by Ni-Ni Simone
I knew I didn’t want him to leave me. But I also knew I didn’t exactly wanna stay. I was tired. And I was bored. And I couldn’t stop thinking about Josiah at all the wrong times. Something had to give. There was no way I could keep feeling conflicted and confused . . . and stupid . . . all at the same time.
It was on the tip of my tongue and the forefront of my mind to tell Zaire we needed space. But as soon as I felt like I could say it, my heart took it back.
This was so dumb.
Who breaks up with their boyfriend over boredom? And who thinks about their ex with lingering thoughts of Is he the one?
I’m not that chick who doesn’t get it. Who doesn’t understand that you don’t go backward. You go forward. Once a cheater, always a cheater. No second chances.
“Just say it, love,” Zaire whispered. “I’ma love you anyway.”
Tears poured from my eyes. “I need to see you,” I said, biting the corner of my lip.
“Then come outside. I’ve been waiting here for you this whole time.” I ran over to my bedroom window, looked out into the street, and there was my baby waiting for me.
I threw on a pair of jeans and one of Zaire’s T-shirts that his cologne lingered on. Slipped on a pair of sneakers, rushed past Courtney kissing the computer screen, down the stairs, and there was my man, leaning against the passenger-side door of his black F-150.
I walked toward him and he met me halfway. “You came all this way, this time of the night, to tell me you’re leaving me?”
He locked his arms around my waist.
I slid my arms around his neck.
“Never. I came down here to tell you I love you.”
Zaire pressed his lips against mine, and just as my tongue welcomed his, he said, “We gon’ get through this, love.”
And he was right. We would get through it. I just didn’t know where we would end up.
14
All I ask of you . . .
A week later
“Good morning, class,” Doctor Richardson said as he slid onto the edge of his desk and looked from one side of the lecture hall to the other. “We’ll be starting today’s class with a discussion of Toni Morrison’s classic Sula. Please take out your novels.”
“Yo, I need you to step outside real quick,” Josiah leaned in and whispered.
He can’t be serious.
I ignored him.
And what did he do? He clenched his jaw, raised an eyebrow, and kicked his voice up an octave. “I’m serious. I need to hollah at you. Right now.”
Excuse me? Perhaps I missed the S on homie’s chest, so I looked at him and did my best to telepathically deliver this message: Boy, please. And then I turned back around.
Which only caused this freak-o to lean in closer and straight invade every ounce of my personal space.
He said through clenched teeth, “Yo, you think I’m playing with you? I said right. Now! Seven!”
Screech!
The whole class paused, including Doctor Richardson, who looked more amused than shocked.
Did he... did he . . . just yell at me?
“All righty now.” Doctor Richardson stood up straight and placed Sula on the edge of his desk. “I’m not trying to be in anyone’s business, but it looks to me like we have lil Rihanna and Chris Breezy in the hizzouse.”
I swear I hated him.
Of course the old heads fell out laughing while everyone else looked at us like we were crazy.
Clearly Josiah suffered from a case of mistaken identity, ’cause my name was Seven and not Eleven. I started to tell him that, but figured I’d save my breath and say something a little more significant. “I suggest you take that down, ’cause you are sending all kinds of signals to my fool-on-the-loose radar.”
“Let me try this again,” Josiah said sternly. “I said I need to speak to you right now. Now either we gon’ do this here or we gon’ do it outside.”
“Oh, I see. You’re trying to pursue a career in acting. Because clearly you’re trying to play a crazy black man. But ain’t nobody got time for dat! So check it. You should probably try drama class.”
Doctor Richardson all but laughed as he said, “I agree, Umm-Yeah-It’s-Seven. Drama class is probably where they do that.” He looked at the old heads and once again they cracked up like this dude was the comedic Jesus or something.
Sucker.
Josiah continued, “So we gon’ do this here. Cool. Why you play me in your corny azz blog? What? You can’t make it happen without mentioning me?”
