The Meltdown

by L. Divine

  “What would Father’s Day be without the baby mama to both his kids?” Sandy responds. No one was talking to her.

  “Both?” Nigel asks, staring at Rah, who’s still in shock.

  I need to work on finding out the truth before Rah snaps and ends up in jail for committing bitchicide.

  “Damn, nigga. You hit that skanky tramp again?” Mickey asks, again pointing her airbrushed blue acrylic nail at Sandy, apparently as horrified by the thought as I am. “Why?”

  “I know you ain’t talking shit,” Sandy says, finally releasing Rahima, who runs straight to me, equally upset by all the commotion.

  “Bitch, please,” Mickey says. “I’m grade-A ass. You’re nothing but a corner ho and we all know it.”

  Nigel and Rah look at their women go back and forth, powerless to stop them.

  “The babies, y’all. Please,” I say, but they can’t hear me over the rude slurs Mickey and Sandy take turns slinging. Some session this turned out to be. “I’m out and I’m taking the girls with me. Rah, put Rahima’s car seat in the back. Y’all can pick them up from my house when you’re through acting stupid.”

  The mamas are too busy going at each other’s throats to pay me any mind, and the fathers don’t protest. Poor babies. I hope they grow up to be saner than their parents. Until then, I’ll have to be their buffer from the crazy situations they were born into. If I learned one thing from my dream last night, it’s that getting too close to fire will definitely get you burned.

  10

  Closer

  I don’t mind us to build tension /

  But we’ve got to move in the same direction.

  —CORINNE BAILEY RAE

  The smell of fresh paint seeps into my nose, burning its fragile skin. Without any knowledge of where I’m headed, however, I feel confident I’m getting closer to my destination. The four gray walls around me resemble a prison hallway. When I get to the end of the long, brightly lit hall, there are two large doors to choose from: one to my right and one straight ahead.

  “Trust your instincts, Jayd. You know which way to go,” a computerized voice says through the speakers in the corners. “The doors are identical, but only one way is correct.”

  “What am I looking for?” I ask to whom or what, I don’t know. I look at the white speakers against the gray walls, following the white wire against the side of the massive door in front of me. Whatever type of institution this is, it doesn’t look like people come here of their own free will.

  I’ve always been taught to take the road less traveled, so I’m going to go with the less obvious choice.

  “You’re getting warmer,” the voice says as I open the door to my right, entering the barely lit room. At first glance there appears to be nothing inside. But as I get closer to the back wall, I can see it’s a mirage hiding an interrogation room with a prisoner inside.

  It’s Rah. He’s been blindfolded and gagged with his hands tied behind his back. Rah looks unconscious, but his interrogator is completely aware of her actions.

  The woman is Sandy, who wraps her massive legs around Rah’s limp body, straddling him in the metal chair.

  “Rah, get up!” I scream through the well-disguised window, but it’s no use. He’s out cold. “Rah, please wake up!” I try to break the glass with my hands, but it’s too thick. Banging on the glass, I scream at Sandy, begging her to stop, but she ignores my pleading and continues on her mission.

  I look around the room and notice a chair in the opposite corner I didn’t see before. I run over, grab the chair, and throw it at the glass, shattering part of it. Sandy looks undeterred by my advance. I reclaim the chair from the floor and repeat the action twice more, finally breaking completely through.

  “Get off of him, Sandy. He doesn’t want you,” I yell as I charge at Sandy and push her aside. When she falls to the ground, I free her victim, but it’s no longer Rah. Who the hell is this brotha, and where’s my friend?

  “Do you mind? I’m working here,” Sandy says, walking back over to her victim. “This ain’t none of your business.” Sandy climbs back on top of the brotha who is now smiling at her advance.

  “It’s not what it looks like,” he mumbles, happy Sandy’s back in position. Backing away from the X-rated scene, I accidentally step on a piece of broken glass with my bare feet.

  “Ouch!” I scream, waking out of my dream to find myself bleeding all over the kitchen floor from a broken cup. Shit, not again. I haven’t had a sleepwalking incident since the holidays, and I prayed that would be my last time. Apparently my days of insane behavior are not all behind me. I’d better get this cleaned up before I make an even bigger mess. Luckily we keep a first-aid kit under the sink, and I can patch this up without risking blood on the carpet. After making sure I was okay, my mom would have a hissy fit if I stained any part of her apartment.

