Chasing Butterflies (19 page)

“H
ey, Cali Girl,” Sha’Quita calls out, bursting into the bedroom, swinging open the door, “you wanna roll to the park wit’ me ’n’ my girl Chardonnay? It’s nice out so I figured I’d be nice to you today.”

I look up from my journal.

Take her in.

Maybe for a few seconds longer than I should, but I let my gaze linger anyway.

She cut her weave out. Well, all of it except the one long piece she has stitched in on her right side, which she has curled around her jawline. But her hair is dyed platinum blond.

I force a smile.

But I am cringing on the inside.

This girl has some nerve!

As if she’s doing me some favor by asking
me
to hang out with her and her pimply-faced friend.

I’m sooo not interested.

“No, thanks,” I say nicely.

She stares at me, then dramatically bats her lashes. “What, you think you too good to hang in the park wit’ us?”

I shake my head. “No, not at all. I just don’t want to go. Besides, I thought you said you like traveling
light
.”

She bats her lashes and scoffs. “Yeah, I do travel light.
And
?”

I shrug. “Just checking. But thanks anyway.”

She rolls her eyes. “You mad shady.”

“I’m not
shady
. Why would you say that?”

“’Cause you are.”

“Why, because I don’t want to go to the park with you?”

She sucks her teeth. “Girl, you retarded. So you rather stay cooped up in this stank room instead of bein’ around a buncha cuties in basketball shorts?”

Well, the room wouldn’t be
stank
if you stopped keeping dirty clothes piled up over there in the corner
, I think, closing my journal.

She huffs. “You messy as hell, girl. I’m tryna get me that Michael Kors bag I saw in Marshalls last night ’n’ you blockin’ my flow.”

I give her a dumbfounded look.

“You heard what I said. I need that bag. But Omar ain’t even ’bout to drop no paper on it unless you start gettin’ wit’ the program ’n’ bring ya stank-azz out.”

I frown. “Wait.” I shake my head, trying to wrap my mind around what I’ve just heard. “So you’re saying that Omar promised to buy
you
a new pocketbook if you drag me along with you?”

She tilts her head. “Ain’t that what I said?”

“Oh,” is all I say.

“So . . . ?”

“Is Omar here?”

She grits her teeth. “Do I look like his keeper to you, huh? Where you think he is? He’s where he’s been for the last three days. Not here.”

I swallow. “I only asked a question. Because he texted me and said he was on his way back.”

“And I gave you an answer. So you comin’, or nah?”

I shake my head. “I’ll pass.”

She swings her bang from out of her face. “
Psst
. Girl, bye.”

“Okay, bye,” I say, eyeing her as she heads for the door. “Have fun.”

She stops in her tracks, craning her neck, hand on her hip. “Don’t get cute. Remember, I’m being nice.”

I tilt my head. “I’m not getting
cute
.”

“Oh, I know you not, sweetie. You’ll need a whole new makeover to be
that
. Still, I think you tried it.”

“I wasn’t trying anything. I simply said have fun. How’s that
trying
to be cute?”

She throws a hand up. “Girl, talk to the hand. Like I said, you tried it.”

“And I said, have fun.”

She sneers, stomping out the room, slamming the door behind her.

I shake my head, opening my journal again. I write.

I sigh, closing my journal. Then I get up and walk over to the window facing the street and peek out through the curtains. There’s a group of young girls in the middle of the street jumping rope. They’re laughing and having a good time. They look to be no older than twelve, or thirteen. But nowadays, it’s so hard to tell. Most of the young girls I see look
and
act so grown, especially around here.

I start to wonder what life is like for them behind closed doors. Are they really as happy and carefree as they appear to be now? Or are they stifled by oppressive living conditions? I can’t help but wonder what will become of them. Will they become products of their environment? Will they become eaten alive by the streets? Will they become the next generation of Sha’Quitas in the world?

Or—

Ohmygod!

One of the girls twirling the rope snatches it from the girl on the other end of it and starts hitting another girl with it. Then the two of them start fighting before two other girls jump in, while onlookers pull out their cell phones and capture it, live and direct.

Disgusted, I step away from the window.

“Y
ou know my baby, Quita, stay tryna take you under her wing,” Kee-Kee says, eyeing me as I walk by to go back into the bedroom from the kitchen.

Oh.

Is that the lie she’s telling her?

Okay.

I stop, glancing over into the living room. Keyonna’s sitting on the sofa in a white sports bra and a pair of cutoff jean shorts with her legs spread open.

I raise my eyebrows, confused. “Uh?”

