left is to jump the broom.”
“Anyway, Aunt Cookie, as soon as I get dressed I’ll be over there.”
When I got up to get dressed, Taj lay in the bed and watched me stroll around the room naked.
“What are you looking at?” I said, teasing him.
“You.”
“Why?”
“’Cause right now, I feel like I want to protect you from the world.”
“Taj, don’t worry about me. Believe me when I tell you I can take care of myself. Now, go to sleep. You know you have a long shift coming up.”
By the time I got ready to leave, Taj had fallen asleep. I kissed him on the forehead before I left.
Aunt Cookie was sitting on her front stoop when I got there. She already had the grease and the comb on the ledge, waiting for me like she used to when I was a little girl and she would braid my hair. We used to sit on the porch, while Uncle Boy sat on the bottom step shootin’ craps with his friends, playing cards, or simply drinking an ice cold beer. I used to love those times.
I smiled when I saw Aunt Cookie, and I walked up the stairs to where she was and gave her a hug and told her that I loved her.
I nestled my head in the creases of Aunt Cookie’s soft thigh, while holding the jar of black Dax grease. She reached for a finger full to place on the back of her hand.
“You think Rowanda ever been clean?” I asked her.
“Depends on what you mean by clean. You mean, ever had a clean path or ever had a clean mind, a clean dream, or ever been clean from a crack pipe or a dope needle?”
“Clean of everything.”
“Nobody is clean of everything, at least not in these parts. I always say, ‘There but for the grace of God, go I.’ Aunt Cookie have done a lot of things in her day. Some things folks know about, and some things folks don’t, but it all made me who I am today.
“Rowanda never been shown how to be clean. She never knew not to be turned out, never knew not to jones for love, or not to jones for drugs.”
“What does that mean?”
“Rowanda never been clean. Your grandmother carried on generations of hurt and pain, caused by somebody daddy or mama who died long ago.
“Rowanda used to beg for money on the street, and Larry used to feed her. He would give her money ’cause he was a big time drug dealer. Larry ain’t never gave a shit ’bout nobody but Larry, and somehow Rowanda got mixed up in there. Larry put her on the block, made her hustle her ass, and instead of cash, he offered her stash—a stash of dreams that would take her away from her day-to-day existence.”
In the midst of being told all of this, for a brief moment, I wasn’t disgusted when I saw Rowanda walking up Aunt Cookie’s stoop with a red bandana on, an oversized and out of shape green T-shirt, and too big jeans. I looked at her and thought that I could love her for a moment, despite the track marks and the Budweiser beer can in her hand.
“Hey, Cook!” she said.
“Hello, Vee.”
“Vera,” I said sternly, to correct her.
Aunt Cookie slightly nudged me on the side of my head, as she yanked a part of my hair with the comb. “Hey, Rowanda. How you been? You looking good, girl,” Aunt Cookie said, lying.
“I been to this methadone clinic, and they said that they gonna set me up with this program when they have a bed.”
“A bed? Methadone? I thought you were a crackhead,” I said, feeling the same way I felt when I was seven and flipping summersaults across the park bench, feeling like she wasn’t shit.
“I might be, but I’m still your mother.”
“You ain’t my mu’fuckin’ mother!” I screamed.
“Then who is your mother?”
“I ain’t got no goddamn mother!”
“You got a mother, and she a fiend who ain’t shit.”
“I will break yo’ mu’fuckin’ ass!” Aunt Cookie said to me, pointing the comb in my face and delivering words like stab wounds. “Don’t you ever stand up here and disrespect your mother like this! Now apologize!”
“I wish I would!” Before I could stomp off the stoop, Aunt Cookie had slapped me, but I didn’t cry. Instead, I gathered my things and I left.
