Hood (12 page)

She turned around and ran.

Niggas show respect when I enter the building,

My team treatin grown men like they women and children!

“SO YOU DOWN
for this shit or what?”

They were sitting on a bench in Brownsville projects watching a bunch of goons banging each other up in a game of full-court street ball. Ten hard-body niggas hustled up and down the concrete court sweating and going for the ball like there was money riding on it. Their natural athleticism was astounding, and getting called on a foul was rare. With their superior agility, strength, and big-time hops, they faked out, crossed over, and dunked the ball with a brutal finesse, like the only thing in the world that mattered was getting that win.

Dreko glanced at his boy and grinned. They were far enough away from the other spectators not to be overheard, but close enough to appreciate the intensity of the game.

“Nigga how you even gone ask me some crazy shit like that. Hitting Chaos’s spot? Hell yeah, I’m down.”

Hood nodded. “This ain’t no group project so we gotta keep it on the low. Not even Sackie. Just me and you. Xanbar got the whole timing thing worked out. We slide in at night and put in our work, then lay low until the next morning. As soon as we get with Xan and turn over the goods, Fat Daddy’ll be squared up and he can walk free. Then shit can calm down and get back to regular biz at the shop too.”

“Damn. We gone gank Chaos’s shit right out from under his fuckin nose. How much product Xan think we gone get in the take?”

“A lot,” Hood said. “Enough to pull Fat Daddy out the hole and pay off them cats in A.C.”

“And Xan gone get him a big chunk of doe too, right? That nigga wouldn’t even be thinking on this shit if there wasn’t something sweet in it for him.”

Hood shrugged. “Think he ain’t? When you ever known Xan to do anything unless there’s something big in it for him? It don’t shock me that he’s gunnin for Chaos. He been wanting Ocean Hill for a good minute now. He’s prolly using this shit with Fat Daddy as a smokescreen so he can strip Chaos’s boys outta all their product and then make his move on that territory.”

Dreko whistled, then stood up and clapped as a giant cat on the court got packed hard by a little nigga with rockets in his shoes.

“Xan is slick as hell,” he said. “That cat’s about to get over clean and muscle in on some new ground, man. And he’s using me and you to accomplish that shit.”

Hood slid his hands in his pockets. “I don’t give a fuck what he do. It ain’t about us, man. I’m doing this for Egypt. Fat Daddy gotta get his shit together and stop all that fuckin gambling and shit. But my baby ain’t did nothing wrong. I can’t risk having her getting exposed to no crossfire. If them cats come rolling for Fat Daddy and get a piece of my girl, I’ma have to go on a killing spree man…” Just the thought of something happening to Egypt sent fire racing through Hood’s blood. “I just can’t risk that shit, Dre. I just can’t.”

Dreko clapped again at the court happenings then looked over at his friend. “That ain’t gone happen, man. You ain’t even gotta think it. We gone get up in there and hit that mule so hard we break his fuckin back. And when we get back out here we’ll take care of Xan and Fat Daddy too. Egypt gone be straight, my nig. Don’t even worry about it. Ya girl is gonna be straight.”

Egypt’s last year of high school was turning out to be her best.

Unlike a lot of young chicks in this hood she had defied the odds and just about made it through four years of high school without dropping out or getting pregnant, even though her and Lamont fucked like a bunch of little devils every chance they got. Lamont
had
become a statistic though. One of those black males who quit school early. While Egypt was disappointed that her man hadn’t hung in there to complete his education, she had accepted his decision without tearing him down for making it.

At seventeen and a half she was excited about college and looking forward to the new challenges awaiting her. Although going away someplace far for school had always been her dream, Egypt’s priorities had shifted over the years and she was no longer in such a rush to get to Paris, or London, or even to Washington, D.C.

The puppy love she had shared with Hood from childhood had never fallen off. If anything, what they had together had deepened and matured, just as they had, and she couldn’t even imagine going somewhere and not being able to see him every day.

Besides, New York City had some of the best damn schools in the world and it was definitely full of cultural events and museums and stuff. Instead of leaving the circling, protective arms of Fat Daddy and Hood and traveling all over the planet by herself, Egypt planned to get into the city more often and take in some Broad-way shows, visit art galleries, and obtain a student membership to see the New York Philharmonic symphony orchestra.

Egypt had applied to several schools, but Columbia University was tops on her list. It was in the Morningside Heights section of Manhattan, and she looked forward to putting on her iPod and riding the train there and back each day and enjoying the pulse of the city for hours in between.

But college tuition could be really expensive, and her guidance counselors in school had encouraged her to ask her father to go online and fill out the free federal application for student aid. Egypt had smiled and told them she would get on it right away, but that was a damn lie. Fat Daddy’s cash and carry dealings were so far below the legal radar that it wasn’t funny. There was no way in hell the proceeds from his shop were enough to support their hood-fabulous lifestyle, and he had long ago warned her that the IRS was always watching so she should never put his real social security number on anything.

