Dirty Jersey

by Phillip Thomas Duck

  Four more people entered our space.

  Mustafa Coles. His on-again-off-again girlfriend, loudmouthed Renee. Doug Draper. And a kid everyone called Chuck because his teeth were big enough to carve sculptures out of logs. My bladder was about to burst, but I couldn’t move right then. I had to stay by my man and represent for a little while first.

  Loudmouthed Renee said, “This party is ridiculous, Donnell.”

  He nodded thanks. Kept his eyes on me. I wondered if anyone else noticed.

  Chuck said, “That was crazy when he kept playing Kanye and Fifty back to back.”

  Ricky said, “I bet you were loving Fif, huh, Chuck?”

  Chuck scowled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Ricky shrugged.

  Chuck said, “You clownin’ me, Ricky?”

  Loudmouthed Renee said, “He sure is. You know you and Fifty Cent got the same big-ass teeth, boy. I got a rhyme for Mr. Vitaminwater’s ass. How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood? You feel me?”

  Everyone laughed at Renee’s lame joke. Even I did. Nothing could kill your popularity quicker than swaying from the crowd. If everyone laughed, you’d better laugh. If everyone rushed the dance floor for a certain song, you’d better be out there shaking your ass with them. That was just how it went.

  Chuck said, “When I’m in the NBA making that paper that’s out of this world…y’all can kiss my asteroid.”

  Loudmouthed Renee said, “Corny.”

  Chuck had the width of a number two pencil but was built tight with muscle. His b-ball skills were legendary. One of the stars of the school’s team. He held the school’s record for total career points. And he’d bested the old mark at some point during his junior year. A local sportswriter had compared him to George “Iceman” Gervin. Whoever that was.

  I loved being with this cool crowd, but my bladder was ready to beat me like Juanita Bynum’s husband if I didn’t empty it pronto. I asked Donnell, “Hang a right, straight down the hall?”

  He nodded. His eyes burned a hole in me.

  I told Ricky to get me a fruit punch and excused myself.

  DJ Skills was playing a Keyshia Cole record. Somebody yelled out, “You got her hands down, Kenya.”

  I didn’t turn to thank whoever for the compliment.

  I was on a mission for that bathroom.

  Donnell’s parents had a really nice place. As bad as I had to wee-wee, I still took a minute for a quick peek around the upstairs. The dining room, living room and kitchen could have been featured in an Ebony magazine spread. Pictures of Donnell were everywhere. I wouldn’t hold that against his parents, though. Truth be told, he was a good-looking guy. Not on par with Ricky, but close enough to make some girl happy.

  I thought of Lark, then. I was so confused. I did miss my girl. Wished she were there. Maybe I could use the pull I had over Donnell to convince him to let her come next time. She was the coolest of the cool, as far as I was concerned. She’d liven up the party even more.

  But I digress.

  I finally stopped looking around Donnell’s home and went to handle my business in the bathroom, which smelled better than any bathroom should. Some kind of berries ’n’ vanilla scent. It was decorated in soothing pastel colors. A magazine rack held enough reading material for a lifetime. I skimmed a Jet article about my favorite actor, Terrence Howard. He was a talented and passionate brother. He spoke in the article about wanting to win back his ex-wife’s heart. I put the magazine down at that point. For some reason it made me think of Ricky’s ex, Monique. I hadn’t thought about her in some time. I didn’t need that downer.

  I washed my hands with lavender soap, touched up the little makeup I wore—mostly lipstick and a bit of eye shadow—and headed back out.

  I didn’t immediately realize that someone was in the semidark hallway with me.

  Until I heard a voice.

  “He’s gonna play you.”

  I touched my chest, felt my heartbeat pulsing like a drum. “What’s wrong with you, Donnell? You scared me silly.”

  Donnell stepped from the shadows. He handed me a plastic cup of fruit punch. I didn’t take it, and yet he didn’t withdraw his hand. I ignored all that. I looked toward the door that led to the basement. I wanted to be downstairs with my boo.