“Corny!” Oh no, he didn’t. “I can’t make it happen? Psst, please. Self-flattery is so whack.”
“No, what’s whack is you trying to do me. Don’t try and jump-start your Internet hustle off my back!”
“What?”
“You heard me. You’re a lot of things, but deaf isn’t one of ’em. And here’s another thing: If you’re in love with me, then you need to say that. Instead of dissing me in some weak article that should’ve been strictly about Bling! Talking about I better watch my back because Bling is coming for me. Really? Word? So how about this, since we comin’ for each other: Keep my name outcha mouth because as soon as I run and tell your boyfriend how you’re on my sack, you gon’ wish you never called my game whack. Now if you don’t want me to bust up your rebound, then don’t ever in yo life come at me like that again!”
Say something.
Cuss. Him. Out.
But I couldn’t think of what to say. And, yeah, I was slick with words and my tongue stayed oiled up, but at this moment, with me being caught so off guard, with Josiah coming at me ultra crazy, and in class on top of that, I couldn’t think of what to say. But I knew when all else failed that Josiah hated being dismissed. Hated. It. So I flicked my wrist, twisted my lips, and calmly said, “Whatever.”
“Yeah, it’s always whatever, when you don’t want to deal with something. But we gon’ handle this!”
Stay calm...
Stay calm...
Bump that!
“You know what!” I snapped, as I felt all my efforts to stay calm flee the scene. “I don’t have to take this. You wanna act ridiculous in class, then you do that. But leave me out of it!”
“And I would like to be left out of it too,” Doctor Richardson said, “because in a minute I’m either going to ask both of you to leave or I’m going to get campus police to do it. Choice is yours.”
I didn’t even acknowledge that as I quickly tossed my backpack over my shoulder. I stormed out of class and as I rounded the corner, I heard Doctor Richardson singing, “ ‘What’s love got ta do, got ta do with it’!”
I didn’t know what I felt more: embarrassed or straight-up pissed. I rushed up the cobblestone path, into my building, and when I reached my apartment door and pushed it open, who stood in the living room? Josiah . . . Dang, did he fly here? And next to him was Courtney, with a zebra-print backpack slung over his shoulder, standing there grinning as he looked at me and said, “What y’all going through?”
I sucked my teeth and instead of responding, I pushed past Josiah and into my room.
Just as I went to slam the door, Josiah stuck his foot in the doorway and said, “Like I said, we gon’ deal with this today.”
“What y’all gon’ deal with?” Courtney smacked his gums.
Know what? I’m. About. To. Lose. It.
“Yo, what’s your problem?” I snapped, flinging my arms in the air. “Like seriously! So what? I dissed you? You go postal? Really? You never been dissed before? And after that last game you had, where you missed all your free throws, turned over the ball twice—”
“And fouled out,” Courtney added.
“And fouled out,” I continued. “I wasn’t the only one who dissed you. ESPN played you. The school paper questioned what happened to you. And you wanna come for me? What you poppin’? Mollies?”
“Ah hell, nawl!” Courtney squealed. “Mollies? Next thing I know you’ll be trying to eat my face off! Let me two-snap up outt
a here! You’re on your own with this one, Seven.” And a few seconds later, the front door slammed behind him.
“So I had a bad game. And?” Josiah snapped. “That doesn’t give you a reason to come for me!”
“A bad game? You had three bad games in a row!” I jabbed my index finger toward his face. “And, yeah, if you don’t get your mind right, Bling—the next best player on the team—is coming for you. And another thing. What’s with all this pretty-boy dunkin’ and dribbling you’ve been doing? You tryna go to the NBA or stay on the playground? ’Cause clearly you’re confused. And if you’re not, then I am. And, yeah, I called you on it. So what? Get back on the court and play ball or go sit down!”
“Why you sweatin’ what I do on the court?”