But worrying about money was the furthest thing from Egypt’s mind. Her father had all that on lock. She’d never worried about where cash was coming from before, and she wasn’t about to start worrying now. Egypt thought about chicks like Zena, or even some of the other less fortunate girls in her graduating class, and while her heart hurt for them, she also thanked God she wasn’t walking in their run-down shoes.

She was grateful and realized that she had been double-blessed. She’d grown up with an icon of a father who had given her the world and could hustle his way into anything he wanted. And she had a street nigga who had been loving her since childhood and who would gift wrap the moon and put it in her hands if she wanted him to.

The future loomed bright for Egypt and she was constantly giving thanks. She’d entered this world as the motherless child of a street hustler, and was on her way to graduating from high school and becoming a pre-med student at a prestigious university.

God was smiling down on her and Egypt knew she was exalted and highly favored.

What kinda world you think you bringin babies in?

Another fatherless child around here runnin loose again?

WHILE EGYPT WAS
basking in dreams of college and Hood and Dreko were out planning a lick, Zena was in hard labor and screaming as loud as she could.

“Don’t scream.
Push,
” a middle-aged nurse urged as she squeezed the young girl’s hand and used a clean towel to pat perspiration from her flushed face.

Zena gasped against the pain and pushed down hard, grunting.

Her contractions had come on fast and furious, and if it wasn’t for the Asian lady who worked in the neighborhood cleaners on Rockaway Avenue, Zena probably would have panicked and wilded out. Her feet and ankles had been swollen the whole day, but she’d had a craving for pancakes that just wouldn’t go away. Sackie was out handling some business in the streets, and Dreko wasn’t answering his cell, so Zena had pulled on some clothes and trudged up the street to Key Food to buy some pancake mix and a bottle of syrup.

It was on her way back that it happened. A breathtaking pain sliced through her stomach and shot out of her back like a bolt of lightning. Zena had been so surprised at the intensity of the pain that she doubled over and clutched her stomach, her breath snatched away. She stayed in that position until she was able to move, and had just stumbled toward a parked car when the second pain slammed into her and warm liquid gushed from between her thighs. Zena dropped her bag of groceries and screamed out loud.

The woman in the cleaners saw her from the window and came running out to help. She held Zena by her shoulders, and when she saw the big belly and the telltale wetness running down Zena’s legs, she sat her gently down on the ground, then pulled out her cell phone and dialed 911.

For the past several hours Zena had been in hard labor, alone and terrified. She’d begged the nurses to call Dreko, but he still wasn’t answering his phone. Neither was Sackie. Zena thought briefly of asking someone to call Egypt, but knew her friend was more than likely at school.

There was no one else she could count on, and Zena cried as she tried her best to do what the doctors were telling her to do: push her child out into the bright lights of the cold world.

While the pain was really bad, the fear that gripped her was even worse. Zena had never gone back to the clinic for her test results, despite the repeated letters and phone calls from the health-care nurse.

There was no telling what she might have been carrying and exposing everyone else to without their knowledge, but there was also no way in hell she could speak of it. For almost three months she’d been a big coward who couldn’t muster up enough courage to face the truth, and now as her body was stretching and writhing and preparing to give birth to a new life, Zena wondered if her past was about to come back to haunt her.

The contractions were devastating. She grit her teeth and rode the agony, praying hard that her baby would be born healthy. With nurses on either side of her and a doctor between her legs, Zena talked to God and in her pain-induced delirium, she could have sworn He talked to her right back.

Later that night, in the early morning hours of the new day, Zena reached for the last of her strength and gave one final push. Her body submitted and her child entered the world, screaming in displeasure.

“Oh!” one of the nurses exclaimed with joy. “It’s a girl! You have a beautiful baby girl!”

Zena’s eyes crawled all over the baby when the doctor held her up in the air. Her heart pounded as she searched the tiny infant for some sign of a defect, but she saw none.

“Is she okay?” she asked, searching the doctor’s face for a hint of concern. “Do you think something’s wrong with her? Does she look okay?”

“She looks just fine,” the doctor reassured her. We’ll run a few routine tests and know a lot more later, but right now she looks just fine.”

Zena sighed with relief then collapsed against the pillows. The child was small, but she looked perfect. She looked like her father, except her skin was pink and she had a full head of curly hair. Just perfect.

“Good job, mother,” the other nurse complimented her, beaming. “She’s going to be gorgeous. Have you picked out a name for her yet?”

Zena sighed weakly. Strands of hair stuck to her damp face as she grinned at her new baby. “Andreka,” she said firmly, and despite everything she wished her baby’s daddy could have been here standing right by her side. “I’m gonna name her Andreka. After her father.”

