Maya's Choice (3 page)

“Really?” I asked, enticed by the possibility of having my own place.

“Yeah, then you can make quick cash on the side doing all kinds of stuff.” Toya spoke as if she had it all completely mapped out.

“Wait a minute,” I said, rethinking what she'd just said. “Isn't the man supposed to take care of his woman and children?”

“Viviana, that only happens in fairy tales. Come on, now, don't be so naive. Every girl knows that guys are not going to step up when the baby arrives. The quickest way for a girl to lose her man is to start sounding like a nagging wife. You see, that's why I get along so well with my boyfriend. I don't make him do anything that he doesn't want to do. It's sort of like reverse psychology. If I don't cause any drama, he does stuff willingly. If I'm in his face all of the time, then he's going to snap. Get it?”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” I agreed.

“See, that's why I love that show called
Sixteen and Pregnant
. Every girl on there does nothing but complain and
nearly all of them end up without their boyfriend. If I were on an episode, I'd show them how to be a good mother, keep the baby's father and live on their own.”

“It would be so cool if that happened, Toya. I can see you now, just being real with it and telling young girls how to do things the right way,” I said excitedly.

“Yeah, then I'd become famous and hang out with celebrities,” Toya said, fantasizing about the possibilities.

“Ooo, you know what would happen next, girl?” I stopped walking then turned to face her.

“No. What?” she asked.

“The people from
Dancing with the Stars
would call you,” I said, starting to truly believe in the ultimate lifestyle we were fabricating.

“They probably would, girl. I could be like the black version of Bristol Palin. Lord knows that I can dance better than her. Girl, I'd get up there and do the booty clap dance and drive America wild like Beyoncé, Shakira or this old-school chick named Josephine Baker.”

“Josephine Baker? Who is that?” I asked, because I'd never heard of her.

“Girl, she was some actress and dancer from like the 1920s or something,” Toya explained.

“The 1920s!” I blurted out, surprised she'd mentioned someone who lived so long ago.

“The only reason I know about her is because I was sitting up one night dealing with Junior's cranky behind. Anyway, by the time he went to bed I couldn't sleep so I started watching television. I got caught up watching either the Discovery or History Channel, I can't remember which. Anyway,
they showed some old video of this chick Josephine doing the booty clap and I was like, what the hell!”

“Are you serious?” I asked.

“Yeah, and Josephine was killing it! She was like a beast with it,” Toya tried to imitate what she'd seen and I cracked up laughing.

“Oh, no you didn't just move like that out here in front of all these people.” I continued to laugh in an effort to make her feel self-conscious.

“Whatever!” Toya fired back, waving off my snide remark.

“So look here, Miss Flip-flop-clippity-clop,” Toya said, making a joke about my shoes. “I'm going to teach you how you can spot someone whose pocket you can easily pick. Are you ready for your lesson?”

“Yeah,” I answered, feeling a rush of adrenaline race through me.

“Okay, there are several ways this works. For beginners like you, crowded areas like this parade are better because people will not be suspicious if you get very close to them. If you were to walk up behind them, and ask if they could move over a little so you can see, it's not a big deal. That's when you use that opportunity to bump them and find out where their wallet, sunglasses, car keys or cell phone is located. Once you've located what you want, you have to time the next bump against them and move quickly. You need to have quick hands but they need be gentle at the same time.”

“But won't they feel me taking their stuff?” I asked, thinking that I'd notice if someone had ripped me off.

“No, most times people have no clue. Plus, you have to find the right target,” Toya said, looking around. “See that
guy over there with his sunglasses in his shirt pocket?” Toya pointed the guy out.

“Yeah, I see him,” I answered.

“I'm going to go get those sunglasses. Stay here and just watch,” she said. I watched Toya snake her way through the crowded sidewalk, moving purposefully toward the man with the sunglasses. When she got close enough she pretended to stumble into him. She braced herself against his chest as he tried to keep her from falling over. Once Toya gathered herself she said thank-you and moved on. I watched as Toya disappeared and then turned my attention back to the man, noticing his sunglasses were gone.

