by Teri Woods
Over and over, that was all Quadir heard. If black people didn’t go to school, they would always be left behind. That’s how it all started. His father told him the black children picked cotton and worked the fields while the white children went to school. “Niggas didn’t know shit, and they don’t know shit today because they was brainwashed four hundred years ago son. Remember that,” his father would go on and on.
But what his dad had preached to him all those years made him a very positive individual. The substance Quadir was filled with set him aside from other brothers who were out there, especially those who hadn’t even finished high school.
Quadir was an intellectual. He had made it through illegal means, through the drug game. After college and supposedly studying to be a dentist, he often wondered how he got caught up in the game. He never wanted this for himself. He had no idea that he would turn out to be one of the largest drug dealers in the city, but once he got into the game, there was no turning back. This was not his destination. He was only supposed to pay for school and become a dentist. Hard times hit at home, pops was getting old with no retirement fund. The streets were calling and Quadir answered. Hard times led him to this life, and even with the money, times were still hard, with all the death, drug wars, and jealousy. It was a vicious game and a vicious circle to be caught in.
The money came so easy, and his lifestyle became so large. To stop, even with the money he had saved, would not afford him the extravagant lifestyle he was accustomed to. The more money he made, the more consequences he faced. For every action, there is a reaction. He never stopped to look at those consequences, just as the people who used drugs never thought about the consequences of what they were doing.
Quadir was relieved when their flight landed. Rasun was at the airport waiting for him by the baggage area. They all exited the airport and went straight to the car. Rasun and Quadir were busy talking about all of the events that took place while he was out of town. Gena just wanted to get back to her house and make sure everything was still there.
She knew her neighborhood and she knew the people in her neighborhood. Most of them were no good—people gone bad. Crackheads, bugging for a hit of crack, belittling themselves. Most were penny ante thieves or just fiends doing literally anything to get high. Then you had your neighborhood drug pushers, or other lunatics with forties in one hand and guns in the other, trying to be men. The rest were either the elderly or the harmless, and they made up a very small percentage.
Qua interrupted her thoughts. “Gena, I’m gonna drop you off?” She really didn’t want to be dropped off. She just wanted to drop her things off and stay with him. There was a big difference. When they pulled up on her block, everything looked the same. Trash was all over the place. The Vietnamese people were on the corner barbecuing on the sidewalk as usual. Little kids were playing in the street and everyone was sitting on their porches being nosey and talking about everyone they could. Quadir and Gena got out the car. Rasun got her luggage from out of the trunk then hopped into the front seat, tilting the chair backward as he played with the CD player. Quadir walked her up the porch, to her door.
“When are you coming back?” asked Gena, knowing that she should’ve just played like it didn’t make a difference.
“I don’t know. I got a lot to catch up on. I’ll call you later on though.”
A feeling of frustration suddenly covered Gena like a blanket. “What does that mean, you’ll call later?” she asked, unlocking her door.
“It means I’ll call later. If I can stop back over here tonight, I will. If I can’t, I’ll see you tomorrow. Gena, I really don’t think you understand what is going on. I got shit to take care of. You can understand that, right?”
“I can understand that, Quadir. It’s just that I want to be with you.”
“Baby, we will be together. Let me go so I can take care of some things,” he said. Gena just looked at him as if she couldn’t believe he was leaving her. As she opened the door, he pulled her close to him and kissed her, lasting only a few seconds, feeling like an eternity. As Quadir let her go, he winked at her and smiled.
“I’ll call you later.”
“Bye,” she waved. And he was gone.
Gena listened to her answering machine while she started to unpack her bags. Bria, Sabrina, Shay, Kim, Bridgette, Sheila, Mrs. Bowden, Gah Git, Gary, Tracey, Landa, Barry, Brian, Rome, a bill collector, and, of course, Jamal had all called. Jamal, however, had called at least fifteen times. Gena called Ms. Bowden. Her message seemed urgent. At first she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her heart stopped and tears welled up in her eyes. Gena sat on the bed in a state of disbelief only finding its truth in Ms. Bowden’s voice. Why, how, when, and where popped into Gena’s mind. Ms. Bowden calmly told Gena the story as it had been told to her by the police.
