by Tiana Laveen
A shimmering light appeared in his gorgeous light gray eyes, a glint of emotion yet to touch his lips and pour out the truth like gooey peach nectar from a slice of piping hot cobbler. They all were quiet, with the exception of Grandmama’s fork hitting her plate.
“Where are your parents? I never seem anyone comin’ in and out of here but you and your grandmother.”
“Oh?” Cassidy smiled. “You’re spyin’ on me now?”
“Yeah, I mean, no! No, I’m not…like for real, no… I already said no.” He laughed. “I mean, I sit on my porch sometimes. It’s boring, you know? I just pay attention is all.”
“I’m just messing with you.” Cassidy leaned back in her seat and stared at him.
I don’t think we’ve ever had a White person in our house before. Grandmama don’t let the bill collectors in. Wait, there was that one delivery guy who dropped off those boxes in the living room that one time, but never ate with us, never had dinner… I guess there’s a first for everything.
“So, where are they?” He jammed his hands beneath his armpits, his thick, dark brows rutted as if he were a bit annoyed. Maybe she was simply reading into things and that was just how he sounded, like a lawyer during a cross examination. Grandmama got up once again and began to fiddle with the stove. Cassidy tossed a glance at the older woman; her hand was slightly shaking.
Her arthritis is acting up again.
She turned back around and faced Tony. He bore the same expression as before.
“I don’t have nothin’ to do with my parents, don’t even know where they at. My father got caught up in drugs and so did my mother. That’s why my grandmother took me away from them and raised me herself. They were irresponsible.” Their eyes locked for a long while, then he nodded, as if satisfied with her answer. “Anyway, you want some pie?” She hitched her thumb towards Grandmama who was now slicing into the delicious baked dessert with a big, sharp knife.
“Shit, yeah.” Grandmama shot them a look. Their reflections danced in her glasses and the way her lips twitched almost made Cassidy burst out laughing.
“Sorry about that. It’s a habit, Mrs. uh…”
“My name is Mrs. Betty Sanders, but you can call me Mrs. Betty or Grandmama.” She winked at him then went back to slicing.
“Grandmama is everyone’s grandmother ’round here.” Cassidy chuckled. “Well, the little kids that is, and all of my friends. She got more play adopted kids than Josephine Baker.”
“Josephine Baker? Who’s that?”
Cassidy rolled her eyes. “You don’t know who Josephine Baker was? Boy, you have a lot to learn. I thought people livin’ at the top of the country were in the know… more progressive, I guess you could say.”
“We are! Look, just tell me who she is and as far as northerners being more progressive, don’t try to say something crazy about Jersey, about where I come from, because you’re one to talk.” He got real serious, as if he played for the New Jersey Devils. There could be no disrespect given to the place where he was born and raised. “Until I moved here, I’ve never seen such backwards ass—”
“You want some vanilla ice cream wit’ your cobbler?” she interrupted as she popped up from her seat, cutting him off at the pass. “It’s expired, but only by one day.”
“Don’t give him that, Cassidy. He’s a guest.” Grandmama looked downright appalled, as if she was trying to serve the Queen of England her food on a paper plate instead of the imaginary fine China they didn’t possess.
“Then why is it okay for me to eat it? You always tell me to keep stuff that’s only a day or two out.”
“’Cause you live here and can’t do nothin’ about it.” Grandmama chuckled.
“Tony, you ain’t no guest no more. If she’s your grandmother, then you family. You can eat the expired ice cream too!” They all burst out laughing.
“I can call you Grandmama though? Really?” Tony seemed genuinely surprised. He smiled so hard, it seemed his dimpled cheeks would explode at any moment.
“Yeah. My grandbaby says you’re a smart boy. Well, young man… sixteen is one of those in-between stages. Cassidy says you stick up for yourself and help your mama ’round the house. If ya own mama ain’t home a lot because she gotta work, then I see no reason why you can’t come over here sometimes to stay outta trouble. Bein’ idle is being bored, and boredom is the Devil’s Workshop.”
“That’s funny, I remember my favorite teacher, Mr. Davenport, saying that, too.”
