So, So Hood

by L. Divine

  “I’ll talk to Jeremy, but I just can’t put my feelings into words—not yet.” Until then I have nothing to say to my estranged boyfriend. I knew him leaving for six weeks was too long to remain faithful. Hell, I almost wasn’t my damn self and I didn’t leave Southern California this summer.

  “It’s a long time for anyone to be faithful, especially a teenaged boy, Jayd,” my mom says, all up in the mix. “It’s a bit ridiculous for either one of y’all to be committed solely to each other your senior year of high school anyway, if you ask me.”

  “Mom, weren’t you engaged to my dad by then?” I ask, eyeing my white-on-white ensemble for tomorrow. I might as well pick out my work clothes so I won’t have to do it in the morning. Just because I have to wear one color doesn’t mean I still can’t put my individual stamp on it. I’ve started tying my head wrap in the front like the tignon my great-grandmother used to wear in New Orleans. Mama says it’s just like a child of Oshune to want to shine even when she’s supposed to be at her most humble.

  “My point exactly, smart-ass. Think about it and I’ll check in with you later. My boss is talking to me and I guess I should listen to some of his crap so I can get out of here and go home.” My mom is so funny sometimes. I guess she has a hard time focusing on two conversations at once much like I do whenever she jumps in my head.

  “All right, Jayd. I’ll holla,” Nigel says, almost ending the call, but not before Mickey overhears the last part of our conversation.

  “Nigel, is that Jayd on the phone?” I hear Mickey ask in the background. I know she wants to grill me about what I’m doing in regards to her ode to a harlot, but I’m not in the mood.

  “Mickey wants to holla at you real quick, Queen.” Nigel’s so sweet. Mickey would probably go crazy if she ever lost him. There would be a line down the block if word got out that Nigel was single with Nellie right at the front. No matter who she’s dating now, if Nigel ever got loose from Mickey’s iron grip she’d jump at the chance to date him.

  “We’re going shopping at the swap meet tomorrow afternoon. Can you make it or what?” Mickey asks. She sounds annoyed, but I’m not going to get into it with her now about what’s up her butt this evening. My goal is to get off this phone as soon as possible.

  “Yeah, I guess so. I get off work at one. I’ll meet y’all there.” I spot a bottle of lavender bath salts and claim it for my running water.

  “And bring your money, Jayd. I’ll be damned if you’re wearing all white on your first day of school. If you do that the whole year will start off bad.”

  “Whatever, Mickey. And you bring the letter. I need to inspect it further.”

  I got an idea on how to jump into the mind of the author through the strokes of a person’s handwriting. Maman Marie was excellent with her skills. She could study her clients’ writing and tell whether or not they were honest people. I want to try something similar with Mickey’s letter. There’s a reason he wrote the words the way he did and in the color of blood. I just hope I can figure out his plan before he does harm to my girls or my boy.

  “Okay, Jayd. Bye.”

  “Good night, Mickey.”

  Finally, the quiet before the storm. Mama should be home by eight giving me a half hour to myself. Once my four uncles, my cousin Jay, and my grandmother filter in from their separate days all bets are off when it comes to peace in this small house. I can always escape to the spirit room when need be and tonight will probably be one of those times. I’m going to need all the help I can get to teach young kids for the rest of the week without snapping. Lord knows I barely have the patience to deal with my teenaged friends. But money is money and as long as they keep it cool, so will I.

  After my bath last night, I had just enough time to myself to cover my body in Mama’s lemon and coconut oil blend and eat dinner before the procession of my family members began. By the time Mama was done at the shop I was camped out in the back house, reading my spirit notes and trying to master the new things I’ve learned over the past few weeks. Sad to say, but I don’t miss cheer at all nor am I looking forward to returning to the squad next week. The practice and game schedule will continue to mess up my cheddar and I’m not feeling losing any more money. I’m glad the last four days of this week will be spent making money, I’ve missed my financial independence.

