by Ni-Ni Simone
I squinted. “Brooklyn?”
“Bricks?” Brooklyn hesitated. “What are you doing out here?”
Thank God!
“Get in.” Brooklyn reached over and pulled up the lock.
I was soaking wet when I got into the car. “Boy, I am so dang happy to see you!” I let out a sigh of relief.
“That’s ’cause I’m the man.” He smiled, wiping the rain from my eyes with the backs of his thumbs.
I laughed. “Any other time I would tell you how whack it is to ride your own sack, but right now I’ma have to agree with you, you’re the man.” I shot him a soggy high five.
He flicked the excess water from his hand. “Yo, why are you out here just walkin’ around in the rain? Is that what y’all do up north? ’Cause down here we call that a li’l crazy.”
I chuckled. “Whatever. I’m trying to get home. And, anyway, the question is, where are you comin’ from?”
“You’re never supposed to answer a question with a question.”
“So, what you’re sayin’ is, you want me to answer your question, but you don’t wanna answer mine.”
“No, what I’m sayin’ is, I asked you first. But if you must know, I was chillin’ with a friend,” he said.
“Who? The yuck-muck from the other night?”
“Now why you calling names? Didn’t I tell you before to watch your mouth. And don’t worry about who it was; just know it was a friend. Now, your turn.” He put the car in gear and took off down the street.
I looked him over and did my best to rate his trust meter; he ranked in between highly trustworthy and maybe not so much. I took a chance. “If I tell you, you better not laugh and you better not tell a soul. ’Cause I’m pissed off to the max. and I don’t think it’s funny.”
“I won’t laugh.”
“Pinky swear?” I held my pinky out.
He frowned. “I’m not ’bout to pinky swear with you. I’m a man. I don’t do that.”
“Well, if you don’t pinky swear, I’m not gon’ be able to tell you.”
“Why?”
“ ’Cause that’s the only way I’ma know if you’re able to keep your mouth closed.”
Brooklyn shook his head. “Don’t be tellin’ nobody I’m up in here pinky swearin’.” He locked his pinky with mine.
“Bet,” I said as he continued driving. “So it all started when me, Tasha, and Reesie was at the skatin’ rink. We ran into Li’l Herman, who was beggin’ Tasha like a fiend needin’ to cop.”
Brooklyn laughed, as he made a right turn. “Chill. Don’t dog my boy like that.”
“You can never be dogged by the truth. Anyhow, Lottie also happened to be at the skating rink.”
“Lottie.” Brooklyn frowned. “Your boyfriend?”
“He is not my boyfriend.”
“That’s what your mouth says. I hear you talkin’. But I also see you out here chillin’ with him.” He stopped at a red light.
“You gon’ let me tell the story or you got it from here?”
“I’m listening.”
“Prove it.”
“How?” The light changed to green.
“Prove it by being quiet. Now, as I was sayin’, Lottie asked could he take me home, and I told him yeah. And at first the ride was okay. We laughed a little. Talked; you know, we kicked it. Then the police stepped in.”
“The police?”
“The police. And they pulled him over.”
“What?” Brooklyn’s eyes popped wide open.
“Yup. And this dude had two bags of weed on him.”
“Weed! Say word.”
“Yoooooo, word to the tenth power!”
“Then he announces he’s a felon, on parole!” I told Brooklyn e’rything, not leaving out a single detail, including how I told Lottie his name was gon’ be Loretta Clink-Clink.
Brooklyn laughed so hard that, although we were only down the street from where I lived, he had to pull over. “Yo, you straight flipped on him.”
I gave Brooklyn a high five. “Heck yes, I did. My freedom is not a game.”
Brooklyn shook his head. “Now see, had you gon’ out with me, I would’ve hooked you up with some Burger King and we would’ve driven down to the beach and chilled with a Luther cassette in the backdrop.”
“Oh, really?” I said. “Burger King. How romantic. ’Cause the Big Mac is the illest.”
