“I came to get my girl back,” he says simply. “Of course, that’s if she’ll have me.”
“But I . . . I . . .” My gaze falls onto my legs. “I can’t stay here.”
“I didn’t say anything about you staying. I get why you have to leave. I’m not here to force you back into a life that you’ve never wanted to be a part of.”
I blink up at him, surprised. Tall, muscular, and extremely sexy, Profit looks like the perfect GQ thug fantasy. He takes my breath away in his black jeans and black T-shirt. Behind him, I catch other women checking him out.
He kneels down beside me so that our eyes can connect. “It’s taken me awhile to hear you. I get it. I’m walking away from all of that. It’s not the life I want if you’re not a part of it. My life is wherever you are while you become whoever you want to be. So . . . if you’re going to Houston, then I want to go with you.”
“But . . . your family?”
“Families live in different states all across the country. What I need to know is whether you can love me again—can we build a new and different life together.”
“But . . . my legs. I—I may never walk again.”
“Maybe not. Then again, maybe you will. Whatever happens, I want to be right there, crossing that bridge with you. And if need be, I’ll carry you anywhere you want to go.”
“You’d give everything up for me?” I ask, stunned.
He nods. “You damn right I will.”
My vision blurs as I cup my hands over my mouth. I can’t believe that this is happening.
“So what do you say?” he asks. “Do you think you can love an ex-gangbanger?”
Without hesitation, I throw my arms around his neck and shout, “Yes!”
75
Lucille
This is one of the saddest days of my life.Willow has been on life support for seven months with little to no improvement. Mason Junior is now at a healthy weight and we go every day to the hospital to visit his mother. He’s a good-looking kid. I’m proud to say that he got most of his looks from Willow. They have the same eyes and mouth. He has no idea of the hell she went through to deliver him. I doubt that he truly understands that she is his mother.
Today is the day we decided to pull the plug. There is no reason for us to delay this any longer. Ever since Mason Junior was cleared to go home, I’ve worked steadily to help his father carry the heavy burden of being a single father. He’s doing great. There’s no doubt how much he loves his son. It’s probably what pushed him to talk to his own father, Isaac. Time will tell how all of it plays out.
When Mason and I walk into Willow’s room, we both have a hard time looking each other in the eye. This was not an easy decision.
Mason walks up to the bed to allow his mini-me to give his mother a farewell kiss before handing the child over to me. Then he pulls up a chair and takes Willow by the hand. “Baby . . .” He takes a deep breath. “. . . I’ve been searching for the words that I would say to you today—but there are no words that will convey what we’re all feeling at this moment. We love you and miss you.” His voice chokes off. He coughs and begins again. “Thank you for giving me such a wonderful and precious gift: Mason Junior. I’ll make sure that he grows up to be strong and smart. With the streets cooling off, who knows? Maybe one day we’ll get rid of the idea of their being a throne to rule out here in the streets. I’m still getting to know Isaac and my new sister, Hydeya. It’s going to take some time before we all gel, but . . . I think you’d be proud of us mending bridges. I regret that my pride got in the way of us doing it sooner. Profit would be here, but he’s moved out west—to Texas, believe it or not. Him and Ta’Shara are going to make it. I feel it in my bones. And he’s happy. I guess that’s all that matters.”
I lower my head because I know this rambling speech is difficult.
Mason continues. “I’m going to miss you, baby—but I want you to know that it’s all right for you to go. It’s not fair for me to keep you lingering like this. I know that you wouldn’t want to stay this way forever. I guess what I’m saying is that I’m ready to let go. I pray that one day we will see each other again. Tell Bishop I said hi and that all is well down here.” He stands, and then leans over and presses a kiss against Willow’s lips. “I love you, baby. I’ll always love you.”
My sobs grow louder and Mason Junior pats my head and comforts me. I say my goodbyes and then we look over to the doctor and his nurse and give him the signal to shut off the machine.
