by Love Belvin
I rolled tissue on my hand, wiped myself, flushed the toilet and took long lunges to the sink to wash my hands. Rushing through a quick rubbing of my hands on a face towel, I grabbed the iPod to check the song. The title was Don’t Do It by Cameron J. I didn’t know him and wasn’t familiar with his work, but apparently it resonated with Trent. I chewed on my bottom lip while gazing contemplatively at the device.
Trent was scared. He had to be. I felt, with this song, he was sending a message. A warning. Felt like he’d opened up to me in a manner he wasn’t comfortable with. He thinks I’ll hurt him? Was he that fragile with his heart? He had this song play on repeat knowing I’d come in here eventually and would hear it. It was clear to me that Trent was sending a message in the corniest cutest fashion.
But wait…
“Shouldn’t that be my line?” my quivering vocals echoed in the bathroom.
“You’re a smart one, I see,” Shank smiled down at Kyree playing an old model Nintendo he’d kept for years.
Ky nodded, his attention rapt in the screen in my uncle’s living room. The gray console was discolored and stained, but after a few minutes of instructions, KyKy was playing Super Mario Bros. and apparently loving it.
“Thanks, Uncle Shank,” Jade beamed with those hazels sparkling at my uncle.
I knew what she was doing. Jade wanted my family to like her. She was trying to fit in when there was no need, really. We were cool and my uncle didn’t sweat much else. I brought them down to meet Shank and April, figuring it was the right thing to do, but scared as hell at the same time because bringing women home usually meant more to them than it did to me. But Jade was slowly turning into something different.
Shank strained to stand from his seat in the recliner. My first instinct was to jump up and assist him, but that would’ve gotten me cussed out. The rule was when he needed help, he’d ask. When he was good, he’d do for himself. It took a few moments and two tries, but Shank was on his feet, out of breath and reaching for his oxygen mask.
“Come back here,” he mumbled to me. “I need to kick it with you for a minute.”
I took to my feet and followed back to the kitchen. I brushed eyes with April, who communicated with hers to stay close to him as he wobbled back on a walker. The sight of his narrow frame that was once robust with pronounced muscle would’ve crumbled me to tears if I hadn’t decided to focus on the blessing of his life instead. Shank entered the small kitchen and turned so he could rest back on the counter. He checked the time on his loosened wrist watch then brought his hand up to his mouth and stroked his chin.
“She something else, huhn,” he commented on Jade, I knew.
I took a deep breath and backed up on the adjacent counter, pushing my palms down inside the front of my sweats, widened my legs.
“Yeah.” I snorted, nodding. “She’s trouble.”
“The type of trouble you have to strap up for or the type you gotta strap a ring on her finger?” His eyes pierced me.
My face held, but my eyes fell in humility. Jade and I had been sexing for a month now and not once did we use a condom. It had been something that occasionally crossed my mind, but I’d yet to bring it up to her. A man like the one standing five feet across from me, battling complications of AIDS wouldn’t view that as a viable excuse, so my response had to be strategic.
“I’m still trying to figure out the latter.”
Shank’s eyes fell to my Timbs as he shook his head, considering my answer, possibly reading between the lines. But that still didn’t explain why he pulled me aside. He wouldn’t sit and that concerned me.
“What’s good, Shank?”
Shank checked his watched again. “Just need a few minutes of your time before you roll out.” His eyes went to the back door off the kitchen. “And here he is.”
I turned to see what “he” was—not who—because he’d never mentioned anyone coming through. The door opened, bringing in a rush of cool crisp winter air and a broad body in all black pushed through. He kept his head low so I couldn’t confirm who I initially believed “he” was.
I swallowed hard, straightening up. My shoulders broadened, a trait ‘he’d’ taught me: whenever an enemy is in your territory, always post up like you ready if they try some shit.
It was instinctual. I may have lived a privileged life for the better part of my adulthood, but I was still CMD all day and wouldn’t tuck my tail for nobody. Even Trick, my uncle who I thought was my brother after my biological brother, Trevor, died. His eyes scanned over me from head to toe, assessing me. I did the same, gauging his size after being down for ten hard ones. He was thicker, still had his hair cornrowed to the back. There were new scars on his face and his eyes were darker and yellow. I recognized that penal wrecked appearance. Spending hard ones in prison could break the toughest soldiers.
