Show and Prove (13 page)

Smiles appears, screeching to a hockey stop. “What the hell, man?”

“The same ol' same ol' BS with this stupid chick!” Now the security guard is here, and the crowd stops skating to watch the commotion. As he hauls away Vanessa, thrashing and cursing the entire way, I look for Sara and see her scampering in tears toward Cookie. “Sara, wait!” She doesn't respond, but Cookie gives me a dirty look. I start to skate toward them when someone grabs my arm.

Big Lou says, “You're not going anywhere, Vega.”

Oh, man. As mad as he gets, Big Lou never calls me by my last name. I can forget about getting docked. Vanessa done got me fired.

W
hen we get back from the Skatin' Palace, Barb calls me into her office. I walk the five-yard trip as if through quicksand, panicking for a good story to explain why I borrowed the proposal. When I reach her door, however, Barb says, “Smiles, go straight home. Your grandmother called. It sounds urgent.”

I spin on my Pro-Keds and race out of the church basement all the way home, the memory of the last time Nana called me at work fueling me. I was in the gym refereeing a basketball game when Barb called me to her office over the PA system. She handed me the phone, her eyes bubbling with tears.
Raymond, come home now,
Nana said, her voice hoarse with sorrow.
It's time.
My feet grew wings and I made it in time to say good-bye to my mother and promise her that I would graduate from Dawkins and continue on to college. Every marking period Mama would rave over my Bs and tell me how proud of me she was, but I could never tell her that I feel like an outsider at Dawkins. A fraud. That I walk down the marble halls waiting for invisible booms to lower. That I have a bad case of double consciousness like Du Bois talks about in
The Souls of Black Folk.
I swallowed down all of this as I clung to her hand.
You've got to promise me something, too, Mama,
I wanted to say.
Promise you'll watch over me, because I don't think I'm going to make it through without you.
But before I could get out the words, her hand went still and she was gone.

“Nana!” When I rush into the living room, my grandmother is sitting on the couch watching her “stories” like any other day. “What's wrong?”

I hear the bathroom door creak open, and in steps my uncle. “Naim!” I run over to him and give him a bear hug.

“Damn, Ray, last I saw you, you barely reached my shoulder.”

“At this rate, next time you see me, I'ma be like this.” I hunch over and hobble around the living room. “Nana'll still be kicking, though.”

My uncle laughs, then says, “How 'bout you and I go take in that Eddie Murphy movie at the drive-in before they close it down?”

“Bet!”

I race Uncle Naim to his burgundy Grand Prix. Only when I hop into the passenger seat and spot some kids in Saint Aloysius T-shirts does it occur to me. “Uncle Neem, mind if we take my homeboy Nike?” I figure Barb's probably done dissing and dismissing him, and we can pick him up on the way to the theater. “He's having a bad day.”

“Aw, Ray, you're a good friend, but I was hoping to have my favorite nephew all to myself.”

“I'm your only nephew.”

“Derrick wasn't kidding when he said you was a smart-ass.” Uncle Naim climbs behind the wheel and sticks the key in the ignition. “Next time, OK?”

How can I argue with him? At least I tried. As we pull onto the Bruckner, I decide that having my uncle to myself is a good thing.

When we arrive at the drive-in theater, the cars are lined up almost to the highway. I didn't think there would be so many people at the movies in the middle of the week at four in the afternoon. Then again, it's
Trading Places.
“How many spots does this place have, do you know?”

Uncle Naim says, “About twelve hundred. They only added the second screen about five years ago.” He inches the Grand Prix forward. “So many good memories, man. I can't believe they're tearing it down.”

I get now why my uncle suggested we come here instead of the Dover. He only got out of prison and off drugs a few years ago, but the Bronx took a nosedive while he was gone. Before I met Nike and he told me why he moved from Williamsburg to Mott Haven, I would walk by the burned-out buildings in my neighborhood and just cringe at the eyesores. Now my heart aches for the people who used to call them home. I don't ever want to know how it feels to lose a place. Bad enough we have to lose people.

We get inside and find a decent spot. While my uncle heads to the concession stand to get us some sodas and popcorn, I pull the speaker off the post and attach it to the car window. Uncle Naim makes it back as soon as the previews end and
Trading Places
starts.

Man, that movie is hysterical. I almost die laughing, especially when Billy Ray Valentine says,
When I was a kid, if we wanted bubbles, we had to fart in the tub.
Although he laughs a few times, Uncle Naim isn't down with the movie. That whole opening scene with the Vietnam jokes turned him off. But we both snort at one line that wasn't even a joke—the one about the best way to hurt rich people is by making them poor.

On the way home, we drive through White Castle for some burgers, shakes, and onion rings. We decide to park there and eat in case we want to order more. I sink my teeth into my first murder burger like Jaws on a surfer. I'll be up all night with the runs, but they're worth it.

Uncle Naim says, “So, Ray, I hear you've taken an interest in Islam.”