  I pull up to the quaint church house and park in a space up front. The driveway is longer than the actual building. I could’ve walked from Mama’s house to Daddy’s church up the block, but it’s too hot to be outside any longer than necessary.

  The alarm on my phone rings loudly in the compact car, reminding me to put it on vibrate before I walk inside. I scheduled my new gig into the calendar just to see if the thing really works. Ever since Chance played with my phone the other day I’ve started to explore its features.

  The first thing I notice when I step into the bright space is the loud noise level so early in the morning. There are children ranging from four years old to eleven everywhere, talking loudly and running around like chickens with their heads cut off. I knew there was a catch. I have to work with kids straight out of hell.

  “Jayd, it’s nice to see you again.” A nicely dressed young brotha comes up to me with his right hand extended as if students aren’t wreaking havoc all around the front meeting hall. What have I gotten myself into and how can I get out?

  “Again?” I don’t remember the first time we met and I wouldn’t forget this brotha. He’s almost as short as I am and although he has a nice smile, his foul breath makes me want to indefinitely hold mine.

  “I didn’t have the opportunity to officially introduce myself after your eloquent speech on Easter Sunday. I’m Wendell Godfry, youth pastor.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, sir.” I return the gesture while simultaneously attempting to breathe over my right shoulder, but there’s no escaping this dude’s halitosis. Maybe the kids are acting bad because they can’t take his breath anymore. I know I want to run away.

  “There’ll be none of that ‘sir’ stuff, girl. We aren’t that far apart in age. When your grandfather told me you’d be relieving Mrs. Pratt for the rest of the week I felt like the heavens opened up and answered my prayers.”

  “Is that so?” I ask, trying not to be too obvious while diverting my nose away from his mouth. I walk into the eye of the storm where ten of the twenty or so students are playing dodge ball in the middle of the room. Really? I know they’re kids but there’s no order in here at all. When I attended vacation Bible school it was nothing like this.

  “Yes, it was—not that I wanted Mrs. Pratt gone, but her pressure couldn’t take these active whippersnappers another day,” Wendell says, looking at the kids as if the mischief they’re causing is normal. He obviously has little experience with children and they know it.

  “Where do I start?” I ask, scared to put my purse down for fear I’ll never see it again.

  Wendell points toward the double doors leading to the main sanctuary. On either side of the doors are two portable white boards with markers and erasers accompanying both. He leads me through the crowd who suddenly becomes interested about the new person in the room.

  “Why are you dressed like that?” a boy who looks to be about seven or eight asks as I approach the far end of the hall to help round everyone up for our morning salutation.

  “Yeah, you a Muslim or something?” another young boy asks, holding the dodge ball. “My daddy says I can’t talk to y’all.” I don’t care what his daddy says, all I know is that if he hits me with that ball he’s going to pray to whatever God he can that I don’t catch him.

  I glare at both curious boys and continue my trek. I’ll address all questions after I introduce myself. Finally at the double doors, I take a marker and write my name across the board while Wendell calls everyone to attention. I see why Daddy wanted me here—Miss Jayd doesn’t take any mess and they’re all about to find out.

  “We have a new teacher with us this morning, hallelujah!” Wend
ell exclaims, scaring several girls in the now seated group. The three long tables each seat ten, with a few seats empty to spare. With only two teachers to pay, the church must be making a nice piece of change from the summer program. From previous experience I know most of the tuitions are paid by state funds for the children on public assistance. The others are privately sponsored by nonprofit organizations. Daddy’s got a good thing going on here while helping out the neighborhood.

  “Hi. My name is Miss Jayd and I’m going to be with y’all for the rest of the week.”

  At first glance, the kids look like they’ve seen a ghost. They can’t stop staring at me and I can see the millions of questions running through their minds.

  “I’ll address the elephant in the room once and for all, then we have to get on with our morning.”