“Damn, she's good,” I mumbled to myself. I stood there for about ten minutes wondering where Toya had gone. Before long, she came up behind me and when I was looking in the other direction she said, “Boo!” The sound of her voice startled me.

“Toya, what's wrong with you?” I said, turning my full attention to her.

“I just wanted to show you just how close I can get to you without you knowing it. Come on, let's walk this way.” Toya and I maneuvered away from the crowd and down a side street where there were less people. Once she felt safe she opened up the newspaper she'd been carrying.

“See, I have his sunglasses and a twenty-dollar bill that he had tucked in that pocket.” I was so excited that I wanted to scream but I held myself in check. I was ready to try it because I'd hoped to get some money, as well.

“Where did you learn how to do this?” I asked.

“Does it really matter?” Toya answered my question with one of her own.

“Well, I suppose not,” I responded, feeling silly for asking.

“Look. I'm taking the time to show you how to get paid, not to give you a history lesson on where I picked up this skill. Now that I have twenty dollars in my pocket, I'm hungry for some more cash and prizes. With a crowd of this size I can easily rack up two thousand dollars' worth of money and merchandise that can be sold.”

“Are you serious?” I whispered.

“Totally. Question is, are you game? Do you want to make some money today?” she asked.

“You know I do.” I didn't hesitate to answer.

“Okay, then here is what we're going to do. Since you're wearing those damn flip-flops and can't move the way I need you to, you're going to be my dump-off person. I'm going to walk through the crowd and find targets and get merchandise. Once I have something, I'm going to walk back past you and hand whatever I get to you. Do not look at it. Just drop it in the backpack quickly. Every time I drop something off to you, I want you to walk down one block and wait. I'll find you. We're going to work this side of the street and then cross over and work the other side. You got it?”

“Yeah, I can handle that,” I said confidently.

“If someone tries to rob you, all I know is you'd better fight.” Toya was very clear on that point.

“What about the police? What if they catch you?” I asked.

“Catch me with what? I'm dropping stuff back off to you.
You're the one holding the backpack of stolen merchandise, not me. Do you have a problem with that?”

“Hell no!” I wasn't afraid of anything.

“Good. When I'm done we'll head back to my place and see what I've pulled in.” Toya met my gaze, searching my eyes once more to see if I had the nerves for this.

“I got this,” I reassured her.

Nodding her head approvingly, Toya said, “Cool.” As she walked away I began to think about my mother, my current living arrangements and how I'd met Toya.

My mother and I had been staying with my grandmother Esmeralda for two weeks straight, because once again we were homeless. Then one day out of the clear blue my mother walked into the house in high spirits, talking about how she fell in love in one night. I felt my stomach turn when she made her grand announcement. A few days later all of our belongings were once again packed up and we moved to the Southside of Chicago to some apartment building on Martin Luther King Jr. Drive. Her new man, a dude named Martin, was heavily involved with some huge motorcycle club. Martin had a baritone voice, tattoos covering a good portion of his body, and a really quick temper. Once again, my mother had selected a loser she'd hoped to turn into her prince.

When I first met Martin I had a difficult time looking at him because his left eye kept drifting, which somehow made me feel as if I were going cross-eyed. Martin loved his motorcycle brothers and bragged continually about the brawls he'd been involved in. Personally, I thought he was a little too old to be getting into fights, but apparently for him it was not a big deal.

“I'll lay my life on the line and take a bullet for any one of my brothers.” That was another thing about Martin. He sounded as if he didn't have the sense that God gave a rock. He was from the South and mumbled when he spoke.

“I'll take a bullet for your mom, too, because she is such a sweet woman.” He raked his fingers through his chin whiskers, which were long enough to be coiled into dreadlocks. My mother, who was sitting on his lap at the time, giggled like a sixth grader experiencing her first kiss behind the school building. Listening to him and watching her gush over his every word was truly disgusting.