  Donnell, reading my mind, it seemed, said, “Ricky ain’t move from his spot. So I went ahead and got your drink for you. Here, take it.”

  I took it from him without saying thanks. Good party or not, I wasn’t about to be gracious.

  “You’re welcome, Kay.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “Oh? Only Ricky can get that?”

  “That’s right.”

  “He’s gonna play you.”

  “Don’t hate just ’cause I don’t want your tired ass.”

  “I’m not worried about that,” he said, waving me off dismissively.

  “Whatever.”

  “You’ll be a free agent again soon enough. Ricky don’t hold on to anyone but so long.”

  I thought about Monique again. She’d seemed so comfortable with Ricky that day Lark and I had seen them at the mall. And worse, Ricky had seemed so comfortable with her. But here I was, with him, less than a week after that scene.

  I told Donnell, “It’s different with me.”

  “Is it? That’s really what you think? I feel sorry for you.”

  “You can forget about me being a free agent anytime soon.”

  “When it happens, and it will, don’t come crying to me, Kay.”

  “I said don’t call me that.”

  He put his hands up. “Don’t want to upset you. I’m just glad you came. I’ve been throwing these parties for two years, hoping one day you’d walk through my door. Alone, of course. I never figured Ricky in my dreams.”

  At that I pushed past him and headed for the door to the basement. I didn’t want to hear all that romantic mumbo jumbo. I had my hand on the doorknob. I was an inch away from being out of his presence. Sometimes an inch might as well be a mile.

  “Kenya?”

  I wish I’d ignored him. But I didn’t.

  I wheeled around to face him. “What, boy?”

  “Girl Monique that Ricky was dealing with…”

  “What about her?”

  “Heard her moms pulled her out of school and sent her down south somewhere.”

  “So?”

  “Her moms, my moms, your moms, they’re from the same generation, the same time.”

  “So?” I didn’t understand where he was going. Didn’t want to really understand.

  “So,” Donnell said, “my moms told me that’s what they used to do to girls back in the day when they got pregnant.”

  He disappeared into the shadows before I could reply.

  Left me standing there with a million unanswered questions.

  “Thanks, baby. I needed that. That party was it.”

  Ricky smiled, nodded. “I told you, Kay. Donnell does it up.”

  I couldn’t just jump right in and ask the question that was really on my mind. I had to tread carefully. Use strategy. But boy, did I want to just blurt it out.

  Ricky was idling by the curb outside Donnell’s place.

  I said, “We can chill, Ricky. You don’t have to take me right home.”

  Ricky looked over at me with something animal in his expression. I straight brought out the gorilla in him. I wondered if he’d ever looked at Monique in the same way. Then I tossed that thought aside. Of course he had.

  I just knew.

  Ricky said, “You’re mine? You don’t have to get home?”

  I reached over, found a comfortable resting place for my head on his shoulder. “Baby, I’m all yours. My mama’s working the graveyard.”

  “Where you wanna go?” The excitement in his voice was next level.

  “Somewhere quiet where we can be alone.”

  “Word.”

  “And talk.”

  “Talk
?” Ricky looked like Kanye West the night he put President Bush on blast. He wasn’t happy. And he couldn’t hide the fact. That made me feel some kind of way. My boyfriend didn’t want to talk to me. That left only one thing he did want to do with me.

  I repeated, “Talk.”

  “I don’t have much to talk about, Kay. It’s been a long night.”

  That moment in my bedroom, Ricky reciting the Toni Morrison passage to me, it seemed like years ago. That disappointed me. I wanted to believe the best about Ricky. Our situation was too new for me to be having these problems, these doubts. I hated doubt. And I was full of it. But Donnell had kicked a rock and jarred loose an army of hungry ants. They needed to be fed as badly as I needed answers. There was no turning back now.

  I asked Ricky, “So what happened to your ex? I heard she moved.”

  Ricky frowned. “My ex?”

  Playing dumb. I didn’t like that at all. More points deducted.

  I said, “Your tall friend…Monique.”