Trick advanced closer, widened his stance, clutched his fist at his pelvis, and cocked his head to the side while staring me dead in the face. I turned to face him, formed the same posture with my hands at my side. For a while, we shot daggers with our eyes. My heart trembled, pumped with the adrenaline felt when it was time to rock a body. Although I didn’t see the purpose, what I couldn’t do was have him come home and think shit was still the same, especially not with Jade and Ky in the living room. Hell no! I was a grown ass man now and if he didn’t want to fuck with me that was fine, but he wouldn’t disrespect me anymore.
“Now…now,” Shank tried with his fragile palms yo-yo’ing to the floor as he shook his head. “This is why I told you to come over here. This is exactly why, my nigga.” He wheezed while glaring at Trick. “I won’t keep you long, but I want to be firm in what I’m about to say. Like I was kicking it with Trick last week when he got out the pen, I ain’t got long to go. We never knew…had some close calls, but ain’t no more guaranteed. Mommy is sick herself…aging. We ain’t got time for no old, petty childhood beefs. This family done had its fair share of tragedy”—he turned with his frail shoulders to face Trick—“all of us! We done lost Trey, saw you sent up north, had me lose my health, saw Trent sent up north on some bullshit, and then Mommy had this last stroke that coulda taken her outta here. That is enough!” He swiped his thin arms like a boxing referee.
“Whatever bones y’all got with each other, handle them like men then get back into the ring with your family.” Then his back seemed to have gone out on him and his arms fell to the bars of his waiting walker. Trick and I both jumped to catch him before we realized he’d caught himself, luckily. Shank kept his head to the floor, trying to gain his breath. Things went quiet in the room as we waited on Shank. His head propped up, but not enough to face us. “I swear to God… If you two don’t get this shit straight and carry on like this after I’m gone, I’m gonna haunt you so bad they’re gonna have to put you in the psyche ward. Fuck with me!”
When I chanced a glance over to Trick, his eyes were already on me. After years in therapy, I could empathize with Trick after all this time. To him I was a message of not being good enough. Shank for some reason was drawn to me. He pushed me and Trick to stay off the streets and play ball just the same. But with me he pushed harder, and that caused Trick to rebel and hustle those streets harder. It wasn’t enough that he had been better than me. It was that I was the chosen one over him with his own brother. I could understand that type of rejection, having experienced it with my mother all my life. But I could see no way to explain this to a man like Trick, who had beaten, wrecked, and hardened by a life of adversity.
“Hot dogs, rice, and ketchup all the way,” I initiated my leaving, raising my dap to Shank.
After a few seconds of contemplation, he returned the love. His light weight body pushed into mine and he uttered on little breath, “Blowing in the winds of Macen Beach, baby.”
On the ride home while my mind went over Shank’s warning, Jade sat in silence with her eyes to the road. Kyree was in the back, reading a book on my iPad. Stevie Wonder’s Music of My Mind flowed softly throughou
t the cargo.
“The truck needs its next service checkup,” she murmured softly in her thoughts.
“I’ll take it on Wednesday when I’m off.”
“You sure?” I felt her ambers on me. “I can do it.” She winced in revelation. “How much is it going to be?”
I scoffed, my regard back on the Garden State Parkway. “I got it, Jade.”
“But—” her phone rang. The Bluetooth muted the music, cutting her her off, and bringing me luck.
I wasn’t in the mood to fight with her.
“Here you go, KyKy,” the inspiration in her voice had changed in just seconds as she pushed the phone to the back seat.
“Hello?” After a few seconds Ky spoke again. “Mommy, I can’t hear.”
“Whaddup, lil’ nigga?” blasted through the Rover and I cringed at that reference, knowing right away who it was.
“Here he is. Oh. Hey, Daddy.”
“Yeah. What you got going on today?”
