Culture Clash (15 page)

“Jayd, what are you doing, picking up Rah’s baby from a strip club? Girl, what’s the matter with you? I told you Rahima’s not your responsibility,”
my mom yells into my head as we cross the busy intersection. I guess she’s not too busy to check in on me after all. I feel special, but her anger isn’t helping my concentration. The last thing I need is a distraction with this thick toddler on my hip.

“I couldn’t just leave her there,”
I think back, unlocking the car doors with the remote. I step onto the curb while Shawntrese puts the car seat securely in the backseat. I don’t know what they’ve been feeding this girl, but she’s getting heavy.

“The hell you couldn’t. No matter how much you may love Rah, you’re not married to that little boy. Stop acting like it.”
As usual, my mom’s right. The last time I babysat Rahima, her daddy stayed out all night long, leaving me to dream some crazy shit about being his next baby-mama. That wasn’t a good feeling. And by acting like Rahima’s stepmother I’m taking on all of the responsibilities of being a mother without the respect of being a girlfriend first. This bull will end tonight.

By the time I drop Shawntrese off at home, Rahima’s fast asleep. It’s been a long night for all of us. I hope Rah gets here soon, because I want to pass out, too. There’s a car parked in Rah’s driveway, but it’s not his Acura. Pulling into the driveway, I can clearly see Trish’s car.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I ask Trish, pulling up next to her and turning off the car. I look back at Rahima, who looks so peaceful. I hate to take her out of the car. Only her daddy knows how to keep her asleep while in transport.

“I’m here to watch Rahima. Sandy sent me a text saying she was being dropped off and there was no one here, so I came,” she says as Rah pulls up behind me. His look of sheer surprise can only mean one thing: Sandy set us all up. What an expert bitch move. I give Nellie my blessing if she wants to greet Sandy as a bitch all day long.

“That was really sweet of you, Trish. But as you can see, we’ve got it all under control,” I say, exiting my mom’s car and gently closing the door.

“I’ll wait for her daddy to tell me I’m not needed, if it’s all the same to you.” I look at Trish’s blank expression as she steps out of her Accord and feel sorry for her bland ass. She really thinks she can stay in Rah’s life by being his call girl—the chick he can call on when he needs money, a sitter, and anything else she can give. Doesn’t she know that guys get tired of having their desires met that easily?

“Hey, what’s going on here?” Rah asks, peeking through the back window of my ride and checking on his daughter like the good daddy he is—most of the time.

“Sandy asked me to be here when Rahima got here because no one was home and you both had to work,” Trish says, walking up to Rah and giving him a hug. He pats her on the back and looks at me uncomfortably. This is exactly why he can never say shit to me about my relationship with Jeremy.

No matter what he says about them just being friends, he’s always got Trish on the side. Trish misses Rah, and if it weren’t for his connection to her brother, she’d have no excuse to be at his house all the time. Sandy calls her just to vex me, and Trish is probably clueless that she’s being played by Sandy.

“I’m sorry Sandy dragged you into this, but Jayd’s got Rahima and I’m in for the night,” he says, backing away from Trish and returning to my ride to get his baby girl out of the backseat. I reach through the open window and grab the diaper bag. Why isn’t Trish moving?

“I’m not leaving until I hear from Sandy,” Trish says, locking her car and walking toward the front door. If she’s listening to anything Sandy’s got to say, this girl is crazier than I thought. Instead of telling her to hit the road, Rah agrees to let her wait in the house. Am I the only one who sees this is insane? I can’t take anymore of this twisted reality. I follow them into the house and back to Rah’s bedroom where he lays his daughter down on his bed without disturbing her. I’m impressed with the way he handles Rahima. The way he treats me is the problem I’m having.

“Rah, who am I to you, for real? Because you come at me like I’m your girl, but we all know that’s not true. And as much as I love Rahima, I’m not her mama. Trish has more of a say in her life than I do.” Rah looks at me, putting his finger up for me to lower my voice.

“Jayd, that’s not true,” he says, leading me into Kamal’s bedroom next door to his and closing the door. This is the first conversation we’ve had in a week, and just like the last time we spoke, we’re arguing. “I know that picking up Rahima from Sandy’s job was a bit much, but you came through, baby. And I appreciate you,” he says, putting his arms around my waist and pulling me in close to him.

“Trish is in the living room, in case you forgot,” I say, pushing him away. “And this isn’t a competition. I couldn’t care less how much you appreciate me dealing with your shit. Do you appreciate me for who I am, not for what I can do for you? That’s the question.”

“Jayd, you know I need you in my life. Yes, I appreciate you for you. You’re my best friend,” he says, trying to kiss me, but the last thing I want is Rah touching me. I don’t care how good his chiseled chocolate arms look popping out of his Adidas T-shirt. This brotha’s not getting any love from me tonight.

