Always (4 page)

In my house you never called him Dr. King or just Martin Luther King. It was almost sacrilegious not to say Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. I could feel Henry tense as these old crackers started saying things and he exhaled so hard I could feel each breath on my head.

About thirty minutes later my friends came in search of me, and when I told them the news they were like, “Umm. Hey, they got some XYZ for sale,” or something. No, I did not associate with the
brightest
people in the world.

Henry introduced himself and asked if he could walk with me back to the car. I knew he was torn inside. I could see it in his reddening face. The walk he walked before was
nonexistent. I don't know what it was, but I'd seen him shortly before and then afterward, and I could tell that this singular event had changed Henry Davis. Maybe it was his innocence, maybe it was his belief in God, apple pie and the American way. I don't really know what it was since we never spoke of it, but I do know a small part of him died right there in Memphis when Dr. King was shot.

I called Henry later that night, which was the first time I had ever called a boy before he called me. When he picked up the phone I was a little nervous, but I don't think he ever noticed.

“So what are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he said. “Just finished watching the news and was getting ready to do my homework.”

“Oh, I'm sorry. I could call you back another time if you like.”

“No way José. My homework can wait. I was going to call you anyway as soon as a commercial came on.” There was a piercing moment of silence as I think we both contemplated what to say next.

“So,” he asked. “Do you, ahh, go to Sears often?”

“Go to Sears?” He was so cute. “Only when I need something or when one of my friends can get their daddy's car.”

With Henry, after the first few awkward minutes, the conversation was fun. We talked about school and about a lot of things most boys didn't like talking about, although at times I could tell his attention was on the news. We even liked the same TV shows. We both liked
The Dean Martin Show
, especially when Nipsey Russell would be on there rhyming and stuff. He also said he liked Perry Mason. I asked him why since I was not really into it, and he said it was because he was going to be an attorney. I told him that was cool and that I had no idea what I wanted to be. I didn't want to tell him but I wanted to be a cosmetologist at that time. Where I grew up that was as big as I could dream.

Then Henry Louis Davis the Second, at the age of fifteen, laid out this plan that would lead him to the White House in exactly thirty-two years. He'd decided what college he
would attend and what law school he would graduate from. He knew what year he wanted to get married and how many kids he wanted and what office he would run for first, second, and everything.

I had friends who were ambitious, don't get me wrong. But Henry spoke at fifteen as if he were an adult and he could actually see it all happening. It was so distinct and clear that even I could see it taking place.

Henry's parents never accepted me. It may have been because I was from a part of town known as Liberty City. At that time it wasn't a terrible place to live, but it was the projects and they wanted more for their son. Looking back, I can't fault them for it, but at the time it did hurt. Henry would get his cousin to drive him to my house after lifting weights with his friend David, and we would listen to Motown records as he
tried
to dance. He would be Marvin Gaye and I would be Tammy Terrell. The only problem was he never could dance a lick, but we had fun until 5:45 when he would leave because, just like clockwork, the bus would always arrive at 5:50. Sometimes he would pass Mom on the sidewalk headed to our house, and I could just imagine him laughing to himself as he walked away.

Then one day for some reason he rode his bike over. Now, he lived in North Miami, and their house was a good ten miles from ours, one way. He said his cousin would not bring him and his parents were not going to be home for a while, so he just hopped on his bike and pedaled across Miami just to see me.

When he came in the house we laughed and talked about nonsense like we usually did. And then we started touching. Just our hands at first. I was sitting on his lap and he was saying these silly knock-knock jokes in my ear. Although I giggled and would occasionally say, “Stop it!” I was loving every moment of it. He then kinda awkwardly tried to move his lips closer to mine. Although he was cute, he never was the most coordinated brother in the world, but I took the hint and brought my lips closer. Then nervously he swallowed and braced himself, as if he were about to jump out
of a plane, and brought his lips to mine. As we kissed, we really did not know what to do. It was my first real kiss and felt nothing like I expected it would or should. I didn't know if I should give or receive, so we just sat there with our lips locked waiting for someone to make the first move. As I was kissing him, it felt good . . . but funny, so I opened my eyes and found him looking at me. I didn't even think he knew he was supposed to keep his eyes closed. Henry looked at me with a smile still plastered on his face, and said, “What you laughing at?”

