by Tiana Laveen
“Mmm hmm, you guys say anything.” She giggled as she opened her book again, scanned a line or two, and averted eye contact.
“I’m serious. I think you’re, uh, real nice looking.”
She hesitated for a spell.
“Well, all right. Thank you.” She seemed sincere enough.
“So, we’re in some of the same classes, which means we should be around the same age. How old are ya?”
“Fifteen. You?”
“Just turned sixteen. Hey, I’m thirsty. Can uh… can I have somethin’ to drink?” He ran his index finger along his stubbly chin. “Some of your soda maybe?” He pointed to the glass, noticing the pink gloss lipstick mark along the rim. Cassidy looked down at the glass as if it had in some way betrayed her, stood to her feet, then placed her book face-down in her seat.
“I’ll get you some. Be right back.” He nodded and watched her open the screen door. The smell he’d been hooked on intensified tenfold, the delightful cuisine wafting towards him and hanging on for dear life. It was as if all the things he loved in the whole world were mixed together in a brew of culinary delight.
Damn, what is that?! I gotta find out. I need to know who is cooking and if I can get some. Is that rude? I guess it is, but I’m starving.
He couldn’t recall the last time he’d had a home cooked meal. Mom worked two jobs, and though they didn’t pay a whole lot, the money stretched farther down here and she’d been able to get furniture from a discount store—lots of it, though it was cheaply made and would barely survive a year or two. She had to sell most of their good furniture before they moved. He and Dante had even purchased new shoes, Reebok Pumps. These he refused to let anyone get their mitts on. He rarely wore them to school and when he did, it definitely wasn’t on gym day. They’d received a few new shirts, too. Nothing to write home about, just a couple of cheap cotton threads, but they were new, so he appreciated them all the same.
His brother had taken one of his and slashed it all up, to make him look like a break dancer. Ma had a fit when she saw it. Dante was rarely home. His big brother seemed to make it a habit to stay away as much as possible as of late. He worked a part time job in the evenings and on weekends, at a place an hour’s drive away, some music store that specialized in old records and memorabilia, as well as incense, condoms, VHS porn tapes, and bongs. His brother had given him a couple of tapes, some car and titty magazines, and a fistful of rubbers, but Tony hadn’t had sex since they’d moved here; it had been the last thing on his mind, until lately.
He missed his brother though; at times he believed Dante was all he had, but the man would take two buses to get to work. He didn’t seem to give a shit about the distance or the long hours; in fact, he seemed to relish that. He was saving up money to move back to Jersey as soon as he graduated and had enough to get a piece of shit car and an apartment. He planned to get a job as a mechanic and train as an apprentice. Dante was like Mom… always running…
The door suddenly squeaked open again, and Cassidy came through looking like the sun rising over New Jersey. She held a glass of fizzy, dark soda with rivulets of condensation running down the sides. The ice cubes inside of it slid against one another as if they were making out, filling his imagination with all sorts of thoughts.
She was barefoot now, her flipflops discarded… cute little feet exposed, showcasing bright pink painted toenails and skin that looked incredibly soft, as if she lotioned her ankles and toes three times a day.
As she stepped forward to hand him the glass, a tall Black woman showed up in the doorway like a mountain surrounded by a river, her forehead furrowed and her dark eyes slit like fresh hotdog buns behind a pair of bifocals.
“Who are you?” the older woman asked gruffly as Cassidy stepped forward and handed him the drink.
“Thank you.” He took a sip. “I appreciate it, Cassidy. It’s hot out here. I’m—”
“Grandmama, I told you who he was.”
“Well, I’m askin’ him. I ain’t askin’ you, Cass. Was I talkin’ to you?” the woman said with an attitude as she rolled her eyes and snatched her glasses off.
“No, ma’am.” Cassidy huffed and rolled her eyes.
“Now, what’s your name, boy?”
“My name is Tony. I live across the street.” He pointed to the sad little white house, previously painted blue. The older woman lifted her chin high and looked across the street, then placed her hand on her wide hip that swayed beneath the cream fabric of her dress.
“Where is your mother at, huh? Father? Somebody?” Her lips pursed as she looked him up and down.
“My mother is at work.” He took another leisurely sip of his drink. “My father died last year. Heart attack.”