  “I don’t see no elephant,” a pretty, brown-skinned girl says, her ponytails completely uneven. If I could get in that head I would braid her thick, black hair in a pretty style to hug her round face. “Are you a nurse or something?” she asks, breaking the silence for the other students to ask the first thing that comes to mind.

  “Okay, settle down,” Wendell says. The kids completely ignore him, as they should. No one can hear his soft voice over these loud children.

  “Ago,” I call loudly. This is how my elders call in Yoruba to get our attention and it always works.

  The students look at me even more strangely as I repeat the word.

  “When I say ‘ago,’ which means ‘are you there,’ y’all say ‘beni,’ which means ‘yes.’ Let’s try it again. Ago,” I call, this time with a smile. Maybe they’re not so unruly after all.

  “Beni,” they say in unison, some giggling at the strange words lingering in the air. Wendell looks at me in amazement. I wonder how long it usually takes him to gain order when I’m not here, if he ever does.

  “Very good. When I said the elephant, I was talking about my very bright attire.”

  A few of the children snicker to one another while the others look on ready for my story.

  “Very quickly, I am in training, a religious training, so to speak. Soon I will be able to wear jeans and colorful clothing again, but right now I have to wear white to symbolize my commitment to my way of life.”

  “Okay, thank you for that introduction, Miss Jayd. Would you mind erasing that board while I begin this morning’s class?” Wendell points to the board with my name on it and takes control of the class. I guess he doesn’t want me talking too much about voodoo in the house of the Lord, just like Daddy.

  “Young people, are we ready to study the three r’s: reading, writin’, and religion?” Wendell asks, putting his hands up in the air like he’s cheering.

  No he did not just say that. Where’s this dude from and why is he in Compton? The kids and I all look at him like the fool he’s portraying himself to be.

  “So, how are we doing up here?” Daddy asks, coming up the stairs from his office just in time to save his youth pastor from any further embarrassment. I saw him this morning before I left. He must’ve arrived a few minutes after I did.

  “Oh, just fine, Pastor James. I was introducing everyone to Miss James here and we’re about ready for the lady of the house to jump in where she sees fit.” He’s really on some Southern shit for real. Wendell steps closer to me and puts his left arm around my shoulders, forcing me to put my face in his forearm.

  “Excellent. That’s what I like to see.” Daddy smiles and smacks his left hand hard with the folded papers in his right hand. The look in his eyes tells me this was all a well orchestrated setup. Did he really think I’d be interested in this cat? If so, my grandfather doesn’t know me at all.

  “It’s Jackson. My last name is Jackson,” I say, removing Wendell’s arm and sitting down at the middle table, facing the class. I want to say more, but I’m supposed to keep a cool head and Daddy’s in the room making me check myself even more.

  “Please forgive me. Miss Jackson,” Wendell says, smiling big and bright, much to Daddy’s liking. This is too much.

  “Pastor James, the Women’s Guild is ready for you,” a woman’s voice says. I bet they are.

  One of the church ladies who hates the thought of Mama comes up the stairs behind Daddy and stares me down. I wish she would say something cross to me. I remember her as one of the hackling hens from Easter service. She had rude things to say about both my mom and my grandmother. If she steps my way I’ll have to give her a taste of her own medicine.

  “Well, you two carry on,” Daddy says, feeling the pressure from behind. Why do these women have so much power over my grandfather and why do they feel they can boss another woman’s husband around? “I’m sure this will be the most productive week yet. And Jayd, don’t be afraid to take some initiative. We men need a little help even when we’re too proud to ask.”

  “Yes, sir,” Wendell says in true kiss-ass style. He wants to be just like Pastor James when he grows up.

  Daddy waves to us before ducking back downstairs where his fan club awaits. I know my granddaddy’s got the whole “pimping ain’t easy” swag down, but he doesn’t take the shit seriously or at least I thought he didn’t. I can’t believe Daddy’s trying to pimp me out to his little protégé. As if. That may be the name of the car I drive, but it ain’t me at all. I’ll talk to him about this later at home. I’m sure Daddy thinks it would be a match made in heaven or somewhere very close to it, but it ain’t happening. Suddenly I can’t wait until this day is over. I’ll tell my girls all about Reverend Funky Breath and my grandfather’s failed attempt to marry me off to him at the swap meet this afternoon. Until then, I have to work for my money. If today was a prelude to my temporary job description, this is going to be a really long week.

