The next morning I found myself waking up at a ser vice station. We were parked with the air conditioner on blast, R. Kelly had been bumped by Keyshia Cole, I was still in the passenger’s seat, and Stacy was sound asleep behind the steering wheel. I looked in the backseat to see that the girls were also sound asleep. The baby, however, had his eyes wide open and was playing with a plastic teething toy.
In baby talk, I said to him, “Don’t you ever sleep. Huh?” And I reached back to let him hold my finger to try to build some rapport. Moments later I had to encourage everyone to rise and shine so we could get some food.
IF THERE isn’t a Waffle House near every gas station along I-75, then my name ain’t Danté from the Bronx. And there was no sense in my asking for eggs because I don’t eat pork. And these cooks ( just about all of them) use the same utensils for the pork that they use for the home fries and eggs. So, what’s the point? Why not just throw the eggs, the pork bacon, and the home fries in one pile, mix it all up, and call it pork eggs and potatoes?
“No, thanks. I’ll just have a coffee and a waffle. Unless you have turkey bacon?” I’m no prude when it comes to food, I just don’t like pork with my eggs. Now, take me to IHOP, and the story would be different.
Stacy made a face since I got particular about my breakfast.
I don’t have to tell her whose body this is, do I?
Of course, the girls had pork bacon, eggs, waffles, and— Who the hell is paying for all this? Naturally, I bitched and moaned to myself, but I knew I’d be carrying the weight when all was said and done, and I picked up the bill before I left the girls (and the baby) to finish up their food.
While I had my “alone time,” I spent some money in the coin toss, one of those machines where you drop your quarters through a slot and a metal bar continues to move back and forth, hopefully pushing your quarter into an abundance of other quarters that were already positioned to tip over the edge, where they’d fall into a tray as your winnings. Why I always fall for this trap, I don’t know. Maybe I’m just greedy and don’t see that this is too good to be true? The winnings look to be guaranteed: the quarters are all piled up in a landslide. All the odds seem to point in my direction. There’s the tease, when two or three quarters drop (after you’ve already put ten or fifteen in!). And then you might get lucky and a chunk of change falls, but it still either matches your input or falls short. I froze there in front of the coin slot for a time; some sixth-sense moment threw me into an out-of-body experience. It was as if a voice was talking to me:
Isn’t this coin-operated gamble similar to the risk you’re taking right now?
What do you mean? What gamble?
I think you know what gamble I mean. And it begins with an S and ends with a Y.
You should shut up. I know what I’m doin’. And since when does true love, out of nowhere, come and share the elevator with you.
Just remember I told you so.
Of course, the moment I had with the inner conversation just happened to piggyback the nightmare I had in the car. And now I had to live with second-guessing and thinking about life’s “what ifs.” How convenient.
I NOTICED changes in the scenery as the morning grew warmer. Stacy let me drive, and I was wide awake on coffee. So, I figured I’d let the girls indulge in some niggeritis while I did some sightseeing. We were deep, deep, deep into Virginia and I was beginning to see signs of the Carolinas. A lot of farm land, trees along the interstate, and more deer and muskrats and raccoons lying along the sides of the roads than I cared to count. Not only that, but the windshield of my truck needed some serious treatment with all the buzzards slamming up against the glass all night and day. This one big nasty insect was so large, and splattered so much against the window, that I swore it was a bird.
Surprising myself, I actually held up good for the remainder of the trip, focusing on my goals and dreams, taking it all the way into Atlanta. I could already feel the down-home atmosphere. Whether it was the increase of pickup trucks on the road or how spacious land and properties were— I can’t say. Either way, it didn’t feel like this would ever be the type of place where I needed to brace myself for nightly, random gunfire from rooftops or for air pollution. An added bonus was the real hospitable, friendly, and helpful rest-stop attendants always ready with guidance. Even at the fast-food franchises the servers were bubbly and courteous. So much different than what we’re use to in the Bronx.