“Ummm…” Kyree thought about that answer. “I’m with my mommy and Trent. We went to visit his uncle.”
“Who?” Ryshon asked.
Jade’s caramel hand skirted over my thigh. I wondered what was the science behind that move. Did she think I needed comfort from Ryshon’s incoming response?
“Trent,” Ky repeated.
“Who the hell is Trent?” he asked clearly confused.
“I don’t know. Trent Bailey,” Ky delivered that with more confidence.
“Trent Bai— Oh. Y’all out at a game or something?”
“No. We’re riding home, Daddy.”
From the rearview mirror, I could see Kyree was still engaged in his book.
“C’mon, son. You driving home with Trent Bailey, Kyree? Get the hell outta here.” He laughed.
“For real. He’s Mommy’s boyfriend.”
My eyes popped at that title. Jade and I had never talked about how we would break the news to Ky or what we’d exactly tell him we were to each other. I didn’t realize she had. I tossed a glance to find her biting that bottom lip covered in pink gloss, her eyes wider than usual in embarrassment. My thigh started to tense, hating that I was listening to this conversation. Ryshon may have been an ass, not caring about how he spoke to his son, but where I come from it’s disrespectful to be in on a man’s interactions with his seed. I didn’t feel comfortable, I felt protective.
“Where ya mom at, Kyree?” Ryshon asked without humor this time.
“Right here. They can hear you.”
“Jade.”
“I’m here,” she answered, staring straight ahead.
Though she stroked my thigh, it was clear Jade was hella uncomfortable.
“What he talking about?”
“He’s answering your question. We’re riding back from Camden to where we’re staying,” she kept her voice even.
“Where you staying?”
“With…a friend of mine.”
“Who?” he asked impatiently.
“Trent.”
“Who that? Why I’m just hearing about this shit? You ain’t say none of this shit the last time I called.”
Jade’s eyes squeezed closed. If I wasn’t mistaken, Ryshon sounded betrayed.
“Because a lot has happened over the past few months. We got evict—”
“Evicted? And you ain’t tell me?”
“What could you do? You haven’t had the money in months so I had to figure something out.”
“Taking my kid and staying with a baller was the only thing you thought of?”
Jade frowned. “That isn’t exactly what happened.”
“Nah. I know it ain’t! You think that millionaire nigga want somebody with a kid leeching off of him? How long you think that’s gonna last?”
“Excuse me?” she gasped.
Then she reached in the back seat to get the phone from Kyree.
“C’mon, Jade. I know you preppy and all, but use your noodle. That dude sees a pretty girl wit’ a dope ass body. He gon’ ring you out until the next bad bitch come around. That’s how it work. Trust me; I know. Men with money see game coming a mile away every day.”
“Yeah, but there’s just one problem with that, Ryshon.”
“What?”
“You ain’t got no money. Remember? That’s why we’re homeless now.”
Jade tapped the phone and ended the call. Stevie Wonder’s Love Having You Around streamed in the truck as she turned into the door, curled her legs and began to cry.
I knew she wouldn’t appreciate the irony in that song. Jade was too busy beating herself up for the past she couldn’t let go of. I reached up to change the track to Girl Blue.
~Ten
“A’ight, grams!” Kendal, Trent’s younger cousin shouted over his shoulder while at the small entertainment unit, setting up his DVD player. “You’re gonna love this.”
“You know I am, baby!” Trent’s grandmother vowed as we sat in her living room in Camden, after dinner, waiting on this presentation. She turned to her niece. “The things they learn in that county tech school. I ‘member when they ain’t wanna bus Camden kids to that fancy town. Now look at it. So many of my babies done gone there.”
“Mmmmhmmm,” the woman hummed in agreement.
I turned to Trent, who sat to my right on the long sofa in the small room, bursting at the walls with over a dozen adults and children. He sat slouched, clad in his typical sweats stretched out with my hand on his thigh. His long legs had his Timbs in the middle of the floor, but he couldn’t help the length of his lanky frame no more than he could the modest size of his grandmother’s home. Kyree was to the right of Trent, standing at the side of the sofa, using Trent’s wide palm as a punching bag while we waited.