“Yes, and Sandy’s the one you live with, and Trish is the one you sleep with. I got the roles down in my head,” I say, walking toward the door. Rah steps in front of me, blocking my way. I look up into his dark brown eyes and wish we could go back to the two twelve-year-olds in love we were over four years ago. But we can’t go back there and I don’t know where we’re headed.

“You’re the one I love, girl. You know that,” he says, not denying Sandy and Trish’s functions in his life. He could’ve at least said he wasn’t sleeping with Trish, but I guess he didn’t want to get caught in a lie. That’s as good as a confession to me.

“You can have your love, because from where I’m standing it’s highly overrated,” I say, pushing Rah out of my way and opening the bedroom door. I walk down the hallway and into the living room where Trish is seemingly posted up for the night. Sandy’s busy shaking her ass at work and won’t get to her cell for a while.

“Jayd, please stay,” Rah calls after me. “We can work this out.” I can’t take it anymore. My head is pounding and it’s late. Trish can buy into this tired-ass Jerry Springer family drama if she wants to. I clean my hands of the whole mess.

Saving Rahima from having another crazy-ass teenage parental figure in her life is the most important thing I can do for that little girl. And I can only do that by first saving myself.

B
y the time I got back to my mom’s apartment last night, all I had the energy to do was take a much-needed shower and pass out on the couch. I look down at my cell and see that I’ve missed fifteen calls, all of which are from Rah, I assume. My growling stomach urges me to get up from my makeshift bed and walk into the kitchen to see what I can whip up for breakfast, but not before I wash my face.

On the way into the bathroom I hear someone walking up the stairs outside the apartment. It had better not be another pop-up visit from Jeremy.

“Jayd, unlock the chain,” my mom says through the door. How come she didn’t give a sistah a heads-up she was coming home? The place is a mess, and I don’t want to hear her mouth about it.

“Fancy seeing you here this morning,” I say, unlocking the door and letting her into her own apartment. My mom kisses me on the cheek, kicks off her sandals, and speed-walks to her bedroom. She must’ve run out of clothes at Karl’s house and came home to restock.

“How’s your weekend going, other than frequenting a strip club?” my mom asks, dumping her overnight bag full of dirty clothes on the floor to make space for clean ones. She needs to do her laundry.

“It’s going cool. I made a lot of money and got to drive Chance’s car on Friday. That was the highlight,” I say, sitting on the corner of her bed. I love it when my mom’s home. Ever since she and Karl started dating I rarely spend any time with her. I’m not hating, but I think she should fit me into her schedule. We only have the weekends together and I’m lucky if I get to see her at all.

“Chance has the Chevy, right?” my mom says, quickly sifting through hangers and tossing dresses onto the bed next to me. I need to start taking advantage of her closet more often.

“Yes, and it’s so nice to drive.” I can feel the engine purring just thinking about it.

“And fast,” my mom says, her green eyes sparkling. “I had a boyfriend with one of those. I was hot shit when I would drive that car. Feels good, huh?” my mom asks, smiling at her memory.

“It sure does. I can’t wait to get behind the wheel again,” I say. I’m flattered that Chance trusts me to drive his classic vehicle. He’s spent a lot of time and money on his car, and it’s worth every ounce of both. He and Jeremy like to work on cars, but it’s not a passion like it is with Rah and Nigel, who fix up cars like they ball: constantly. Jeremy and Chance know a lot of people who they pay to do the work that Nigel and Rah do simply for the love of it. Either way, they all have nice rides.

“You’re only young once, Jayd. I say live it up.” I agree with my mom. I plan on driving all of Jeremy’s friends’ cars and Rah’s people, too. Whoever lets me behind the wheel—I’m going for it. I also want to drive Jeremy’s Mustang. Although I’m no expert, I think Jeremy’s car is faster than Chance’s.

My phone vibrates in my hand and I see a text message from Rah. My stomach growls, reminding me that I still need to eat. Maybe Trish can make him breakfast this morning, because I know the broad is still there.

I told Rah what he could do with his love last night, and I meant it.

“Oh, no. What’s wrong now? Or should I say what did Rah do this time?” my mom asks, moving on to her underwear drawer.

“It’s just the usual insanity that is Rah’s life,” I say, erasing the text and closing the phone. My mom zips her bag shut and sits down next to me for a moment before we both start our day.

“Jayd, what is it about Rah that keeps you holding on to him no matter how unhealthy the situation becomes? And don’t say that baby, because I will scream in your head if you do.” I know my mom’s serious if she’s threatening to hurt me on a psychic level.

“I don’t know how to answer that,” I say, thinking about her question. Is there anything good about us other than our long friendship?