The doctor presses two buttons and then excuses himself from the room. We’ve been informed that the process can take anywhere from minutes to days. It all depends on Willow right now. Months ago we attempted to pull her out of the coma and she suffered numerous seizures. This time, we’re not reversing our decision. We’re determined to stay here for as long as possible.
Mason keeps vigil next to the bed while the baby falls asleep on my lap. We’ve mastered the art of sleeping in these hard chairs. Hours later, Willow’s heartbeat remains strong and no seizure has occurred. I leave only to change the baby’s diaper or to grab something to eat in the cafeteria. We doze off at different times, but we wake up when Willow croaks, “Mason?”
Stunned, we spring up to see Willow’s confused brown eyes looking around.
“Willow!” I gasp. “My God! You’re back!”
Epilogue
Vivian
In the near future
“Are you ready?” my girl, Rhonda Barnes, hisses from across the dark room.
Smiling, I open my eyes and toss back the covers. I’m fully dressed for tonight’s house party. “Girl, my ass was born ready.”
We giggle and pop out of bed, arranging the pillows underneath the covers so that it looks like we are still sleeping. Once that’s done, we grab our things and creep to the window, careful not to wake the other girls in the next room. We don’t have time to deal with jealous bitches.
My ass isn’t going to be here much longer. I’ll be eighteen soon, and then I can put this group home in my rearview mirror.
Once our feet hit the ground, we take off running and cover three blocks in Olympic time and find our girls, Cassie and Kay, waiting for us in an old Toyota Camry.
“Hop in, y’all. Our asses are late.”
“We’re not late,” Rhonda argues, snatching open the back door and climbing inside.
I shoo her over to the other side so I can climb in.
“I’m moving. I’m moving.” Rhonda laughs.
“Let’s roll.” I slam the door.
Kay peels away from curb like a rocket while Cassie turns up Dr. Dre’s classic “Nuthin’ but a ‘G’ Thang” to full blast.
“Hey. Hey. Turn that shit down,” Rhonda barks.
“Fuck that. This is my jam.” Cassie plants her blunt between her lips and proceeds to bob and wiggle in her seat.
Excited, I bob and wiggle along with her.
Rhonda doesn’t look impressed.
“What’s the matter with you? I thought you liked the old-school shit?” I ask.
“I do. It’s these whack-ass speakers that I can’t stand.”
Kay looks back through the rearview mirror. “Look, bitch. I can pull over and your ass can walk.”
My giggle is out before I slap a hand over my mouth. When Rhonda’s gaze cuts over to me, I shrug. Best friends are supposed to have each other’s back, but sometimes Rhonda’s quick quips are uncalled for and unnecessary.
“Whatsup? I thought you said that your cousin Cleo was going to buy you a new car. Why are you stuck driving her old clunker if she’s such a big star?”
Kay gives Rhonda a look that says my girl is fucking with her high. “Again. You can walk.”
Rhonda shrugs. “I’m just asking. Seems stingy on those benjis, if you ask me.”
“Nobody asked you,” Kay reminds her.
I elbow my girl.
“Whaaat?” she snaps instead of picking up on the hint.
“Cut it out,” I hiss. “We�
��re trying to have a good time. Why are you fucking it up?”
“I’m not,” she whines.
“Y’all want to hit this?” Cassie asks, holding up a blunt.
“Fuck. You know my ass.” I grab the joint and take a drag. Instantly, I’m high—thank God. Being in the clouds is so much better than dealing with my fucked-up reality of living in a girl’s group home. My ass should be used to the system. Lord knows that I’ve spent most of my life bouncing from one institution to another. But no one ever gets used to it.
My brothers Amin and Malcolm told me once that we were dumped in foster care because the state declared our mother unfit to take care of us. We were only supposed to be here for a short time—until our mother got herself into a better situation. Malcolm believes that the whole thing was bullshit and that she was never really coming back. The fact that she was savagely murdered on some desolate road in the boondocks hasn’t softened his opinion on the matter. Amin doesn’t have an opinion. As far as he’s concerned, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change anything.
