The Meltdown

by L. Divine

  “Damn, girl. We thought you were working in the fields as long as it took you to get here,” Bryan says, talking shit as usual.

  “I get paid for my hustle, Mr. James,” I say to my favorite uncle. I hug my friends and give my cousin dap before claiming the ready-made plate on the long foldout table with matching chairs.

  “I got all you favorites,” Rah says, making sure I know he’s the one who made my plate. He knows me so well.

  The neighbors are enjoying the vibe and every family’s got a job to do. The Webbs up the block are the deejays. The Baxters across the street are holding down the drinks—alcoholic and non—and all of the yards have folding tables and chairs for plenty of cross-family socializing.

  “Thank you,” I say. I haven’t talked to Rah about the dream I had with Sandy straddling a stranger, but I think I should let him know in private. I pull back the aluminum foil covering the paper plate and dig in with the plastic fork also provided.

  “Hey, Jayd. Your boy’s here,” Bryan says, pointing at Mr. Adewale walking up the block.

  I look up to see an unexpected guest coming our way, not that I’m disappointed. Since when did my uncle Bryan and Mr. Adewale become boys? I know they occasionally ball together, but them hanging out is a bit much.

  Too bad Mama’s not here for the festivities. She usually makes a slamming peach cobbler for the annual event. I miss her cooking and so does everyone else on Gunlock today. Nothing’s the same without my grandmother’s special touch.

  “What’s our teacher doing here?” Mickey asks, feeding Nickey a bottle and rocking her to sleep.

  I’m glad to see she can be a good mother when she wants to be. Hopefully Dr. Whitmore’s meds will help her demeanor improve permanently.

  “He’s only your teacher during school hours. Right now he’s the fool who owes me twenty dollars for whipping his ass on the court last night,” Bryan says, greeting Mr. Adewale. I suddenly have the urge to check my breath. This potato salad is scrumptious, but the onions are a bit much.

  “Hey, everyone,” Mr. A says. My friends and I say hi and continue eating. “And you can’t have what you didn’t earn, man.”

  It’s weird seeing him interact with someone his own age for a change. Mr. Adewale’s just a regular guy: fine, but still regular.

  “Always talking but never walking,” my uncle says, pointing to the backyard where the netless basketball rim is hanging above the garage door. My uncles wore that thing out years ago, and it’s never been replaced. “First to twenty-one, double or nothing.”

  “Bet,” Mr. A says, following my uncle to the back.

  No matter how old they get, boys will be boys. Nigel and Rah would love to get in on the action, but food comes first and we’re all digging in.

  “This chicken is banging,” Nigel says, licking barbeque sauce from his fingers. Rah nods his head in agreement and so do I. There’s nothing like home cooking.

  It’s still early in the afternoon, and so far it looks like everyone’s enjoying the party. This is one of those holidays where everyone comes back to the block to catch up on the latest news, visit old friends, and see the new babies, like Nickey.

  “Mickey, why don’t you take Nickey down to Tre’s house?” I say, looking at his sister Brandy’s growing baby bump as she and her friends play dominoes on their front lawn. They’ve seen a lot of tragedy in their small family: First their mother died and then their little brother, Tre. Hopefully her baby will bring some joy to their household and maybe Tre’s daughter will, too. “His sisters know the baby’s his by now, I’m sure.” We don’t need our own news channel in Compton if we need to get the word out. Our CNN is via hair salons, barbershops, and the corner store.

  “Because I don’t want to,” Mickey says, sucking her teeth at the idea. Nigel and Rah keep silent even if I know they feel the same way I do. “And besides, me and Brandy got into it a couple of years ago in junior high, and I still can’t stand the bitch.”

  “Mickey, that’s so juvenile I can’t even comment,” I say, placing my empty plate in the large trash bag next to the table and wiping my hands on a wet nap. There’s no being cute while throwing down around here. “I’ll take her, then,” I say, rolling my eyes at my girl, who returns the favor. She has to know she’s wrong for keeping Tre’s sisters from his only child that we know of. After he died saving Nigel’s life from getting shot by Mickey’s ex-man, the least she could do is be apologetic about the shit, but not Mickey. She’s a gangsta girl until the very end.