  3

  Golden Child

  Hard to move on when you always regret one.

  —MIGUEL FEATURING J. COLE

  Ithought Wendell would never let me go once the children were dismissed for the day. He convinced me to stay an extra hour to help prepare their art projects for tomorrow’s assignment, throwing in the fact that we get paid for an extra hour of prep time every day. I couldn’t pass up the money and won’t for the rest of the week, even if that means I have to listen to Wendell talk about being a virtuous young woman for the entire sixty minutes. Much like himself, he sees me as a golden child of sorts—chosen by God and Pastor James to do the Lord’s work. I wish Mama was there to set his ass straighter than a flat iron on pressed hair.

  One thing that stuck out from our conversation was Wendell quoting the Bible, the book of Revelations in particular. I questioned Wendell about the whore of Babylon verses and he jumped at the chance to show off his biblical knowledge while inadvertently bringing some clarity to the reading for me. If I understand correctly, the whore is actually a metaphor for one of several abominations before the end of the world. Like I said before, I know Mickey’s ex is planning something and if this is just the beginning, whatever it is must be catastrophic. I need to get that letter from Mickey. I hope she remembers to bring it.

  Almost every car in the packed lot outside the Compton Fashion Center, a.k.a the swap meet, has rims, except for mine and maybe five others. What really gets me are the old, run-down cars with shiny chrome wheels worth more than the vehicle itself. There’s even a rent-a-rim shop outside the swap meet for people who don’t have the money to buy the expensive tire gear outright. Only in the hood would you see some shit like this.

  When I walk into the bustling swap meet all eyes are on me—the girl in all white. I feel like I’m on display, but it comes with the territory. I send my girls a quick text to find out where they are. The quicker I have my folks around me, the better. There’s safety in numbers and flying solo is anything but.

  Even if Mama’s allowing me to come out of whites for the school year—even if tradition mandates an iyawo should wear white for an entire year—she’s not letting up on my undergarments and the fact that I have to wear white when I’m i
n the shop and the spirit room. She made it clear that I need all new white underwear to wear for the next three months—no exceptions. I’m just grateful she’s being lenient when it comes to school. The last thing I need is sticking out unnecessarily on the first day.

  The underwear in the large flea market are nothing like the ones at Victoria’s Secret. When Jeremy took me on my shopping spree for my birthday, it was the first time I’d ever splurged on the expensive bras and panties. I wish I could wear them now, but the ones from Target I have on will have to do. They’re not bad, but a sistah like me with a full D cup size needs all the support I can get.

  “What up, Mother Teresa?” Mickey says as she and Nellie round the corner ahead of me. That’s her new nickname for me while I’m in whites and I don’t mind. It could be worse, so I’ll take it as the love it’s meant to be.

  “I love it,” Nellie says, the first to hug me and I return the gesture. “I think it’s chic, like LisaRaye McCoy.” Nellie’s so silly sometimes, but I know she means well. Why she chooses her role models is a whole other issue.

  “What up, y’all? Where’s the baby?” I ask, missing the presence of our newest crewmember, Nickey. New life changes everything and my crew’s no exception. It feels good having Nickey’s sweet presence around and it’s a good reminder to use birth control for my sexually active friends. Mama’s all the reminder I need to stay a virgin until I’m ready to deal with all of the consequences that come with giving it up too soon.

  “At home with her daddy,” Mickey says, giving me a quick hug while slyly passing the letter. It’s best for Nellie to stay out of the loop on this one for the time being. The girl can barely hold water let alone something this huge. “She was napping when I left and Lord knows I didn’t want to wake her.”