Ex-girl to the Next Girl (11 page)

“I'm good—studying.”

“Is Bree home?”

“No, she is with her dad. Why?”

“Because I want to take you to my mom's house. Be ready by the time I get home. Okay?”

“I'll start getting dressed now.”

 

 

Malik's mother's little apartment was decorated with blue and red streamers. It was weird being there. Everybody was staring. At my family's house, if there was food, you could have it; a soda, take as many as you like. I guess that's not the way Malik's family gets down, because they were real funny-acting. They weren't welcoming at all. His sister kept looking me up and down.

Every time I took a soda, his sister was all in my face. She needed to look at the makeshift ponytails in her bald-spot-edges-headed daughter's hair. I heard her whisper, “I don't like that bitch.” I wanted to say, I don't like you, either, but it would have been about ten against one. It wouldn't have ever worked, so I just smiled. She must be down with Kim, but that team has sunk because I'm wifey.

 

 

I had my marriage license, so I went to the DMV and changed my identification. I was still deciding if I wanted to become Shonda Robinson Moore or just Shonda Moore. Malik wanted me to be Mrs. Moore, so that's what I'm going to change it to. I got him and me a life insurance policy.

 

 

Since we were husband and wife now, I was going to do everything humanly possible to make my man happy. After work I ran home and put a load of clothes in. Then I started on dinner. I made turkey meat loaf, Rice-a-Roni, green beans, and cornbread. When Malik came in I gave him a long kiss, sat him down, and placed a napkin in his lap. I began serving him his food. He kissed me between servings. Then he said, “Baby, stop. I have something to tell you.”

I playfully extended my body back. He grabbed me before I leaned too far back. “What do you have to tell me, that you love me?” I said.

“Yes, I love you, but that's not it,” Malik said, looking very serious.

I sat up and said, “What is it, Malik?”

“My brother is going to move in with us.”

“What?” I said as I removed myself from his lap. I stood up and said, “You didn't even ask me.”

“I didn't have time. He needed a place to stay.”

“Okay, what is wrong with your mom's house?” I asked as I looked him straight in his eye.

“My mom got section-eight. Felons can't stay in federal-funded properties. There was no room at my sister's. So he is going to come stay with us.”

“I don't think so,” I said.

“If he doesn't stay here, he is going to have to live in a halfway house. He can't stay there—he will be back in the same environment and run back into the same crowd.”

“What about my daughter? I don't want her around an ex-criminal.”

“My brother's not like that. You work with convicts.”

“That is different. And speaking about my job, I could get fired. I'm about to graduate. I can't have an inmate living with me.”

“You can change your address to your dad's address. Shonda, please do this for me, okay? I need this.”

“Okay, Malik, whatever.” I didn't want Malik's brother living with us, but what was I going to do? When I came home, Malik and his brother were on my sofa.

“What's up—how you?” he said. He was thick, borderline fat, and light with freckles and reddish brown hair with a blue do-rag on his head. I tried to smile. He thanked me for letting him stay and said he wouldn't be a problem. I faked another smile and said he could stay as long as he needed. Malik and him were catching up on everything. I went upstairs and washed. Then I came back downstairs and decided I was going to be a good wifey and sister-in-law. I was Malik's wife, so I had to play my position.

“Are you hungry?” I asked.

“Yes, I haven't had a home-cooked meal in years.” Malik looked at me and said, “Baby, you don't have to cook—I was about to take him to get something.”

“I don't mind. I'll fry some chicken real quick.” Malik smiled, got off the sofa, gave me a kiss, and whispered that he loved me.

It didn't take me any time to fry the chicken and I baked the potatoes in the microwave, then poured a ready-made salad onto their plates. Dinner was served in forty-five minutes.

“Yo—this is so good,” Omar said as he gulped the food down like a starving dog.

“Thank you,” I said.

 

 

We were in the middle of eating when unexpectedly there was a knock at the door. Malik got up and answered it. It was their mother, Ms. Gloria, and sister Nadia, stopping by. They walked in and half spoke to me. I started cleaning up the dishes.

“It smells good,” Ms. Gloria said.

“Would you like some?” I offered.

“Yeah, I'll take a little,” she said as she took off her coat and made herself comfortable. Nadia gave her a look like,
What are you doing?
I guess the ice was breaking.

I cleaned and then excused myself and I went upstairs and let Malik and his family catch up on old times. After they left, I called Tae to see what she was up to. A man answered, so I hung up. I dialed the phone back. I looked down at my screen on my cell phone to make sure I had dialed the right number.

“Hello—may I speak to Tae?”

“Oh, she's in the house. I have her phone.”

“And who are you?” I asked. He laughed, then said, “This is Ken—who is this?”