  “Good looking, Jayd,” Nigel says. “Tre was a good brotha.”

  Rah nods his head in agreement, and Mickey feels out of the loop. I’m glad I’m not the only one who thinks her behavior’s immature.

  I take Nickey’s stroller by the curved handles and make my way down the packed block, waving to our neighbors along the way. Nickey is a cute baby and garners me lots of attention when we’re together, just like Rahima. I’m going to have to take both my goddaughters to the mall and get some serious love. When Nickey and I hung out yesterday, so many people stopped to comment on her beauty.

  “Hey, Jayd. Who’s the baby?” Brandy asks, rubbing her swollen belly like she’s ready to pop. She’s due any day now. It’ll be nice for Nickey to have a cousin to grow up with like Jay and I. We were very close.

  “She’s your niece,” I say, positioning the baby for Brandy to see. Maybe she can recognize family features Mickey and I can’t. Nickey looks just like her mama to me. “Nickey Shan-tae. Say hi to your auntie.”

  “Oh,” Brandy says, looking at Nickey. I can see her older sister inside the house talking on her cell. “Who’s the mama?” she asks, knowing it’s not me. Everyone knows Mama would kill me before she allowed me to get pregnant at such a young age.

  “Mickey,” I say, surprised she hasn’t heard the latest news. Or maybe she has and she’s feigning ignorance to be mean.

  “Well, we can’t help take care of no more babies. We got enough of our own.” Damn, I didn’t even say anything about all that. “Besides, Tre ain’t here to vouch for her, so she ain’t no kin of mine.”

  I look at her three friends, each focused on the dominoes in their hands. This heffa’s really going to sit here and pretend like Nickey’s not a part of her family. Trifling people get on my damned nerves.

  “I thought you’d want to meet her, especially since Tre’s gone,” I say, giving Brandy a chance to redeem herself, but she’s unrelenting in her cold attitude.

  “Whatever, Jayd,” Brandy says, taking a drag from her cigarette. This broad should be arrested for smoking while pregnant. “As many niggas as Mickey runs through, it’s no telling who the baby daddy is.”

  Without another word, I turn the stroller around and head back down the street. I don’t know what to say. Unfortunately, Brandy’s telling the truth about Mickey’s promiscuity, but her way of going about it is all wrong. Visiting Tre’s house was definitely a mistake. Brandy and I have never been cool, but we’ve never had beef, either, until now. I wish Mickey would beat her ass again for that ignorant shit.

  “Let’s get some lemon pound cake from Mrs. Pritchard’s house,” I say, but Nickey’s knocked out. I wish I could fall asleep that easily. Bryan and Mr. A must be done with their game, and from the looks of the money exchanging hands, I’d have to say Bryan won even if Mr. A’s smiling like he’s the victor.

  “Where’d my folks go?” I ask, noticing Rah, Nigel, and Mickey have disappeared from our front lawn.

  “They went to smell the trees, and I’m going with them,” Bryan says, speaking in code for smoking weed. “You coming, man?” Bryan says to Mr. A, who respectfully declines the invite. I guess it’s just my favorite teacher and me.

  “Bryan told me you’re going to be in a cotillion?” Mr. Ade-wale says, like it’s not the interrogation it obviously is. He tries to be so coy about his shit, but he’s not.

  “That’s right,” I say, parking Nickey’s stroller in the shade and putting the cover up so s
he can get a good nap in. “But it’s not really by choice as much as for the benefit of my college applications.”

  “I think it’s a good move, Miss Jackson,” he says, taking a swig of his water on the table. “My fraternity will be there to support our sister sorority. You’ll enjoy yourself, I promise,” he says, smiling big and displaying his perfectly straight teeth. His dreadlocks are pulled back, showing off his well-defined cheekbones.

  “You’re going to be there?” I ask. Now I’m more nervous than ever about the ball next weekend. Before I wasn’t really tripping, but now I want to be on my best behavior: Mr. Ade-wale always brings that out in me.

  “I sure am and I can’t wait to see you in all white.” Mr. Adewale’s bright hazel eyes glimmer in the afternoon sun, reminding me of several dreams I’ve had of me and him married. Something tells me that he’s not talking about my white evening gown Mrs. Esop purchased.