“Well, he was a wise man then. I sho’ as hell don’t want you out there in those streets… They attract folks like moths to a flame, specially the boys. Nothin’ but a shiny thing lookin’ like gold. Then, when ya put it on like a necklace, it chokes you; it turns ya neck green with envy and disease, hatred. Fake and terrible, I know that damn much.” She huffed, then pulled out a stack of thin napkins and slapped them on the table. “The streets got their own heartbeat, but the streets don’t love nobody. They just pretend they do. It’s like the story of Hansel and Gretel… That was my daughter ’nd her boyfriend, Cassidy’s father.
“Wasn’t nothin’ out there but a witch in that big ol’ house made of candy, and that candy will ruin yo’ life, and your family’s life, too. The streets will eat you, just like that witch, fattening you up with sweet lies and well-seasoned promises.” Grandmama’s eyes turned to dark slits and her voice dropped low. “Nothin’ but the Devil pulling folks out here like they’re on puppet strings.”
She picked up a napkin and folded it in half, then folded another one in the same fashion. “The night air does somethin’ strange to folks ’round here, Tony. Oh, and don’t let it be a full moon. I don’t know about where you come from. I’ve never been to New Jersey, but here, in Belle Glade, we got gators and poverty… and I ain’t talking about the ones in the water. I’m talkin’ ’bout the ones that stand on two legs and walk around these streets. Anyway, I want y’all to be safe.
“Cassidy is my own flesh and blood, but I’m tired of these children bein’ gunned down by mistake, or thinkin’ they’re big and bad, tryna prove how tough they are by swingin’ a gun around. So if I gotta be a grandmother to a hundred children over the years that I ain’t related too, so be it. I already lost my daughter to these damn streets. She tried to take my grandbaby down with her, too… No, sir. I am done losin’.”
She shook her head vigorously, the memories proving too much to bear. She sniffed and swiped the corner of her eye with her knuckle. “I ain’t losin’ no more.” Grandmama turned back towards the pie and begun to plate it up.
“See? I told you… She watches after everyone’s kids, even if it is just from her window. Are your grandparents still living?” Cassidy asked as she sat back in her seat.
“My dad’s parents are dead. My mom’s father is dead too, but her mother is still alive… She’s not really close to us though.” He shrugged. “Not really the nurturing type, I guess you could say. I never really had a grandmother if I am to be truthful about it. I see that, uh, you and Mrs. Betty have a real special relationship, Cassidy. That’s nice… It’s special.” He picked up his glass of Kool-Aid and took a gulp.
“Well,” Grandmama came up to him with a plate in hand. “As long as you’re livin’ here and friends with my grandbaby, you have one now…”
CHAPTER FIVE
Get in Where You Fit In
Everyone sat around in the school cafeteria, the noise at times deafening. Tony poked at one of the carrots on his tray, which had turned white in parts, as if it were too old or had been in the refrigerator far too long. He toyed with his napkin, the rough material tingling against the pad of his fingertips. The smell of greasy pizza, bubble gum, and strong bleach wafted in the air, filling the space up to the low ceiling.
Pulling at his jeans, he tried to readjust his nuts on the low. He’d been sitting so long in that position, everything seemed to be going to sleep. Each muscle was tapping out, including his fucking brain. He looked around the place, taking inve
ntory of his surroundings, just in case someone decided to slap him in the back of the head and run off laughing. It wouldn’t have been the first time. To his right, not too far away, sat a guy named Maize Jones.
Maize smirked as he prepared to begin his daily school concert. The guy’s dark skin made the whites of his eyes pop, and he had an energy, an aura that seemed to seduce the most ill-tempered of individuals. The guy began to tap his foot to the beat in his head, then knock his plastic utensil in one hand and an unsharpened pencil against the edge of the table with the other. He gained momentum, an open invitation to a song that was about to go down. LL Cool J’s, “I’m Bad,” flowed from his mouth, the lyrics smooth as he hit the exact notes and tempo.
“No rapper can rap, quite like I can, I’ll take a musclebound man and put his face in the sand!” The crowd grew like a large sponge dunked in a pool of water. Soon, Tony was surrounded too by mere proximity to the star attraction. The crowd clapped and rocked back and forth to the smooth way he recited the lyrics to the song from the rap icon out of New York.