“I
saaaaaid
, Quita been tryna get you outta this apartment.” She blows cigarette smoke up at the ceiling. “But you just ain’t tryna act right.”

She eyes me hard. “What, ya uppity butt think you too good for my baby?”

I swallow. “No. I don’t think that.”

“
Mmmph
. I can’t tell. You walk around here like you gotta long
di
—stick—up in your tail. You stay struttin’ around here wit’ ya head all up the clouds like you somebody special.”

“I don’t think I am,” I say apologetically. “That’s not my intention.”

She takes a pull from her cigarette. Newport, I think. “Uh-huh.” She curls her lips and lets the smoke swirl out between them. “Well, you need to get ya siddity self up outta this house. Go out ’n’ get some fresh air. It’s too damn nice out for you to be sittin’ up in here. I’m sick of lookin’ at you all the damn time, anyway. Omar brought you up in here, but he ain’t never here to be wit’ you.
Mmph
. He’s a savage for that. I already gotta daughter. I ain’t tryna look after his, too.”

I feel the palms of my hands starting to sweat.

“I don’t mean to be an inconvenience,” I say nervously.

She narrows her eyes. “Well, you ain’t
really
no inconvenience, per se. I just want you up outta here so I can do me; that’s all. I’m tryna get my back blown out as much as I can while Momma’s down in Florida, but I ain’t bringin’ my man up in here while you here. I don’t want him getting no ideas that you on the menu, too.”

I keep from frowning.

She takes a long drag from her cigarette, then blows out a big, angry cloud of smoke. “Quita done already hipped me to how you are. Now, I ain’t seen it for myself. But she says you sneaky. She told me how you tried to sneak some boy up in here the other night.”

My stomach lurches.

What a liar!

“That wasn’t me,” I insist. “I’ve never snuck a boy in anywhere. I don’t even
know
any boys here.”

She twists her lips. “Mmph. So what you sayin’? It was Quita?”

All of a sudden, I hear Sha’Quita’s menacing voice.

I swallow. Look down at my hands, then my feet, then over at the television. Then stare at the two sweaty bottles of Heineken sitting on the table. I try to look everywhere except at her.

“No. That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying it wasn’t me.”

“Girl, you better look at me when you speak. I ain’t one of them hoes from the streets. I’m ya auntie. Don’t get it twisted. You better show me some respect. Don’t have me show you how we do it up here in the hood, boo-boo.”

She pulls a switchblade out from behind one of the sofa pillows, then sets it down on the coffee table.

I blink.

“See, I ain’t gonna put my hands on you ’cause you supposedly my niece. I’ma just cut you. Slice you right across that pretty face.”

She says this real calm-like. Doesn’t even bat a lash.

I gulp in air.

My heart starts racing.

So you won’t hit me because I’m
supposedly
your niece, but you’ll cut my face? What kind of sense does that make?

I look at her, starting to feel unsafe. I scan the room for an emergency exit, just in case.

“I already know Quita’s fast,” she says before I can respond, “but I ain’t even ’bout to put up wit’ it from somebody else’s child. You ain’t getting pregnant up in here. You on the pill?”

I shake my head. “No.”

She frowns. “The shot?”

I shake my head.

She narrows her eyes. “Well, you getting on something if you gonna be layin’ up in here. Like I tol’ Quita, you can let these boys bounce you down into the springs if you want, but you ain’t bringin’ no babies up in here. You like getting freaky wit’ it, huh? Give me the tea, boo.”

Tea?

“Um, there’s no
tea
—whatever that means,” I say, glancing down at the carpet. There’s a roach crawling toward my foot.

I blink.

“It
means
give me the gossip, boo. You ain’t ever gotta lie to me. That’s what I tell Quita. But that li’l heifer loves to lie, anyway. I think that girl loves it when I gotta smack up her face. So who you twerkin’ that thang up on?”

I frown. “I’m not that kind of girl.”

“Well, you like sex,
don’t
you?”

I shake my head. “I’m not having sex. Not until I’m married, anyway.”

She makes a face. “Not until you married? Girl, you need to stop it.” She stares me up and down. “
Mmmph
. Oh, you livin’ in fantasyland, huh? Well, news flash, boo-boo: Ain’t no
real
man gonna wife you unless you givin’ him a li’l taste. Just don’t be stupid about it. Be selective who you give the cookie to. Nucca gotta at least buy you six-pack ’n’ some hot wings, first.”

I blink.

“Um. I’m not interested in hot wings from a boy,” I say. “Because I’m not looking to have sex.”