“I’m glad you’re being honest,” she says, taking the overnight bag and putting it on her lap. “Think about it seriously, Jayd, and then make a list of all the good versus the bad. If the good outweighs the bad, then stick it out. But if the negative side of the list is longer, then you need to get out before it’s too late.” My mom looks into my eyes and smiles before kissing me good-bye.

“Thank you, Mom,” I say, rising from the bed so I can lock the door behind her. She’s given me something to think about. And I like the idea of making a list, although I’m afraid I already know how it’s going to turn out. And what if Rah’s negatives do outweigh his positives? What do I do then?

“You take care of Jayd. And don’t feel a bit of guilt about looking out for your own survival. That’s a huge part of why we’re here, baby,”
my mom says without moving her lips, even though she’s within speaking range.

“I hear you loud and clear,” I say, giving her a hug before she’s gone. I only have two customers this morning and the rest of the day is mine to catch up on school and spirit work—no boys and their craziness allowed.

After braiding two heads and last night’s dramatic state of affairs, I’m ready to chill for the rest of the afternoon until I have to go back to Compton. Being at the beach always makes me feel better. I figured the water would give me the serenity I need to clear my head. I could run after Rahima all afternoon, clean house, and braid five heads in a row and still have more energy than I do after an encounter with Sandy. And recently, dealing with Rah has been no better.

Love sucks. That’s all I have to say about that subject, for real. I really don’t see the point of having a boyfriend. All that the boys in my life do is create misery. They either bring me drama or some female in their life does the honors for them. But I love them, I really do. When I’m not talking to Rah I feel incomplete. For the two years we didn’t talk after I found out he got Sandy pregnant, I always thought about him. The whole reason I was attracted to KJ in the first place was because he was the closest thing I could get to Rah at school. And KJ was no match for the real thing.

It’s time for me to let the past go. I love Rah, but I can’t let him drag me off my chosen path. And as for Jeremy, I haven’t had too many dreams about him. And whenever he is in a dream he’s usually catching me, or trying to save me in some other way. I’m feeling Jeremy strongly, but I don’t love him like I love Rah. I don’t know if I can ever fully shake Rah from my system, or if I really want to. When I’m ready, I know I can find something in the spirit book to help, which is at Mama’s house where it always is.

My mom’s incomplete spirit notebook has some good suggestions in it, too. I brought it with me to study while enjoying the seawater and sun. I wish I could do this every weekend, but I don’t have that kind of time. This book looks and smells like it’s been around for centuries. I’m glad we have a written account of the multiple paths in our lineage, at least for the most part. Since my mom stopped keeping up with her notes and recording the notes about her mother’s path, those sections are deficient. But I’m doing my best to keep up with what I can now. I keep pretty good notes in my spirit notebook and will transfer them to the family spirit book after my initiation.

I’m not ready to become anyone’s wife yet, which is what you spiritually become to your orisha, once initiated. I’m not ready to be Oshune’s wife, or Rah’s wifey and Rahima’s stepmama. Technically, I guess I would be a step-girl, because I’m not married to her daddy. Hell, we’re not even boyfriend and girlfriend at the moment. Trish and Jeremy’s presence in my life reminds me of that constantly. I think if I got Rah out of my system I could give Jeremy a real chance at being my man. I know what Mr. A said about dating a white boy, and he’s right. Being in an interracial relationship has all kinds of challenges. But I like him—a lot—and after the way he reacted to Emilio kissing me, I know Jeremy’s feeling me hard, too.

If I can give Rah a million chances after he’s acted like an ass in more ways than one, I can give Jeremy a break after only a couple of major infractions. If Jeremy weren’t white this would be a no-brainer. But because we have the added history of our great-ancestors being lovers per one of my dreams, the shit’s just that much more complicated for me. I don’t need anyone to tell me I’m in for it if I choose to date Jeremy exclusively.

The kind of black love that Nigel and Mickey found with each other is rare at our age. And my mom and Karl’s relationship is a phenomenon if I ever saw one. The kind of love I usually witness is the torture that is Mama and Daddy’s marriage. And to be honest, I think that’s where most couples’ relationships are headed, no matter how in love they are. Mama and Daddy used to be in puppy love with each other at first. But then reality set in and the sacrifices became apparent, each feeling undervalued in his or her own way, after giving up so much of themselves for so long. And that’s the kind of love I feel Rah and I are in: that quicksand kind of love.

We’ve put so much into this relationship for the past four years, that neither of us is willing to give up on it now. But I’ve just about had it because—like quicksand—the harder you fight the faster you sink. I guess it’s a good thing that I don’t I have anymore fight left in me.