The older woman’s face relaxed then, the wrinkles in her forehead smoothing out as if an invisible iron had run across it, starch and all. She looked rather somber as she crossed her arms over her white and blue apron, one of her long fingers donning a small diamond ring.
“Sorry for your loss.” She rocked back on her heels. Her shoes were strange, ghost gray, thick-soled, orthopedic practical footwear. “Have you had anything to eat for dinner yet?”
“No. I’d like some if you’re offering.” His mouth pooled with saliva in anticipation.
The woman looked him up and down once again, as if trying to decide if she could trust him. He couldn’t quite blame her. Most days, as of late, he could barely trust his own self. “Well, I’m offerin’. Uh, Cassidy says you two go to school together.”
“We do. We have a lot of the same cla—”
“You been missin’ meals a lot, haven’t you? Mama workin’ all the time to keep a roof over your head and clothes on your back. I know how that is. Mmm hmmm.” She put her glasses back on and pursed her lips. “You look a little skinny, like you just sit around eatin’ a bunch of air, or maybe just some fries now and again. No vegetables, fruits, or a good breakfast. Kids like you walkin’ ’round here looking like Halloween props, skeletons as far as the eye can see.”
He chuckled at this.
“I eat a lot, but I doubt anything I’ve had is half as great as whatever it is you’ve got cooking in there. Smells so good.” His stomach growled loud right at that moment, as if on cue, causing Cassidy to smile then cover her mouth with her long, pretty fingers. Her complexion flushed a deep hue of orange.
You’re sweet, aren’t you, Cassidy? Like bright, syrupy rainbow snow-cones on hot, sunny days. I bet you’ve never even made it to third base… I wonder if she’s a virgin? Naaaah, I doubt it! But she could be I guess… She acts a little shy sometimes… It’s possible.
How could someone so shy and pretty grow up in a place like this and be all right? Tony hadn’t been there long, so he wondered if she had just moved in, too. If so, how was she still glowing like a newly minted penny? She was a fresh, vibrant red rose in the desert…
No, she didn’t just come here like me. She’s been here a while. I can tell by the way she and her grandmother speak. They sound like everyone else here…
The people in Florida had an interesting dialect; it was unique to say the least. Twangy, but not as much as the drawl from, say, Texas—like his friend Alex who’d moved from Houston to Jersey when he was ten. It was a special accent, choppy, not flat like that of the folks from Mississippi, and not fast like that guy from Louisiana in that movie. It wasn’t slow, either, but somewhere in the middle. It had unexpected high and low pitches. They didn’t run words together like in a looping song; it was more like rap music with a punch at the end of each sentence. Yeah, it was definitely different.
“Come on in here, Tony, and have some dinner wit’ us.” The older woman stepped back a step or two to enter her home. “Oh, where are my manners? You got brothers and sisters in there?” She pointed to his home. “You can ask ’em to come by, too. I can spare it.”
“Thank you, but actually my brother isn’t home tonight. He stays away as much as possible.” An uncomfortable silence wedged itself be
tween them when he spoke those words. They just came out of his mouth, smooth as funky baby shit, as honest as can be. “It’s just the three of us… me, him, and my mother.”
The older woman nodded in understanding then pushed her glasses farther up the bridge of her nose.
“Well, it’s going to be gettin’ dark soon.” She looked up at the sky as if something terrible were about to come flying through the clouds at any moment. “You two don’t need to be outside when it does. That’s fo’ damn sure.” She sucked her teeth as if disgusted. “Folks like to act silly when the street lights come on, Tony.”
He quickly got to his feet, polished off the last sip of his drink, and handed it back to Cassidy. He swiped his hands against the back of his jeans as he followed the women inside, enveloping himself inside a safe haven, a world within a world.
He quickly scanned the room, chock full of big, older floral printed furniture, some covered with cream and ivory doilies. One couch had plastic all over it. He found that strange. What was that for? The walls were super busy and free space was at a minimum. The mauve-tinted partitions were covered in paintings, one depicting a Black Jesus in a gaudy, fake gold frame. Another showcased the last supper, and all of the twelve apostles were Black donning afros and long curly hair. There were several drawings of roses with thorns on a vine and scenic sights of nowhere near where they lived—perhaps a fantasy, a vacation only in one’s mind.
