by Earl Sewell
“I’m allowed to cheat every now and again,” my mom said, defending her decision to eat something fattening. I watched as she popped the top on a can of Coca-Cola and poured it over her ice cream. I watched as it fizzed in the bowl.
“Eww,” I said.
“Hey, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it,” she said, bringing down another bowl for my dad. She then asked me, “Do you want some ice cream?”
“No,” I said before excusing myself. I glanced over at Viviana, who seemed to be watching my every move. I wanted to ask her why the hell she was glaring at me so hard, but I didn’t. I walked upstairs and into my bedroom. I shut the door and called Keysha.
“What’s up, girl?” I asked when she picked up the phone.
“Nothing. Sitting here at work, reading,” she said.
“Anything good?” I asked.
“Actually I just finished reading an article that was really good,” she replied.
“Is that so? What’s the article about?” I asked.
“Dating, and it’s actually written by that college poet named Candice we saw at the festival. The article is printed in the local paper. Hang on. Let me find it, because I want to read it to you,” Keysha said.
“Okay.” Once she found the article, she said, “Okay, listen to this. The article is called ‘Just Ask Me Out.’ ‘While in my organic chemistry class, I had an epiphany about relationships, being single and dating. I myself am a nervous person when it comes to speaking to men. I say the lamest things, like, “Hey, baby, if I were in charge of the alphabet, I’d put U and I together.” Whenever I say that one, dudes glare at me as if I’m psychotic. When guys sweetly say, “Hey, baby,” or “How are you doing, Shorty?” I’m at a complete loss as to how I should respond. Most times I just stand there with a petrified look on my face. I’m sure that every girl on the planet has had something similar happen on at least one occasion.
“‘As young adults, we are extremely fickle creatures, whether we like to admit it or not. One day we’re crushing over someone we know because we think they’re hot and just drop-dead gorgeous. Then, the following day, we’ve lost interest in that person because someone new has come along. In today’s dating world, when that hot guy or girl decides they want to have a conversation, they’ll most likely start by following your Twitter posts, where they indirectly get to say whatever they want. This phenomenon is also known as subtweeting.
“‘I know from personal experience that relationships can be a drag and highly problematic. No offense to those who are happy in their current courtship. I’m happy for you, and when I see a lovely-looking couple or an ugly couple walking around, I become more optimistic. However, for now, I’m waving the “Team Single” flag. Sometimes, when I’m feeling depressed about being alone, I wish I had a couple of potentials who were interested in a brainy girl who enjoys organic chemistry, and who wouldn’t mind a cheap date. Heck, we could even go to the campus cafeteria. I’m not too difficult to please.
“‘I believe we all have at least one guy or girl in our phone contact list who is there for us whenever we need a shoulder to cry on, or if we’re dealing with a particularly hard professor. However, we place those individuals in the “strictly friends” category because we’re too terrified to move forward and nurture a more meaningful and deeper relationship.
“‘For all the guys and girls who may happen to read this, I’d like to say that I know it seems like getting to know someone is extremely complicated, but it isn’t. Both guys and girls want to be loved, complimented, respected, mentally stimulated and, yes, aroused. There, I said it.
“‘If you’re single like me, enjoy it and don’t be ashamed of your status. Instead, take time learning to love yourself. It’s silly to go around telling someone else you love them if you have no clue about how to love yourself. For those of you who have close friends of the opposite sex, please find the courage to ask them out on a date. Chances are pretty strong that they’ve been waiting for you to do it. Happy dating, and have fun.’”
“Wow. What a great article,” I said to Keysha.
“I know. She really nailed it with that one,” Keysha agreed.
“Speaking of dating, as much as I don’t want to admit this, I have a date this afternoon.”
“Great. You finally got Misalo to talk to you?” Keysha asked excitedly.
“No. The date is not with Misalo,” I muttered.
“Huh? Please don’t tell me you’re going out with Carlo,” Keysha said.
Instead of giving her a fast no, I gave her a slow yes.
“Maya,” Keysha whined.
“I know, but it’s not like that, Keysha. I promise you,” I explained.
“Girl, you are getting messy,” Keysha scolded.
“That’s not messy,” I fired back because I felt as if I was being attacked.
“Yes, it is. Look, I’m your best friend and I’m going to tell it to you straight. I would’ve told Carlo no, especially if I were trying to get back with Misalo.”
“Keysha, I just felt so bad about what happened. It wasn’t fair that he lost his job,” I said, trying to find justification for agreeing to have lunch with Carlo.
“He lost his job? When did that happen, and how did you find out?” Keysha was surprised by the news.
“I ran into him at the drugstore earlier. He made me feel guilty, and I figured the least I could do was honor his one request for a simple lunch since Misalo picked a fight with him.”
“Maya, that wasn’t your fault. You had no idea that Misalo was going to freak out like he did,” Keysha replied, pointing out what should’ve been very clear to me.
“So, you don’t think I should go?” I asked.
“I think you’re confused right now,” Keysha said. I immediately took offense to her comment.
“I’m not confused,” I shrieked at her.
“It’s okay to be confused,” Keysha answered, rephrasing what she’d just said.