We made a stop at Walmart, just one of many that we saw along the way, and I secretly wondered who was profiting off all these hundreds of stores. Whoever it was— I’m sure— was sitting pretty without a care in the world. Wish I was in their place. But then I caught myself, because no matter how much money you have, it doesn’t ensure good health or well-being in such unpredictable times.
Note to self: suggest my vegetarian lifestyle to Chloe and Jazmine. Ha-ha. Sure.
In Walmart we picked up a few things that we’d need to eat, as well as those last-minute items that were forgotten back in the Bronx. I knew Stacy’s nieces didn’t need shit, with all the belongings they’d dragged down the interstate interfering with my rearview the entire trip. Damn good thing they were staying awhile and that I wouldn’t have to be responsible for getting them back to New York. I know. So cruel. But, shit; people will impose themselves all the time, and they’ll never realize who is picking up their slack until they’re forced to pick it up themselves. Hello! And, another thing: I honestly never heard the names Chloe and Jazmine in the few months I’ve known Stacy. But all of a sudden they show up as tagalongs and I’m supposed to recognize them as if they’re part of the daily conversation? Jeesh.
When we were in line to pay, we had to listen to a preacher using the crowded Walmart checkout as his makeshift pulpit. The whole bit about working together as a Christian community, each one-teach one, and we must have TOTAL support for this to grow and mature. I don’t have anything against anyone getting their hustle on, but a brother had been driving for hours, and I wasn’t really trying to hear a whole bunch of preaching. Especially when you’re holding up the line behind you. After another minute of watching him hand out his flyers and invite everyone to his sermon, we finally checked out and headed for the Blazer. The funny face the cashier made when the preacher left said it all: everybody got a hustle. What really made the encounter most memorable was how in this huge parking lot, we had to be parked a few spaces away from the preacher. And no he didn’t just get behind the wheel of a taxi! I told myself, Out here it must also be hard for a pimp.
——
ARRIVING IN Lawrenceville made my day. Fourteen hours on the road and we were finally pulling into a community called Endeavor, where most of the homes were worn by maybe eight years (my guess), but well kept just the same. And the houses were not what you call climbing on top of one another, either— not like in the Bronx, where many of the row houses are so close you can hear a cat’s meow, or where a domestic dispute can easily spill over into your “zone” and screw up a pleasant dinner. Have the nerve to yell shut up! and see if somebody’s ex-Marine doesn’t come knocking on your door to look for trouble. Shoot him in the chest and see if the rest of his family, and their families, don’t start a race war right in your front yard. Before you know it, everyone’s on the six-o’clock news wondering what the fuck happened. But even that’s not news enough because the president is in town, he’s managed to shut down a quarter of Manhattan just so he can get to sightsee, and suddenly your ghetto drama is forgotten drama on the six-o’clock news—two dead and twelve injured. Next story.
ASSESSING THE surroundings and considering that many of these communities have neighborhood-watch groups, tennis courts, pools, lakes, and other amenities to pamper their residents, I recognized nothing but peace and serenity in Lawrenceville. And I am so not mad at that. In the meantime, as we rolled up to Stacy’s mom’s home, the front door swung open before I threw the truck into park. Next thing I see is another young thing in short shorts and a cut-off
tee charging out toward us.
“Brianna! Brianna! OhmyGawd, she got so big!” The yelling that was killing my ears in the truck eventually spilled out onto the driveway. A few more family members pranced out of the house so that everyone was hovering over Chloe’s newborn baby. I could see who Stacy’s mom was because the two practically ignored each other for a time. No hugs exchanged.
Eventually, Stacy said, “Hi, Ma.”
Her mother mumbled something back, but then went right back to smiling over the baby, as if to keep herself occupied.
To intervene in any of this conflict of interest before it included me, I set out to introduce myself to Mrs. Singletary.
“His name Soldier,” Chloe announced to everyone.
