First Semester (21 page)

THE FAULTY PHONE

I
came back to my room and went through Timothy's first-aid kit in search of a Band-Aid. Luckily, the gun had barely pierced my skin, so the cut wasn't too bad. The worst part was the swelling. The side of my face was on sweezy, and my head was killing me. When I found the Band-Aid, I grabbed a couple of aspirin tablets too. I went into his emergency water supply and
borrowed
a bottle of Dasani to wash the pills down. I thought he would wake up when he heard me rumbling through it, but he was knocked out—snoring like a bear as usual. Except this time, for some strange reason, he was fully dressed in a suit and tie. After I'd applied the bandage and taken the medicine, my knees buckled. I was so tired I crashed down on my bed. Bad mistake. The impact of my body hitting the bed made me feel like I had just been hit in the head with a gun again. Timothy's obnoxious snoring problem didn't make things any easier for me. Just as I turned out the lights, the phone rang right next to my ear. Timothy had to have turned the ring volume up to the highest level, because it sounded like an elementary school bell. I didn't want to answer it, because I was dizzy and didn't feel like talking. But every time it rang, the dizziness worsened and my head pounded harder. I answered in a groggy “Why the hell are you calling here so late?” tone.

“Hello?”

“J.D.?” a soft voice asked.

“Yeah. Who's this?”

All of a sudden, Timothy popped up out of his sleep and jumped to his feet. It scared the hell out of me.

“Is it for me?” he asked, in a panicked tone. “Are you sure it isn't for me?”

For a second I sat there, looking at him like he'd lost his damn mind.

“Nah,” I said, taking the phone down from my mouth. “It's for me.”

“Oh, okay, then,” he said, crashing back down onto his bed and instantly falling back to sleep. I always thought the dude was weird, but now he was taking his squareness to the next level. He was irking me. By the time I got back on the phone he was snoring again.

“H-e-l-l-o?” the person on the phone asked, sounding annoyed.

“Who this, blood?”

“It's Katrina,
blood,
” she said, mocking my slang.

I hadn't heard from her all day. I couldn't believe she had the audacity to even call my room.

“I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to talk to my baby on his birthday. I called you tonight because I wanted to do something, but you didn't answer your phone.”

“Is that right?” I asked, trying to keep my composure. “Are you sure you called the right guy? I had my cell phone on all night and I didn't see your name on the caller ID.”

“Oh, you know what happened? I put your dorm room phone number in my phone as the primary number to call. So that's the number I've been calling. I don't know what I was thinking. What did you end up doing?”

“I went to the club. How about you?”

“I had to help my grandmother move some of her things into her new apartment.”

I figured today must be “everybody lie to J.D. day” or something, because she had turned into a compulsive liar—fabricating the truth for no reason. Who helps their grandmother move on a Friday night? Just thinking about her trying to get over on me was turning my headache into a serious migraine.

“I am so sorry we didn't get a chance to hook up, boo. Happy belated birthday anyway. You're going to have to let me make it up to you.”

“Am I?” I asked sarcastically. Just when I was about to blow a fuse and tell her how sloppy her game was, somebody called on my other line. I clicked over.

“Hello?” I asked.

My mom answered in an excited voice.

“J.D.?” she asked.

“Hey, Mom.”

Before I could finish, she started singing in her loudest choir voice. “Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, J.D.! Happy birthday to you!”

Something told me she had no idea I had a splitting headache or it was damn near five o'clock in the morning in Atlanta. You would've thought I'd just arrived at my third grade surprise party or something.

“Hold on real quick, Mom,” I said, clicking over to give Kat a formal dismissal. The events that followed are questionable. I knew that cordless phone like the back of my hand. I could dial my Social Security number flawlessly without looking if I wanted to. And to this day, I believe I removed the phone away from my face and pressed the flash button on the phone to click over. But it was dark, and my eyes were closed. Apparently I hadn't when I thought I had. I just went off, holding the phone away from my mouth so I could get my aggression off my chest without being interrupted.

“Yeah, about that opportunity for you to make things up…you should be good at that—you've been making shit up all night! I should've known not to fuck with no bootsie-ass ATL bitch like you in the first place. I should've treated you like what you are…a piece of loose-ass, weekend, groupie pussy. You can't play a player. But since you wanna kick game, you can kick rocks too!”

