Chameleon (6 page)

“Shawn, watch out!” Lorenzo shouted.

His pomegranate-filled palm pointed at the white bow-legged pit bull racing my way. I turned to race back to the fence, blinded for a hot second by the sun sparking off the dog’s silver-studded collar.

Get to the fence. Get to the fence.

Shoot! How do I get over?

The crates Trent was on! Where are they?

The barking got louder.

There they were! Up on the left. Lorenzo, a few feet in front of me, hopped over. A loud crash, a couple of thuds, and assorted cries of “OH NO!” came from the other side.

Gotta go! Gotta go!
my brain shouted to every muscle in my body. I glanced back to see the dog closing the gap. I leaped onto the pile no problem. Pomegranates dropped from my pockets as I raised my hands to the fence. One of the fat fruit globes plunked him in the head, making him yelp and leap toward my feet as I hoisted them up. Then sharp fangs cut through the canvas of my left sneaker and broke the skin on my ankle.

OOOWWWWWW!

I yanked my foot free and tumbled onto the car. The dropped fruit was snatched up one by one. The black metal gate on the front door creaked open and a worn voice called out, “Somebody out there trying to steal my pomy-grannies?”

I guess we weren’t the first to pluck the prized fruit.

Screams of “Come on, Shawn!” rang out.

Shoot! She’s gonna hear them. I glanced down at my left foot. Spots of red colored my sock. A green handkerchief–covered head poked out of the gate just long enough to search the front yard.

“Get ’em, Lucky! I can’t keep these hoodlums from stealing my fruit, but I can keep ’em from coming back,” she said.

I hid on the other side of the car and stood when the door closed.

Where is everybody? I swung around and saw three figures turning the corner at the end of the block.

They better not leave me!

I grabbed my pockets to keep the pomegranates from bouncing out and followed. Every time my left foot hit the ground, I was reminded of the memento Lucky left me with. Step-ow-step-ow-step-ow-step-ow. All the way to the end of the block. I pumped the brakes as I chugged around the corner and almost tripped over the three of them on the other side.

Huff. Puff. Huff. Puff. Huff. Puff.

“I need to sit.”

I collapsed to join them on the concrete steps of a church.

“Dang, Shawn, he got you good,” Lorenzo said.

He fingered the mangled piece of canvas dangling from my sneaker. The high-top part that was once tight on my ankle was now shredded in three parts just beneath a big bloodred dot on my sock.

“Does it hurt?” Trent asked.

“Actually, it feels pretty good. . . . Of course it hurts, man! Look at it!”

“‘Does it hurt?’” Andre mocked Trent.

He shook his head and checked it out for himself.

“Yup. He got you good, Shawn. You lucky you fast,” Andre said.

He fished a pomegranate from his pocket and slammed it onto the concrete. The shell cracked open, and he went to work on it. Purple seeds caught the afternoon sun as his thin fingers plucked seeds out one by one. Each seed was picked, sucked, then spit out. I forgot this is what we were after in the first place.

“Ummm, these are good,” Andre said.

His teeth turned purple with each suck, and the church steps became a burial ground for the spit-out seeds.

“What should I do? It’s still bleeding.”

The red dot grew from the size of a dime to a quarter in a few huffs and puffs, even though I put pressure on it.

Breathe.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

What were we thinking? Trying to steal pomegranates? In broad daylight? It’s bad enough we almost got caught. Now I got this to deal with?

“My house ain’t too far. My mom is at work, but my sister might be there. She won’t care,” Trent said.

“Is your sister still fine?” Lorenzo asked.

Trent was the only one of us who had a sister: Janine. Andre had a big brother, Lorenzo had a couple of big brothers, and me . . . well, it was just me. Janine just graduated from Marshall and was getting ready to go off to college someplace. Her body was in great shape because she was always playing some kind of sport. Plus, she was cute. No, fine. Real fine. And we let Trent know it whenever we saw her. That was the main reason he didn’t like bringing us to his house. I had Aunt Gertie’s drinking, but Trent had a hot sister. One man’s heaven is another man’s hell.

