The Cake is a Lie (17 page)

I’d gone to a symposium on the “N” word
held by Shorewood’s Black Student Union during lunch for extra
credit.

“
If white people aren’t
allowed to say it then why should black people be allowed to say
it?” Tysen’s loud voice had boomed through the classroom, most of
the white audience murmured in agreement. A white nerdy girl then
stood up, “People died to never hear that word again! White slave
owners invented that word. It means dumb.”

The six black girls that composed
Shorewood’s Black Student Union had raised their voices right back.
Yerusalem, one of the BSU Girls shouted, “Taking that word and
making it our own is another example of why black culture is so
creative and popular. It empowers us to take that word
back.”

I’d stood silent by the door with a
snooty smirk on my face. After 400 years of the worst kind of
oppression, letting them have a word to themselves was the least we
could do. Even if it did make them cooler than me, and gave the rap
videos some of their power.

I’d heard it said right in front of me,
a few times in the halls. But when Mike used it, it didn’t sound
forced and off. The way he said it was straight vicious, just like
in the videos.

“
BUZZ, BUZZ” Mike’s beeper
went off, he took it off his belt and looked at it. Then he looked
around the room until he landed on me standing next to Jeff by the
dresser.

“
Yo lil’ dude, want to make
some bowls? All ya gotta do is walk down the street to the bowling
alley.”

“
I’m down.” I announced
opportunistically.

“
Who dat hit you up?” Mike’s
homeboy, Seth, called out from where he was sitting, watching the
fire. Seth was a half Mexican kid that was born to play linebacker,
but he’d gone another direction and now he was one of those kids
who got all their jokes laughed at out of fear they might attack
you at any minute. He wore shirts with phrases like “We Run This.”
Standing in the same room as him was like being in a cage with a
wild animal.

“
Juan, niggaz been hitting
me up all day, talking I owe him a quarter.”

“
That niggaz loco, he with
Derrek?”

“
Cha.”

“
Aw, fuck that.”

“
I know, that’s why I’m not
rolling cuddy.”

I was now fully alarmed.

“
Well don’t send lil’
homie.”

YES, I shouted inside. Go Seth, great
wise Seth.

“
Mind your own fucking
business, you cool right homeboy?” Mike asked me.

“
For sure,” I was stuck in
Lemming mode.

“
Aight,” Mike grabbed a bag
from his workstation. “Just hand over da shit and then get my
money, pinch it all you want I don’t give a fuck. But once you take
this bag, you owe me 80.” Standing over me, pushing the bag into my
chest, I felt the full implication of his last
you
.

“
Ok,” I said bravely,
putting the bag into my coat pocket. I wasn’t in charge of my body
at this point, I only had one choice.

“
Marco, don’t do it,”
Jonsen’s voice rang through the room, he was standing in the
hallway with a girl that was taking up most of his
attention.

“
So it’s like that homie?”
Mike immediately answered loudly back.

“
I’ll do it,” Jonsen said,
walking into the living room.

“
Chill, I got it,” I said,
with absolutely no conviction.

Jonsen took the bag out of my coat and
headed out the screen door into the night.

“
Buzz Buzz” Mike’s beeper
went off again. He checked in before breaking out in song again, “I
was a dead man, walking they say, so every night I hit the
J.”

“
What’s the rest of your 3
year plan?” Seth asked as he ripped off half a phone book to throw
into the fire.

“
Real Estate,” Mike said,
“I’m gon cop a house and just sit back collecting paper. I’m gonna
be a real estate boss.” This got a roaring laugh from everyone.
Mike took a big French-inhale before responding, “Man, ya’ll
haters.”

More likely in prison, I thought. I
knew our society locked 1 in 3 black men in a box at some point in
their lives. I wondered how smart Mike was, I imagined that he
still bought products based on the logos, slogans and packaging he
liked best, like I did when I was 10. That he still picked his
“favorite” character to root for at the beginning of a movie or
show.