“You, Goofy!” I said.

“Oh, I'm
Goofy
now?” His lips, which were curled upward, flattened as he put his finger under my chin, tilted my head back, and gave me a kiss that was sweeter than any he had given me in my dreams. I felt a burn that went through my veins, and my toes curled as if I were soaking wet and had stuck my finger in an electrical outlet. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, my tongue felt thick. If he didn't know how to kiss when he walked in the door, he was a fast learner.

At that time I was a virgin and very proud of that fact. I was only tempted once before, but nothing had enticed me to this degree. Somehow he eased me off his lap and onto the floor with my legs open, then positioned himself on top of me, and we lay there dry-humping like I don't know what.

He was heavy and I absolutely loved the force of his weight on top of me. And then I said, “No, no. Let's not do it here.” We got up and went into my bedroom upstairs. I was scared to death. I knew we could never get caught, so that was not a problem, but I was scared of him hurting me. I mean he was big, and from what I could tell from the grinding, his thing was big too.

We sat on the edge of the bed, and that was when I remembered I'd left the front door unlocked. So I got up, ran downstairs, and locked it, and as I did so, something told me I was doing the wrong thing. All of a sudden I felt dirty, like some of the other girls in the projects who did things like that all the time.

I thought about Nanette. She and I were the same age and had gone to the same school since the third grade. The year before, she got pregnant and no one had heard from her since.

My dad, God bless him, tried to scare me with that story. He said sometimes when girls are hot and nasty and get pregnant, they are taken to this lady named Big Momma's house to get rid of it, and sometimes she'd dig too deep and the girl died. When he first told me this, whenever I saw a boy, I saw a clothes hanger with sneakers. But Henry was so different from anybody I had ever met in my life, so as I walked back up the stairs into the room, I decided to give myself to him.

As the door closed, Henry looked at me and we met in the middle of the room. I think he wanted to make sure he had that kissing thing down pat. The answer was yes. I stood on my tiptoes as he kissed me softly, gently, and it felt as if we were floating.

Henry then led me to the bed, and as he kissed me, his hand undid the first button on my blouse. I opened my mouth a little wider trying to breathe because I didn't want him to notice how scared I was. I always knew this day would come. I knew it would be someone like Henry. I just never knew it would come so fast.

Henry undid the second button. Now my heart felt as large as an elephant's inside my chest. Every night leading up to this day I would lie on my bed and imagine what he looked like without his clothes. I would see him standing there, nude, and for some reason wearing shoulder pads. I don't know what that meant, but I was about to find out.

He undid the third button and I knew that if he felt as good as he kissed, I was in trouble.

Inside me he unbuttoned the fourth and, with a flick of his thumb and index finger, opened my bra like it was nothing. This was the first time a boy had ever seen my breasts.

“You look so sexy,” he said, as I thanked God he had come by today unexpectedly. Otherwise, my bra would have been stuffed with toilet tissue.

“Thank you.”

“I can't tell you how many nights I have thought about us together,” he said as his thumb grazed the slope of my cheek. “The first time I saw you, I knew I loved you. That's strange, huh?”

Henry had never told me he loved me before. “No. No, not really.”

“Well, it felt strange to me because I have never met a girl I thought about all the time like I think about you. Sometimes I can't even concentrate on my homework because I'm thinking about how cute you are or how I'm going to get over here the next day.”

“I think about you too.”

“Really?” he said, with wide-eyed surprise.

“Yes, really . . . silly.”

And then he kissed me on the tip of my nose with a smile, and said, “Cheryl, tell me something. Are you a . . . I don't know how to say this.”