I didn't answer his question, I just hung up the phone. Okay, what's going on with my girl? She getting dumb or something? I called Tae on her house phone.

“Tae, what's going on with you, girl.”

“Nothing—getting dressed.”

“Who has your phone?”

“Oh, that is my new boyfriend I was telling you about. Hold on—that's my other line.” Tae clicked back over to me and laughed.

“Were you getting smart with my baby?”

“What? No, I just asked him who he was. Why you got some nut-ass dude answering your phone, anyway?”

“It was in my car.”

“He got your car, too? Oh I'm hanging up—what is wrong with you?”

“Nothing, girl. Don't worry—everything is cool.”

“Well, Malik's brother has moved in.”

“The one from jail?”

“Yes, the one from jail.”

“Oh my, you going to have to give me a report on that situation. But I got to go—my boo at the door.” Tae is moving way too fast, I thought.

M
rs. Dorsey was walking down the hall. Time was good to her face but not to her body. She was one hamburger away from being a super-sized meal. Her ass was as wide as a backseat of a car. When she walked, it bounced from side to side. The sad thing for her is that she is probably going to get fatter. Her mom was a hippo. I remembered her coming up to the school. Well, at least she is already married, because she will not be attracting anyone new. She had four kids, I heard—courtesy of Mrs. Meyers—but her marriage is on the rocks. That's probably stressful, but I still hate the bitch. But for some reason she keeps trying to be my friend, smiling when she sees me and making small talk. Bitch, I'm not your friend, I wanted to tell her. She tried to apologize to me one day. I looked at her like she was stupid. I had better things to worry about than Mrs. Dorsey. Before my kids came back from Art I had to clean my room—there were pencil shavings and paper balls all over the place. I straightened the desk back up and began writing my lesson on the board.

I was waiting for the students to complete their assignment.

“Ms. Clark, can I go to the bathroom?” Natasha Byrd asked.

“No, not till the end of the day.”

“We have an assembly today,” she said. I checked the schedule—she was right. Big as day in red marker was “fire assembly.” I looked down at my watch—we had about ten minutes before the assembly.

“So, can I go to the bathroom, Ms. Clark?”

“You just asked me and I said no.”

“I know, Ms. Clark, but my period is on,” she whispered.

“Go ahead—meet us in the auditorium.”

I escorted my class to the assembly. I heard a friendly voice say in the crowded auditorium, “Good morning, Ms. Clark.” I was about to return the greeting until I realized who was giving it. It was Mrs. Dorsey waving at me. She really didn't get it. I wasn't her friend. She waved again. I looked behind me, like you must be waving to somebody else. I didn't even feel like seeing her face, and the fact that the other teachers were jocking her every movement made me mad. Even the principal was in on it. Before she came, I was the young, cool teacher with bright ideas. Now this bitch comes in and sets up a damn school newspaper and drama club in a few short weeks.

 

 

As soon as the assembly was over, I dismissed my students and called my aunt.

“Aunt Connie, I need to talk to you.”

“What's going on with you?”

“Auntie, one of the girls that I used to hate from high school now works at my job. She makes me want to quit.”

“What?”

“I hate her. Remember the whole school year no one spoke to me?”

“Yes, I remember, but that was so long ago, and you're not worried about that, are you?”

“I still hate her for making my senior year miserable.”

“Niecy, please forget her—she's probably fat now with a bunch of kids.”

“She is.”

“Well, see? She got her punishment and look at you. You have it going on with no kids. I got to call you later.”

Talking to my aunt did make me feel better. But I still didn't have any dates, no prospects, and was very lonely. I was spending my Friday night all alone in the house by myself. I'm not depressed. I don't know what I am. I want to get back with Erick. Every man I have met since him, there has been something wrong with them. Quentin has not called since our conversation. I have come to the conclusion I don't understand men and they don't understand me. I don't like being single—it is no fun. I thought all those men that made passes at me when I was in a relationship would be knocking at my door. The ones who said, if you didn't have a man. The ones who pulled up at the stoplight and I turned, trying to act like I didn't see them. Where are they now? Home with their women, probably.

 

 

I want a family—I want to have a baby and get married and just be happy. Maybe Brandy coming to my school is a sign. The more I thought about it, the more obvious it seemed—I have to get my man back. I haven't spoken to him since we broke up in January, and the few times he has called I've told him I needed him to give me some more time. I want my man back—I should call him, I thought. But what would I say? Hey, baby, what are you doing? I haven't called him, I've ignored his calls and told him to stop sending me flowers. I don't know how well he will take hearing from me. My cell phone vibrated—I picked up.

“What's up, Aunt Connie?”

“Stop by,” Aunt Connie said.

