Pushin'

by L. Divine

  It was nice working alone on my spirit work and it was just the peace I needed to get my mind right for the week ahead. I’m working extra hard to get Mama the stove she so deserves for Mother’s Day and to make up for all the work I missed studying for my Advanced Placement exams last week. Luckily, summer’s around the corner, and with both my main job at Netta’s beauty shop and my side hustle doing hair at my mom’s place, my cheddar should be well stacked in a few months.

  It took me longer than normal to get back to the west side of town because of the Sunday cruisers out enjoying the beautiful evening. Maybe Jeremy and I can take a ride down the coast tonight if he’s not too tired from surfing all day. Jeremy takes his chosen sport very seriously and with his competition coming up, he’s been pushing harder than ever to be on top of his game.

  I’ve been at Rah’s house for all of ten minutes and already his cell phone is working my nerves. He’s been in his room talking since I arrived, and I’m ready to go. If I leave now I could take a shower and relax before Jeremy arrives, not that he cares much how I look these days. We just like being together, morning breath, stank asses and all.

  “Rah, I’m out,” I shout from my stance in the living room and head toward the front door. The days of waiting for Rah’s undivided attention are a thing of the past.

  “Oh no, you don’t,” he says, jogging into the foyer with a small gold box in hand. He hangs up his cell and hands me my belated gift. Finally. My birthday was weeks ago, but just because it’s late doesn’t mean I won’t accept it. I look up at my boy and smile, opening the box. Rah always gives thoughtful gifts.

  “Oh, Rah, it’s beautiful,” I say, pulling out the gold ankh charm hanging from a matching chain. He’s never bought me something so extravagant before. This bling must’ve set him back at least a bill or two. With my gold “Lady J” bangle from Jeremy, I’m starting myself a nice little collection of boyfriend jewelry, even if Rah is technically my ex. Mickey’s the one with the jewelry box full of shiny things from all of her conquests, but my two pieces are nothing to laugh at.

  “I know your birthday passed and I acted like a jackass, but I still wanted to give you your gift,” he says, taking the heavy necklace from my hands and walking behind me. “Let me help you put it on.” I move my freshly pressed hair from my left shoulder to my right and hold it up slightly so he can see what he’s doing. After securing the cold metal around my neck, Rah bends down and gently kisses me. He knows my neck is extra sensitive, especially in the groove between my ear and shoulder on either side.

  “Rah, I’ve got a man, in case you forgot,” I say, trying to resist his soft lips, but he ignores my reminder and keeps kissing, now almost sucking my skin. If he doesn’t stop soon I’m going to have a hickey on my neck the size of Long Beach to explain to Mama and everyone else with eyes, including Jeremy.

  “Do you really want me to stop?” Rah asks, moving his hips from side to side and me right along with him. Damn, he feels good; too good. His phone vibrates in his jean pocket and just in time, too. I almost got caught up in the rapture with this brotha and that is the wrong direction to go in.

  “I’ve got to get this. Don’t move,” Rah says, stepping into the living room and leaving me shell-shocked in the foyer. I should really get going, but before I can make my escape I hear something in the back of the house. As Rah continues his conversation in the living room, Sandy walks into the kitchen through the studio door with Rahima on her hip. Why didn’t she come in through the front door like she normally would? I don’t care enough to ask, nor do I want to stick around for the show.

  “I saw you two making out through the window,” Sandy says—no hi or hello. Where are her manners? “Are you going to stand there and tell me that you didn’t give up the panties yet?” Sandy asks, throwing her cell phone down on the counter. Rahima looks frightened but stays glued to her mother’s side. Sandy has little regard for her young daughter.

  “Well, hello to you, too,” I say, waving at my girl, who waves back in her cute two-year-old way. It looks more like snatching than waving, but I’ll take what I can get.

  “Please, Jayd, y’all can cut the act. There’s only one reason a nigga would deny all of this when it’s right here in front of his face, and that’s if he’s getting ass from someone else.” Sandy takes a pot out of the cabinet under the stove and walks over to the sink, filling it with water like she’s about to cook, but we both know that’s not what she’s doing.