He sounds just like LL Cool J. Nice…
Tony rocked back and forth in his chair as other guys joined in, rapping the lyrics and dancing to the beat. When he got to the chorus, the girls screamed out, ‘I’m baaaad!’ Tony’s chest tightened as he watched the smiling faces and felt the energy. It was electric, dishing out a good time, boundless fun. He missed having fun times like this with his friends back home, but he couldn’t seem to connect to anyone here, with the exception of Cassidy. If he wasn’t arguing with some asshole who wanted to test his right hook abilities, he’d be in the principal’s office being chastised as if he were the crust of the problem, or otherwise, he’d be completely alienated altogether. He couldn’t blame the principal entirely. He refused to snitch, run telling like a little girl about being pushed to his limit.
No worries… in two years I’ll be outta here like Dante…
He looked over at Cassidy and their eyes locked. She turned away suddenly, as if not wishing to engage, as if she didn’t want to be seen seeing him. He briefly looked down at his tray, cocked his head to the side, and fell into a dark daydream…
This is my lunch… A half full carton of white milk… dried out carrot sticks… flavorless meatloaf, but a pretty good cup of butterscotch pudding…
“I met this fresh girl
She looked like Coco from Fame
I went to her house
Soon she was moanin’ my name…”
On and on the tall, alluring boy went, entertaining the crowd around him as he rapped and rolled out a pretty catchy new beat. Tony looked up at him and slapped his hand against the table, mirroring his beat. Their tempo matched and married, blending together like milk and coffee. Their taps amplified, staying in sync, aligned, connected. The two eyed one another for a spell, and the guy smiled, then nodded in approval. Maize was popular; that had been evident from the first day Tony had arrived there. The guy was charismatic, as Mom would say. Probably about a B average student, he didn’t seem to get into too much trouble; he was on the football team and appeared to have a good rapport with most of his fellow students.
Tony had been watching Maize for a while; the guy was intriguing to say the least. They attended some classes together and he was one of the few guys who spoke to him, even though he made fun of him a little, too. It was all right though. Tony never felt his brand of teasing was malicious in nature like most others that tried to sink their teeth into him and tear off a little piece of his self-esteem, one gold-toothed chomp at a time.
Moments later, the room exploded with whistles and congratulatory curses of praise for one of many of Maize’s homespun, original songs. The crowd begun to disperse once the one-man concert had ended and Cassidy glanced at him from over her shoulder before sauntering off to her table with her girlfriends. He’d hoped that Cassidy would begin to sit with him now since they’d spent time together. Oddly enough, she didn’t. She was usually surrounded by a gang of girls, all of them giggling and gossiping about boys, no doubt. He wasn’t going to walk over there and join them. That was a definite no-no.
Why does she act different towards me in school? When I see Cassidy at home, she’s nice and all, like we’re good ass friends… but here at school, it’s just ‘hi’ and ‘bye.’ What the fuck?
And when the bell would ring for the end of day, he never seemed to be able to find her to walk home with her. She’d vanish like Houdini. Tony had ignored these emotions and suspicions but now, his chest warmed with anger and dare he admit it, a bit of sorrow as well. He gulped down the feelings, just like he did his bland lunch.
It doesn’t matter…
They spoke in class, mostly small talk, and he’d been at her home a couple of times since that first night two weeks prior. He secretly admitted to himself he’d hated walking out of that house that night and going back across the street to his own home. That had been the first time in a long time that he felt as if he truly belonged somewhere, that he fit in and was accepted.
Cassidy’s home wasn’t particularly pretty or anything to brag about, but there was warmth inside those walls, a special magic that felt like a thick, warm blanket wrapped around one’s soul. It silenced the guns going off, the sirens, the arguing, the obnoxiously loud music playing at all hours of the night. It quieted the pain, his grief, his brewing anger and sorrow. He was a damn ticking time bomb, but nobody seemed to notice. He hoped he wouldn’t soon explode. That house though gave him peace of mind; those people within it made him feel important… like he meant a damn. He wanted to bottle that feeling then rub it all over himself, rub it in so deep that it marinated his very soul.