“I ain’t even about to answer that question, ’Zo. I’m trying to help our boy, and all you can think about is pushing up on my sister? We going there to do what we gotta do and then we leaving,” Trent said. His finger and voice wagged at Lorenzo like a naughty child.

“All right, all right. Calm down, brutha man. I’m just playing,” Lorenzo said.

“She is fine, though, Trent,” Andre added.

The words trickled out between sucks.

Trent huffed and I felt his pain. They helped me to my feet, and we treaded over to Trent’s house. Slowly. I leaned on each of them at different times during the journey, and it dawned on me how much walking we do every day, going from place to place. What would otherwise be a quick trip of a couple of blocks now seemed like a trek through the Sahara in snow boots.

“What you gonna tell your auntie?” Trent asked, looking down at my foot.

I wasn’t worried about Aunt Gertie. Her memory was usually clouded by the bottle. Mama, on the other hand, was a different story. She didn’t miss a thing.

SOFT MUSIC FROM A STEREO drifted in from the back of the house as we stepped into Trent’s living room.

Janine must be home.

I still remember the first time I met her. It was only two summers ago when she showed up at MLK to drop something off for Trent. It was hot, as usual, so she had on — man, I still remember it — these tiny little hot-pink shorts with a little cheek showing. I don’t remember the shirt ’cause I don’t think I ever looked up past her waist. Anyway, she gave Trent whatever it was she came for, and as she walked away, all Andre, Lorenzo, and I could say was “DAMNNNNN!”

We haven’t seen her since. Trent made sure of that.

“All right, let’s do what we gotta do and get up out of here,” Trent said.

Boxes were stacked everywhere, spilling a rainbow of clothes across the floor. Janine must be packing. I wondered where she was going. The pain in my ankle plopped me onto the couch.

“Where’d you say your sister was going to college?” Andre asked, speaking my thoughts.

“UCLA. I told you that,” he said. “She’s starting to pack now ’cause the girl got a ton of clothes and she wants to start weeding stuff out.”

Trent hustled around the house gathering stuff to fix my ankle and shoe. Each time he crossed through the living room, something new was in his hands: scissors, tape, Band-Aids, alcohol, washcloth, a pot of water. When his hands were full, he brought everything into the living room and set it on the floor beside me on the couch.

Andre checked out the assorted pictures of Trent’s family scattered around the living room while Lorenzo drifted to the back to uncover the source of the music.

“Lorenzo, what I tell you? Get in here so we can hurry up and get out,” Trent said.

It was too late. As Lorenzo sulked his way over to the couch, a door from a back room opened and the music got louder. A sight emerged that put us all on pause.

Trent’s sister floated in carrying a tall, clouded blue glass. My pain floated away as I caught a glimpse of her beauty. Bright red toenail polish dotted honey-colored feet moving with ease across the brown shag carpet. Tight calves morphed into powerful thighs barely covered by neon-yellow short-shorts that squeezed hallelujahs from the bottom of my soul. Her belly button blinked at me from the middle of her narrow waist. I tried to turn away, but like a car crash, it screamed for my attention.

The painted-on matching yellow tank top clung with all its might to her chest, pointing directly at the three of us on the couch. My eyes played peekaboo with the golden cross resting in the hammock of space beneath her face. Jet-black hair blew in the breeze of her movement. Her roll slowed as she noticed us.

“Hi, guys!” she said.

Manicured fingers tickled a beauty-queen wave at us and tickled me in my manhood. Or boyhood. Or teenhood. Or whatever you want to call it. Nonetheless, the pain disappeared from my ankle and reappeared in my shorts. Glad I wasn’t standing because I would have to sit for sure.

“Hi, Janine,” we released in unison.

Our eyes latched on to her as she made her way into the kitchen.

“Trent, man, you got some water?” Lorenzo asked.

He hopped off the couch and headed toward the kitchen.

“Sit down, Lo-me-o! I’ll get it,” Trent said.