“It’s the Whopper. And you know it’s nothin’ better than a burger and an order of fries by candle light,” Brooklyn said as he drove up the street and parked in front of Ms. Glo’s house.
I smiled and said, “Oh, so we gon’ have candles? Now that might make me say yes.”
“Of course you gon’ say yes, ’cause it’s fresh.”
“Oh really, is that why I’ma say yes?”
“Yeah, plus you’re tired of running from me.”
Now that was the truth. I was tired of runnin’ from him.
I grew silent. Mainly because I knew I could no longer push him away, and I didn’t want to. But then again, when I was willing to confess my feelings to him, he showed up at the party with some dame on his arms, so suppose he now has a girlfriend. I’m not about to pour my heart out and make myself look dumb.
“Do you have a girl?” I asked.
“What?” He looked taken aback. “Where did that come from? No, I don’t have a girl.”
“So what was up with ole girl at the party?”
“I told you, I met her at the party and I left her there.”
“Looked like a full-on date to me.”
“You should stop assuming, and anyway, why are you buggin’? I’m the one who should be looking at you sideways. I’ve been askin’ you out, and you’ve been playin’ me, I guess, for ole boy.”
“That is not true.”
“Looks that way to me. Mmph, maybe I ain’t thug enough for you. Maybe you need a dude who’s two seconds from sending you to jail.”
“Now who should stop assuming?”
“I’m just calling it how I see it.”
“Well, you need glasses. And, for your information, at the after-party I was ready to step to you and be like, ‘I’m feelin’ you. I think you’re cute. And maybe we should hang out sometimes.’”
“What stopped you?”
I twisted my lips. “You knooooow what stopped me! You and your new boo.”
“I told you I met her at the party.” He shrugged. “No big deal.”
“It was a big deal to me.”
“Okay, that was then; this is now. It’s nobody here but me and you, so what’s your excuse? Do you like me?”
“I think . . .”
“And tell the truth, in one word.”
“Brooklyn . . .”
He leaned into me and placed his forehead against mine. “Yes or no.”
I looked into his eyes and all I wanted to do was kiss him and say yes in my best Pam Grier voice, but I couldn’t, so I said, “I never really dated a boy like you before.”
He lifted his forehead from mine. “What does that mean?”
“It means I’m not like some innocent little girl, who’s moved to the south for fresh air. Like, I don’t have a choice but to be here.”
“Why don’t you have a choice?”
I did my best to rate his trust meter again. It was the same, so I took another chance. “Well, you may not know this, but I have a two-year-old little girl.”
“Really? Okay,” he said, and I couldn’t tell if he was surprised or indifferent.
I continued, “Yeah, and we couldn’t live in Jersey any longer because I kept getting into trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“I had a fight and I sliced a girl in her face. We used to be friends and we had an argument. Long story. I mean, I wish I’d handled it differently. But I didn’t. And here I am. Sentenced to get my life right or bust.”
“So that’s your story, huh?”
“Most of it.” I shrugged.
“Brick
s, none of us are perfect.”
“I know, but . . .”
“Look, from the first day I saw you, I was checkin’ for you and wanted to know who you were.”
“And now that you know?”
“I want to get to know you even better. What you need me to do, write you a note?”
I laughed. “No. I don’t need a note.”
“So wassup with us?”
Us? Did he just say us? Breathe. Breathe. Relax. I moved in closer to him, slid my arms around his neck, and said, “I think we should give us a chance. But I don’t know where to start.”
“With a kiss,” he said, and his heated tongue eased into my mouth and did a sweet dance with mine.
* * *
“That did not look like Lottie,” Tasha said, scaring the heck out of me as I walked in the door.
“It wasn’t.” I tossed her a smile and walked to my room. “Now good night.”
“Good night? Heifer, I know you don’t think you’re about to go to bed. Oh hellll, no! You got some explaining to do.”
30
Top Billin’
1990
If ever thought you was chilled, but yo’ car didn’t have a boomin’ system, you was a chump.