I wish that I could remember her better. I have this one memory of her watching us play in the park. From what I remember, she was tall and beautiful with micro blond braids. She was also very, very pregnant. I asked her for a sister. I remember her laughing and smiling.
The blunt makes another pass my way and I greedily hit it again. As Kay coasts out of midtown and over to the seedier side of town, my mind tumbles backwards to that last day in the park with my mother, Yolanda. Over the years, I’ve wondered whatever happened to the baby some crazy-ass monster sliced out of her belly. Is it dead or alive? Is it a boy or a girl? He or she could be living in a nice home with loving parents—or he could be like us, floating through the system until that magical eighteenth birthday. I wonder—if we ever walked past one other, would we recognize ourselves in each other? Of course, I’m being silly, but it would be nice if it happened. I still want a sister—but I’ll take another brother.
Amin is already nineteen, but instead of taking legal guardianship of Malcolm and me, he enlisted in the army and got the hell out of Memphis. I don’t blame him. I’m going to leave, too. I’m thinking California or New York. I could act, sing, or paint. I don’t care. As long as it’s doing something creative.
Malcolm, well. I don’t know what’s going to happen to him. He went from foster care to juvenile detention. He’s still lucky because the guy he shot when he was fourteen survived his wounds. Had he died, they would have tried Malcolm as an adult and he could’ve gotten life in prison. Malcolm says he doesn’t care what the state does with him. Sometimes I believe him and sometimes I don’t. I mean, he has to care about something, right?
Kay turns onto Shotgun Row and we nod to the lookout boys hugging the corners. The moment we hear the bass bumping from the house party, Cassie shuts off Kay’s radio. “We’re heeeeeere,” she announces excitedly.
Rhonda and I go for our purses so that we can check our makeup.
“Are you nervous?” Rhonda asks.
“Nervous? Why would I be nervous?”
She leans over and elbows me. “C’mon. Who are you fooling? The only reason you wanted to come to this party is because your man lives here.”
Flushed, I wave her off. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. He’s not my man.”
“YET,” all three girls shout in unison.
I flash them two birds. “Fuck y’all.”
They giggle and cackle like hyenas as we climb out of the car.
I feel a rush of nervousness as we trek up to the house. This is my second time out here in Gangster Disciple territory. I’m a bit nervous because shit is always popping off down here and I don’t want to be a casualty of a random drive-by.
The party looks dope as shit as the crowd has already spilled out into the yard. Everyone it seems has either a drink or a blunt in their hands.
“Ah, damn, li’l momma. Where have you been all of my life?” Khaled, an old nigga who is at least two or three decades too old to be hanging out with teenagers, says, strutting into my personal space while holding his dick as if he’s scared the muthafucka is going to run off.
“Ewww.” Kay and Cassie twist up their faces.
When I snicker, it sets Memphis’s oldest teenager off.
“What are you ghetto bitches laughing at?” he barks. “You know each one of you would be lucky if I let you hop on this dick and ride.”
“Boy, bye.” Rhonda loops her arms through mine and tugs me up the two steps.
“Girl, who you talking to?” Khaled follows us.
“Ignore him,” Rhonda says.
I try to, but remain aware of him catching up to us.
Then like a knight in shining armor, an older man steps out of the house to aid our escape.
“Khaled, get your old ass away from around here.”
Rhonda’s grip on my arm tightens. “That’s him.”
My eyes grow as large as two silver dollars. King Isaac. The man is a legend—and so is his deceased old lady, Momma Peaches. On my first visit to my grandmother Betty’s house last summer, Momma Peaches was all that she could talk about. Grandma Betty went on about how Momma Peaches was a criminal and how she sliced up a good man that Granny was in love with. She did that instead of explaining why she couldn’t take in me and my brothers instead of letting us rot in the system. After she did that, she spent a lot of time bad-mouthing my momma, too. Malcolm was right. It was a wasted trip.
“I—I’m leaving,” Khaled stutters, backing up and bumping into people.