“What are you over here thinking about so seriously?” Jeremy asks, catching me in mid thought. Where did he come from and why didn’t I hear him walk up?

“Life,” I say, reaching up to meet his embrace halfway. He never officially apologized for calling me a tease. I know he didn’t mean it, but we will have to eventually address it. But now is not the time. I can only deal with one issue at a time. “What are you doing here? I thought Redondo was your beach?”

“It’s all my coastline,” he says, stretching his arms out toward the ocean.

“Okay, Columbus,” I say as he sits down in the sand next to me. I love the way the warm sand feels in between my toes. Judging by the way Jeremy’s playing in the sand with his hairy feet I’d say he feels the same way.

“Very funny, Lady J. There were too many tourists at the pier so I opted for a quieter, Manhattan Sunday.” And I’m glad he did. Jeremy’s energy is very soothing when he’s calm. And I like being around him always. “I was just about to grab something to eat if you want to join me,” he says, stroking my right arm with the back of his hand. I nod in agreement and he stands up, blocking the sun with his tall frame.

“Let me take you to lunch for a change,” I say, taking Jeremy’s hand as he reaches down to help me up. I brush the sand from my backside and Jeremy watches my every move. “Why don’t you take a picture? It’ll last longer,” I say, walking ahead of him.

“I just might do that,” he says, following me from the beach toward my car. The alarm on the brand-new Mercedes parked in front of my mom’s car beeps and the engine starts. Who did that and can we be friends? I get closer to the black-on-black sports car and take a peek inside. It looks like something Batman would drive. SL 63 AMG. I don’t know what any of that means, but I want one.

“Do you like it?” Jeremy asks, walking around the vehicle, also scoping the perfection before our eyes. This thing must’ve cost a grip.

“Like it?” I ask, following him around the vehicle. “I’m ready to make a long-term commitment to it.” I stop and look at my reflection in the dark, tinted windows with Jeremy right behind me, staring into my eyes. We are opposites, but we look good together and feel even better.

“Get in,” he says, opening the driver’s door.

“Damn, Jeremy. Y’all got it like this?” I ask. I shouldn’t be surprised. His entire block could have their own fleet of luxury vehicles. But to get a teenager these kinds of wheels is extreme, even for Jeremy’s wealthy family.

“I wish,” he says. I think that’s the first time I’ve heard him openly express envy. Good to know he wants for something. “It belongs to a friend of mine. He went away for the weekend and let me babysit her. Sweet, huh?” he says, caressing the black leather seats with his hands like he did me a few moments ago. I glide into the seat, positioning myself under the steering wheel—my favorite part of the car. I’d love to drive this thing.

“Let’s go,” he says, closing the door and walking around to the other side. I didn’t even have to ask and my wish came true. “Push the button and we can go,” Jeremy says, buckling his seat belt. That’s what he said in my dream when I drove his car in a race with Sandy and Trish. This must be a sign that I’m going the right way with Jeremy.

“I’ve got the perfect place to have lunch,” I say, turning on the left blinker and approaching the traffic light. “Let’s go to Simply Wholesome. You like their food and I would love a turkey burger,” I say, heading toward my mom’s neck of the woods. I don’t mind driving back out that way since it’s not my gas. And I’m going to take the long way down La Cienega Boulevard to get there. I want to savor this experience for as long as I can.

“Didn’t you leave there on bad terms?” Jeremy asks, remembering the drama behind my career change a few months ago. He has a great memory for a self-proclaimed pothead.

“That’s not the point,” I say, gunning the engine hard down Aviation Boulevard. I feel like a rock star in this Benz. Jeremy’s got some good friends, because if this were my car, I wouldn’t let anyone drive it. “They have good food.” And it’s where everyone meets up to show off his or her bodies and cars. It’s an LA thing: Jeremy’s from the beach and can’t relate.

“You’re driving, Jayd. I’m just along for the ride and loving the view,” Jeremy says, pulling his sunshades over his eyes and sitting back in his seat. His long legs barely fit in the cozy car, but I fit just right. “As long as you’re this sexy behind the wheel, I’ll go wherever you want me to.” I never noticed how tight Jeremy’s game is before. He’s fine, got money, intelligent, kind, and he likes him some Jayd. So far, that’s a pretty positive list.

When we get to Simply Wholesome the parking lot is packed, which is typical for a sunny Sunday afternoon. The cruisers are out today, their shiny cars still clean from a weekend wash and wax. It’s a ritual for most people on this side of Los Angeles to hit up Crenshaw Car Wash on Saturdays so that their rides will be fresh for the rest of the weekend. I keep saying I’m going to take my mom’s ride over there one day and let them work their magic, but I can’t see spending fifteen of my hard-earned dollars getting the car washed, when I could pay one of my uncles five dollars to get the job done.