“I don’t know what I’m gonna do without that child here,” Ms. Bowden said, sounding heartbroken. Gena couldn’t help but feel sorrow. She was so hurt. She couldn’t speak. Ms. Bowden, choking back her grief, told Gena of the events she knew surrounding Sahirah’s death and the funeral, which was in three days.
Gena hung up the phone and sat in complete silence as tears fell down her cheeks, reminiscing about the years she and Sahirah spent together. From playing with Barbie dolls and getting sprayed by fire hydrants, graduating from high school, to double dating and sharing their experiences with each other. They had always been best friends. For the rest of the evening and until Gena fell asleep, she thought of Sahirah, wishing she could tell her about Quadir. She wanted to call her so bad, but she wouldn’t be there. The only things that would be there were priceless memories.
The days to follow were rough. Gena didn’t eat, nor did she sleep. Not only was she in mourning for her best friend, but also in mourning for Quadir. She hadn’t heard from him since he dropped her off at home. Now, it seemed as if he’d disappeared. He said he’d call, she kept telling herself. It was a horrible feeling of anticipation. Maybe I should call him. She had no idea where she put his number the night she had met him in New York. Reminiscing about the fabulous time she had had in the Bahamas only made it worse. The phone rang and she ran to answer, just knowing it was Quadir. But the voice on the other end would say only, “Where you been?”
“Who is this?” she asked.
“Oh! Now you don’t know my voice.”
Suddenly she did know the voice. It was Jamal. Figures he’d be calling. Damn, she wanted Quadir. Gena was so disappointed that she couldn’t hold the simplest of conversations.
“Jamal, what is it? Why are you calling my house this late?”
“Oh, it’s like that, now?”
“Yeah. It’s like that.”
“You’re a fucking trip. You ain’t shit. You lucky I don’t come over there and kick your ass.”
Her slow simmer erupted, her mouth so tight in anger she could barely speak. “I do not have time for you. You are beneath me,” she told him, as she hung up the phone. A few seconds later, it rang again.
“What?”
“Well, damn, bitch. Fuck you, too!” he said, as Gena hung up on him again.
When it rang a third time, she said, “Hello,” one more time, praying it wasn’t Jamal.
“Yo, what up?” said the girl on the other line.
“Hi, Kim. What’s up?”
“Nothing, chilling. What’s up with you?”
“Nothing. I just got back from the Bahamas.”
“You hear about Sahirah and Winston in that shootout?” Kim asked.
“Yeah, and I’m real fucked up about it.”
“I know you are, as tight as y’all was,” Kim said.
“Her family is real hurt about it.”
“Who was you in the Bahamas with? Jamal?”
“No, I went with Quadir. You know him?”
“Quadir from down North Philly?” asked Kim. “I know him. Everybody knows him. I heard he got all the young girls strung.”
“What do you
mean?”
“What I said. Quadir ain’t nothing but a whore. But he’s good for a couple dollars though.”
“He is?” asked Gena, not seeing her baby boo like that at all.
“Seriously though, the nigga is no joke. Everybody’s trying to see him.”
“Who?”
“Everybody! Everybody is trying to see him. What part of the breakdown don’t you understand?”
At that moment Gena’s heart sank. No wonder his ass hadn’t called back. After pausing, Kim continued on, “So, what . . . you done kicked Jamal to the curb now that you’re fucking with Quadir?”
Gena didn’t know where she was coming from. “It’s just not going to work out. Shit is over. I can’t explain it.”
“Did you have a good time in the Bahamas?”
“It was so blue,” Gena said, completely changing her tone of voice.
“How’d you get there?”
“We flew over.” Gena was loving it.
“I want to go away.”
“So, who are you messing with?” asked Gena, figuring she was gonna say Jamal.
“Who aren’t I messing with?” asked Kim right back, laughing at the question. “Shit, the man I want is nowhere to be found.”