I almost choke. “What?” Then it clicks. Nana summoned my poor uncle from Neptune, New Jersey, to give me a talking-to about Qusay. “No offense, Uncle Neem, but religion is the furthest thing from my mind these days.”

“Your grandmother says you've been spending a lot of time with the Five Percenters.”

I brace myself for the lecture. Uncle Naim pulls the lid off his shake and drinks from the cup. “Look, I get it, Ray. I really do. You're a young Black man—a smart Black man—who lives in a neighborhood where addicts roam the streets, gangs run the block, the policeman isn't your friend if he's even around, and some of the hardest-working people don't have two dimes to rub together. Then you go to that tony school and see a whole different way of life, and that life is of a different color. You've got questions about that. A whole lot of questions. Then a guy like Q comes along and seems to have the answers.” My uncle reaches into the bag for an onion ring and pops it into his mouth. “Here's the thing, Ray. Having answers isn't the same thing as having solutions. Some answers are anything but solutions. You catch my drift?”

I nod even though I don't. My stomach is rumbling, and I don't think it's the murder burgers.

Uncle Naim says, “If you ever do want to know more about Islam, you call me anytime. In fact, you should come visit me in Neptune. I'll take you to my mosque, and we'll spend the day at Asbury Park.”

“OK.” The acid in my stomach is bubbling, and for the life of me, I don't know why I'm so angry. This is my uncle. He loves me and only wants the best for me. I like the idea of making a trip to the Jersey Shore to spend the weekend with him. Just not for that reason. When I go to Neptune, it'll be as his favorite and only nephew. Not as a project.

“Uncle Naim, I think you'd better take me home.”

“You OK?” I belch, and he laughs. “Boy, stink up my Grand Prix, and you'll be hitchhiking home.”

B
arbara let this one slide since everyone vouched for my innocence, but she still subjects me to
You should have more respect for girls,
blasé, blasé. I tear out of Saint Aloysius like a bat out of hell, taking the roundabout way toward my building so I can see anyone on the stoop without them spotting me. No one's there, so I dash up the stairs. The apartment's empty. My sister's probably consoling Vanessa. Who knows where my mother is. Probably at the Mill Brook Houses bochinchando.

For once I've got the apartment to myself, but I don't want to be here. I want to be chillin' with Sara, but she stayed clear of me on the subway ride. She disappeared as soon as we got back to the church, instead of waiting outside with the twins until their mother picked them up. I don't blame her for being upset, but how is what Vanessa did my fault? I think about going to the roof to practice my routine, but I already know I won't be able to concentrate.

I look out the window. No Barbarians in sight, so I bolt. Before I know it, I'm in front of Sara's building. Only when I'm at the intercom with no clue which apartment number is Sara's do I realize how much I'm trippin' over this girl. I don't have a phone number. All I know is which window is hers. If I had any sense, I'd just say forget her, head over to Saint Mary's Park, and find some other girl to mess with me this summer.

Instead I back down the stairs and cup my hands over my mouth.

“Sara!” I've hollered for some girl under her window plenty of times before, but this is the first time I feel like a head case. “YO, SARA!”

A few seconds later, another window opens. This girl about my sister's age pokes her head out. “Who you?” Her hair is too damn frizzy to be rocking that Farrah cut. “What you want?”

“Not you, Sasquatch, that's for sure.”

“So what you calling me for?”

“I wasn't calling
you.
What you think? You the only Sara on the whole block?”

“Later for you!”

“Ciao, Chewbacca!” The girl sticks her ugly face back inside and slams her window shut. Sara probably doesn't like me doing this, but if I no longer have a chance with her, I don't want to wait until tomorrow to find out. “SARA!” I don't even know what her last name is.

Her window flies open. “Willie, what on earth are you doing?”

“Yo, Sara, I need to talk to you. Can you come down here for a minute?”

“No.”

“Well, can I come upstairs?”

“No!”

“You don't even have to let me inside. I'll stay in the hallway.”

“What part of
no
don't you understand?”

“Sara, please,” I plead. “Pretty please with sugar on top. Five minutes on your stoop, that's all. Then I'll go away and keep to myself if you want.”

Sara fumes at me for a few seconds. “Wait.” She closes her window, and I wait. And wait and wait and wait. I wait because if Sara had no intention of coming downstairs, she would've told me point-blank, and I could holler her name until someone called the cops or Bellevue to get me.

A half hour later I'm set to ring every buzzer on her floor and ask for her when she finally comes. “Willie, you're still here?” And maybe it's just wishful thinking, but Sara sounds happy. She opens the door and motions for me to come into the building.

The lobby is nice and cool. Sara leans against the mailboxes and folds her arms across her chest.

“And what does that tell you?” I sit on the radiator.

“That you're crazier than I thought.”

“Crazy about you.”

“Don't start with the lines, OK? You're wasting your time. I don't want a boyfriend.”

“Ok, bet,” I say. “Just let me explain what happened today.”

“I know what happened today. I was there, remember?”

“But you don't know why it happened.”

“What's to explain, Willie? Your crazy girlfriend has been following you around until she finally caught you with another girl. Then she jumps me because she thinks I knew you had a girlfriend and couldn't have cared less.”