“I’m Danté. I run a company called Mister Fix-It, up in the Bronx. I do a lot of work for your sister. Yvonne, is it? I only know her as Mrs. Singletary, though.” Meanwhile, as the touching and the hype over the baby continued, Stacy broke away to hug this big, chunky dude who was three shades lighter than her and three times bigger than me. She wasted no time in pulling me away from her mom and said, “Rory, this is my soldier, Danté. Danté, this is my big brother I told you so much about.”
The homeboy handshakes, the brief buddy hug, and an eye-to-eye exchange transpired (that understanding between brother and boyfriend), right before the big man and I grabbed up as many of the suitcases and bags as we could and carried them into the house. Instinctively, I wondered where Stacy’s children were— it was the beginning of August, school was out, unless—
“They at summer camp,” I overheard from the little crowd of women behind us. In the meantime, I was impressed with the amount of space there was in the Singletary home. But crazier than that, there was just about one piece of furniture in the home: a couch in the living-room area, just to the right of the doorway. Most of the first floor, but for the entryway, was carpeted, worn down (I imagined) from so much traffic. And as I stepped farther through the hallway I gazed around at the kitchen. Very well-decorated yellow walls and marble countertops, but the dining-room table definitely didn’t fit in. Essentially, the house was bare, and I didn’t find out until later, while I was taking a nap, what exactly happened and why the house looked so unlived-in.
“Girl, you don’t know the half,” said Brianna. Her slang was cute, but not so different that I couldn’t pick up every word, even half asleep. “Momma took me to Hollywood, try’na pursue my acting. We put everything out in the yard a week before we left. We sold everything. I mean, the beds, the stereo, the couches. Momma even sold the dishes out the cabinets.”
“Say word,” one of the girls replied. I was too tired to try to figure out who, what, when, or where. I just needed a place to lay my head for now. Chatter on, ladies…
“And she rented the car and the house to this fool-ass nigga who was fakin’ like he was big-time, but he was so big-time he couldn’t pay his rent. So basically, we had to shut down the whole Hollywood dream just to save Momma’s credit. ‘Cuz he wasn’t payin’ nothin’ after a while. Momma said he owed’d us like five thousand dollahs. And if she ain’t come back here to straighten his ass out, we’d’a lost the house.”
Damn, I said in my sleep. I had questions, but my mouth wasn’t moving as fast as my brain was; and my brain was moving real slow right now. And the other thing fuckin’ with my head was how heavy Stacy’s southern drawl had grown all of a sudden.
When in Rome, do as the Romans do.
“So he paid her the money?”
“Yup. But Momma had to get crunk on that nigga. She found out he falsified some shit with the mortgage company, plus that nigga was on some federal probation. And that’s when Momma went to work on that ass. She even put a call in to his probation officer and all they needed was her affidavit, and that nigga woulda got locked the fuck up.”
“But even so, that money was for mortgage. Y’all sold all your shit? Dayum. If that woulda happened to me, I’da lost my mind.” I knew that was Stacy’s voice. Especially when those next words came out.
“Well, I’ma tell you what. Momma and I ain’t the tightest, but I’ma do y’all a solid ‘cuz I ain’t fittin’ to see y’all sittin’ and sleepin’ on the floor. Plus, how the kids been handlin’ all this? She got my kids sleepin’ on the floor, too? ‘Cuz y’all wanna do the Hollywood shuffle?”
Brianna intervened before Stacy went into a tirade.
“Sis, the babies got a nice comfortable situation. We got ‘em some sleepin’ bags, and they lovin’ it. Every night they pretendin’ they on a campin’ trip. Playin’ hide and seek ’er somethin’. Them kids got no problems in the world, girl.”
Stacy dug deeper: “Where were they when you all was on your trip?”
“At Uncle Willy’s place. Him and Rory still stay together over in Gwinnett County, and the kids stayed with them for six months while we caught the blues in Hollywood.”
“What were y’all there for, a movie or somethin’?”
“Sis, I hit you up on MySpace with all that. Ain’t you check anythin’ I sent you?”
