Pop Singer: A Dark BWAM / AMBW Romance (8 page)

“If you don’t stop it right now,” I said, “then I’m just going to leave. This is ridiculous. You can’t be badmouthing people like that. It’s just very rude.”

I understood where she was coming from in terms of differences. But that was not the place to talk about Korean and black people politics. In public? I had never seen Latasha act up like that before. And she had only gotten worse over the weeks.

I figured my leaving her was affecting her more than I thought.

Maybe I was more valuable than she let on.

After all, I did mention that we were like sisters almost. Or that I felt a sisterhood with her.

I immediately hypothesized her reaction to be nothing more than a lashing out. A losing of friendship. She imagined and envisioned us not getting along anymore and not having anything to talk about.

Not ever connecting with one another on the level that we use to way back when we were at Nebraska State University.

♦♦♦

I remembered one night when both of us were together, out after a hard day of exams. Lincoln, Nebraska, is filled with nothing to do. So you have to make your own activities. Even the campus is kind of dead.

You don’t have the same kind of deals you get at the Ivy Leagues. The same kind of connections?

Please.

You have to hustle.

You have to try a thousand times more than the next kid if you want to have a shot at getting into a top ranked graduate school, work a job, a good internship.

Even something like summer work—you need those high-level connections.

It was Latasha’s idea to start up a nightly meeting for black folk, specifically for the development of businesses.

We wanted to uplift our community. Not that there was anything wrong with white or Asian or Hispanic. It’s just I wanted a place for us to succeed, you know? Latasha and I envisioned a bubble for us, a place where we could just hang out and learn about our own history. There were clubs for Irish and Chinese people, so why not us too?

We held our meetings at Woods Park, near the south side of Lincoln. It was a cold wintry day, closer to Christmas than anything else. Latasha wrapped her arm around my shoulder. We waited and waited for people to show up for our end-of-the-year events.

As cars pulled into the lot, we got out our foldable picnic tables. We placed for everyone else: jambalaya rice, mashed yams, chopped up ham.

Lots of delicious eats, good desserts like pineapples and sweet bread. Imagine it: smell it. Just think about the warmth of your aunt’s cooking or your brother’s homemade marmalade. If your family doesn’t cook, then just imagine mine cooking for you.

Because my dad cooked up a storm for that event. He was so happy about us being so active in our community.

“When I graduate,” Latasha said, opening up a pot of fresh rice. The steam swirled around her chin, and she smiled. “When I graduate, I’m going to have a shot at going to Harvard. I want to do investment banking. Go into IBM. Chase that paper, you know?” She laughed, smiling into the night.

“You can chase whatever you want. Go corporate and all. I’ll be with you all the way through.”

“You don’t sound so happy about me doing IBM.”

At the time, I wasn’t.

I felt jealous of Latasha. Her family. Even if they were diamonds in the rough. They stuck around together and were whole. Even the women owned their own “establishments,”— hair salons that were run out of their apartments.

They knew how to monetize their skills; they weren’t always legal, but still, they knew.

Prostitution, slinging crack, and pimping out their girls. Sure, they weren’t exactly business people per se. But they did know how to hustle. They went around town, gaming the system, getting that paper.

And Latasha studied hard. She studied harder than I did.

She had things going on in her life that sounded exciting to me—even cool.
Going down to Broad Street, panties spilling to the floor. Come shots.
One of her family members was a rapper, I heard.

You had to be quick and her world, hardcore, and a good studier. Knowing what a person’s weakness was invaluable to her. What is the competition doing? She had to know. She had to figure it out.

All together, they worked as a unit. As one. Solving their problems in the hood, making their world a (financially) better place (for themselves).

Latasha knew I was jealous of her. There had been a long-standing disagreement in the way our body language talked. Whenever I smiled at her, she stopped smiling herself. Whenever I talked about myself, she tried to one-up me.

And then whenever someone made fun of me, she defended me.

Frenemies, as they say, our unique kind of relationship. More like a sisterhood than anything.

“It’s not that I’m not proud of you,” I said, turning the barbecue on the grill. Yes, we had brought a grill out. And I was cooking up a storm. We were going to have spicy chicken alongside a pair of lamb chops. And so much to grill, so much to eat.

I focused my attention on the grill as I turned, so that I didn’t sound too harsh.

“I am,” I said. “Believe you me. I want you to succeed. It’s just I don’t want you to go away either. Far off to a distant place.”

Latasha pulled out a paper plate from the bags we carried to the park. She got herself one. Then she took out another for me.

But she did not responded to me.

She just left me hanging.

We shivered together, although it got warmer and warmer as we bent low and built a fire, setting it alight, the glow turning everyone’s faces orange. Some of the other kids were coming in to the asphalt we stood on. An island paradise in the middle of winter.