How’d they do that? Make me feel all right? I wasn’t all right… I’m not all right. Nothing is going right. How did she make me smile again?
Perhaps it was something enchanted and special that only an old woman and her granddaughter could create? Picking up his tray, he tossed the food into the trashcan. As he prepared to walk out of the cafeteria and spend recess on a bench, watching everyone else have an amazing time while he chewed on resentment like snuff, he felt a hard tug on his jacket.
“Hey, man.” He was eye to eye with a kid they called, ‘E.T.’ E.T. stood for Eric Thompson. Ironically, the boy had a long neck and large eyes, making his initials all the more humorous. He was a washed out, pale-complexioned guy with a broad nose and full lips, his mouth full of gold. His dark brown hair was neither straight nor kinky but somewhere in the middle, and his slanted eyes were an unusual shade of green. May have possibly been half White. Tony liked how laid back he was, and his deep voice that made him sound older.
“Yeah, what do you want?” He took notice of Maize and a couple of other guys making their way over to him, too, their gazes somber.
Oh shit. Here they go. Not today, motherfuckers… He shoved his empty tray onto the collection stack, his nostrils flared as he put his fists up.
“Hit me! Go ahead and you’ll be tastin’ the fuckin’ floor.”
The small group of guys began to laugh.
“Man, chill… we ain’t ova here tryna do nothin’ to you,” E.T. stated, his eyes hooded. “Look, first things first.” He took a deep breath and placed a hand on his shoulder. “We noticed since you been here, you ain’t scared of shit and we just wanna say that’s cool, all right? Ain’t nobody been able to call you a pussy.” Several of the guys in the back, including Maize, nodded in agreement. “Maize noticed how you kept the beat a while ago, too. You got rhythm. That’s funny…”
The small crowd chuckled, as if that was in some way humorous. “Anyway, we been watchin’ you and wanted you to hang wit’ us, man… No more of you battlin’ all the time ’cause see, these idiots will try and test you, even though you already proved you ain’t goin’ down without a fight.” E.T. looked around the now half empty cafeteria, then back at him. “You ain’t gonna make it without someone helpin’ you, lookin’ over your back. That’s what we do, look out for one a
nother. You gotta—”
“And what do you get in return?” Tony grimaced as he crossed his arms over his chest. Much to his surprise, E.T.’s eyes widened as if he were truly astonished. “Save me the shocked face, all right. I’m not a fuckin’ idiot. I know what’s goin’ on here. I scratch your back, you scratch mine, but I’m doing all the fuckin’ scratching.”
The guys looked around at each other in confusion. Maize broke through the crowd and elbowed himself in front of E.T. to come stand front and center.
“Nigga, ain’t nobody tryna be slick.” The guy’s thick brows furrowed. “It’s simple, Tony. You the kinda homeboy we like. Don’t give a shit that you White.” He shrugged. “Real niggas come in all different colors and sizes, man. We been watchin’ you and Cassidy said you straight, wanted me to tell these mothafuckas to leave you the fuck alone.”
At this, Tony’s heart pounded faster. “Cassidy?”
“Yeah. Cassidy. That’s my homegirl. We grew up together, then I moved over to Fox street.” Maize’s dark brown eyes narrowed, as if he were sending him a private message about Cassidy, one that only the two of them could understand. “So if she said you was okay, then I took her word for it, you got me? I turned around and told my homeboys ’nd these otha mothafuckas to lay off you.” Maize clasped his hands together and bobbed his head a lot when he spoke, as if he were still rapping, going into a song of sorts. “Many didn’t listen; they told me ‘fuck you’… but some did. I made yo’ load a bit easier.”
“Is this the part where I am supposed to thank you and then pay you for not tryna beat my ass, too? Oh, I get it! I guess you noticed I wasn’t sittin’ with the other White people, the few of us here… They sit together, the Hispanics sit together, and you all sit together. Everyone in their little safe, compact, racist groups. And here my White ass is, right? Just off to myself like some sittin’ duck until you want to wobble over and use all the free space for your little talent show. Nope. I don’t care. I don’t give a shit! I’d rather fight all day and night than pay someone to leave me alone.”