“Lil’ sis. Life been crazy, crazy, crazy ever since I left here. I hardly go up on the computer. And when I do, it’s just to get an e-mail or somethin’. Plus, if you ain’t know, I gotta man now. So I’m steady helpin’ him grow his business, ‘cuz one day, guuurl! we gonna hit it big. I could just feel it.”
I’m listening to all this, and I guess they figured me to be knocked out and unreceptive, but even dead, inanimate, lifeless sponges absorb things. And that was me: lifeless, sucking in every word. Every Ebonic-laden word. I could feel the anticipation and the energy building up in Stacy. I could sense some of what was about to come out of her mouth and I wanted to jump up and snatch her to the side for a chat, but she was already too far gone.
“Guurl, I just got me a big ol’ investment to do whateva I wanna do with it. So, ain’t no sense livin’ like paupers. Let’s go and get us some furniture. My kids gonna have them a nice surprise when they get home.”
Oh Lord.
[SIX]
STACY
YOU DIN’ HAFTA tell me another word. ‘Cuz if I got a dolla, my kids gonna get ninety cent of it if it’s gonna make them comfortable. And if I ain’t got nothin’? I’ma shoot me a rooster ‘r sumpthin’ so they could eat. I put that on everything I love. So, me with a hundred- thousand-dollar credit card in my hands? And my kids are sleeping in bags on the floor? What? Are they serious?
Our first stop was IKEA. And the shopping spree was off to a running start. We filled up four shopping carts, and that’s not including the beds, the sofas, and some other furniture that wouldn’t fit in the car. We really rushed through our first stop just so we could hit a used-car lot, but my eyes were on their like-new cars. After all, if I’m gonna be ballin’, I might as well look the part, right? Anyway, I wasn’t gonna buy the car right away, just wanted to check it out for future purchase. I knew Danté would kill me if I came back with all the furniture and a new ride. Not like he was the boss of me or nothin’; I just know how he is. So I just figured I’d take it easy. After the dealership visit, we stopped by the mall, where I picked up some Victoria’s Secret lingerie for me and my sis, and we went by Foot Locker, where I got sneakers for the whole family— even Mom. It felt so good to come to the rescue of my family, with my knight in shining armor by my side. And I rode that high into the evening as we shopped at Publix for a month’s worth of groceries, and after that we stopped by Wendy’s for fast food.
We were makin’ a whole lotta noise on the way home with the radio blastin’ Q-102, and I had a buzz because I couldn’t wait to pop one of the bottles of wine we bought. It felt like Christmas Eve and we were headed home to open all the gifts early. Only thing I could think about was celebrating with my man. The fast food could wait for later.
DANTÉ
By 8:00 p.m., some five hours later, the house was still quiet and I was at peace. Truth is, the peace and quiet was probably what woke me, since I’m not
at all used to living like this. For all my life, I can remember sirens, loud music, and teenagers hanging out in groups at unreasonable hours, shouting and starting senseless fights with one another. If it wasn’t the teenagers, the traffic, or the domestic disputes right there in the street, there’d be gunshots fired from the top of someone’s building. It was that same reckless, irresponsible attitude that hung in the air, so thick it could create a funk; so thick it could be considered loud. And sometimes, so deadly that you either surrendered or became vigilant. So, for the life of me, as I took a walk inside and out of the Singletary home, it was hard to see how Stacy had the opportunity to get involved with the violent escapade she had talked about, the one that had virtually chased her out of town. And then I somehow recalled something she’d said about the jurisdiction of her mom’s house in respect to where all the drama took place. Suburbia, versus the congested city.
She got a nice house up in Lawrenceville. They would never think to look there. Too far up north, away from the ‘hood.
So then maybe that was the reason why the Singletary home seemed like some kind of a safe haven for her kids. Or, at least, that was the vision I was left with. Still, I found myself looking (and listening) closely at the home security system. Every time someone came in or left the house you’d hear:
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