“Well, maybe you’ll find him.”
“I doubt it. The ones you want are never the ones who want you.”
“So true,” said Gena, thinking of Quadir.
“I just don’t understand why you and Jamal didn’t work out.”
“Well damn, why is you trying to?”
“I’m saying, Gena, Jamal gave you the world. He did everything. Shit, all those women Quadir got, I would have stayed right there with Jamal.”
“All what women?” Gena felt her heart sinking and it was sinking fast.
“All the women he got. The man is a millionaire. Qua’s shit is blue.”
Gena felt as if she had to defend herself. “Well, he took me to the Bahamas.”
“You in there. I’m not saying you’re not. All I’m saying is that a nigga like Quadir will be in the Bahamas next week with somebody else. At least with Jamal, you had a motherfucker who came home every night and gave you whatever you wanted. You must not want a brother who’s gonna treat you right,” said Kim.
Gena had just about enough of the Jamal cheering section. Kim had fucked up her night with the bullshit about Quadir. Why am I telling this bitch my business, thought Gena. It wasn’t like her and Kim rolled on a regular. Usually she would call about a party or the 411. It was time to check her. “Damn, you got the motherfucker on the three-way? You act like he’s the man. If you want him, go be the fuck with him, but don’t try to tell me how to run mines.”
Kim had heard what she was waiting for. “Gena, you don’t have to be getting smart.”
“Bitch, you called my house with this bullshit. My best friend has been killed. Just leave me alone, Kim. I got to go.”
Kim wasn’t trying to start nothing, being as though Gena wasn’t the one to have to fight over a man. She just wanted to know what was up with Jamal. Kim tried to cover up the shit as best she could. “You going to the funeral?”
“Yeah, I’ll be there.’’
“Gena, look, I hope shit goes the way you want it between you and Quadir, and I’m sorry about Sahirah, okay?”
“I can’t tell. Instead of calling me with some concern, you calling me about Jamal.”
“Look, I got to go. There’s someone at my door.”
“Mmm hmm,” Gena said, happy to slam the phone down, hoping Jamal kicked her ass too.
The next day, it was afternoon by the time Gena awoke. Sahirah’s funeral was at sundown. The entire day was ruined from the time it began, greeted by mother nature’s gift. Why must it be this way? It was her best friend’s funeral and she had nothing to wear. Quadir still hadn’t called. What could be worse? It had been three long drenching days without hearing from him, and Gena was a mess thinking the inevitable. He played me. He was only after one thing, and now that he got it, he’s gone.
The ringing of the phone could be heard in every room of the apartment and Gena picked up the nearest receiver. Because she expected trouble, she addressed it: “Jamal, don’t you call this motherfucker no more!” Slamming down the phone made her feel even better. Jamal didn’t get a chance to say nothing. The phone rang again. “What?”
“What you fronting for? Some nigga in the house?” he asked.
“Jamal, leave me the fuck alone. I don’t feel like you today!”
“Damn! I just called to see if you wanted to use the Cadillac to go to Sahirah’s funeral or if you wanted me to go with you,” said Jamal.
“Jamal, please. You couldn’t stand Sahirah. How are you going to go to her funeral?’’
“Why is there so much negativity with you? You don’t sound happy,” said Jamal.
“I would be if you would leave me the fuck alone.”
“See, every time you try to be nice to people they just don’t appreciate it,” Jamal said.
“You’re missing the point. I hope she haunts your black ass.”
“Haunt shit,” Jamal said. “What, you trying to root me now?”
“Good-bye,” Gena said, hanging up the phone, leaving Jamal convinced she had done something to him.
Immediately, she called her grandmother. Gah Git had a house full of grandchildren and was attempting to brush Gena off the phone when Gena told her about Sahirah. Gah Git was sorry to hear about her friend. She knew the streets wasn’t no place to be. She raised six children in the streets. Now, she was trying to raise her grandchildren out of the streets.
Gah Git was really sorry to hear Gena was going to her best friend’s funeral.