It was Easter Sunday, and with a full stomach and now eased nerves, my heart flowed with contentment from my decision to keep Kyree with Trent and me this holiday. My mother asked to have him for dinner after the eight o’clock service we all attended this morning at Redeeming Souls, but I declined. He could have even spent the day with Ryshon’s mother, but she didn’t go to church, and since meeting Trent, I developed an even deeper conscience about what I exposed my son to: energy and religion. I wanted him brought up with a moral compass, and not just a social one like my mother shoved down my throat my entire childhood. Besides, it was a holiday and my son needed to be with me. After service, we shot to the house and changed clothes just to hit the road again for South Jersey. Today was the first time I officially met Trent’s family, and I wanted them to see my full package: the man I fell instantly in love with and my most prized possession, Kyree.
“Just another second,” Kendal advised, still arranging wires.
The house was old and so was the electrical devices Trent’s grandmother had stacked on the entertainment unit, also topped with thick layers of dust. It made me think back to when we pulled up to the two-family home. It was nestled between vacant and boarded up properties. In fact, out of the ten or so homes on the block, possibility four were occupied while the others had painted up planks of wood in the windows and covering the front door. When we walked into Cora Mae’s home, I was immediately attacked by the pungent odor of an aged home. It was so strong, embedded in the fibers of the walls, curtains, furniture, carpet, and flooring. After just two hours of experiencing the Bailey family, I realized that prevailing stench had been borne of years of familial spirit. Layers of family happiness, pain, tragedy, blessings, heart-rending repasts, joyful celebrations…just family. This was the home Trent spent his lifetime running in and out of when he wanted to escape the coldness of his mother’s resentment. It was where he was doted on, disciplined, and nurtured. After a couple of hours of getting used to the scent that rivaled the delicious food, I warmed to the place. His family, his world.
Trent introduced me to most of the gang present when we arrived. A few more trickled in during and after dinner. The amount of food lining each table and countertop in the kitchen was sinful and delicious, might I
add. Trent’s ailing grandmother of seventy-seven years young had mustered the strength needed to throw down in her kitchen as she had for decades. Every soul food dish I could think of was present. There were even a few Spanish dishes available, courtesy of one of Trent’s younger cousin’s girlfriend. Just a fantastic display of love and culture in the most modest of abodes.
I sparked up friendly conversations with a few of his relatives I recalled fond stories of and shared them. Everyone reciprocated in their own way, even if by way of a nod and smile. At one point, Trent pulled me away from his childhood friend, who came in late and was trying to eat as I told a story Trent had shared with me. It was of how he fractured his wrist trying to climb a gate when getting away from a bodega owner after they stole packs of gum and baby lotion. His uncle, Trick, who was Trent’s age, couldn’t hide his embarrassed smile that was missing a tooth.
Trent dragged me into the small hall, out of the main arena.
“Jade, you’re gonna make me look like some love-struck, diary-writing-in-his-girl bitch!” he whispered hard with flared nostrils.
“What?” I gasped. “I’m just doing familiar chatter to cure my nerves. I’m the new chick on the big block.”
“You ain’t got no reason to be nervous. My family’s cool on you. Just don’t make it seem like I ran to you one day and cried my life story.”
He was cute. Absolutely adorable when fussing me out. It was so bad my groin stirred and nipples tingled at his scolding. I knew I had it bad for this man, who towered over me, flexing to a degree he clearly thought I could handle in spite of the height and weight disparity. And clearly I could. I knew how to handle my big guy, all right.
“I think I like you being my love-struck, diary-writing-in-his-girl bitch.” I played coy, supplying a placid expression with wide eyes.
Trent scoffed, straightening from over me. He wouldn’t allow the abrupt smile begging his face.
“C’mon, man,” he exhaled. “Let’s get some dessert.”
He grabbed me by the arm, yanking me behind him. If we were alone, I’d bump into his tall frame from behind and feel him up, molesting his king jewels. But I couldn’t. We were in Cora Mae’s house, and I was trying to win them over. Feeling up their beloved wouldn’t get me the votes of approval needed.