“Hey! Watch it!” A GD soldier swipes some spilled liquor off of his arm.
“Oh. My bad. My bad,” Khaled apologizes.
King Isaac folds his arms and watches Khaled make a fool of himself as he tries to hurry away.
Once he’s gone, Isaac turns toward us with a softer expression. “You girls good?”
“Y-Yeah.” I nod. “Thanks.”
He smiles. “Then y’all come on in and grab yourself something to eat and drink. My boy is around here somewhere.” With his tall height, he easily glances around the heads of the crowd. “There he is. Yo, Chris!”
Christopher Carver turns and glances in our direction and Kay quickly grabs my other arm.
“Oh, my God. I’m going to die,” she whispers under her breath.
When Christopher’s dark gaze shifts toward us, he flutters a brief smile and lifts his plastic cup in greeting before returning his attention to the other popular boys in his posse. As soon as the spotlight is off, Kay’s grip eases and the blood in my arm circulates again.
“Oh God. Did you see how he looked at me? You do think that he was looking at me, right? Wait. How do I look?”
I laugh as we move through the dancing crowd. “You look fine,” I assure her. Of course, I don’t know what the hell she sees in the boy. Christopher Carver is not exactly easy on the eyes. In my opinion, he has a face that only a mother could love. His body, on the other hand, isn’t all that bad.
“Well, don’t laugh,” Kay says as we arrive at the table in the kitchen, where all the refreshments are displayed. “But one day, watch, he’s going to be mine.”
“Well, all right, girl. Mark your territory.” Cassie holds up a hand and receives a high five.
I nod along.
“What?” Kay stares pointedly at me.
Confused, I answer her question with my own. “What?”
“What’s that look for?” she challenges.
“What look?”
“Girl, stop playing. I know that you don’t like Chris. You ain’t gotta fake it.” Anger and hurt are written all over her face.
“No,” I lie again, but she cocks her head. “Okay. I just don’t see what you see in him. You can do better.”
“Better than the Prince? You know that’s what they are calling Christopher. Isaac is grooming him to be the next leader of the Gangster Disciples. If he becomes king, you know what that’ll make me.”
“Head bi
tch of the Queen Gs,” I say, nodding in understanding.
“That’s right. And let me tell you, a lot of these trifling hoes sniffing around him are trying to hop up on the throne—but, baby, that bitch got my name written all on it.” Kay lifts her bottle of beer and taps a toast against my own longneck.
“You go, girl.” I take a long, hard pull and then we all struggle to make our way back to the heart of the party.
Minutes later, I’m cornered by a guy who’s in my math class at Morris High. He throws his best game at me, but the whole time, he doesn’t realize how badly his breath stinks. Not even when I cover my mouth and nose with one hand. I sneak a quick look around to see whether my girls can help me out, but different soldier boys have them cornered too, running game.
Then he walks in, the new boy at Morris High, the one that I’ve been crushing on for the past two weeks.
Cassie must have escaped from her admirer, because the next thing I know she’s squeezing in between me and stank breath and pulling me away. “He’s here,” she whispers into my ear.
“I know. I know. I see him.” And boy, do I see him. He’s about six-four with a nice peanut-butter brown complexion. The body is banging, too. I mean, he must spend the hours he’s not in school pumping weights.
In no time, Kay and Rhonda return, both asking whether I see who came through the door, despite the fact that I can’t seem to take my eyes off of him.
“Yeah. I see him.”
“Yo, nigga! You came.” The Prince laughs, greeting my crush at the door. The new guy is younger than me, but he doesn’t look it. And I hear he’s smart too. He’s skipped two grades and I have been held back one. So he’ll graduate just a year after me unless he skips another grade before then.
Kay and I watch both boys slap palms and shoulder bump each other. I don’t know why, but our dream boys have become fast friends at the school. It’s the main reason I knew that he would come to this party.
As he moves through the room, I mentally beg him to look in my direction. It takes him a whole five minutes to do so. When he does, my hearts skips every other beat.
Queen Divas Page 29