  He shrugged, took his gaze off of me and started playing with his cell phone. He had a Sidekick. All of a sudden it was the most important thing in his world. He started thumbing text messages to someone like text messaging was going out of style, as my mother would have said. I wasn’t even in the car with him anymore. I was an afterthought. Forget the cell phone; I wanted to be his only sidekick.

  I said, “Ricky?” in my sweetest voice.

  “Holeup, Kay. Donnell’s hitting me up.”

  Donnell was the source of my impending pain. I hated him. I wished he would disappear like Karl Kani clothes.

  I said, “What that fool want?”

  Ricky didn’t answer.

  “Ricky?”

  “Said holeup, Kay.”

  He stayed busy typing with his thumbs. Mama always told me a smile and a quick batting of the eyes was enough to turn any man from any emotion back to love, or at the very least, lust. I reached over and gently took the Sidekick from Ricky’s hands. He turned on me, surprised and obviously angry. I smiled and batted my eyes. When I saw his shoulders ease, I plugged his cell phone into the cigarette lighter so it could charge.

  Ricky sighed long and hard. Seemed to consider something and then said, “Okay, Kay. What are we talking about? I see you ain’t gonna let me chill.”

  “Monique.”

  Ricky sighed again. Long and hard, of course. “I left her for you, Kay. I’m done with that situation. What we need to talk about her for?” His forehead was lined like that of a man three times his age. Worry was in his eyes. His posture was tense. There were probably knots in his neck.

  I wouldn’t let this all go, though.

  I said, “I heard she moved suddenly. You know where?” I paused to let my next thought sit on its own. “You know why?”

  “No and no. Now drop it.”

  Like I said, I had to tread carefully. Use strategy. I glanced at Ricky’s cell phone in the cigarette-lighter charger. Then I looked at Ricky. I smiled and batted my eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m tripping.”

  “You are, Kay. You know it’s all about you. You and only you. Apple of my eye and all that jazz.”

  He was laying it on too thick. But whatever.

  I said, “Thought I said let’s go somewhere we can be alone.”

  “Shoot, you don’t have to tell me twice.”

  Ricky put his key in the ignition. R. Kelly’s song was probably playing in his head. That was too bad. He’d blown it and didn’t even know it. Ricky Williams probably would never get to put his key in my ignition. I was a mixture of sad and angry.

  “This night is gonna end on a beautiful note, Kay. It’s gonna be lovely.”

  A 50 Cent Negro trying to talk like Will Smith. Yeah, he definitely thought he was getting my goodies. Wasn’t happening.

  “Stop at the 7-Eleven.”

  Ricky stopped the car but didn’t pull in. “For what, Kay?”

  “So you can run inside and get me a Slurpee.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “You don’t want to get your baby a Slurpee?”

  “I want to get somewhere alone with my baby.”

  I leaned over and kissed him with all the bottled-up passion inside me. I loved him and I hated him. He had me so twisted up. I was an emotional pretzel thanks to this boy.

  When I pulled back from the kiss, Ricky said, “What flavor?”

  “Surprise me.”

  He pulled into the lot and jumped out before his car stopped moving. He wanted my goodies in the worst way. He would do just about anything to get at me. I waited until he was safely inside before I picked up his cell phone and scrolled through his contacts list. I found Monique’s number with little trouble and saved it into my phone. There was also another number with Monique’s name attached to it. In the contacts it was named MoniquesCuz. I saved that one as well. Then I checked for Ricky’s text messages.

  He had none.

  He must have deleted them as soon as they came through.

  Just another reason I had to leave this situation alone.

  But that was going to be difficult. Ricky was my drug.

  I put the phone back in place when I noticed Ricky inside the 7-Eleven at the counter. He paid and headed back outside, one hand behind his back as he moved toward the car. He walked toward me with the biggest smile on his face. I wished I could return the smile but I couldn’t. My insides were churning.

  He slid in the driver’s side, closed the door.

  I forced a stricken look, said, “My mother just called me. She wants me home. Now.”

  The smile left Ricky’s face. “Thought she was working. How she find out you were out?”

  “Don’t know. Maybe my brother told. He is a hater.”

  Ricky said, “Kick his lil’ narrow…” but let the thought drift.