“About what you said earlier,” Latasha said later. “I’m sorry.”

I nodded. We hugged, our hands lacing around each other’s necks. “I don’t want to hold you back.”

She never got the job on Wall Street. She never made it anywhere close to IBM. She had to settle for life as a bank manager, which to her, meant failure. In my mind, I wanted to tell her, “At least you’re not a stripper.”

But I never had the gall to approach her like that. To humiliate her. The same way, how after college and pursuing art, I never got to showcase my work at an actual museum.

I had to “settle” for a “weird” Korean popstar pass.

Latasha took a scoop of rice on her plate. She got me some as well, a second helping, an understanding coming between us.

“Maybe you can even join me,” she said. “Imagine us together, walking around Wall Street? Wouldn’t that be fabulous?”

I laughed back then. I knew that Wall Street was so far away from art history. I knew it would be impossible.

♦♦♦

Latasha licked her lips. Kimchi still stuck to her chin. I wiped some off with a napkin, leaning across the table, smiling. “You’ve got some there,” I said. I giggled, and then twisted my wrist to the left of her nose. “And somehow you’ve got some there too.”

“This food is difficult to eat,” she said. I laughed now. Difficult to eat? What?

“You’re just silly sometimes.”

Latasha pushed away her plate, smacking her lips. “I guess it was okay in the end. Nothing I would come to Korea for.”

I tried shushing her. I was so embarrassed. This was not supposed to be happening on my day.

Notice how I say, “My Day.” Because it was just before I was about to leave for Korea. And here this girl was yapping off her mouth.

Frenemies!

Maybe it was a good thing it was my last day in the United States. I would never have to come back to the restaurant and embarrass myself again for another bowl.

“Please stop saying that kind of stuff,” I said. “Can you imagine if people said that about us? You would find it extremely offensive.”

Latasha waved her hand. “It’s fine,” she said. “I won’t say any more. I won’t say any more.”

I figured Latasha’s behavior was the same reason why I was not so excited about her going to Wall Street. She had a strange sense of ambivalence. Again and again. She wanted me to go, and she could be happy on one side. But then on the other side, she was jealous, furiously so. She wanted me to fail, to flop on my face.

A difficult mentality to understand. But we only had each other. We were the only friends we knew.

You’re probably wondering why I didn’t have anyone else besides Latasha in my life at the time.

Thing is, post-college life can be really difficult.

Making friends in a new city? Nearly impossible, unless you’re very gregarious and love to be around people all the time.

I’ve always been sort of an introvert, and back then, I was no different.

I liked to stay home and just relax in my room with a novel, or maybe a good Korean music video, or maybe even a couple of Asian men and black women erotica.

I’m just saying, I didn’t like going out so much. And we had a history together.

Plus, I wouldn’t have to see her for a long time. If she ever did manage to leave the United States for someplace else, then I would go and visit her.

But if I left and never came back—and never saw her—then it was no sweat off my back. I would just say, well, sorry. Goodbye for now, honey.

As we walked out of the Korean restaurant, she and I got into her convertible. Sometimes she thought I was using her for transportation. So I comped her for gas every once in a while. That day I did, like usual, but she held onto my hand as I gave her the money. We sat at the front of her convertible, just staring at one another.

Her eyes watered up, and she leaned forward against my shoulder. “I’m no lesbian,” she said, “but I do love you girl.”

I raised my eyebrows. I couldn’t tell if she was being a manipulative bitch or if she was being serious. Sometimes it was hard to tell with other women. Not that women couldn’t be friends.

Hard to tell. Hard to tell.

But she cried. She really cried. And I had all of the world’s empathy for her. I held her, rocking her back and forth. “You can miss me, girl, but that’s no way to treat the staff’s food. To treat another culture.”

“I know you went through the same thing,” Latasha said. “Girl, having you move away. That’s like… I’m going to lose another friend. I’m going to lose another piece of Nebraska State. You’re going all the way across the world. I know I’ve been really aloof and not so kind. It’s just me being immature. And I’m sorry about that. I really am. I don’t want to hurt you, but I’m hurting at the same time.”

I held her tighter and tighter. I needed her to stay together and be strong. Because it would be hard to go to Korea and not pretend that I had family who cared about me back home.

A sister, a friend.

“I promise I’ll come back in one year,” I said. “It’ll be a whole year. But I promise it’ll just be for little bit. Can’t you see that? Stick with me here. Look at me.”

Latasha turned up her head. Her makeup ran down her face. Not waterproof, I guess.

I got another tissue out of the glove compartment. Then I made sure that she took my money. “I’m sorry I’m acting like this,” she said. “I don’t know what’s going on with me. My hormones? I don’t know, man. I’ve just been really torn over this. It’s the truth.”