Speak no evil, just have your fun…

IT WAS DURING
her four-week checkup at Brookdale Hospital that Zena finally got the news she had been running away from for months. Sackie was at the crib babysitting Andreka, and Zena was sitting across from the doctor who had delivered her child. She had come expecting them to ask her a few questions about how she was doing “down there” and to probably get examined, but instead the doctor had taken her into his small office where the words he spoke beat into her like a sledgehammer.

“I’m sorry, Miss Woodson,” Dr. Beatty said softly, “the HIV test you took while you were in labor came back positive. According to the records kept by the Department of Health this is your third positive test result, which would indicate to us that you’ve been exposed to the virus that causes HIV and AIDS.”

All the color drained out of Zena’s face at the sound of those words. Thinking it might be true was one thing, but hearing the truth confirmed out loud was devastating.

Tears slipped from her eyes as Zena asked in a tiny, fearful voice, “W-w-what about my baby?”

The doctor’s voice went even softer. “I’m sorry. Your daughter has tested positive for HIV antibodies.”

Zena gasped and bit down on her lip as the doctor quickly reached for her hand.

“But that doesn’t mean she has the virus or that her test results will stay that way,” he added quickly. “Many babies seroconvert from a positive status to a negative one during the first year or so of their lives. We’ll have to retest Andreka in a few months, but right now we need to concentrate on you. You’ll have to keep yourself healthy if you want to keep your daughter healthy. Let’s use this time to discuss a few treatment options.”

It was all Zena could do not to jump up and rush out the room. If the doctor hadn’t been sitting between her and the door, she would have busted out of there like a wild animal and never looked back.

Instead, she sat there and listened as he gave her a brief medical background on HIV and talked about the risks and benefits of drugs such as AZT and certain antibiotics.

He gave her a follow-up appointment but Zena just folded the paper in a small square and stuck it into her purse. She couldn’t bring herself to talk or to ask any questions. She just cried silently as he spoke, and when he was done he took her hand again and looked deeply into her teary eyes.

“I know this is a lot to digest right now, and you don’t have to try to understand it all right away. You’ll continue to learn more about the disease as time goes on, and I’m sure you’ll have a lot of questions then. The important thing to remember right now is that HIV is no longer an automatic death sentence. With the right attitude, counseling, medications, and proper nutrition, many people have learned to live with this virus instead of expecting to die from it. There’s someone else who would like to come in and talk to you now, and I believe you’ll find her a source of information and a great source of comfort as well.”

Moments later Zena found herself staring at a woman who smelled like McDonald’s apple pie and whose presence filled the room with soothing compassion. She was an HIV counselor. A sturdy-looking black woman in her fifties who had a big gap between her two front teeth and wore long, silver-dotted cornrows in her hair.

“Hello, darling,” the woman said, her words riding on a kindly breath. “I’m Flora Baker, and I’m here to help you.”

Instead of taking a seat at the desk Miss Baker came directly over to Zena. Without reservation she put her warm arms around the girl, enveloping her in something Zena had never felt before: a tender, motherly hug.

“It’s okay,” the woman said gently as Zena cried. She soothed and rocked her until signs of tension began leaving her body. “I know right now you’re frightened and you probably feel like you’re all alone. But you’re not, baby. From now on I’m going to be here for you day or night, whenever you need me, and I promise you, we’ll get through this together.”

Zena was shocked. Wrapped for the first time in a pair of safe, womanly arms, she just let go. She opened her mouth and cried. Loud and hard. For herself just a little. For her infant daughter, a whole lot.

“M-m-m-my
baby
!” she wept into Miss Baker’s breasts. All the fear and guilt she’d been carrying for months, and now the shame of what she may have done to her child came pouring out. “I gave it to my
baby
!”

“Yes,” Miss Baker said gently, patting Zena’s back. “Yes you did. But little babies are remarkable, sugar. A lot of times they surprise us, and with God’s help they do all kinds of miraculous things. Now you’ll have to bring her back to be retested, but in the meantime you just wait and pray, sweetheart. Wait and pray. Help is here now, for you and for your baby. Just wait and pray.”

There was a strong sense of conviction in the old woman’s words, as though she knew of what she spoke. But Zena had no such confidence in time or in God. She left the hospital with tears still in her eyes and headed back to the projects, on a mission. Less than thirty minutes later she had copped five vials and a stem from a trap boy on Newport Street. Back at the crib she marched straight past Sackie without saying a word and went into her bedroom and closed the door. With just a glance at her baby, who was sleeping soundly in her crib, Zena pulled out her stem, then dropped two rocks and sparked them up. She sat back and proceeded to smoke until the pain was no more.