He’s so exhaustingly aware of
maintaining his image, I observed. Does he not know that half of
everything he says is stupid just like the rest of us? What a
materialistic whore. My parents always said growing up poor made
you value material things more, I can’t relate to that. Did Mike
grow up poor?

“
Many clips and 24 riches,
packed, but really who’s got my back? Fade. Now that them niggas
done hit the grave, I'm killing ‘em off for the old days. Sack of
purple kush make me sicker than sic straight cannibal
shit…

Spring, 2005

I popped awake to the sound of
ruffling. I turned around and found myself looking inside a hanging
leather jacket. By the strong Acqua Di Gio cologne I could tell it
was Mike. Was he robbing me?

“
What up, Mike?”

“
Sup lil’ homie? I can’t
find my wallet.”

I was lying on Ian’s bed. Mike kept on
doing what he was doing, which was hunching over me on his hands,
scanning the bed all around me with the light of his cell phone.
The inside of his leather jacket had like ten pockets, I could see
a half a weed pipe hanging out of one, a pack of swishers in
another, the outline of a butterfly knife. Dangling from his neck
onto my chest was a lace necklace that had an Office Depot photo
I.D. attached to the end. But my gaze kept coming back to the huge
bulge where his huge bag of weed was.

“
Maybe it’s under the
pillows, Mike?”

“
YaYa, that’s a good idea,”
We got off the bed and flipped all the pillows over, it wasn’t
there but he leaned over and inspected the bed closer with his
celly light anyways.

“
That sucks man,” I went to
lie back down on the bed. I was still wasted and felt really
gross.

“
Nah don’t go back to sleep
homeboy, come take some BT’s with me,” It was half a plea and half
a demand. Strangely, every upstairs door was open so I could see
straight through the bathroom to Ian’s brother’s empty dark room,
even the hallway windows were open, letting in a cold draft. Where
was everyone?

“
Uhhh okay.” We walked into
Ian’s bathroom and turned on the light, Mike picked up the bong and
took out the colossal bag of weed.

“
I just rolled here from
work, I had no idea everyone was gonna be gone.” Mike was wearing a
white dress shirt and black slacks under his jacket. It was crazy
seeing him dressed up, you wouldn’t have even known he was
Mike.

“
Dude I don’t even know
where everybody went,” I said, rubbing my eyes. What time did I
fall asleep? Mike picked his hair a few times with his hair pick.
Mike had been wearing a medium sized fro recently and loved to
leave the pick in it. It was the tightest thing I’d ever
seen.

“
You’re Marco, right?” The
change in Mike’s persona was eerie. He was using less slang, not as
hostile. He could switch it up, he was a social genius. I pictured
him at Radio Shack, “Yes I can help you with that, sir.”

“
Yep,” I answered, bright
and innocently. I liked acting as non-gangster as possible around
Mike, hoping to irritate him. Mike took a huge BT and I noticed the
thin red and blue coloring around his eye for the first
time.

“
How’d you get
that?”

He blew out a big stream of smoke while
contemplating what to tell me.

“
My brother man, can you
believe that?”

“
Oh what?”

“
Dude started swingin on me
at our mom’s birthday. I’m not getting all emotional ‘bout it, but
in front of our moms dawg.”

I tried to pictures Mike’s mom and
brother but I couldn’t. Mike handed me the bong but my throat was
so sore I couldn’t even bring myself to smoke anymore. “What
happened?”

“
He’s in the military and
he’s always trippin on how tough he is, found out I’m slingin dope
and got all up in my face about it.”

“
Your bro’s prob got some
pretty sweet combos huh, straight Haaadouken.”

Mike chuckled, “He’s got some shit fa
sho”

Awkward silence.

“
You’re a little smart dude
aren’t ya? You think I don’t notice but I do. You’re a straight A
student huh?” I got giddy inside. I couldn’t believe flamboyant,
obnoxious Mike just complimented me like that.