  “Say what?” I ask, completely offended by her accusation, and so is Rah, who finally walks into the kitchen to deal with his irrational baby-mama. This is my final cue to roll.

  “Sandy, you’re talking like you’re crazy. Did you take your meds today?” Rah asks, but there’s nothing funny about Sandy’s behavior. Rah reaches for his daughter, but as usual Sandy’s holding her hostage to make her point. I can’t be a party to this drama any more than I already am. And I’m pissed that someone witnessed my moment of infidelity. Even if I didn’t initiate the neck kiss, I also didn’t do anything to stop it. How am I going to explain this one to Jeremy, not to mention the new gold hanging from my neck?

  “Don’t play with me, fool. I know what I saw.” Sandy’s eyes are more evil than usual. I hope she’s not planning to cook grits, because I do not want to witness an Al Green moment. Besides, she has no right reacting to Rah and me doing anything together, even if she’s way off. Why is she the only one who doesn’t see that?

  Because she’s right to some degree, my mom says telepathically, reasoning for the wrong side. Shouldn’t she be kicking it with her own man instead of worrying about me and mine?

  Mom, not now. Please. I can’t tell, but I think my mom’s laughing at my plea to get her out of my mind. Like I have any control over that. Maybe I can work on that part of my vision, too. Now that I possess her sight, there has to be a way to control it.

  “Sandy, you need to relax. You’re not my wife and I don’t have to answer to you—we already established that the last time you tried to pull this shit. We’re not a family, Sandy,” Rah says. His phone rings again and he goes back into the living room to answer it. Sandy looks at me like she wants to slit my throat with one of the knives by the stove. If I could fly over there I’d move them out of her reach, but no such luck.

  “I’ve got to make a run real quick,” Rah says, coming back into the foyer where I’m posted. “Jayd, you want to come with me?” I look from Sandy to Rah and then at the clock on the kitchen stove. Jeremy should be on his way soon and I don’t want to keep him waiting. “Ten minutes, Jayd, I promise.”

  “All right,” I agree. Anywhere is better than being here with Sandy, and I want to make it clear to Rah that he can’t kiss me like that anymore. Jeremy and I are definitely one-on-one these days, and he needs to respect that. Rah reaches for his keys on the kitchen counter and Sandy promptly snatches them up, now holding them and their daughter hostage.

  “Y’all ain’t going nowhere,” she says, throwing the keys out of the open kitchen window. If Rah’s mom kept up with the house maintenance like a good homeowner, there would be a screen there, preventing at least that part of Sandy’s erratic behavior.

  “What the hell did you do that for?” Rah yells at a smiling Sandy. Rahima leaps from her mother’s arms and runs to her father, who picks her up, holding her tight.

  “I’ve got to go,” I say, opening the door behind me and heading away from the ugly scene. I can holla at Rah later. He puts Rahima down and heads out of the front door behind me. I wave ’bye to Rahima, who’s now back in her mother’s arms. Poor baby. She doesn’t know which way to go, and I feel her. But unlike Rahima, I can drive away from the scene of the crime. Sandy runs out of the kitchen and through the back door. Rah and I stare at each other as we hear his car door slam and the engine start.

  “’Bye, bitches!” Sandy yells, pulling away from the curb and speeding down the street with Rahima in the backseat. She must’ve found the keys to Rah’s ride in the
bushes. I told Nellie black girls don’t call another sistah a bitch without meaning it in the worst way possible. I thought Rah learned his lesson the last time she stole his grandfather’s car, but I guess not. If my dream about her driving fast and ultimately getting into a near-fatal accident was any indication of what’s ahead, I need to warn Rah.

  “We have to stop her,” I say to him, but Rah just looks after his red car speeding down the street, completely dazed. “Come on,” I say, running over to my mom’s car parked in the driveway, but he doesn’t move.

  “Man, I’m done chasing that trick. Let her parole officer catch her,” Rah says, not realizing how serious the situation is. He looks down at his ringing cell and silences it for the moment. What the hell?