“Don’t talk to me as if I’m ignorant.” I had gotten really upset.
“Maya, calm down. There is no need to raise your voice at me,” Keysha said, softening her words.
“You know what? I’m going to go have lunch with Carlo at Pizza Hut. It will only take about an hour. I’m going to tell Carlo that I’m in love with Misalo and that he needs to respect that and stop chasing after me. Then I’m going to go see Misalo and straighten everything out between us. Even if I have to drop to my knees and wrap my arms around his legs, I’m going to make him listen to me.” I felt as if I’d just unloaded on Keysha.
“Okay, I hear you. You’re just having lunch to clear up any misunderstandings. I get that. Let me know how everything goes,” Keysha replied, backing down. She exhaled.
“As soon as I make up with Misalo, I’ll stop by the pool to see you.”
“Okay. I’ll be here.” I could hear Keysha take a sip of something, most likely bottled water, because she always kept some nearby when she was on duty.
“I’ll talk to you later,” I said and ended the call. I grabbed my purse and checked inside to make sure I had enough money. I then walked over to my door and opened it. Viviana stumbled into my room when the door swung open.
“What the hell!” I snapped at her.
Looking totally surprised, Viviana said, “Oh, I was about to knock on your door.”
“For what?” I asked, totally annoyed.
“Your dad wanted me to ask you where you put his sinus medicine.”
Looking at Viviana suspiciously, I said, “Oh. I think I left it in the car. I’ll go get it for him.” Then we both walked toward the staircase.
* * *
When I arrived at Pizza Hut, Carlo was already there. He had gotten us a seat and waved for me to come over and join him. I nervously walked toward him and took a s
eat opposite him.
“I’m so glad you’re here. I didn’t think you’d make it,” he said.
“I didn’t think I’d make it, either,” I admitted.
“I have a question I’ve been meaning to ask you.” He smiled and leaned forward.
I was almost afraid to ask what his question was, but I found the courage and said, “What do you want to know?”
Before Carlo could answer, a waiter came over and asked to take our order.
“Order whatever you want, Carlo. This one is on me,” I said.
“You’re sweet,” Carlo replied, complimenting me. Carlo ordered a medium pepperoni pizza and two sodas.
The waiter took the order and then left us alone.
“Where was I?” Carlo paused and then snapped his fingers. “Oh, yeah. The night we shared that dance, you know that was very special, right? I felt a great connection between us.”
“Carlo.” Before I could say anything more, he reached across the table and held my hand.
“Let me finish. I’ve never met a girl like you before. You’re smart, you’re fun to be around, and most of all, you’re drop-dead gorgeous.”
“Did you read the same article that Keysha read?” I asked, because what he was saying sounded just like what Keysha had read.
“I’m not much of a reader, Maya. These words are coming from my heart. Can’t you see that?”
At that moment, I didn’t know what to do or say. I’d never had to reject anyone before, and for some reason, it wasn’t as easy as I thought it would or should be. The waiter returned with our drinks, and I was thankful for the interruption.
“What I’m trying to say, Maya, is that I’d like for you to give me a chance to make you—”
“So, it’s true. You’ve been totally playing me!” Misalo appeared out of nowhere with several guys from the soccer team.
My mouth opened as wide as the sky, but no words would come out. I was both petrified and in shock. I couldn’t figure out how he even knew where I was.
“Don’t worry. You don’t have to say anything. It’s over, Maya!” Misalo barked at me.
Tears began falling from my eyes. I wanted to tell him that I loved him and that I was having lunch with Carlo only to tell him to stop pursuing me, but I couldn’t, because my words got lodged in my throat.
Rising to his feet, Carlo said, “What the hell is wrong with you, man? You’ve made her cry!”
Borrowing a line from the movie New Jack City, Misalo said, “Sit your five-dollar ass down before I make change! You’ve disrespected me. I can’t let that go.” Misalo pointed an angry finger at Carlo.
“What? You want to do something now?” Carlo wasn’t about to let Misalo punk him.
“Anytime and anyplace,” Misalo said, walking backward and away from us with his friends. “No one disrespects me and gets away with it, Carlo.”
“Misalo?” I called.
He cut his eyes at me as if I totally disgusted him. I wanted to explain that my being with Carlo meant nothing.
“Baby,” I said sweetly, hoping he’d pause for a minute and allow me to get my thoughts together.
Misalo said nothing as he and his friends walked out, got into his car and drove away.
Nine
VIVIANA
I was in the family room with my Uncle Herman, watching the game show Jeopardy. We were having a mini competition to see who could come up with the most right answers to the clues being given. We made a bet that if I won, he had to give me twenty-five dollars. If I lost, I had to do the yard work he was supposed to do. So far, I was kicking his butt and enjoying every minute of it. I had eight hundred points to his six.
“Okay, I’m definitely going to get the next one right,” he said confidently as he repositioned himself in his seat. We watched the television and waited for the host to read the next clue. We had agreed that we had to answer in the form of a question before any of the contestants. If we couldn’t, we’d have to wait for the next clue. If we both answered at the same time, then we’d both get points. It was a silly little game we were playing, but it was fun and it helped pass the time.