“A virgin?” I asked with a smile.

Embarrassed, he said, “Yeah. Are you one?”

“Yes.” I was so proud to say.

His eyes fell as he lowered his head onto my breast.

“What's wrong?” I asked. Could I have answered the question incorrectly? Could he be looking for a girl with experience or something?

“Nothing's wrong. Can I tell you something?”

“Yeah,” I said, and rubbed his face as he closed his eyes like a big baby.

“Doggone, I ain't never told
no
body this before.”

“What?”

Then he looked at me with those dark eyes of his, and said, “I'm a virgin too. Actually, Cheryl, this is the first time I even kissed a girl.”

“Really?”

“I'm serious. And I just don't think we should do this. I mean I want to do it so bad it's not even funny. But I think—No, I know I love you. I don't want to look back one day and regret our first time being like this. We've waited this long and I just want it to be—”

“How long do you want to wait?”

“Until it's right. Or at least until it feels right.”

How was I ever so lucky to meet a young man like Henry Louis Davis the Second?

After fixing ourselves up, we were just hanging out like teenagers, both happy about the decision inside. That's when I heard the key in the front door. That couldn't be my mom. She could not be getting off two hours early. I went downstairs as Henry stood stammering in the middle of my room, “What, what, who, what?”

“Hey, Momma. How you doing?” I said loud enough to alert my guest to be quiet.

“Whose bike is that outside?”

“Wud bike?” I had to think
fast
.

“The bike on the front porch.”

“Oh,
that
bike. I didn't want to bring it in ‘cause the tires were dirty. I rode it in the mud and stuff.”

My mom's momma-antenna sprung up.
Bong!
“You still never answered me.
Whose
bike is it?”

“Oh. Well, it's Penny's bike. You know Penny who lives down there in building R?”

With a slow, I'm-about-to-catch-your-ass-in-a-lie folding of the arms across her belly, she said, “Since when you borrowing anything from Penny Clark?”

“Well, I didn't want to walk all the way to the store, so she was next door, and I asked her if I could borrow it. She said give her a dollar and I said no but I'll give you a quarter, and she said she had to have a dollar and I said you ain't getting a dollar but—”

“Cheryl? Why are the pillows on the floor?”

“I was down there watching TV.” Then I made my move, the move all teenagers are taught in How to Be a Teenager 101 class. I said, “Momma, you not trying to say you think I had a boy in here. Are you?” I looked at her with a puzzled face, my palms open and shaking my head as if I were so disappointed that she had not trusted me.

She did not say a word. She just looked in my direction.

“Well, Momma,” I said with a heavy sigh, “first of all, I'm too young to get serious, and even if I did, I wouldn't do
that
in your house. I'd never bring a boy in here.”

“So who's that proper-talking nigga always calling here at night?”

“Oh, Henry,” I said, and then lowered my voice with a cluck of the tongue. “Momma, he's just a friend.”

“Umm.” With that she headed upstairs. I did not want to follow her because it would look just a tad obvious, so I turned on the TV and prayed his big butt could hide.

“Ahh, Cheryl,” she said, with
I caught you
in her voice, “what is your room window doing open?”

“Doggone, Momma, I was just airing out the room,” I said and, then decided that I should go upstairs. Thank goodness he had gotten away.

She was looking around my room, and I noticed her on her knees looking under my bed. I walked in and said, “You know, this is really sad, Mom. I hate to say it, but I done told you I didn't have company. I'm not even courting anyone and look at you. You in
my
bedroom, on your knees, looking under
my
bed? I can't believe this.”

I watched my words cut through her. My posture, the tone of my voice, or the words, I don't know which it was, but she looked almost embarrassed for the first time.

“I know, sugar,” she said, standing with a soft grunt. “You right. You're a good girl, I must admit. I just had a long day today and, I don't know, I saw that bike out there and those pillows on the floor and just flipped.”