  “Rah, Sandy’s out of control and with your daughter in the back. Don’t you care about Rahima’s well-being?” I open the car door and get in, starting the engine. If we leave now we may be able to catch Sandy at the light.

  “That’s what I’m saying,” he says, sending a text to God-only-knows who. “When she gets busted for being out past her curfew, she’ll be in violation of her parole and back in jail, and I’ll have Rahima once and for all. Besides, I’ve got something to handle real quick. Can you drive, baby?” What the hell did this fool just say to me? And is Rah seriously putting his hustle over his daughter’s safety in the hopes that Sandy will get busted? Really?

  “Rah, I’m telling you that Sandy driving with Rahima is a bad idea. I had a dream about her getting into an accident where they both get seriously hurt.” Rah gets into the passenger’s seat and looks at me, stroking my cheek with his left hand.

  “Jayd, Rahima’s in the car with her mother every day, and nothing that bad has ever happened. Maybe your dream meant something else,” he says, patronizing me. Rah’s never going to take me seriously when it come to what’s best for Rahima because I’m not her mother, and I see that clearly now. “Now can we go, please? That girl’s already got me running late and I need to get my money.”

  “Find another way to get there. I’m going home,” I say, pushing Rah out of my mom’s ride and shutting the door behind him. I already know where this road leads and I refuse to go down it with him anymore. I’ve been way too nice about this entire situation, and however their mess ends, I want no part of it.

  By the time Jeremy and I finally managed to fall asleep last night, it was too late for me to get a good night’s rest. Rah always manages to get my head too hot for my own good. There has to be some way I can permanently protect myself from his advances, because Lord knows I’ve tried stopping Rah before, and each time I finally give in to his undeniable charm. Even if Rah is an arrogant and bold fool at times, I have to admit I love his taste in jewelry. I’ve been at school all day sporting my belated birthday gift and managing to hide it from Jeremy at the same time. I took the necklace off last night because I didn’t want to explain to Jeremy where it came from, but that discussion is inevitable if I plan on keeping the gift. The solid gold feels good around my neck. Now I know how Chance feels, sporting all of his rapper-like bling: It just feels good wearing a little weight.

  “Good morning, class,” Mrs. Sinclair, says, her frizzy red hair officially entering the room before she does. “Quiet down, quiet down,” she says as we all file into the miniature rehearsal room that doubles as our main classroom. As we all settle into fifth period, Mrs. Sinclair looks overly excited to announce our final play of the school year. I didn’t support the spring musical because, as usual, there were no leading roles for a sistah—let them tell it. But in order to maintain my A average, I have to participate in the last production of the year in some capacity. And to continue as an active thespian—or honors drama club member—I have to try out. Every club has its rules of engagement.

  “What gives, Mrs. S?” Chance asks, making his favorite teacher’s cheeks the same color as her hair.

  “The spring play will be Wait until Dark by Frederick Knott. I am so thrilled! I love this script,” she says, passing out xeroxed copies to half of the class and playbooks to the other half. She only has enough original scripts for the cast members. I snatch up a book and Chance grabs a copy. Everyone’s already visualizing who he or she’ll be, including me. Hopefully I’ll have a good chance at the lead.

  “Shit,” I say under my breath, but it doesn’t escape Chance’s ears.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks, looking through his packet. “I’m definitely trying out as one of the bad guys in the opening scene,” he says, already absorbed in the dialogue.

  “The lead is a blind woman,” I say, looking through the cast description. “And the only other female role is a little girl. What the hell am I supposed to do with this?” Being blind is a taboo for the women in my lineage—even while pretending, I assume.

  “Of course you will need to prepare a dialogue and a monologue for auditions, which will begin next week. Get busy, young people.” Mrs. Sinclair leaves us to our reading and heads back to the theater.

  “So, which scene are we going to perform, my blind lady?” Chance says, not realizing that his playful comment gives me the chills. I never want to be blind again—for real or fiction. My sleepwalking incident a few months ago, where I lost my sight temporarily, was enough for me.