Martin's two-bedroom apartment was the ultimate sleazy bachelor pad. Every lamp was shaped like a motorcycle. He believed road signs from the highway made excellent wall art, and the room I had to sleep in was more than musty. It smelled like butt farts that didn't have the good sense to evaporate.

 

“This is the room where any one of the boys can come and crash if they need to for any reason. You should consider yourself lucky to have such a room,” Martin said as he placed my belongings on an old mattress that squeaked from the slightest pressure.

“I know it doesn't have the look or feel of a girl's room, but hey, I'm sure you'll make the best of it,” he said. Just as he was about to leave he spotted something on the floor behind the closet door. I glanced at a naked lady on the magazine cover that he went to pick up.

“Sorry about that. One of the boys must've been in a jam and…um…”

“It's okay,” I said, moving away from him.

“I'll go and get your mom for you,” he said as he exited the room.

“Oh, my God! I can't wait to leave this place. I can't believe my mother moved us in with this guy,” I mumbled. Standing in the center of the bedroom I began scratching my skin, which suddenly felt dirty. I grabbed my belongings off the bed and placed them in the closet. That's when I spotted a fishing knife on the floor next to a pair of black motorcycle boots. I picked the knife up and pulled open the blade, which was about eight inches long.

“Perfect,” I whispered. “I'm going to sleep with this, just in case Martin gets confused as to which bed he's supposed to be sleeping in.”

On the third evening of our stay with Martin, he came home screaming like a madman about some deal he and the brotherhood had made that fell through. I exited my bedroom and walked up behind Martin, who was standing by the kitchen table situated near the back door. He reeked of alcohol, cigar smoke and body funk. Then for no apparent reason whatsoever he turned his anger on my mom. He began screaming at her as she was scraping leftover Chinese food out of its white container onto a plate to warm up for him. I guess she figured the best way to calm him down was to feed him.

“I don't want any damn Chinese food. I want some Southern cooking. Make me some neck bones, lima beans and corn bread,” he yelled at her.

Martin's request for soul food presented two big problems. There was no food in the refrigerator and, second, my mom
was a Mexican woman who didn't grow up in the South on Southern soul food. He moved closer to her and appeared as if he wanted to beat her. I removed the fishing knife from my pocket and extended the blade to its full length. If Martin placed a hand on her I'd planned to stab him in the back and tell my mother that it was time to go.

“Viviana.” My mom got my attention. “Wait outside for a minute.”

“What? Are you serious? He looks like he wants to choke you to death and you want me to leave?”

“You heard your mama, little girl, now get on out of here.” Martin turned and looked at me. With boldness and confidence I held up the knife. The one thing my daddy taught me was how to protect myself.

“What are you going to do with that besides tick me off?” Martin's voice was filled with threats.

“If you hit my mother or me you'll find out,” I answered him.

“Viviana, go outside. It will be okay.” My mother once again tried to get me to leave. “Come on, it's okay.” She approached me and walked me to the front door. “Just sit outside for a minute. It's a nice day. Even better, go for a walk at the park. When you come back everything will be fine, and put that knife away.”

“But he's…”

“Viviana, go!” My mother opened the door. I had no choice but to leave. I went outside and sat on the steps in front of the building. I was so irritated. I wanted to leave but I didn't have a dime to my name. I would have called one of my girlfriends but my cell phone was out of minutes. My
mother was supposed to get money from Martin to pay for it, but it didn't look like that was going to happen anytime soon. Feeling miserable, I buried my face in my hands and closed my eyes. Not long after that, this girl appeared with a little boy who was just learning how to walk upstairs. I moved out of her way.

“What's up?” she greeted me. I shrugged my shoulders.

“You're the new girl from apartment 407, right?” she asked.

“Yeah, how did you know that?” I asked.

“I know everything that goes on in this building. My name is Toya. Toya Taylor.” She extended her hand.