By the time I'd finished ranting and raving, my head was killing me again. I brought the phone back to my ear to hear her reaction.

“Excuse me!” an upset voice groaned.

I popped up into an upright position. Either I was tripping or the person on the other end of the line sounded just like my mom. I removed the phone from my ear, ran my hand across my face and put the phone back up to my ear.

“Hello?” I asked, returning to my drowsy voice.

“Excuse me! This is your
mother,
J.D.!”

“How long have you been listening?” I asked.

“Long enough to know that you done lost your damn mind! Who the hell do you think you're talking to?”

“I'm sorry, Mom. I'm gonna explain in a second. Hold on for a quick sec.”

I put my head down and shook it back and forth. This birthday kept getting worse and worse. This time when I clicked over, I made sure. “Hello…Kat?”

“Yes,” she said, sounding irritated.

“This is my mom on the other line. I'ma holla back when I get around to it.”

Waiting a long time for somebody to click over and then getting hung up on by them is the worst. I figured it was the least I could do.

When I clicked back over my mom was still mad. After I'd explained my situation with Kat, she was a little more understanding.

“I'm gonna let you slide with all that street talk on your birthday,” she said. “But you shouldn't be disrespecting women like that. I don't care what she did to you. I didn't raise my son to treat women that way.”

I didn't want to tell her about the jacking incident, because I didn't want to worry her. But I've never been good at hiding things from my mom. So eventually I broke down and told her. I knew she'd overreact.

“Oh, my God!” she screamed. “My baby! Are you okay? Do I need to fly down there?”

“I'm cool, Mom. I'm just mad they got my earrings, my ID, and all my birthday money.”

“You don't worry about that stuff, J.D. Those are material things. You can get all of that back. You need to be thanking God them no-good niggas didn't take your life! Did you call the police?”

“For what? They ain't gonna do nothing about it.”

“You'll never know if you don't file a report. Now, do your mom a favor and go to the police first thing in the morning.”

“All right, Mom. My head is killing me.”

“You need to put some ice on your head, J.D. It will help take the swelling down. And put some Neosporin on that gash to sanitize it.”

“I got you, Mom.”

“Well, I'm so sorry to hear about your day, baby. I just thank God that you're alive. I don't have a lot of money, but I'm gonna put a hundred and fifty in your bank account tomorrow. That should last you until you come home in a couple of weeks.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“You're welcome. Now say your prayers and get some sleep. Your mama loves you.”

“I love you too,” I said as I hung up.

My head was hurting so bad I didn't get on my knees to pray, although I probably should have. I just leaned back, closed my eyes and thanked God for letting me live to see my nineteenth birthday. I laid my head down, nestling the good side of my face into the pillow. Just when I started to doze off, the phone rang. Again! I picked it up on the first ring.

“You've got the wrong number,” I said.

“May I speak with Timothy McGruden?” a deep voice asked.

“Hey, Mr. McGruden.”

“This isn't Mr. McGruden. Tell Timothy his first cousin needs to see him on the baseball diamond in six minutes!” the voice said, immediately hanging up the phone afterward.

“First cousin?” I mumbled to myself.

Timothy popped up like a lottery ball.

“My first cousin called?” he asked hastily. “Did he ask for me? What did he say?”

“He said meet him at the baseball diamond, or something.”

Timothy flipped on the lights. I squinted. I watched him slip on his muddy penny loafers and head for the door in a hurry.

“J.D.!” he screamed, stopping in his tracks. “What happened to the side of your face?”

“I got chased by a dog and slipped,” I said sarcastically.

“Oh, I got you,” he said. “You must be on line too?”

I was too delirious to make out what he was talking about. It felt like somebody was driving a nail into the left side of my head with a hammer. “Line two? What you talking 'bout, blood? We only got one phone line.”

“Forget I even said that.”

I was too tired to read between the lines. I wondered where the hell he was going in a church suit and muddy penny loafers at five o'clock in the morning. But I was happy to see him go. I could finally get some good sleep.

“Hey,” I said.

“What's up?”

“Do me a favor and hit the light on your way out.”