  He was disappointed and angry. I wondered which emotion would eventually dominate. One had to.

  I reached over and touched his leg. “Some other time, baby.”

  He put my Slurpee in a cup holder, dropped a single rose on the console between us. The rose was what he’d had behind his back.

  Any other time I would have been excited.

  Other things were on my mind then.

  Monique, for the most part.

  But I didn’t lose sight of one fact as I reached over and picked up my Slurpee cup: that was the second time that night Ricky hadn’t handed me my drink.

  Ricky pulled onto my street. Parked at the end. He left his engine running. He didn’t look in my direction.

  I said, “Penny for your thoughts.”

  He hadn’t spoken the entire ride.

  “Dunno. Ain’t really got none, Kenya.”

  Kenya.

  “You don’t have any,” I said, correcting his grammar.

  “Yeah, whatever you say, Kenya.”

  All the love was gone from his voice. I wasn’t Kay any longer. I was Kenya.

  “Are you upset, Ricky?”

  “Why would I be upset? Because my girlfriend has to be home before Power 105.1 stops playing hip-hop and puts on slow jamz? Because I thought my girlfriend was gonna actually act like a girlfriend tonight? No. Not me.”

  “What do you mean ‘act like a girlfriend,’ Ricky? Give you some? That’s what it’s all about?”

  “You know it ain’t all about that, Kenya. But that’s important. Don’t sleep on that.”

  “Let’s talk about this.”

  He shook his head. “Go on in the house. We talked about this when we were kicking it before. I’m tired of talking about it. That’s why I lef—”

  He caught himself.

  “Go ahead and finish it, Ricky. That’s why you left before. That’s why you hooked up with Monique. I don’t have sex with you and you start tripping. That’s all that matters to you.”

  “Don’t matter, Kenya.”

  “Doesn’t,” I corrected, pushing my luck, I knew.

  Then it happened.

  He looked at me in a
manner I’d never seen before. The distance between us at that moment couldn’t even be measured in miles. I should have been happy, considering all I suspected regarding Ricky and Monique. But I wasn’t. I still loved the boy. Too much.

  He said, “I gotta go. So do you, Kenya.”

  I leaned over to kiss him. He turned away. I still planted one on his cheek.

  I got out of the car, closed the door and leaned down to speak through the passenger-side window. “Call me?”

  He looked at me for a brief moment without speaking and then put the car in drive. I leaned away so he wouldn’t decapitate me as he pulled off. At least one of my questions was answered: anger was the more dominant of his emotions.

  I stood at the curb and watched his taillights wink at me as he got to the end of my street. He turned left.

  I swallowed a pound of regret.

  The way to his place was right.

  I turned and looked at my own place. I didn’t want to go inside. I really didn’t. As difficult as things were outside, they were even more difficult once I walked inside. Life was difficult. Life was troubling. Sometimes life didn’t feel worth living.

  Mama was right.

  I’d messed up big-time.

  I’d given my heart to a boy.

  And he’d broken it.

  Eric

  “I’m tryin’ to put you to bed…bed…bed. I wanna put you to bed…bed…bed.”

  I can’t stop staring at the pretty young thang singing those lyrics at the Suncoast Video store in the mall. She’s more beautiful than anything that I could ever put into words. And dressed to kill. True Religion jeans so tight they look like they’ll burst if she takes a deep breath, a formfitting pink T-shirt, Steve Madden boots, a pink Yankees fitted cap on her head. She’s Lisa Raye-brown, with hazel eyes and the body of a fully developed woman. A healthy and desirable fully developed woman. The kind you see in King and XXL magazines or 50 Cent videos. I’m glad I listened to Lark’s advice to get out to the mall. Staying cooped up in my house to avoid people certainly isn’t the answer. I can run but I can’t hide from my lack of cool. I had to get out of the cave also known as my bedroom. And this girl is beautiful enough to get Osama bin Laden out of the hills of Afghanistan. Only bad thing: I haven’t gotten a chance yet to observe some cool boys in action, as Lark suggested. If I go in, it’ll be cold.