I laughed it off modestly “Word, I’m
‘ight dawgy.” I let some slang slip. I’d incorporated “word” as my
unashamed, go to slang word. I used it all the time. I loved the
way it made my parents and teachers look at me, “‘Did you complete
the assignment Marco?’ ‘Word.’”

“
What do you think about the
war?” Mike looked straight at me with a serious “I’m smart, too”
face.

“
It’s expensive, A Tomahawk
missile can cost over a million dollars. The war has cost a
trillion dollars so fa–”

“
Ya but we need them
missiles in order to get that oil,” Mike interrupted loudly like he
just knew everything. It was a better argument than most people
gave, more honest. I was impressed. Usually I loved debating
know-it-alls, but I felt so gross I was shivering. My eyes were
starting to linger closed when I blinked.

“
We gotta appropriate that
shit.” Mike pulled out big words sometimes, it was 10 times more
spectacular than me using slang. A true renaissance man. This is
how different people come together, I thought, meeting each other
half way.

“
Ya I guess, I’m going back
to sleep Mike, there’s no point in me even taking another
BT.”

“
You’re gonna do me like
that?”

I handed him the bong. “Well, honestly
Mike, I just don’t like you.” He laughed.

“
Well you got my number
right homeboy?” He headed for the stairs.

“
Yaya,” I said over my
shoulder.

“
Call me.”

I crawled back onto Ian’s bed. Seeing
Mike’s soft side kept making me think about a scene from one of
Lil’ Wayne’s video’s that had shocked its way deep into my
consciousness. Where he yells into the camera, “Ya’ll niggas ain’t
doing it right,” with the cocky screech of someone whose slept with
thousands of beautiful women. It was as if he was speaking directly
to all the Mike’s of the world, the rest of us weren’t even in the
game. I felt jealous I couldn’t act like Mike even if I tried my
hardest. Mike was just a social prodigy. I would never be able to
stand in that gangster stance, swaying and fidgeting
intimidatingly, while flicking the tip of my nose with my thumb and
squinting my eyes. The way he did it was perfect.

I passed out after one more lingering
though drifted away. God, I’m the shit. I’m friends with everyone.
Unstoppable.

Summer, 2005

Brandon and I emerged from
the pitch black neighboring park to behold the bright white walls
of Einstein middle school. The blazing lights surrounding the
school hummed like gigantic mosquito traps. Brandon was visiting
for summer and I was already ready for him to leave. He was getting
on my nerves, always bragging about some story involving his
country friends and him getting faded and going ATVing or
off-roading. His country friends were
so
cool.

I didn’t brag back. I didn’t have
anything to prove. If he only had a clue about all the partying I’d
done while he was gone. Even worse, his mom kept him on a short
leash when he was home, so instead of going to the parties we
stayed inside half-heartedly playing video games and watching
movies.

That night we’d gone to Tysen’s 16th
birthday party. Tysen’s mom had invited his cousins, childhood
friends, friends from other schools, it was a social mess. Brandon
and I just stood in the corner turning our noses up at the whole
thing. No one even noticed when we finally slipped out the door. I
had a few dealers, but that night, getting high with Brandon for
the first time in a year, I was calling Mike.

Mike’s red Firebird coup was parked
alone with the doors wide open in Einstein’s bus turn around. The
streets were quiet, there wasn’t a car to be found
anywhere.

Brandon looked worried, “Dude I haven’t
smoked chronic in a year man, I don’t even know if I should. All we
smoke is that Mexican weed.”

I thought you was bad Brandon,
remember? I thought. “You’ll be fine man, you used to practically
breathe the stuff.” I reassured him.

We approached the car to find Mike and
Kace lying back with their seats fully reclined. Brandon faded to
my back while I came up to the driver’s side. Mike had one foot out
the car, smoking a cigarette, looking out into the vastness of his
car ceiling.