Step Seven
“Hey, Vee,” Rowanda said, coming into the shop, slightly well dressed, with gray jeans and a white blouse on. Her hair was braided, going straight to the back with zigzag parts in between them. She looked as if she had taken the time she needed to wash her face and clear her mind. For the first time since she came in Grandma’s house and had three bags of legitimate groceries, she walked with a strut. Somebody told Aunt Cookie that she managed to maintain a thirty-day detox program and was somehow into God.
She didn’t bother to heed the fact that the sign on the door said closed when she waltzed herself in and called me Vee, knowing good and well that was my project name, and I didn’t want to hear it anymore. She was pretty for once, and for the first time in my life, I could accept that she and I looked alike. Her voice was sultry soft and reminded me of how she and Phyllis Hyman shared the same gift of lyrical speech.
“Hey, Vee,” she said. “I wanted to come and let you know I was clean.”
“Clean of what?”
“Of shit. Of garbage. Of all them drugs that’s been runnin’ my life. I’m clean.” She said this frantically, as if she had just taken a hot shower or a warm bath, as if she needed me to see that she somehow had a cleanliness that I could feel.
“That’s nice,” I said nonchalantly, “but what are you telling me for?”
“Vee, I’ve changed. I changed for you. I know that you only wanted me to be clean. Well, I’m here.”
For a moment, I talked myself outta breaking down and crying. Instead, I bit my lip and repeated my question. “Why are you telling me?”
“’Cause I want you to know.”
“Well, now I know, so you can leave.”
She stood there and stared.
I felt like a volcano was preparing to explode. I grabbed my black leather midriff jacket, my Kate Spade leopard print bag, and walked the hell out. I stood on the other side of the glass picture window and motioned for her to come out of my shop or I would call the police.
She didn’t even seem to care. She held her head up high and said, “I’m still your mother.” That was her good-bye. The same good-bye she gave me when the pink Aries K, filled with social workers, came and dragged me down the street.
I started to think about the day that social services came and took me away when Grandma died. My cousins, Dirty and Biggie, had run away. They were supposed to take me with them, but they changed their minds and left without me.
The mattress in Rowanda’s room was on the floor. It was old and gray with faded blue stripes. There were no sheets to cover it, but she had towels on it so that I wouldn’t have to lay on the bare mattress. I lay balled up in a fetal position, and Rowanda snatched me out of the bed.
“Here she go,” Rowanda said to the well-dressed lady standing behind her. “Y’all ain’t got to make no big scene. I know I ain’t fit to keep her.”
“What is you doin’, Rowanda?” I said, stumbling to the floor half asleep.
“See this lady,” Rowanda said. “Th
is is a social worker. She came to take you. You gotta go.”
I was silent as I looked around the room. I couldn’t believe that Rowanda was giving me away after all I did to love her. After all I tried to do. I never told anybody that she smoked the pipe at night or snuck out to be with a man. I never told anybody that she left me alone all night long, so for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why she wouldn’t want me anymore.
The social worker stood behind Rowanda, and she held her hand out for me to grab a hold of it. When she saw that I wasn’t coming toward her, she started walking toward me and calling my name. I ran and grabbed Rowanda around the knees and begged her to please keep me.
“I’ma be good, Rowanda. I promise. I won’t fight no more, and I’ll try real hard not to cuss.”
“Be quiet, Vera,” Rowanda said. “You ain’t that bad. Matter of fact, you ain’t done nothin’. Now, get up! This has to do with me and not you.”
“Rowanda, look,” I said, letting go of her knees and running past the social worker to the empty rusted coffee can that I kept pennies in. “Here, take these!” I was moving so fast that I tripped over my own feet and the pennies splattered all over the wooden floor. I scurried around to pick them up, handing them to Rowanda one by one. Tears fell from my eyes as I ran around the room.
“Here, Rowanda,” I said. “Take this money and buy us some food. Take it all, please! I won’t tell nobody that you smoked up all your money. I won’t say nothing. I know I be too fresh. I know I’m bad, but I’m sorry. You forgive me? All theses pennies together make at least three dollars. That’s enough for some bologna and cheese, maybe even some bread. Now, please, can I stay?”