An assortment of family photos added to the clutter, including pictures of babies, weddings, and club poses, as well as Bible verses written in faded calligraphy and the like. He closed the door behind them and Cassidy reached over his arms, pressing her body into his as if time were of the essence. She quickly fastened three locks back to back, then a chain. The door was secured in Godspeed. The clicks and clanks reminded him of a bunch of jail cell doors closing all at the same time. At least, that was how it sounded in the movies.
Intensity, confusion, and understanding dwelled in their locked gazes. This must be second nature to her… to batten down the hatches, and hell, he honestly couldn’t blame her. He was tired of hearing his own front doorknob rattle from strangers pulling and tugging on it every now and again, some criminal trying to gain entry to do only God knew what. He and his brother slept with heavy baseball bats, razors, and freshly sharpened knives under their pillows. Mom had a gun and knew how to use it. They’d discussed getting a Doberman Pinscher.
He was sick and tired of it all, something so alien from what he’d been accustomed to. He was always on alert now, jumping at every sound especially when they’d first arrived. Now, he’d figured out how to sleep through it, but still be half-alert at the same damn time. It was a new way of life. A cutting, rough, harsh, nasty way to breathe in and exhale. He’d gotten a sore neck from looking over his shoulder so much…
“All right.” A sweet smile creased Cassidy’s face as she wrapped her arm around his and ushered him forward as if they were headed to some extravagant school dance. “Come on into the kitchen. It’s time to eat…”
CHAPTER FOUR
All Grandmama’s Babies
Tony was a peculiar boy.
Cassidy tried to swallow her smirk before it made the light of day, to no avail. After pouring a glass of pop in one cup and then two glasses of cherry Kool-Aid, one for her and one for him, she watched out the corner of her eye as Tony navigated the kitchen table, which was now covered in bowls of hot food. His eyes and hands went in all directions, like a kid lost in a candy store, staring at goodies he’d never seen. He finally picked up his fork, put it down, then picked it up again, as if not knowing where to begin.
“That’s oxtail…” Grandmama explained, looking as amused as her at his confusion and surprise. “You can put it over that rice right there.” She pointed to the big wooden bowl of piping hot white rice in the center of the table, seasoned with salt and pepper.
“I didn’t even know ox had tails.” At this, Cassidy burst out laughing, nearly spraying her drink out of her mouth. She quickly grabbed a paper towel and dabbed at the corners of her lips, her eyes filling with tears of humor. Tony grinned sheepishly as he reached for the rice bowl and put a heaping spoonful onto his orange dinner plate that was chipped on the side. “May I have some bread?” He pointed to the cornbread that was slathered with pats of butter, melting as he spoke.
“Help yourself to anything on this table.” Grandmama grunted before dipping her fork down deep into a heap of coleslaw. Minutes later, Tony’s plate was covered with the bounty: three oxtails with gravy, coleslaw, rice, cornbread, collard greens, and pinto beans with onions.
He chewed loudly, the dramatic intensity in the way he shoveled the food into his mouth reminding her of a movie—a horror movie with comedic undertones. Cassidy slowly placed her fork down, and so did Grandmama. They looked at one another, then back at the boy. They’d never seen anyone eat like that in their lives… He was like a machine!
He was chewing so fast, it seemed there would be no way he could actually taste the food. His eyes got big as golf balls as he looked around, serving himself seconds and thirds.
“Boy, now I’ve seen ’bout enough.” Grandmama chuckled, swallowing a mouthful of cornbread. “It ain’t goin’ nowhere. Slow down fo’e you choke. I ain’t tryna have to call no ambulance. Lord knows it wouldn’t be here ’til next week no how.”
Tony’s face flushed in hues of red as she teased him, and he only slowed a bit… not much at all, as if he couldn’t quite help himself.
He’s hungry… or maybe he just really likes the food. Could be both…
“Sorry but this is so good! It tastes even better than it smelled. I didn’t think I’d like this oxtail when I saw it, but I do. This meat is falling off the bone. Did you smoke it?” he asked between vigorous chews. “It tastes smoked.”