FINALS

F
or the first time all semester, I went a whole week without smoking, drinking or partying. I had to buckle down. In order for me to pass my finals, I had to hit the books hard, and that's just what I did. Even though Kat and I weren't on good terms, she'd helped build my confidence to the point where I knew I could do it by myself, as long as I put in the effort.

The fact that I got tired of everybody asking me what happened to my face made it a little easier to stay inside. Isolating myself enabled me to accomplish my goals and do everything I had set out to do. By the end of the week I had knocked out both of the ten-page papers I had to write and mastered the cut-and-paste technique. I'd studied every assigned chapter and skimmed through every study guide. For the first time in my life, I felt like a real college student.

My independence included blocking Kat out of my mind. I'd purposely skipped all my study sessions with her. Even though she'd been calling me all week, I refused to return her calls. My pride wouldn't let me. When I walked into my First Year Seminar class, everybody was sitting down, nervously chitchatting with their textbooks open as they waited for Dr. J to hand out the exam. I felt Kat's eyes on me the moment I walked through the door. I intentionally avoided all eye contact with her. I never even looked her way.

The outfit Kat was wearing made it extremely difficult to pretend she wasn't there. She was wearing what had to be the sexiest outfit in her closet—a light pink blouse, buttoned down just far enough to expose the string of pearls that accentuated her sumptuous cleavage. I would be willing to bet half the guys in the class marked all Ds on their Scantron answer sheets because they couldn't take their eyes off Kat's tits. I even saw Dr. J sneak a peek.

A few seconds after I took my seat, I felt someone tapping me on my arm. When I turned around, a girl was shoving a letter on my desk. I looked up and read Kat's lips.

“Please read it,” she mouthed.

I never even opened it. Instead, I looked at her, looked at the letter, balled it up, looked to the trash can in the corner and shot for three. Swish! I looked at her again. She was infuriated—damn near in tears. It was hard for me to empathize with her, but I knew her pain. I figured Kat was getting a taste of her own medicine. I avoided her painful expressions by turning toward Dr. J. As he administered the exam, he told us how to check our grades online.

After finishing my test, I walked toward Dr. J's desk to hand in my Scantron. I looked at the floor all the way there, checking to make sure my shoes were tied to avoid any incidental eye contact that might have occurred along the way. When I got there, I slipped my Scantron onto Dr. J's desk, looked him square in the eye and shook his hand. It was the first time in a long while I actually felt confident turning in a test. It was as if I knew the studying had paid off.

“Thanks for the knowledge,” I said. “Have a nice winter break.”

Kat was sitting right next to him, staring up at me with a pouty face.

“You're welcome,” he said. “And you do the same. Are you going back to Cali?”

“You know it.”

“Well, be safe and remember what I told you.”

“What's that?”

“All progress requires change—”

I finished the sentence for him. “But not all change is progress. I got you.”

I walked right past Kat and headed for the door. When I closed it, I took in a deep gasp of air. It had taken everything I had in me not to look her way. But as far as I was concerned, I'd jumped the first hurdle. I had no idea how I would clear the next one though. I still had a biology final to take the next day, and our seats were close to each other's.

I tried to put Kat out of my mind once and for all, but she didn't make it easy for me. That night, she blew my cell phone to smithereens, leaving message after message. She told me that she needed to talk because it was an emergency. I was starting to get under her skin, but at least she knew how I felt. I wanted to call her back but figured the emergency she had to discuss was probably just another one of her lies. She had a sense of urgency in her voice on the message, but then again, she had a sense of sincerity in her voice when she told me she was
helping her grandma move
on a Friday night. I tossed and turned in bed all night, thinking about what Kat could've possibly had to tell me that had her calling my cell phone like she'd lost her mind, even though I hadn't called her back.

As I dozed off, looking across the room at an empty bed, I thought that aside from the day we took our final exam in Dr. J's class, I hadn't seen Timothy all week. And come to think of it, when I saw him in class, he was taking the First Year Seminar final standing up next to his desk. In fact, when Dr. J asked him to have a seat, Timothy damn near begged him to let him take his exam standing up. He was acting so strange I almost felt like calling his mama. For a second, I thought somebody might've slipped ol' Timmy a mickey in his Capri Sun.