“There you go! I’m not sweatin’ you and I don’t care what you do! All I know is that ever since we were seven all you talked about was playing ball and being a basketball player. That’s all you’ve ever wanted. You worked hard for it. You prided yourself on being recruited by the top schools. You practiced every day. You are the best basketball player out there and you’re turning over the ball? Where’d that come from? You’re in the big leagues and it’s a million dudes who can ball, and with the way you’ve been playing, it’s gon’ be one to come up from behind you. And that’s gon’ be it for you! So, yeah, I called you on your bull-ish, ’cause somebody had to!”
Josiah took a step toward me. He reached for my hand, but I snatched it away. “Go ’head, Josiah. Would you just leave?”
“I’m not leavin’. Not until you answer me. Why do you care?”
“I just told you I didn’t.”
“No. What you just told me was a lie. Now I’ma ask you again. Why do you care? Why does it matter to you what I do?”
“This is the last time I’ma say this. I don’t care what you do.”
“Stop frontin’, Seven. Stop it. I know you care. And the way you loved me and the way I love you, it’s no way to stop that.” He took a step toward me and I took a step back. And we continued our step forward and step back dance until the back of my head hit the wall and I couldn’t go any farther. There was no space left between us. Josiah placed his hands flat on the wall and looked down at me. “You still in love with me?”
Silence.
“Because I’m still in love with you. And every day, every moment, I find myself thinking about you and thinking about how I effed up.”
“Josiah—”
“Let me finish. I’m sorry, Seven. I am. What I did was wrong. How I treated you was wrong. But you’ve never made a mistake . . . ever? You’ve never done something you prayed every night to be forgiven for? I’m sorry, baby. I’m so, so sorry. Please forgive me.” He whispered against my lips, “Please. I need you in my life again.”
Don’t give in...
Don’t give in...
I pushed Josiah in his chest and quickly moved out of his embrace. “Are you serious right now? I’ve loved you since I was ten and no matter what I do, it won’t go away!” Tears stung my eyes. Ugh! “That’s what’s wrong with me! I keep praying, and hoping, and wishing, and waiting, and my heart won’t let you go! I don’t want to love you. You treated me like nothing. You didn’t even fight for me!”
“Fight for you? You wouldn’t even talk to me!”
“You hurt me!”
“I know! And I’ve said I was sorry a million times. But you, you get so hard and you won’t let nobody in. I wanted to fight for you, but you ran off with ole dude. And can you honestly tell me that you weren’t cheating on me, really?”
“What? Now you’re trying to twist this around and put it on me. Get out!” I walked over to the door and pointed.
Josiah walked over to the door and closed it. “I ain’t going nowhere, so you can stop asking me to leave. How long are you going to make me pay for one mistake? For the rest of my freakin’ life? You don’t love ole boy and you know it!”
“I do love him!”
“Not the same way that you love me!”
“Josiah, it doesn’t matter!”
“It does matter.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve loved you since I was ten and no matter what I do I can’t get it to go away either. And I don’t want it to go away. I want you back. I need you back. You’re my best friend. I miss you.” Josiah walked over to me and pressed his forehead against mine. “I miss you,” he whispered, as tears glistened in his eyes. “And I don’t know what to do, Seven. I don’t. I feel lost. And confused. And sometimes we’re in class and I just stare at you, wishing you would let me love you again. I can’t stop thinking about you. I promise you I am effed up. I need you, baby. It’s so much I wanna tell you, but you won’t talk to me.”
“Josiah, just—”
“Listen.” He placed a soft kiss on my lips. “Just tell me what to do to stop loving you. Tell me and I swear I’ll leave you alone. If you’re really in love with Zaire, then I’ll step off, but I need you to tell me something, so I can know if I should stay or figure out how to go.”
Silence.
“Tell me.” He kissed me softly. “Tell me. You want me to leave or are you still in love with me?” He pressed his lips against mine and let them linger there. “Because I love you so much. You’re my air. I can’t breathe without you. I can’t. I can’t stop thinking about you. You’re in everything I do. Every game I play. And I’ve been messing up the last few games because I’ve been missing you like hell. And I can’t front anymore.”