She scoffs. “Girl, bye. I know you ain’t dumb enough to believe he’s not gonna wanna taste the milk before he buy the cow? Girl, you need to stop tryna follow behind them white people. Even the Bachelorette screwin’ up in the fantasy suite.”

I cringe at what she says. I disagree with her. I don’t believe a girl has to have sex to be with a boy. And all boys aren’t going to pressure a girl to have sex with him, even if he does want it, thinks about it, or whatever else. All I know is, if he really cares for her, and wants to be with her, then he’ll wait for her. And any boy who wants to be with
me
is going to have to wait. Period.

I tell her this.

And she laughs in my face.

So I’m a laughingstock for having a moral compass different from hers?

She stops laughing long enough to say, “Yeah, he’ll wait all right. For somebody who’s gonna back that thang up ’n’ ride ’im like a roller coaster.”

I shrug. “Then I guess he wasn’t ever meant for me.”

I must admit, this whole conversation is dizzying.

“Girl, I don’t know what fantasy world you livin’ in, but you need to bring yo’ azz back down to earth, boo-boo. Whoever raised you done got you brainwashed. If you think some boy is gonna be waitin’ for you, you crazy.”

“It’s what I believe,” I explain. “And I won’t compromise that for anyone.”

“Well, good luck wit’ that,” she says, looking at me, shaking her head. “But I know you givin’ out head service, right?”

I give her a blank look. “What’s that?”

She sees the expression on my face, then bursts out laughing. “Girl, let me stop messin’ wit’ ya Goody Two-Shoes butt,” she says, slapping her thigh. “You should see ya face. Poor baby. You look like you ’bout to piss ya drawz.”

I really can’t believe what I’m hearing.

And this is coming from an adult.

A mother.

Thankfully, not mine.

Keyonna takes another puff from her cigarette, then mashes it out in an ashtray. “Quita tell you how me ’n’ her jumped that li’l ho down the block?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“We beat that girl down. She thought she was gonna bring it to Quita, but she shoulda knew she was gonna have to bring it to me, too. That’s how we do it ’round here. You fight her, you gotta fight me, and vice versa. I go hard for mines.” She balls her hand into a fist. “These hands are nice. And they hit hard.”

I blink.

“Do you know how to go wit’ the hands?”

I give her a confused look.

She huffs. “Damn, girl. You slow as hell. Can you fist up? You know,
fight
?”

“Oh. Kind of. I mean, if I have to. I’d rather not, though.”

She looks me over. “Oh, you one of them cotton candy ‘let’s talk it out’ kinda girls, huh?”

I shrug. “I guess.”

She scoffs. “What you mean, you
guess
? Girl, there ain’t no time for bein’ no punk ’round here. These hoes ’round here ain’t tryna hear a buncha yip-yap. And they ain’t lookin’ for no peace negotiations. They ’bout takin’ it upside ya head, you know what I’m sayin’.”

Umm, was that supposed to be a question?

She doesn’t give me a chance to speak, before she is giving me the rest of her survival crash course on life in the streets.

“You gotta be ready to knuckle up,” she says, becoming animated as she talks, “’n’ brawl just in case some ish pops off.” She punches a fist into the palm of her hand for emphasis. “Don’t let no ho punk you.”

She waves me over to her. “Girl, come over here ’n’ let me see them hands.”

I reluctantly walk over and hold my hands out to her.

She grabs them with hers, turning them over as if she’s inspecting them. Then grunts. “
Mmmph
. Yeah, you ain’t no fighter. Ya hands too damn soft. They cute, though; but
you
definitely ain’t putting in no hand work. You carrying mace in that book bag you always carrying around?”

I shake my head. “No.”

She twists her lips. “Well, you probably should.”

“No, that’s okay. I try to avoid problems,” I offer, stepping back from her.

Daddy always told me to pick and choose my battles; that every dispute doesn’t have to become a war.

And I believe that.

Keyonna smirks. “Good luck wit’ that.” She reaches for her beer. “You want some’a this”—she holds the bottle up—“before I take it to the head?”

I tell her I don’t drink.

“You smoke?”

I shake my head. Tell her
no
. Never have. Never will.

She grunts, furrowing her brows together. “
Mmph
. You don’t drink. You don’t smoke. You ain’t drankin’ watermelon. You ain’t even havin’ sex. What do you do then?”

I shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “Write. Play the piano.”

She gives me a blank stare.

Yawns.

Then digs down into her sports bra, scratches underneath her breasts. “Girl, you ’bout ready to put me to sleep.” She pulls out a credit card, stretching an arm out to hand it to me. “Take this EBT card ’n’ go get me two cans of Red Bull ’n’ a pack of Dutches. I need me a blunt.”