  I knew Sandy was lying, but now I have spiritual confirmation. The trick is finding out who the real baby daddy is, and for that I’m going to have to get inside of Sandy’s head again. Just the thought of braving that crazy wilderness makes me sick. I never want to get that close to her again, but short of a confession, it looks like that’s exactly what I’m going to have to do.

  Obviously I’m not going back to sleep after a nightmare like that no matter how early in the night it is. Once Nigel and Rah came to get their little girls a couple of hours ago, I went straight to bed. Rahima’s a handful at two years old, and taking care of an infant is no joke. I love my babies, but I don’t envy my friends: Their daughters wore me out.

  I could go to the coffeehouse and get some work done. No one’s stopping me, even if I do feel like I’m cheating on Jeremy by doing one of our favorite pastimes by myself. Maybe it’ll help put my mind at ease because I’m really tripping if I’m sleepwalking. And with Mama gone, I’m not confident enough to fall back into my sleep without fearing what will happen next.

  Luckily the cut on my toe isn’t too bad. It only hurts when I put too much pressure on it. I pick up the remaining glass from the kitchen floor before sweeping up the unseen shards with the broom. How it got here is a mystery to me, especially since it’s from a cup I don’t recognize. There’s no evidence I knocked over anything else on my unsolicited vision trek, and I know I didn’t break anything earlier. There are no signs that my mom’s been home, either. I’ll have to play detective later. If I want to get some work done tonight, I’d better get a move on. It’s already after eleven, and I have to be at school by nine in the morning. Even if the reading group starts a little early in the morning for summer, it beats the usual seven o’clock call any day.

  It amazes me that if you stay on almost any major street long enough in Los Angeles County, you’ll travel through about ten different neighborhoods. It’s close to midnight, and the parking on Fairfax Avenue is pretty tight as usual. A spot opens up close to the front of the quaint Ethiopian establishment, and I take it. I can see there’s a crowd inside but still a few available seats to work with. Limping my way from the curb and through the front door, I recognize a familiar face at the end of my path.

  “Jayd,” Keenan says.

  His smile melts my heart every time. “Hey, Keenan,” I say, passing him by and claiming my seat before one of these sis-tahs in high heels needs to take a load off. I had no idea how busy this place would be on a Saturday night. Apparently Keenan’s again my coffee neighbor.

  “Cute Band-Aid,” Keenan says, pointing at the Winnie the Pooh print covering my freshly painted toes. While Nickey slept, Rahima and I did our nails.

  “Thanks,” I say, making myself as comfortable as I can in the hard wooden chair. All the plush seats are taken.

  “What brings you out this way?” Keenan asks, sitting across from me at the circular table and reclaiming his cup. His backpack hangs loosely over the side of his chair.

  “I needed to get some studying done. You?” Maybe talking to Keenan will provide me with the distraction I need to get the nightmare I just experienced
off my mind.

  “Actually, I just got off work and figured I might as well hang out. As you can see, the vibe is pretty thick in here once the sun sets.” He leans back in his seat and crosses his left foot over his knee, revealing his work apron with the coffee shop’s logo across the chest.

  “You work here?” I ask, surprised. I didn’t get the vibe that UCLA athletes needed employment.

  “Not all football players are spoiled, Jayd,” he says, taking the thought out of my head. “Scholarships don’t cover everything.”

  True that. Life’s expensive in California.

  “Touché, my brotha. Touché.”

  Keenan laughs at my sass, which makes me like him even more. This boy’s going to distract me from the real reason I’m here. So far I don’t mind the intrusion.

  “How can a high school student have so much work to do all of the time?”

  I take a deep breath and let out a sigh that seems to puzzle Keenan. If he only knew the half of it. “Because some of us work harder than others no matter what grade we’re in.” I smile at Keenan, and he smiles right back, loving the challenge.

