“Excuse me, but don’t you have a girl, playboy?”
“You concerned about my girl? ’Cause I’m damn sure not fazed by your man.”
“So what do you think—we gon’ all be one big happy couple? Not.”
Malachi laughed. “Listen, Staci’s family and my family are close. People expected us to grow up and be together…so we’ve been kickin’ it off and on long distance for a minute. But now that I’m here in Jersey, I’m not so sure if I’m feeling the relationship anymore.”
“And when did that change?”
“When I saw you.”
Silence. I didn’t know what to say or better yet what to do after that comment.
“Zsa, I’m sorry about leaving you. I am, but how long are you going to act like this?”
I couldn’t help but blush. “I missed you, you know that,” I admitted.
“Now I do.” He took my water from my hand and had a sip. “So wassup with your boy?”
“Who?”
“The dude you were with the other day. Do you love him like you love me?”
I looked into his face and just as I had made up my mind to keep it one hundred with him, and admit that I loved Malachi more, I noticed Staci standing at Malachi’s shoulder. “None of that matters now does it?” I stood up as the bell rang and walked away.
4
If I were a boy
I think I could understand how it feels to love a girl
I swear I’d be a better man…
—BEYONCÉ, “IF I WERE A BOY”
I felt as if I had weights pressed against my tongue. I hadn’t heard from Ameen in three days, and I swear I could do nothing without crying. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, and I promise you I wanted no one—and I mean no one—who lived in my house to talk to me. Everything they said got on my nerves, and in return I greeted them with straight attitude. I wanted to scream, “Don’t you see my heart is bleeding on the floor? Can’t you see that I’m missing my man like crazy? Can’t you see that nothing you say to me will be as important as what I’m feeling right now? Can’t you just leave me the hell alone?”
But, no, my mother stayed in my neck about making sure the house stayed clean and the dishes were washed. And Hadiah was in my face every day telling me stories about what went on with her in school.
Can you say inconsiderate?
I laid faceup on my bed while slow jams serenaded me in the background, and I wondered why I couldn’t have the perfect life. Why did everything have to be so complicated and confusing? Why couldn’t Ameen understand me and be reasonable?
This was hell.
I turned on my side and wondered who I could call and confide my sorrows in, but I really didn’t want to hear Asha or Courtney’s opinion, and I most definitely would cut somebody if they even suggested that I quit my baby. So I decided that the only one who could handle my secrets were the pages of my diary.
I took my sacred book from my nightstand and bled my sorrows onto the pages.
Dear Diary:
Life is so confusing. Sometimes I wonder if people are really happy or if they are just faking the funk and along for the ride. I feel so stupid with Ameen…like…like…I’m not good enough for him to treat me well and to love me right. I just want peace. I swear, I wish that Ameen could see that it’s all about him. I wish I could see into the future, so I would know when this pain would be ending. Or better yet, I wish I had somebody to talk to…my friends are too opinionated and my mother. Paleeze.
Of course my mother was at work. Ever since my father died, finding other things to do besides staying home had been her answer to everything. And I guess I could understand it. I didn’t like to stay at home either. But still…I was there sometimes. And talking to her? Not. Every time I’d tried to talk to her, her answer to everything was, “Pray about it.” Or “pray for him, pray for her, pray for it.” So I just stopped asking her anything. And now when she asked me questions as if she was actually interested in my life, I simply said to her, “I prayed about it already.”
Anyway, today was typical, me in tears.
I held my diary to my chest, laid down with my face on the pillow, and cried…again.
An hour later, I turned over on my side and my heart throbbed. Ciara’s “Never Ever” was playing, and as my mind absorbed each and every lyric I felt as if I had drowned in depression.
I reached over to my nightstand, flipped to another radio station. Beyoncé was singing about being a boy. I promise you, I had gone insane.
I felt bad enough as it was. I didn’t need the radio pouring salt in my wounds. The memory of what happened between me and Ameen played over and over again at least a thousand times in my head, each time with a different ending and a different way I should’ve said what I had to say.
I looked at the clock and only fifteen minutes had passed. Yo, I was buggin’. I turned to lay on my back and stared at the ceiling…. Being without my baby was killing me and I couldn’t take it. I picked up my cell phone and called him, but of course he sent me straight to voice mail. I hung up feeling even more pathetic.
It was official, I’d lost my mind. The clock was creeping time by, and forever was passing my way. I thought about driving over to Ameen’s place unannounced, but then again maybe not. The last time I pulled that he made me get back in my car, call him on my cell phone, and ask permission to come to his house. I thought it was funny, so I did it. Only for him to tell me, “no,” he was going to sleep. Not wanting to repeat that drama I quickly erased the popup-over-his-spot idea from my mind…but then again, I could always do a drive-by.
Just when I decided I should give up and let myself wither away, my phone rang. I didn’t even look at the caller ID. I was too scared of being disappointed…but of course you know I had to play it off, so I flipped the radio to 105.1 where Jamie Foxx and T-Pain were singing about blaming it on the alcohol. “You rang?” I answered my line.
“Dang, girl,” Asha said, “you sound good for somebody who’s brokenhearted.”
“You sure do,” Courtney chimed in. “I would be crying my eyes out.”
I sucked my teeth. “What y’all tricks want?”
“Whatever.” Asha laughed.
“Especially since you’re not doing anything but sulking behind Ameen’s dusty butt.” Courtney laughed.
“Don’t call my baby dusty,” I said defensively. This is why I hated to confide in them, because they always threw it back in my face at the wrong time.
“Did you talk to him yet?” Asha asked.
“No,” I snapped. “Do I look like a donkey? I’m not sweatin’ no man.”
“Dang, girl,” Courtney said, “you’re real strong, ’cause I would be listening to a buncha sad songs, crying, and asking God why.”
“Not.” I faked a laugh, hating that he’d just described me to a tee. “Look, Ameen knows I am not the one to be chasin’ him so when he gets over his tantrum he’ll call me, but other than that I’m doin’ me.”
“Cool,” Asha said. “So, come hang out with us at the Chocolate Bar.”
“I’m not going there,” I said. “You know er’body and their mama will be there, and I am not trying to see Ameen.”
“Why you frontin’?” Asha said. “You know Ameen is exactly who you wanna see.”
“Uhm-hmm,”