Rowanda bent down on her knees, started crying, and said, “Vera, I’ma always be your mother, but you have to go with this lady.”
“But I don’t wanna go!” I cried. “I just gave you the money. You always say we don’t have no money, so I been finding pennies and saving them. That’s all the money I got. What else you need? Please don’t let them take me.” I started hugging her around her neck and squeezing tight.
The social worker placed her hand on my arm and I bit it! “Get offa me!” I yelled, “I wanna stay with my mother!”
Rowanda pushed me off and said, “Vera, look at me. I’m a fiend. They ain’t gonna let me keep you!”
“But I don’t wanna go, Rowanda. Mommy, please,” I begged. “Mommy, I’ll be good. Mommy, don’t make me go.”
“You ain’t done nothin’! And I already told you not to call me Mommy. I can’t take being called that knowing that I can’t take care of you. Now, stop it! You ain’t done nothin’ but be born. I’m the one that’s the dog in this life, and they is not gonna let me keep you!”
“But why not?”
“I just told you that I’m a fiend, girl!”
“So, ain’t everybody ’cept the school teacher and the social worker a fiend?”
“No, girl, everybody is not no fiend. Now, let’s go!”
I kicked and screamed, while Rowanda carried me down the stairs with my legs wrapped around her waist and my arms squeezing her neck tight. “Rowanda, please! I’ll find some more money. I promise. Now, let me stay! Pretty please.”
Rowanda peeled me off of her and handed me to the social worker. The police were standing there, and they warned Rowanda that if she tried anything, they would arrest her. Rowanda stood there an gave a snort. She watched me bang on the windows and thrash around the back seat of the car as I tried to get out. She watched, and then she turned to walk away.
“I’m still yo’ mother,” she said to me as she started walking down the street. “I’m still your mother, and don’t you ever forget that.”
By now, my memories had my chest feeling like it was going to cave in. I wiped the tears that were flowing from my eyes like rain, and I swallowed the hard lump in my throat. I banged on the dashboard and forced myself to remember that I was no longer the same eight-year-old girl, swinging my body around in the back seat.
I jumped out of my truck and yelled down the street after Rowanda, “You ain’t my fuckin’ mother!” It was something that I couldn’t do when I was eight, but now that I was thirty-one, I could make up for lost time, so I continued to scream, “You ain’t my fuckin’ mother!” Then I revved up my truck up and took off as fast as I could.
While waiting at the traffic light, my cell phone rang. “Vera!” Shannon was screaming, while I was struggling to place the earpiece in my cell phone. Shannon was breathing heavy and crying, which instantly made me nervous.
“Quincy!” she said. “Quincy was waiting outside of my office and he saw me kiss Nile!”
“What? Nile? Quincy saw you kiss Nile? Big deal. You better not own up to that shit. If Quincy didn’t tap you on the shoulder and say, ‘Hey, Shannon, it’s me,’ then don’t you confess to nothing.”
“But he told me he was going to kill me when I got home!”
“What?”
“That’s what he said, all because of Nile! Vera, you don’t understand. I love this man.”
“Who? Nile?”
“No, dammit! I love Quincy!” she yelled. “Will you listen to me?”
“I’m trying to, but you’re confusing me. And who the hell is Nile?”
“He’s a friend of mine.”
“When you get a new friend?”
“Like a couple of weeks ago.”
“Quincy just moved in with you a couple of weeks ago.”
“I know, but still.”
“But still what? You meeting friends that you can kiss?”
“Nile was a very close friend.”
“Mm-hmm. Don’t give me the shit. Hit me with the real deal, Shannon.”
“Look, the mu’fucker was fine,” she admitted. “He had big hands, big feet, and he was black as hell. I wanted to do ’im. I can’t even lie. Every time I saw him, I wanted to fuck him. He has an office in the same building as my magazine. We used to ride the elevator together.”
“Did you fuck him in the elevator?”