Vanessa would've jumped her irregardless, but that's neither here or there. “Who told you that was my girlfriend?” I don't wait for the answer I already have. “Look, Sara, do me a favor. If you want to know anything about me, don't go to Cookie. Come ask me.” Sara scoffs. “No, for real!” Then I tread carefully around dissing her homegirl. “Cookie may tell you things because she thinks she knows the truth, but if you want to be sure, come to me. I'll tell you straight up for real.”

“Fine, Willie. Is that girl…who jumped me today…your girlfriend or not?”

I knew it! Sara does care if I'm free. “No, Vanessa is not my girlfriend.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Seriously! She's my ex-girlfriend. I quit her right after school ended, and she's not taking it too tough. Vanessa thinks that if she jumps bad with any girl I'm with, eventually I'll give up trying to be with anyone else and go back to her, but for real? I'd become a monk first, and you know I can't dance in no robe.”

Sara cracks a smile so small I might not have caught it had I not been staring at her so hard. Then it's gone. “Is she pregnant?”

That rumor again. I haven't heard it in a while, so I thought I was scot-free. “Who told you that?”

“Everyone is talking about it. I hear about it everywhere I go—the Laundromat, the bodega, everywhere. For someone who cares so much about his image, Willie, you're really oblivious to how people talk about you.”

Truth is I don't want to know if Vanessa's pregnant. Still, with my sister and her being two peas in a pod, I figured there's no way I wouldn't know if she was. Plus, if she was, and the baby was mine, she would've used that to try to get me back, right? “Yo, Sara, I swear I don't know nothing about Vanessa being pregnant.”

“Maybe you should find out if you're going to be a daddy before finding a new girlfriend.” Sara turns her back on me to head toward the stairs. “I have to go. I'm supposed to be checking the mail, and it doesn't take this long.”

“Well, aren't you going to check it?” I know I sound desperate, but I can't help myself. Anything to make her stay a little longer.

“I already did when I came home from work,” Sara says. She sounds disappointed, and my stomach tightens. Sara's probably got a boyfriend in her old neighborhood or that school in Astoria, where she goes. They write letters to each other trying to hold on to whatever they have, and Sara's upset because she hasn't heard from him yet.

I hate that sucker's mere existence.

As Sara starts up the staircase, I say, “Just tell me one thing, Sara.” She stops, resting her foot on the first step. “Do you like me at all? Even a tiny bit? One thing.”

“There are lots of things I like about you, Willie, but there are some things that scare me, too.” Sara takes a few more steps, then stops again. “Why do you like me, anyway? And don't tell me because I'm pretty. Lots of girls are pretty.” Sara smirks at me. “Vanessa's
very
pretty.”

“I also like you 'cause…” I shrug. “I don't know. Geez, you make it sound like a crime. Why can't I just like you?”

“I think you like me because I'm not throwing myself at you.”

“Is that Cookie's cockamamie theory?” That girl be thinking she's Ann Landers, except Ann Landers waits for people to ask for her advice. Cookie be butting into other people's business uninvited.

“I can think for myself, Willie, thank you.”

I throw up my hands. “Maybe it's because I first saw you during an eclipse.” Sara laughs. “For real, it's supposed to make people bug out.”

Sara's arms are across her chest again, but at least she's stopped climbing the stairs.

“Did you know Columbus used a lunar eclipse to pull a fast one on the Indians when he landed in Jamaica?”

“I did,” says Sara, but she seems impressed. “Do you know the myth of Horus?”

“No.” I'm learning not to play the role with this girl. I walk over to the staircase and stand at the foot of it. I want to sit down and ask her to join me, but I'm afraid that might scare her off. “Who's Horus?”

“Horus was a sky god. One of his eyes was the sun, the other the moon. He had a brother named Seth, and they were the sons of Osiris, who ruled over Egypt. Seth killed Osiris for the throne, and when Horus battled his brother to avenge his father and gain the throne, Seth tore out his eye. According to Egyptian mythology, that's why we have a lunar eclipse.”

“Wow, Sara, that school you go to in Queens is worth the trip.”

Just as I'm about to ask her if she ever watches
Shazam!,
a door upstairs opens. “SARA!” The woman sounds pretty pissed.

And she's gone. No good-bye, no
See you tomorrow,
nothing. I hear her speaking to her mother in rushed whispers and wait for the apartment door to slam before I leave.

I hope I didn't get her in any trouble. That'd be another first, because usually girls are the ones giving me headaches. Do they get a kick out of it? I sure don't feel too good. Maybe it's because I've never been able to not be with someone I like who likes me back. And still, I know that as long as I have a chance to win over Sara, I'm going to take it no matter how hard it is and how much it hurts. So this is what Romeo felt like. Or Tony in
West Side Story.

When I walk out of Sara's building, I peek up at her window. The curtains flutter, and even though I don't see her, I want to believe that Sara is sneaking one last look at me. Just in case she is, I smile and wave before heading home.