Straight up.
Cross Colours was on the rise.
Air Jordans was the illest.
Ice Cube was America’s Most Wanted.
George H. W. Bush was president.
LL Cool J wanted to knock you out.
Big Daddy Kane offered e’rybody a taste of chocolate.
Madonna was no longer a virgin.
The hustlers and the lovers had the pay phones locked down.
Two ways was the new street jones.
But if you was in love, like me, then nothin’ else mattered but your sweetie.
Me and Tasha was on the porch chillin’ while Ms. Glo and Kamari were in the backyard watering the garden.
“Yvette, you ever envision yourself some place like this?” Tasha asked, leaning over the banister and looking down at me.
I sat on the middle step, laid back on both elbows. I pulled in the thought of me sittin’ in Da Bricks courtyard, sippin’ a forty, while pushing Kamari in her umbrella stroller. “Nah, never. I used to think that all I was gon’ ever do was sit somewhere on the edge wantin’ to leave Newark and wantin’ to stay, all at the same time.”
“I feel you in that. That’s how I was when I was in Compton. I could never see a way out. And I wasn’t gon’ put no bullet to my head and check out like that, so I knew one day that something had to change. I just didn’t expect it to change after I robbed a gas station, was arrested, and sentenced to live here.”
“I feel you,” I said. “And when my PD told me that the prosecutor was offering me a plea bargain and I had to come to a”—I made air quotes—“Professional Parent Home, I looked at her like, trick, please.”
“Me too!” Tasha said. “We are too much alike. I’m glad you’re here, though, Yvette. You and Kamari.”
“Me too. I just wish I didn’t slice Munch’s face to get here. I feel bad about that.” I paused. “Do you ever wonder why some people have their family’s support and love, while people like us don’t have it at all.”
“No, I mean, I guess I learned that you don’t have to be blood to be family; sometimes water is thicker. And, as far as I’m concerned, you’re my sister, Kamari is my niece, Aunty Glo is my mother, and Li’l Herman is my boo!” She pointed across the street at Li’l Herman and Brooklyn who were headed our way. Tasha continued. “So life is super sweet.” She walked off the porch to meet Li’l Herman. “And fine.” She gave him a peck on the lips.
“Hey, my sweet butter biscuit. My snookums,” Li’l Herman said.
Tasha giggled, and I wanted to gag.
Brooklyn, who was wearing a baseball cap and had a book bag slung over his shoulder, gave me a soft wink and pointed at Tasha and his friend. “Check them out,” he said. “How much you wanna bet, he’s about to ask her to go with him to Feather-N-Fin?”
“How much you wanna bet she gon’ say yes?” I said.
Tasha grinned, then said, “You know we can hear you two, right? And of course I’m going to say yes.” She looked over at Li’l Herman. “Come on, baby, you don’t even have to ask.”
“Let’s roll, pumpkin pie,” Li’l Herman said to Tasha and grabbed her by the hand. They walked down the street to where his mother’s car was parked and, a few seconds later, were on their way.
I shielded my eyes from the movin’ sunray and said to Brooklyn, “What’s with the backpack and the hat?”
He gave me a crooked grin, opened the backpack and pulled out a towel, which he draped over my lap, a comb and a brush, which he handed me, and a jar of yellow hair grease. He lifted his baseball cap, revealing his wild mane. “I need you to hook this up. My sister’s buggin’. She wanted to charge me ten dollars.”
“Well, I charge twenty.”
“How you gon’ charge your man twenty dollars? You know how foul that sounds?”
“Umm, excuse you, sir. I don’t remember you asking me to be your girl?”
“What? We’ve been kicking it for three months.”
“My point exactly. We’ve been kicking it.”
“So is that your way of saying you don’t want to braid my hair?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Is that a yes?”
“How do you know I can even braid hair?” I asked, as I motioned for him to sit between my knees.
It was hard to maintain my composure being so close to Brooklyn. The warmth of his arms draped over my legs and the beauty of him laying his head on my thigh made me want to melt.