“Why you wanna know? Plan on making some for us next time around?” Cassidy teased.
“Hell, I might! I know how to barbecue, ya know. My dad taught me. We had two big grills back home. They were in our backyard, one gas, the other charcoal. Nice… real fuckin’ nice.”
“Watch your mouth. You’re right, though; that’s what I do,” Grandmama said. “I first cook ’em in the oven for a bit, after I marinate them overnight. It’s a special recipe, a secret. Then I put them on the grill out back, let them cook real slow.”
“I will definitely make some. I know they won’t taste anywhere as good as this though.” The boy smacked his lips before shoving a forkful of slaw into his mouth and giving it a few hearty chomps. “Well, I take that back. We’re broke. It depends on how much they cost. Every time I ask for something, my mother reminds me that money doesn’t grow on trees.”
“Oxtails are kinda expensive,” Cassidy said around a mouthful of rice.
“I can’t afford no oxtails, either.” Grandmama sighed, then got to her feet and went over to the stove to check on the peach cobbler cooking in the oven.
She peered around the woman and saw it bubbling, the crust a nice golden brown.
“Grandmama get plenty of oxtails. Maybe she can give you some to try and barbecue? See, the old man down there at the grocery store got a crush on my grandmother, so he gives her some cuts of meat half off, and free beer sometimes, too. She still ain’t gave Mr. Wesley her number though, so he’s threatened to cut her off… He tryna get in where he fit in. He think Grandmama sexy.” Cassidy burst out laughing, amused so.
“Hush, girl. You so silly.” Grandmama laughed as she turned to the kitchen sink and ran some water in a glass. The water splashed against her hardworking hands, clear droplets covering her fingers and looking much like jewels. “Wesley ain’t got no sense…” She took a big, throaty gulp then turned in their direction. “He need to be tendin’ to his wife that he think nobody know nothin’ about, ol’ sneaky ass snake.” Grandmama sucked her teeth and hissed. “I’m too old to be playin’ with these old gangstas tryna get a little squeeze on the side. I ain’t a roll of toilet tisha. He betta go o
n wit’ that mess.”
She grabbed her prescription bottle of high blood pressure pills, tossed one in her mouth, then took another swallow of the water before placing her glass in the sink. Moments later, Tony was talking about school and the death of his father. It was strange, really. He brought it up all on his own and didn’t appear terribly upset about it. Perhaps he’d learned to get through it? Maybe he prayed a lot and God had spared him a long, grueling bout of grief? Grandmama always said, ‘Prayer changes things.’
“Tony, you and your mama and brother go to church?” Grandmama asked as she rested in her seat, a bit of perspiration around her hairline.
“Nah,” He looked down at his shiny, empty plate, minus the bones of the poor ox that could no longer shake a tail feather. “We used to go all the time but then in the last year or two, we didn’t go much… except on Easter.”
“What faith are you?” Grandmama kept on.
“Catholic.”
They both nodded. “You Italian? You look it.” Cassidy tapped her spoon against her lower lip.
“How do Italian people look?” he asked with a mischievous gleam in his eyes and a cute smirk… No, it was sexy. A sexy smirk indeed.
“I don’t know.” Cassidy shrugged. “Like you. You all just have a look, hard to describe. Like Al Pacino, John Travolta, and Dean Martin.”
“You named the good lookin’ fellas… What about Danny DeVito? He’s Italian, too… and a friggin’ midget.” Cassidy burst out laughing again. She took a sip of her drink, uncertain what to say. “He’s a damn good actor and he is from Jersey like me. I show him respect, ya know, but we all look different to me. Well, in my opinion. I guess from the outside lookin’ in, that’s not true. But uh, yeah. My mother and father both are Italian, well, was, well, you know what I mean.” He shrugged.
“Yeah… I know what you mean.” She wanted to pat his hand, maybe give him a hug, but Tony seemed unreachable at that moment. Sure, she really didn’t know him, but she considered herself a good judge of character, like Grandmama. Lord knew he’d never be up in their house if Grandmama had any suspicions about him. But now, here he sat, his vibrancy diminished. The energy had changed and though he smiled, his huge dimples in clear view, his expression appeared forced, as if Tony was hiding behind something… a big ass wall that would never come down.