  “Chance, that’s not funny. And I’m not trying out for the lead. I’m going for the little girl,” I say, skimming through the ancient playbook. I’ve always liked the play, and Mama loved the movie with one of her favorite actresses, Audrey Hepburn, in the lead. Truthfully, I would love to play the lead role, but I can’t take the risk.

  “The hell you are,” Chance says, snatching the playbook out of my hand and writing my name next to the lead role. “There. Now you have to try out. Let’s get to work picking a scene.”

  “I appreciate the faith, Chance, but you know I’m not going to get it anyway,” I say, reaching for my script. “And I actually like the little girl. Gloria’s got balls.” Both women in the play have gumption, and I like the plot. “As long as I can be in the last production of the year, I’m good.” Chance’s blue eyes look like they’re trying to probe my mind, but he doesn’t have it like the women in my family do.

  “Jayd, I don’t get you. One minute you’re up in arms about there not being any parts for you and how unfair the school is. The next you’re turning down the perfect part for you. What the hell?” Alia, Cameron, Matt, and Seth busy themselves with discussing the set designs and other behind-the-scenes details for the production. We have six weeks left in school and the final performance is usually the week before the last, which means our rehearsal schedule will be tight for the next four weeks. The remainder of the class files outside and into the dressing rooms to begin rehearsals. Everyone has to try out: no exceptions. And even if there aren’t enough parts, Mrs. Sinclair makes it a point to have groups perform during class time for grades. That way everyone participates and she has a good pool of understudies if need be.

  “Chance, it’s complicated,” I say, looking down at my vibrating phone to see a text from Rah. Ever since his little fiasco with Sandy last night, I’ve been giving him the cold shoulder. This fool is tripping if he thinks I’m going out like a sucker. I have a man and he’s a good one. It’s high time I started acting like it, and that includes no more drama with Rah.

  “Yeah, I see,” Chance says, looking at my phone and then back up at me. “When are you going to get a new phone?”

  “Why would I do that when I just got this one for Christmas?” I ask, silencing my cell.

  “Because you got it from him,” Chance says, pointing at the open door where Rah walks in with Nigel behind him. What the hell is he doing here? Doesn’t he know he’s on the student roster at Westingle High, not South Bay?

  “Oh shit,” I say under my breath. The last thing I want is an argument. I have too much work to do and I need to keep my head clear for work this afternoon. Mama and Netta have a long list of things for me to do at Netta’s shop because they’re busy
with religious duties these days, and I’m grateful for the extra cash. I still haven’t got completely back on point financially because of all the time I took off studying for the Advanced Placement exams, but I’m getting back on my game.

  “What’s he doing here?” I ask aloud like I don’t already know the answer to the question. As usual, Rah wants to apologize for his rude-ass behavior.

  “Jayd,” Nigel says, waving for me to come over. And why isn’t he in class, too? It must be nice being an athlete and enjoying all the perks thereof.

  “I’m busy, in case you didn’t notice the classroom you just walked into.” I do my best to ignore them both and return my attention to Chance, who is busy texting. Fine. In the meantime I’ll pick out my own scene to perform by myself.

  “Jayd, it’ll only take a minute,” Rah says, pleading with those brown, puppy dog eyes that always get him his way—but not this time. I’m too pissed at the disrespect he showed me yesterday and at the fact that he didn’t heed my warning. Between Sandy and me, I am obviously the more trustworthy, but Rah still brushed me off because I’m not Rahima’s mom and never will be, no matter how much I care about her.

  “You really to need to handle him, Jayd, before Mrs. Sinclair comes back in here and has a fit,” Chance says, putting his BlackBerry back in its holder on his pants buckle. “Come on, you know I’ve got your back.” Chance rises from his seat and reaches his hand out for me to take. His Rolex watch dangles loosely on his thin wrist, reminding me of his mother’s matching watch. I wonder if she’s told him the truth about his adoption yet? I love my boy and I hope he finds out about his black blood sooner than later. Thanks to my dreams, I know more about my friend than I want to. I don’t know how much longer I can keep a secret this big.