But I didn’t. Instead, I kissed him on his forehead and began to braid his hair.
“So, Bricks, I want to ask you something,” he said.
“What’s that?”
“What’s up with you and Kamari’s father? Where is he at?”
I hesitated. “Why are you asking me that?”
“Because I never hear you mention him or say anything at all about him.”
“He’s in Jersey.”
“Does he see Kamari?”
“No.” I shook my head, gathering a section of Brooklyn’s hair, separating it into three parts, intertwining it between my fingers and into a thin cornrow. I moved onto another section of his hair.
“Why not?” Brooklyn asked.
“You really wanna know?”
“Yeah.”
“Because he’s a thirty-year-old junkie in the street. And he doesn’t care about me or Kamari. And the best thing I could do for the both of us was to get as far away from him as possible.”
“Thirty years old?” Brooklyn turned his head and lifted his eyes toward me.
“Would you turn back around and keep your head still? And yes, thirty. He might even be older than that.”
“Did you know how old he was when you started messing around with him?”
“Yeah, I knew, but at the time I didn’t see anything wrong with it.”
“How could you not see anything wrong with that?”
“My life was not like yours. Like how you have your mother and father. Your sister. And you all live together, like a family should. I didn’t have that.”
“What was your life like?”
“I lived here, there, and everywhere. I didn’t know my father, and my mother was a junkie so she never stayed anywhere for long. Before I got into trouble and had to come and live here, I never thought a life like this was possible.” I paused, praying he didn’t ask me exactly what that meant. There was no way I was going to tell him that Ms. Glo was something like a foster home. He didn’t need to know that. “I never thought I’d just be regular. Well, a regular teen with a baby. No worries, nobody callin’ me names, stressing me about bringing money into the house. Have an allowance. This life here is, like, amazing.”
“Damn, Bricks, you had it hard.”
“Yeah, I did. Does that c
hange how you feel about me? Like, what do you think?”
“I think you should write a book.”
“Funny.” I playfully popped him on the side of his neck with the comb.
“Hey, watch it.” Brooklyn laughed, then said, “I like you a lot. And I want you to be my girl.”
I hugged him around his neck.
“Is that a yes?” he said.
“Of course it’s a yes!”
“Great, so maybe now you can give me a kiss and stop choking me.”
31
It Never Rains in Southern California
“Oh, this is my jam!” Tasha said as we rocked to the beat of Tony! Toni! Tone’s “It Never Rains (in Southern California).” We were at Li’l Herman’s basement birthday party. He’d invited everybody in the school, and judging from the crowd, everybody showed up.
I looked over at Tasha, Reese, and Ebony and said, “I’m going to get my baby, Brooklyn, and get my slow drag on.”
“Me too,” Tasha said. “I’m going to get Li’l Herman so we can grind in the corner.”
Reesie smirked. “With y’all nasty selves, don’t get pregnant.”
“Whatever,” Tasha said. “Come on, Yvette. Reesie is just mad, as usual.”
Me and Tasha walked over to the juice bar where Li’l Herman stood kickin’ it with some of his boys from school. “Baby,” Tasha whined, “I wanna dance.”
Li’l Herman’s face lit up. “Well, whatever, my baby wants, she’s gon’ get.”
All I could do was laugh. These two were a mess. I scanned the crowd at the bar then said to Li’l Herman, “Where’s Brooklyn?”
“I’m not sure. He was just standing here. Maybe he went to the bathroom.”
“Maybe,” I said, so low I was pretty much talking to myself.
Li’l Herman grabbed Tasha by the waist and led her to the middle of the dance floor.
I waited by the bar and swayed back and forth to the music for a few minutes. No Brooklyn.
Two songs ended and the DJ had mixed a third one in.
I grew tired of waiting, so I walked over to the bathroom. The door was open and the bathroom was empty.
I walked up the stairs and into the living room. That’s when I noticed the front door was open.
