Fly on the Wall (2 page)

“P
ussy is the best thing that God ever made. I

know because I have one.” As she spoke, she stared into my face with the same intense glare that used to terrify me as a child. However, now that I towered over her head, Mom isn't so scary anymore. She continued. “Pussy is the eighth wonder of the world . . .”

I giggled and interrupted. “Amen to that.”

“Amen?” Her eyebrows moved toward each other.

“Yeah, you finally said something that I agree with.”

“I didn't ask you for your opinion, Theo,” she huffed.

“Why would you say something like that if you didn't want me to say anything back?” When I walked into the kitchen this morning, all I wanted was a glass of orange juice, buttered toast, and the keys to the damn car. While I was away at All-Star Basketball Camp, Mom bought a brand new Durango and promised me that the Maxima would officially be mine at the end of the summer. The summer ended on the first day of school, so today was the day. Not only was I a high school senior, but also a basketball player at West Dade Senior High, and those keys were my ticket to not having to ride the orange limousine for the entire school year. “Okay, okay, I don't agree then.” I smiled. “Why are we talking about this anyway?”

“Because that's exactly what your problem is. Pussy has become
your
main focus, your reason for living. It's like you worship it.” She paused. “It's your damn god.”

“My
god
?” I knew where this was going. “What makes you say that, Ma?”

She backed away and reached for her coffee mug. “Have you forgotten about last night?”

I looked down. “No, I haven't.” In any thesaurus, the only words listed under
drama queen
would be
Eva Lakewood
. “We weren't doing nothing.”

“Well, that was certainly a whole lot of nothing.” She raised her voice. “I would call Trese kneeling in front of you and suckin' on your little pecker a big something.” She tried to control her tone. “What if Kevin would've walked in there? He's only ten years old. How would you have explained that?”

“All right,” I confessed. “I wouldn't have been able to explain it.” I saw her point and gave her the answer she wanted. “I see the lesson in this situation.”

“Do you?” She seemed pleased that I walked away with some knowledge. “What is it?”

I could barely contain my laughter. “You should've knocked.”

“Knock?” She rested her coffee mug and moved a little closer to me. “Boy, I'll knock you upside your head. This is my house,” she took a breath, “and I don't want her here anymore.” She firmed up. “As a matter of fact, I don't think you need to be that serious with anyone right now.”

“We're not serious.”

“I would call her suckin' your,” she paused, “your little thingy very serious, Theo.” She threw whatever was left in her mug down the drain. “I'm not stupid. I know that you've had sex with her. What if she gets pregnant? Then what happens?” She didn't give me a chance to speak. “This is your last year of high school. You have an opportunity of a lifetime.” Her voice started trembling and I saw tears forming in her eyes. “There are colleges and NBA teams all standing in line for you. Everybody wants a piece of Theodore Lakewood.” By now she was crying. “You can't let anything keep you from your dreams.”

I walked across the kitchen and wrapped my long arms around her. “I want this just as much as you want it for me.” She rested her head on my chest as I rubbed her back. “Don't worry about me.” I was serious. “I know that I act crazy sometimes, but I won't make the wrong decisions, Ma.” I cupped her chin and made her look up at me. “I won't let you down.” I would never be a disappointment to her.

After all the tears were out and the promises were once again guaranteed, she fished through her purse and dangled the keys in front of me. “To school and back.”

I had driven the car many times, but this time it'd be mine. “Can I at least pick up Will?” I couldn't let my boy ride the bus.

“Pick up Will,” she smiled, “but bring that car straight home after practice.”

I reached out for the keys, and the moment she dropped them into my hand, I felt life getting a little easier. I bent down and kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you, Ma.”

“Drive safely.” She hugged me around the neck.

“Ma, I'm eighteen. I've been driving for five years.” I laughed. “Well, you only know about three of 'em.”

She laughed. “Boy, get out of here before you're late.”

I grabbed my bookbag and made it to the front door before I remembered that I needed to correct her. “Oh yeah, and there's nothing little about my pecker.” Her hand flew to her mouth in shock as the other one reached for the dishtowel that she threw in my direction.

 

 

I stared at the gold Maxima and whispered, “You're officially mine.” It wasn't a Lexus, BMW, or Benz, but it now belonged to me. I cranked her up and Jay-Z's
Black Album
was still blasting from the last time I was in it.

My timing was perfect; I pulled up to Will's bus stop right behind his bus and honked the horn. He ran over and jumped in.

“Man, you just saved my life.” We knocked knuckles. “I didn't think you were coming. I called your house last night and your mom was straight buggin'.” He laughed. “What in the hell happened?”

“Trese was over and Mom walked in my room without knocking.”

“Oh, snap.” He covered his mouth. “Moms saw you cuttin'?”

“Naw.” I was embarrassed but proud at the same time. “She was givin' me head.”

“Damn.” Will sounded like he was enjoying the thought. “Damn.” Then he snapped out of it. “I told you that Trese ain't nothing but trouble anyway. You picked the wrong one, man.”

“First of all, Trese is not picked. She's not my girl.”

“Oh yeah? I bet you walk her to at least one class today.” He chuckled. “I guess the coochie is real nice because she has you on a leash.”

“Man, fuck you and a damn leash. Trese is a booty call.”

“Does she know that?”