“Why, what's going on?”

“We're having a card party. I cooked. Toya is coming with her friend Lynn. Come get a plate.”

“Okay, I will stop.”

 

 

They were playing poker. My extent of gambling and cards were, I Declare War or Pitty-pat. I learned to play that in camp for candy. Toya wasn't here yet—I didn't know if she was still coming. Uncle Chuck's friend, Mr. Sonny, who was with his wife, kept finding reasons to brush up on me. The first time, he said he was sorry. Then the second time, he smiled. There is not going to be a third time. Fresh old man—I'm going to find his wife and ask her, is he clumsy with his played out hoop earring and kangol to the side? I grabbed a kiwi-strawberry cooler and sat back and waited for Toya. She and her friend Lynn arrived a half an hour later. Toya's stomach was now poking through her belly shirt. Most people would look and think, she needs to work out and just has a gut.

“Look at your little stomach.”

“I know—I'm trying to get my last go-out before I get too big. Why don't you go out with us?”

“Where y'all going?”

“We was going to ride to New York, but the clubs be acting funny. Last week she rode all the way up there and couldn't get in the 40/40—isn't that a fuck-up?”

“Well, I'm not riding to New York.”

“Me neither, I think we should just stay here because I'm tired. Rodney called me and said he was coming over, and Lynn about to make some martinis.”

Lynn made us apple martinis. She took sliced green apples out of a yellow plastic bag, ice, and a mixer.

“You better not drink one,” I said to Toya.

“I'm not,” Toya said. After I drank my first apple martini, I suggested to Lynn she should go to bartending school.

“I was thinking about it,” she said. Me, Toya, and Lynn sat in the kitchen and joked, and sipped on apple martinis. By the time my step-cousin Rodney arrived, I had two more apple martinis. And Rodney was looking good. So good, I started coming on to him. When Toya and Lynn walked out of the kitchen, I blew a kiss at him. He looked at me, confused. I didn't care that he was supposed to be my cousin. I walked over to him and did something I wanted to do since I was seventeen—I kissed his lips with my tongue. He didn't move. As soon as I pulled away from him, Toya walked back in. I touched his face and stumbled into the living room. My Uncle Chuck was complaining about his friend, Mr. Sonny, because he had slipped cards under the table and beat him for a hundred dollars.

“Damn, that niggah was cheating,” Uncle Chuck said.

“Chuck, I told you he was cheating—you should have been listening,” Aunt Connie said. Then she turned to me and said, “You want to stay? You sure you can drive home?”

“I'm fine. I will call you when I get in.” I didn't feel drunk. I felt fine to drive home. I slid my seat belt on and began my drive home. I switched stations—there was nothing on but commercials. Then the perfect song was playing while I'm coming home, all alone. I was forced to listen to Usher sing, “Let It Burn.” “Shut up, Usher—you let it burn,” I yelled at the radio. The lyrics hit too close to home. I started thinking about Erick. So I decided to give Erick a phone call. My daddy used to always say, a drunk man is an honest man. That saying is very true. The liquor gave me the heart I didn't have when I was sober. I called Erick at 3:30 in the morning. The phone rang, then it rang again. I was nervous. He answered and I said, “Erick, I love you.”

“Who is this?”

“Baby, it's me. I love you so much. I miss you. I wish I would have never broke up with you. I wished we never broken up.”

“Nadine, I'll talk to you later—I'm asleep.”

“Can I come sleep with you?”

“No!”

“Why not?” I slurred.

“Because you can't. Call me tomorrow.”

“We were meant for each other, Erick. We belong together,” I sang. He didn't say anything—he was not moved at all by my confession. Erick simply laughed at me and told me to carry my drunk ass to sleep. It was my fault we weren't together. I had to correct my wrong. I decided since Erick didn't get the intensity of my message on the phone, I had to tell him in person. I drove over to his house. His bedroom light was on and his car was parked at the corner. In a perfect world, he would open up the door and say
I love you
and make beautiful love to me and hold me until I went to sleep. I knocked on the door—he came to the door in his boxers.

“Hey, baby,” I said as I went to hug him. He had a puzzled expression.

“What are you doing here?” he said, annoyed.

“I wanted to see you.”

“Didn't I tell you I was 'sleep and to call me tomorrow?”

“Yes, but I wanted to see you, baby,” I said, still trying to hold him. He was resisting my hug.

“Can I come in?”

“No, I have company.”

“You have what?” I asked as I sobered up temporarily.

“I'm a single man and I have company,” he restated.

“Who is over here this time of night?”

“A friend—good night.” He shut the door in my face. I felt like trash. My ex-boyfriend had dissed me and I kissed my cousin.