“Josiah . . .”
“Tell me, baby.” We began to kiss passionately. “Tell me . . .”
“I love you.”
15
Little secret
A week later
I wasn’t a cheater. I wasn’t . . .
I swear I wasn’t.
I’d just made a mistake ... being with Josiah the other night.
And I was trying like heck not to make another one.
But . . . sitting on Zaire’s couch, watching his routine go around and around made me dizzy... and pissed me off.
I was sick of pizza!
I was sick of knowing every word he was about to say.
And I was sick of counting his yawns, listening to his played stories about work, and coworkers, and supervisors.
Like, say what?
Say who?
I didn’t want to hear about his work schedule.
Like seriously, can we get a date?
Can we hit a party?
Who cares about a coworker?
And anyway, what kind of convo is that?
That’s not sexy.
Could we at least liven things up by talking about who I wanted to interview for my blog?
Could we chill in my dorm for once?
Just once.
’Cause I didn’t want to sit here and eat pizza, and count yawns, and watch TV, and fall asleep on the couch, and wake up in the middle of the night and give him some.
That was so . . . so . . . played.
I wasn’t about that life.
And I wasn’t about being a cheater either. But sitting here babysitting boredom while Josiah texted me Wassup? made me think twice about creepin’.
After a few minutes of contemplating if I wanted to respond to Josiah’s text, I typed Nothing and hit send.
“Yo, really?” Zaire said, with a slight attitude. “I’m talking to you and you start texting? That’s how we droppin’ it now?”
“Huh? What?” I blinked. Think . . .Think . . . Think . . . What was he talking about? I don’t know. Don’t be rude. Focus on your man. I slid my phone into my purse and said, “My fault, baby. I was responding to Khya. She and Bling . . . are, umm . . . not exactly getting along and she was upset about it.”
“Upset about what? She’ll be on to the next dude in a few minutes.” He reached for a slice of that dry pizza.
“Don’t say that. She likes Bling.”
“She liked my boy too. And that didn’t stop her from doing
a whole other dude.”
That pissed me off. “You act like she’s a ho. I don’t appreciate that.”
“I never called the girl a ho. And why is that bass in your throat? What’s that about?”
“I just don’t like the slick comments you make about my friends.”
“Seven, you’re the one who told me that Khya keeps boyfriend after boyfriend.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t expect you to throw it in my face again. Dang.”
“Let’s not argue about your friends, okay? I never said the girl was a ho. I’ve been working all week and all I’ve been thinking about is spending time with you.” He slid closer to me as my phone binged, letting me know that I had another text message.
I inched away from Zaire, reached for my purse, and took out my phone. It was another text from Josiah. I’m in the pool hall. Come chill with me.
I did all I could to fight back the smile I felt easing onto my face. Don’t ask me why, but my heart raced. It must’ve been the taboo temptation. And, yeah, I knew I was being a little shiesty and shady, but . . . maybe . . .
No. I can’t do Zaire like that.
I didn’t respond to the text. Instead, I slid the phone back in my purse.
Zaire looked at me suspiciously. At least that’s how I felt, so I said, “Why are you looking at me like that? I told you Shae and Country were having some drama.”
“I thought you said Khya and Bling,” he replied, giving me the eye.
I sucked my teeth. “You know what I mean.”
“Nah, I know what you said.”
“Well, I meant to say Khya and Bling. Shae and Country are cool.”
“Straight. Now can we get back to us?” He slid closer to me and just as I went to give in to his kisses, my phone binged again.
I reached for my purse and he snapped, “Yo, what the heck? Can I get a minute?”
“Would you relax and fall back?” I looked at him like he was crazy. I slid my phone out of my purse. My eyes scanned the text: I know I told you I would give you some space the other night. So if you don’t want to come, I understand. I just wanted you to know that I was thinking about you.