  “Touché, my sister. Touché.” Taking another sip of his drink, he looks across the table realizing I don’t have a cup of my own. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even offer to get you anything,” he says, rising from his seat, awaiting my order. He’s such a gentleman, just like Jeremy and Rah when he’s in the mood.

  “You’re off the clock, but thank you for the offer,” I say. “I can get it myself.”

  “Please, let me. What are you having?” Keenan asks, putting his hand up for me to remain seated. He doesn’t have to ask me twice.

  “A green tea,” I say, ordering my customary beverage.

  “Excellent choice. I’ll refill mine, too.”

  Good. That’ll give me a chance to review a few of my spirit notes. I took the liberty of jotting down a few more things about my mom’s younger days while I was at Mama’s house earlier and need to review them.

  After a few minutes of reading, I try to put my notes away before Keenan makes it back to the table but not before he notices my sloppy handwriting.

  “Looks interesting,” he comments, placing the two steaming cups on the table and taking his seat.

  Keenan kind of reminds me of this guy I dated for two weeks in the eighth grade, except dude was a nerd who really thought he was one of the characters in Dungeons & Dragons.

  “It is,” I say, returning the notebook to my backpack before slowly sipping my tea. He looks like he wants to know more but doesn’t press any further.

  “So, Jayd Jackson, where are you originally from?” Keenan asks.

  He has a laid-back vibe about him that I’m finding hard to resist. “Compton. You?” I reach for the honey packets he brought to the table.

  “Oakland,” Keenan says. “Ever heard of Too Short?” He leans back farther, taking in the buzzing atmosphere.

  “Oh, I know you’re kidding, right?” I ask, but it doesn’t look like he’s joking. “Yes, I have. Ever heard of Eazy-E?”

  “Touché, Jayd Jackson. Touché,” Keenan again says, laughing at his own ego.

  I don’t know what kind of girls he’s used to dealing with, but I’m not the average chick, as he’s quickly finding out. “How is it that a high school girl’s hanging out at a coffeehouse on a Sunday night in West LA? Don’t you have a rave or something to go to?”

  “Oh, I see you’ve got jokes, huh?” I know Keenan thinks he’s cute, but I’m cuter. He just doesn’t know it yet.

  “Who, me? Never,” Keenan says.

  The melodic tempo of the background music makes me feel as if I’m time traveling through one of my dreams. Something about the Etta James classic tells me Maman liked the song when it was new back in her day, too.

  “What do you know about ‘A Sunday Kind of Love’?” Keenan asks jokingly.

  Ignoring his smart comment, I close my eyes and sway my head to the smooth ballad. When I peek at my companion, Keenan’s simply watching me enjoy the music. Sensing the change in vibe, he surrenders to the moment. I wonder how he’d take it if I told him he was in my dream a few nights ago—a dream that was more like a premonition than some random subconscious occurrence.

  We continue sipping and vibing, enjoying each other’s company without interrupting the song. I focus on the brown flecks in the whites of Keenan’s eyes, easing my way into his mind. His thoughts are already cool and calm, allowing me easy access.

  The dream of him and me as my ancestors comes to the front of my mind’s eye, and I unintentionally share the vision with Keenan. He probably thinks it’s his own daydream; he has no idea who Jean Paul and Maman are in relation to me. I glance around the coffeehouse and see the atmosphere has changed from a buzzing social spot to the quaint kitchen in Maman’s house. When the song finally ends, so does our visual link. I didn’t know I could do that without my grandmother. Mama and I have shared visions before, but neither of us has any control over that part of our powers.

  “I think there was something in that tea,” Keenan says, blinking his eyes as if that’ll erase what happened. I feel like I momentarily fell asleep. I’ll take that as my cue to roll.

  “Yeah, I feel you,” I say, shaking my head and rising from the table, careful not to step directly onto my wound. “I have to get going. I’ve got class in the morning,” I say, hurriedly gathering my things.

  “Wait a minute,” Keenan says, following me to the door. “You just got here.”

  “I have an early day tomorrow,” I say, pushing my way through the crowd. People are outside enjoying the warm night air. I wish my life were that carefree.

  “Jayd, are you okay?” he asks, opening the car door. “Everything was going so well until that song came on.”