  Before we can get too deep in conversation, our friends rejoin us, much more mellow than they were a few minutes ago.

  “Cake,” Mickey says, going for my plate, but she’s got another think coming if she thinks I’m sharing my dessert plate. There’s enough food up and down Gunlock to satisfy her munchies without picking off mine.

  “Is that roasted corn?” my uncle asks, spying the sweet cob on Mr. Adewale’s plate.

  Mr. A looks as serious about his food as I do about mine. “Yeah, and there’s some more two doors down,” he says, pointing toward Alondra Boulevard where we see an unwelcome visitor.

  “What’s Sandy doing here?” I ask Rah, pointing down the block. Sandy switches her way toward us with Rahima in a stroller, knowing the girl’s too big for that tiny thing. Rahima will be three in a couple of months and is tall for her age, which is no surprise. Her father clears six feet and her mother’s not far behind.

  “Oh, shit,” Rah says, shaking his head. “I told her where I’d be if there was an emergency or something.” Emergency my ass. The only crisis is the one Sandy’s about to create.

  “Why do you do shit like that when you know the girl can’t be trusted?” I ask, watching our semi-pleasant afternoon come to a crashing halt the closer Sandy gets to my grandparents’ house.

  “She said she was having some stomach pains or something when I left. I just wanted to make sure she knew where I was, just in case.”

  “It was probably menstrual cramps,” I say, wishing Sandy were lying about the whole damned thing, not just about the baby daddy, who I know for a fact isn’t Rah. Now, I’ve just got to prove it.

  “Jayd, she’s really pregnant. I saw the test with my own eyes,” Rah says, looking at me cross when he should be throwing the evil eye to his baby mama. I know better than anyone that eyes can play tricks.

  “Okay, then, fine. Why didn’t you bring Rahima with you if she wasn’t feeling well? That would have made more sense.”

  Nigel and Mickey stay out of this one.

  “Because Sandy said she missed our daughter.”

  Yeah, right. He and I both know Sandy drops off the baby to whomever she can, whenever she can. If he fell for that shit, he’s tripping harder than I thought. My uncle and teacher are engrossed in a conversation with our neighbor and eating the sweets I’m craving. Even Sandy can’t ruin my appetite today.

  “Rah, you need to take her. I’ve got to be somewhere,” Sandy says, pushing the stroller toward us without any type of greeting. Where was Sandy raised, in a barn? This girl could use an etiquette class or two her damned self.

  “I thought you were sick?” Rah asks, taking the stroller by the handles and turning it around so that Rahima’s sleeping face is out of the sun.

  “I was, but I feel better now,” Sandy says, straightening out her short shorts. She looks at Nigel and me, then back at Rah, completely ignoring Mickey. I’d hate to see the two of them really go at it. “Bye.”

  “Damn, Sandy. You need to get your priorities straight,” Rah says. “That’s how you got yourself pregnant again.” He parks his daughter next to Nickey so she can finish napping in peace.

  “I didn’t get myself pregnant,” Sandy says, putting her left hand on her hip, displaying her bulging breasts for all to see. The strained pink shirt looks like it’s about to burst. “Or did you forget how it works already? If so, I’ll show you later when we get home.”

  No, she didn’t just go there with me standing right here. I could choke on my cake I’m so pissed. “Sandy, your home is in a state penitentiary somewhere, not at Rah’s house,” I say. I’ve had it with this broad and her wannabe propositions. I know he’s not my man, but damn. She should show a little respect that other people are present before throwing her cookies around. I don’t want to hear that shit.

  “Whatever, Jayd. You’re just jealous because I’ve got everything you want and then some,” she says, readjusting her breasts in her revealing top. Now this heffa’s really gone too far.

  “What exactly do you have, Sandy? An ankle monitor that fits like the rest of your too-tight clothing?” I point at the blinking tracking device on her right leg. “You have no car, no high school diploma, and no one claiming your mystery baby. I’m sorry, what am I supposed to be jealous of again?” Sandy’s hotter than the link I ate a while ago, but I’m speaking the truth. Mickey looks satisfied with the drama in front of her.

  “Sandy, you can go now. I’ve got baby girl,” Rah says to a shell-shocked Sandy. When will my former friends learn not to mess with me?