The host said, “For two hundred points, here is the next clue. Archie Bunker’s armchair was an integral part of the living room on this classic sitcom.”
“All in the Family,” Uncle Herman blurted out as he snapped his fingers.
“Who is Archie Bunker?” I lowered my eyebrows and placed a frown on my face.
“He was a character on a seventies television show,” Uncle Herman answered.
“Okay. That one was way too easy for you,” I griped, but I did remember the answer, in case I ever needed it again.
The host went on to the next clue. “For four hundred points, here is the clue. In the year twelve-seventy-five, Marco Polo visited this city and praised its beauty.”
“What is Beijing?” I answered before Uncle Herman could. The contestant on the television repeated the answer I gave, which was correct.
“I didn’t know that one,” Uncle Herman admitted. “I suppose I should have, but I didn’t.”
“There are only two clues left, and you need to get both of them right in order to win,” I said, feeling my competitive side taking over.
“Here is the next clue, for six hundred points. Hispanic American Lourdes Casal is a writer who is also famous for her studies of this?”
“What are black Cubans?” I leaped out of my seat as I shouted out the answer.
“There is no way you got that one right!” Uncle Herman didn’t want to believe that I knew the answer. The clue seemed to stump the contestants on the television. Finally, one of them signaled that he knew the answer.
“They don’t know the answer to the clue,” Uncle Herman said as he watched the person pause before he gave an answer.
“What are black Cubans?” the contestant said.
“That is correct,” said the host.
Tossing my hands in the air, I said, “Yes. Got that one! You might as well give me my money, Uncle Herman.” I extended my hand for the cash.
“No. I’m not out just yet. Tell you what. Let’s play for double or nothing for the last clue. If I lose, I’ll give you fifty bucks.” Uncle Herman was such a gung ho man. He couldn’t stand losing, especially to me.
“You’ve got a deal,” I said, hoping the last clue wasn’t too hard. It was worth the risk to me because fifty bucks would set me straight for a minute.
The host of the show gave the last clue. “Fort Pulaski National Monument is located near this city?”
“What is Chicago?” Uncle Herman blurted out, confident he had the right answer.
“No, I think it’s in Georgia somewhere,” I said, uncertain of the city in Georgia.
“What is Savannah?” answered one of the contestants.
“Ha-ha, I was right,” I said, once again holding out my hand for my cash prize. “Come on. Don’t be slow about handing me my winnings.” I stood in front of Uncle Herman and did a little happy dance.
He wanted to squabble. “You cheated.”
“No, I did not!” I said, not wanting to hear him grumble about losing.
“Do I have to pay you now?” Uncle Herman asked, stalling.
“Don’t make me beat you down,” I said teasingly.
Uncle Herman stood up, reached for his wallet but then stopped. “I’m going to tickle you,” he said out of the clear blue. He made a motion as if he were going to do it, and I flinched and laughed.
“No,” I said as I laughed uncontrollably at the thought of being tickled.
“Ha!” Uncle Herman made a tickling motion again, and I fell to the floor like a giddy two-year-old. Playing like this reminded me of when I was a little girl and horsed around with my dad.
“Please, just give me my money,” I begged him as I stood back up.
Uncle Herman removed the money from his wallet and held it out to me. Just as I was about to take it, he snatched it back.
“Come on. Stop playing,” I said. He turned his back to me and I attempted to reach around him to grab it. I couldn’t stop laughing at how silly we were being.
“What’s going on here?”
I turned in the direction of the voice and saw that Maya had walked into the family room through the garage.
“Nothing. We’re just horsing around,” answered Uncle Herman.
“I just beat Uncle Herman at Jeopardy,” I informed Maya, who wrinkled up her face and looked as if she’d just been sprayed with a can of skunk funk.
“What’s wrong with you, Maya? Why are you looking like that?” asked Uncle Herman.
“I’ve had a rough day, Dad.” Maya’s sour expression suddenly teetered on the edge of tears.
“Do you want to talk about it?” asked Uncle Herman.
“No. You’re playing with her!” Maya said, sounding like a spoiled brat. I glanced at Uncle Herman and shrugged my shoulders, as if I had no idea why she’d flipped out.
“I’m going to go talk to Mom,” Maya said and rushed out of the room.
Before Uncle Herman could chase after her, I said, “Have you considered sending her to a psychiatrist for an evaluation?” I tried to sound as if I was joking, but in my heart I wasn’t.
“No. Why would I do that?” asked Uncle Herman as he watched Maya hustle up the stairs.
“Seems to me like she has wild mood swings. You know, I’ve read that people who behave like her might be bipolar. I seriously think you and Aunt Raven should send Maya to a professional to make sure she’s working with a full deck, if you know what I mean,” I said, tapping my index finger on my temple.
Uncle Herman turned his attention back to me. He glanced at me for a moment and then said, “Maybe I should have you evaluated.”
“Me!” I exclaimed, raising my voice in protest. “What for?”
“You knew the answers to some rather challenging questions. I think you’re much smarter than you’re giving yourself credit for. Perhaps you should be tested.”