He stood up and gave us the evil eye, then whispered that we needed to hurry up and go. We followed him with our eyes into the kitchen and listened to him and his sister.

“Janine, what you doing walking around like that?”

“I know my little brother’s not trying to tell
me
what I can wear!”

“I’m just saying. We trying to do something, and you’re a little . . . distracting.”

“And just what is it you guys are doing?”

“None of your business. Could you just hurry up and go!”

“Did you just tell me to ‘hurry up and go’? Is that what I heard, baby brother?”

“Look, I just . . . I hate my friends staring at my sister like that.”

“Like what?”

“You know. Like . . . that.”

“They don’t have to stare. I’m just packing up my stuff. I’m not hurting anybody.”

Lorenzo responded with a whispered reply directed at our ears: “Oh, yes, you are,” he said.

We broke into laughter on the couch. Trent made his way out as we held on to our sides to keep from busting a gut.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

“Nothing, man, just some bags, you know,” Lorenzo replied. His laughter disappeared with a few snickers bubbling beneath the surface.

“Here, knock yourselves out,” Trent said without a smile, emphasizing “knock” while staring at Lorenzo.

Three different-colored glasses with bright red fluid inside were placed in front of us. Kool-Aid? Janine came out of the kitchen carrying the same.

“So, ahhh, Janine, I heard you was going off to college,” Lorenzo said.

The boy was not to be denied. With two older brothers to look up to, he thought he knew a few things about talking to girls. Usually they just laughed in his face, proving he
thought
wrong.

“Well, you heard right.”

She stood in the shape of a capital
S.
Her left hand rested on her out-thrust hip as her right foot shot out to the side.

My brain flashed Technicolor messages in bold letters to my lungs that read:
BREATHE! In. Out. In. Out.

The Kool-Aid kissed her black-cherry lips. My heart couldn’t take it.

“So where you going?” Andre said. He tried to hide his smile.

“I already
told
you: UCLA,” Trent said.

He was annoyed. No, he was mad. So I kept my mouth shut. I was afraid of what would come out if I opened it. Andre and Lorenzo didn’t care. They kept talking like he wasn’t even there.

“I want to hear it from her,” Andre said, his eyes never leaving Janine. The smile was front and center this time.

She was enjoying this. Why else would a future college freshman be making small talk with three scrawny — OK, two scrawny and one large — future high-school freshmen? Maybe she was bored.

“Yes. I am going to UCLA. On a track scholarship, thank you very much. Maybe you guys can come to a meet sometime,” she said.

The
S
stretched its shape as she took another sip.

“I would love to meet with you, Janine. I can tie your shoes for you or something,” Lorenzo said.

Trent sucked his teeth in disgust. “Tie her shoes? Man, please.”

A network of veins formed a tree on his forehead.

Janine laughed.

“No, that’s what a track competition is called — a meet.”

Her outfit glowed a brighter shade of yellow from her laugh.

“Good-bye, Janine!” Trent said. He stood and faced her square on.

Her hands raised up as if to say “All right, you win” and she left the room. Our eyes followed her like a cop.

The whole room exhaled, and it was silent for a moment. My heart pulsed right out of my chest.

“So, Trent, the answer to my question is yes . . . a big fat yes!” Lorenzo announced.

“What question?”

“You know . . . is your sister still fine? Although I must say . . . she put fine in the rearview mirror a
long
time ago and is closing in on super-duper-fwoine, with a
couple
of
w
’s in the middle,” Lorenzo said.

We tried to keep quiet, but Lorenzo spoke the gospel. Laughter from the pits of our belly replaced the silence as we howled in agreement. Assorted
amen
s followed in whispers, and again we were silent. But not for long. Trent’s anger sliced through the silence as he leaped to his feet and hurled himself at Lorenzo. He stepped on my ankle as I stood to hold him back, but his mouth still unleashed its assault: “You don’t talk about my sister like that. She ain’t a piece of meat! You hear me, fat boy?”