  With the memory of the soft voice singing about the kind of love she desires, I snap back into the vision, unable to still myself in this time period. Keenan’s appearance is changing right along with my sight, causing me to feel woozy. I balance myself against the car and catch my breath.

  “I’m fine. I just need to get some sleep.” I place my things inside the car and get in.

  “Drive safely and get plenty of rest. I’m looking forward to our next meeting,” Keenan says, closing my door. Me, too, but I hope we can stay in the present the next time we meet.

  I start the car and decide to stay parked for a few more minutes while I gather my thoughts but not before my eyes can play one more trick on me. If I wasn’t sure of Jeremy’s whereabouts, I could swear he and Cameron are in front of the restaurant across the street kissing. What the hell? I’d better get home before I bug out so bad I won’t be able to make the fifteen-minute drive back to Inglewood. Regardless of my mental breakdown, I need to get some solid rest if I’m going to make it through tomorrow. Hopefully some of Mama’s lavender and vanilla ointment will soothe my nerves once I get home.

  “And go straight home, Jayd. No detours, you hear?” my mom says, interrupting my private time. I can’t recoup with her in my ear.

  “Mom, where would I go this time of night?” I ask aloud. My brain’s too tired for any more telepathic ventures.

  “I don’t know. Over to one of your little friends’ house or somewhere.”

  I would tell her she sounds like Mama, but I don’t know how she’ll take it.

  “All I know is that if you’re seeing things that aren’t there, you don’t need to be out.”

  “It was the strangest thing,” I say, the kissing couple popping back into my head. “I could’ve sworn that dude was Jeremy.” The crowd outside the coffeehouse is dying down a bit the later it gets. It’s well after midnight on a Sunday, and these folks act like they don’t have to work in the morning. I know some of them have jobs to go to.

  “What about this Keenan guy. Who’s he?” my mom asks.

  She knows more about my new friend than she’s saying, but she wants to give me the chance to explain, offering me some delusion of privacy.


  “I had a dream he was Jean Paul and I was Maman. I was on fire, and he put it out. It sounds worse than it actually was,” I say, trying to explain the vision, but it’s no consolation. She was a young mother herself, so I know what’s going through her mind.

  “I see,” my mom says. “Jayd, all I can say is that you’re young and single. Jeremy’s good, but if you’re having dreams like this about another man, then he’s not all you need and that’s okay. You don’t have to compromise, Jayd. If you don’t get everything you want the first time around, the next time you ask the Creator for what you want, be more specific. You deserve everything you can imagine having and more. Remember that.”

  “It wasn’t just about another man.” I think back, remembering the vivid details. “Jeremy and that girl were kissing in public, unashamed of their infidelious behavior.”

  “Infidelious? Who talks like that, Jayd? Really?” my mom says, totally off subject. The SAT prep words I’ve been studying are sinking in. “Okay, but seriously, if you’re having visions about someone cheating after you just left a date with someone other than your boyfriend, it could be your own guilt you’re sensing and not the little white boy’s. Just a thought. Bye, little girl,” my mom says, finally leaving my head so I can drive home.

  She might be right about me projecting my feelings onto Jeremy. Ever since meeting Keenan, I can’t get the brotha off my mind. Just thinking about his slightly crooked smile makes me sweat. I hope he stays out of my dreams and my reality for the rest of the night so I can recoup from my recent experiences. Otherwise, I’m going to be no good to anyone come tomorrow.

  As predicted, my lack of sane sleep has created a deficit in my brain function. Our first reading group started with a bang as Charlotte and Alia went back and forth about the white girl and black boy in our first novel falling in love. It was a heated conversation with Alia finally shutting Charlotte’s know-it-all ass down. Because Alia’s feeling Chance and it’s no secret that he’s proud of his black blood, I think she was extra sensitive about the topic. Alia’s raw emotion was written all over her well-tanned face, which gave her an advantage over Charlotte that I usually possess. I was proud of my girl, although I have to admit Charlotte had a few relevant points. All in all, I think Alia’s taking on a new swag, and it’s about time. The girl’s got gumption, beauty, and brains: three powerful weapons in her arsenal if yielded properly. I think she should use them more often.