“No, but I wanted to. I love Quincy, but now I’m scared. I can’t go home! Quincy is crazy. You know he used to sell drugs, right? Plus, his hand’s like the size of my face. Please, Vera, I need you. I can’t go to a gunfight with a knife!”
“You can’t cheat worth a damn. What kinda high school game yo’ ass playing? You don’t never have the maintenance man anywhere near your job, knowing you got a crazy nigga at home. I’m sorry, Shannon, but Quincy’s ass is too big for me to fuck up. You got a mu’fuckin’ problem on yo’ hands.”
“I’ll admit I fucked up, all right, but I need help, Vera!”
I could have strangled Shannon. “Meet me on Lincoln Street,” I said.
When I met up with Shannon, I saw Rowanda walking down the street, but I looked the other way. Then I saw my cousins, Dirty and Biggie, hustling the block from the front seat of their kitted-up ride, with the convertible roof down and Snoop Dog pumpin’ inside. The way they sat with long braids in their hair, clean white wife beaters on, and brown corduroy shoes, you would have thought that they were from Long Beach or Compton.
“What up, cuz?” Dirty asked, boppin’ his head and signing Warren G’s hook on “Gin and Juice.”
“What up, cuz?” he asked. “Remember this? This shit is knockin!”
“My girl and I got a li’l situation here,” I said.
“What? Some niggas? Some bitches? Not to worry. Yo’ cousins got the shit locked!” Dirty insisted.
“Hey, Vee!” Rowanda said, sounding excited, as if she thought I had come to see her. I ignored her and kept talking.
“Vee, you ain’t just hear your mother talkin’ to you?” Biggie asked.
“My mother. Please.”
“Please my ass! You ain’t gonna disrespect my aunt like that. Now, you better check yo’self and get it straight. I don’t give a damn what has happened. We still family. All of us is.”
I ignored him, turned to Dirty, and said, “Can you me
et me back in Brooklyn? Shannon has a slight problem.”
“Yeah, cuz. Anything for you, but don’t be disrespectin’ yo’ mother like that no more. Take it from me. You only get one.”
I sucked my teeth, wrote Shannon’s address down on a piece of paper, and handed it to him. “Meet me here,” I said.
When Shannon and I arrived, Dirty and Biggie were watching Quincy pack his things in the back of his black Excursion.
“That’s yo’ shit, Shannon?” Dirty asked, staring Quincy down.
“Hell no!” Quincy said with the same thugness that Dirty threw out at him, sounding like he could set it off and snapped, “This my shit!”
“You better take that down, Chief,” Biggie said.
“Mu’fucka, please!” Quincy replied. “Step off! As a matter of fact, y’all need to disappear before I lose my mind and shoot a nigga!”
“Fuck that,” Dirty said. “My cousin called me over here ’cause they had a problem with yo’ ass. Now, you need to be gettin’ yo’ shit so you can jet.”
Quincy stopped packing his things and looked at Shannon. “Whose fuckin’ idea was it to bring Frick and Frack and put them in my face?”
“Vera’s,” she said, nudging me on the arm.
Oh, no this bitch didn’t just say that. I musta heard wrong.
“What did you just say, Shannon?” I said.
“Well, it was your idea. I don’t know them.”
Well, I’ll be damned! “You know what? Fuck it. Dirty, Biggie,” I turned to them and said, “I’m sorry, go home. This chick doesn’t know whether she’s coming or going.”
“You sure, cuz?” Dirty asked.
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
They got back in their car and took off.
“Look, Quincy,” Shannon said, “I’m in love with you, and I don’t want you to go. It wasn’t what you thought.”
“Then what was it, Shannon?” he asked.
“I was just giving him a hug. He’s one of Vera’s old boyfriends. Right, Vera?”
Oh, now the bitch expects me to lie after she turned on me. “Mm-hmm, whatever,” I said, pissed off.
Flip Side of the Game Page 10