  Defeated, Sandy struts back from where she came from, causing heads to turn with each clack of her sandals. She needs to pick up her feet, as Mama would say. A cool breeze drifts up my shirt and to my cheeks, calming me back down. That trick always gets a rise out of me. Speaking of heffas, Misty appears on her godmother’s porch, reminding me to slip the pills into Mickey’s purse while she’s distracted.

  “Hey, y’all,” Misty says from the safety of the gated entrance. “Mickey, you good?” She sounds like the dope man checking for customers. Mickey looks embarrassed by Misty’s unsolicited greeting.

  “I’ll be right back,” Mickey says, walking across the yard. If she’s going to Esmeralda’s house, I can’t let her go alone. Against my better judgment, I follow my friend.

  “I’ll come with you,” I say, but Mickey looks mortified at the thought.

  “No,” she says, stopping me from going any farther. “I got this, Jayd.”

  I look at Mickey and realize she’s not sure she can trust me after I told her about helping her through her labor. One day she’ll see that was for her own good.

  “Fine,” I say, walking up the front porch and through the door. I can hear and see everything on Esmeralda’s porch through Mama’s living room window.

  “What’s in these pills, Misty?” Mickey asks, shaking them in Misty’s face. “I’ve been losing weight, but I also don’t feel right,” Mickey says.

  We’re not at school now. If Mickey wants to whip Misty’s ass, there’s no one here to stop her. I hope she doesn’t, for her own good. The last thing she needs is to catch an assault wrap with a two-month-old baby at home.

  “Nothing, Mickey. Damn, you’re acting crazy.” Misty looks at me, the last word dangling in the air.

  Crazy. Misty gave Mickey the diet pills, causing my girl to slowly lose her mind. I should’ve known sooner her evil ass was up to something else: Misty’s been too quiet for anyone’s good.

  “All I know is that if there’s anything foul in these vitamins, you won’t be smiling like that for long.” Mickey walks off the porch and back to where our friends are chilling. Good thing I changed the tablets. Now I have to pull the rest off her shelf and fix Misty for this shit. Good friends do what needs to be done whether they get credit for it or not.

  “What up, Jayd?” my uncle Kurtis says, coming into the living room from the hallway. Unless he was in the bathroom, he has no business back there. Actually he has no business in the house at all.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask. He moved out
weeks ago, and in my opinion that means no visiting when Mama’s not here. Daddy and the rest of the boys are making their rounds around the block: It’s just us in the house.

  “Damn, I can’t take a leak?” he says, smiling sinisterly.

  I head to Mama’s room, feeling like something’s wrong. “Move out of my way,” I say, pushing past him in the hallway. I look at Mama’s closed door, seeing the locks have been tampered with. This jackass tried to pick Mama’s locks.

  “You punk! Get out of Mama’s house now,” I say, punching my big-ass uncle as hard as I can in his left bicep, which only amuses him more. Kurtis trying to hurt Mama is way beyond any line of respect that can be drawn.

  “You better watch yourself, Jayd. Mama can’t protect you now.” Kurtis doesn’t budge, pushing me to my limit.

  I don’t give a damn if he outweighs me by more than a hundred pounds. This fool’s going down this afternoon, and I’m going to be the one to take him there. Mama left me in charge of her things and that includes her bedroom.

  “You’d better watch yourself, Kurtis. You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

  He grabs my arm hard, squeezing as tight as he can. It hurts but not more than my nails digging into his neck. “You little bitch!” Kurtis yells, letting me go to focus on his bleeding skin. I try to escape, but not before he grabs me again, this time picking me up.

  “Let me go, fool!” I scream, thrusting my feet up, trying to get in a solid kick to his most sensitive area. He spins me around in the air like he used to do when I was a little girl, but I’m not a child anymore. I close my eyes and bite down hard on his shoulder, causing him to let go. As I fall to the floor, Kurtis snatches my feet, pulling me back into the hallway. I turn over on my back and kick him as hard as I can in his fat gut.

  “Shit!” Kurtis screams. His eyes have gone blank like an insane person: I know I’m in for it now.

  “What the hell is going on here?” Bryan asks, busting through the front door with Mr. A and my crew also witnessing the fight. “Let her go, man.”