I couldn't lie. “No.” Before he could say anything, I spoke up. “But she knows that she's not my girlfriend.”

“Whatever!” he said. “Congratulations on your blow job, though.” He continued jokingly. “I wish I
could
get some head for someone to walk in on.”

“It was good, too.”

Will asked, “What did your mom say?”

“Well, we had a little talk this morning.” I remembered the look on her face when she thought for one second that I'd make a mistake that couldn't be undone. “She's thinking that I'll get some chick pregnant or something.”

“That's exactly what girls like Trese want, though, man,” he said. “She wants a baby daddy who is somebody, so that she won't have to work for the rest of her life.”

“Shit me.” He was probably right about Trese. “I don't have time for that. That's the last thing I need.” Girls at school had been overly generous, willing to give me whatever, whenever, and wherever, which was why Trese was at my house last night. She was trying hard, actually too hard to get on my bandwagon. Though we had sex, I didn't consider her my girl. “That's the last thing that I need.”

“That's right, 'cause we going to the NBA, baby,” he yelled.

I still found it hard to believe that people were comparing me to Kobe Bryant and Lebron James. At eighteen years old, I stood at six foot nine and 230 pounds. In tenth grade, it was hard to believe that I was the best shooting guard in Miami-Dade County. Then the newspaper reporters started calling me the best in Florida, and now I was considered one of the best in the entire country. NBA scouts were at most of my games, and I got calls at all times of the day and night from college recruiters and coaches. I'd been offered numerous undercover gifts: jet skis, clothes, jewelry, women, vacations, and cars. If it weren't for my mom, I'd probably have three of each, but she didn't believe in bribery like I did. She was actually ruling out those schools and teams, but the choice was ultimately mine.

The only reason I picked up a basketball ten years ago was to get my sperm donor to start coming around again. By the time I realized that wasn't working, I was already in love with the court, the ball, dribbling, dunking, and the way I seemed to matter when I was playing. The fact that I had a male to depend on—my coach, and people depending on me—my team, meant more to me than I'm sure I ever meant to my father.

My mom was only nineteen when she met Theodore Brown. Within two months he had her pregnant, and within another three months he was nowhere to be found. I was seven when this strange and very tall man suddenly showed up and told my mom that he had been in jail for seven years (which we later learned was a lie) and was ready to do right by his family. Mom welcomed him in with open arms. Theodore Brown stayed around long enough to make me believe that we'd always be together. Even though he fussed at Mom all the time, he played with me a lot, and that was all that mattered.

When I was nine and Kevin was just eight months old, Dad went away to visit his family in Texas. Two weeks later when the telephone rang, Mom and I picked up the extension in different rooms at the same time. I listened as that loser told my sobbing mother that he had met someone else, wasn't ever coming back, and that he didn't believe that I was really his son. To this day she doesn't know that I heard what that motherfucka had to say. I kept it a secret. I don't know if I did it because of how much it hurt me or because I knew how much it hurt her.

One thing was for sure: I'd go to my grave and never want to see his sorry ass again. After working in fast food restaurants, hotels, and a daycare, Mom went back to college and became a pediatric nurse. I had both a father and a mother in her. She provided the best life that Kevin and I could possibly have. Because of her I was on the road to success, and when I got there she'd know that all of her sacrifices weren't in vain. Basketball and my mom were the only two certainties in my life. One day, basketball might lead me to a place where I don't want to be, but Mom would never lead me down the wrong road.

“We have history class together,” Will said as we walked away from the car.

“How do you know?” I was confused. “We don't even have our schedules yet.”

“I don't need a schedule. I got into the system two nights ago.”

“Damn, you and that computer.” He was always up to and into something. “You gonna get in trouble one day.”

“Naw, I'm not one of those types of hackers. I just like to see what others can't see, but I never cause problems.”

I met Will two years earlier when he transferred from a school in New Jersey. All of my other friends were on the basketball team, but I managed to have a
best
friend that dribbled like an eighty-six-year-old woman and couldn't dunk if the basket was waist high. However, Will knew the computer inside and out, had built a few from the motherboard up, and met all of his girlfriends in chat rooms. He wasn't a bad-looking dude; he was just shy, and thanks to my popularity, he, too, now had a variety of honeys. But if they didn't have an e-mail address, didn't know what a megabyte was, or didn't own a computer, then he had no time or conversation for them.

“So that's the only class we have together?” I asked as we continued to make our way through the parking lot.

“Um, I think so.” He thought for a while. “We have Ms. Fatrick for English, but during different periods.”

“Ah, damn. I have her?” I wanted to reverse the day already.

“Yep.”

“She kept George and Tyrone from graduating last year, and a few people the year before.”

“Word?”

The school year just took a turn for the worse. “Yeah. I was hoping for anybody but her.”

“Yeah,” Will agreed. “I heard she's mean as all outdoors.”

“That's because she got fat and frustrated as hell.” Ms. Fatrick was the students' alias for Ms. Patrick. Rumor had it that she used to be a cool teacher and she was fine as hell, but when she lost her figure, she lost her damn mind and turned into the strictest black teacher in the school. She wasn't really fat, obese, or anything close to that, but because she was a firm, by-the-book, detention-giving English teacher who now happened to be a little on the chubby side, she earned the name Fatrick. She used to be married to my basketball coach, Coach Johnson. They divorced when I was in the ninth or tenth grade.