“Don’t wear nothing bright like yellow or orange and don’t wear nothing too short.”
“I won’t. I’m so nervous about this funeral,” said Gena.
“Well, baby, the good Lord has reasons for everything. Wasn’t no one more closer to her than you. Maybe God is trying to tell you something. Gena, you know these things. You live to die,” said Gah Git.
Gena stared at her phone. “What?”
“I said you live to die. When you’re born into this world, the only thing you’re promised is that one day you are going to die, so you’re supposed to do the best you can. You’re never coming back once you’re gone. If you’re good, then your soul will rest in peace. If you raise hell like you do half the time, well then, you’re gonna have problems.”
“Gah Git, stop!”
“Stop nothing. But, I’m glad you’re home, baby.”
“Me, too, but Gah Git, it was so beautiful there. I could’ve stayed there forever.”
“Well, at least he didn’t kill your ass and hide you in some bushes.”
“Gah Git.”
“Well, what do you call it when you meet a man one day and is off on some fancy getaway to the Bahamas? Did you sleep with him?”
“I got to go,” said Gena, getting ready to hang up the phone.
“Have you heard from him since you been back?”
Gena didn’t want to answer that question. If she told the truth, Gah Git would disapprove. Then she would preach the same, long, drawn out sermon about being a lady, not a whore. She even had some old Ray Charles song ’bout every time she went in a nightclub, the whole band knew her name, which she used as a metaphor.
“Yes, I’ve heard from him.” Gena felt her heart sink as she lied to her grandmother. “Gah Git, I have to go.”
“Well, don’t get mad with me. You comin’ down later? I’m cooking, so you might as well come and get some dinner. Besides, I want to see you for running off like that.”
“Gah Git, I am grown. I can run where I want to run,” said Gena.
“Baby, you can’t never run from home. Believe that.”
“I am not a baby,” said Gena.
“Yes, you are; you’re my baby. So just run your ass over here after that funeral and get some dinner and stop being so fussy.”
/>
Gena hung up the phone and went over to her dresser. She felt twisted inside, confused about Quadir, depressed and saddened about Sahirah, and mad that Jamal would not stop calling her. She pulled out a knot of money from her dresser drawer. She had won $1,800 in the Bahamas and Qua threw her money here and there but she never spent it all. She just told him that she did. “It’s gone,” she would say with a serious blank look on her face. Why hasn’t he called? She thought to herself, searching her dresser drawers for his phone number. She looked in all the places she thought she might have put it. Hell, it had been more than a week and with all the weed she had smoked since then, figuring out where she put his number was highly unlikely. “Damn, where could it be?” She searched around the room, to no avail. She took a shower and got dressed. Still searching for Quadir’s number she rummaged through the kitchen. She wanted to call him so bad, she didn’t know what to do. Why hasn’t he called? Maybe he isn’t going to call, she thought to herself. Maybe Gah Git was right, maybe I shouldn’t have gone to the Bahamas with him. Maybe Kim was right; maybe I should have stayed with Jamal. Not!
BACK TO BUSINESS
Quadir rolled over from his sleeping position, brought himself to an upright stance, and planted his feet on the floor. He looked around his bedroom. The new burgundy carpet he just had laid set it off. Everything was new and very contemporary. Turning on the sixty-inch screen TV, he turned to videos. As he landed on the channel he threw the remote on the bed and promptly picked up his weed tray.
Things were really starting to happen for Quadir. He was getting money and a lot of it. He had a squad of youngsters who covered the street corners, had old heads who backed him, and he went through 150 kilos of cocaine, if not more, every week. One month he went through 1,200 kilos, that was the best month. Not only were things really going good; he had women. He had more women than any man he knew. He had so many women, you would think he was the only man on earth. They would do anything he wanted. Anything. He lived his life in the fast lane; fast women, fast money, fast cars, and the beeper always needed fresh batteries. Things were falling into place. Another year and Quadir would be straight. “Just one more year,” he thought to himself. He laid there with his boxer shorts on, holding his crotch with one hand, smoking with the other.
