The Fight (12 page)

As we cruise down 190th, listening to Seth sing along with the Black Eyed Peas, the scenery quickly changes from big houses with lush lawns to a busy industrial area. There's really no direct way to get from this part of the South Bay to Compton. So, going down 190th until we're able to hit Artesia, which merges with the 91 freeway, is the best way to go. Mickey comes this way, too.

“Who gets dropped off first?” Seth asks in between songs.

“I do. Just drop me off at the bus stop on Alondra. I'll walk the rest of the way,” I say.

“Jayd, why don't you let the boy take you all the way home?” Nellie says, putting her iPod down and looking at me. “It's getting late. You shouldn't be walking around by yourself anyway.”

“I'll be fine. Besides, I don't want him knowing where I live,” I say, playing with Seth. He's dropped me off after plays before, so he already knows my address. It's really Mama asking questions I'm worried about.

“Yeah, you never know what I might do,” Seth says, playing along. “All right, Jayd, here you go. Be careful,” he says, waving at me as I get out of the van, leaving Nellie in his care.

“Get my girl home safely, man,” I say. “Text me when you get to the crib,” I say to Nellie.

“All right, Jayd. And, don't wear that miniskirt yet. I'm going to wear mine next week and we can match,” she says as they pull off. My girl, my girl. The truth is I don't have much choice. I only have a certain amount of stuff at Mama's. Everything else is at my mom's. I would wear the skirt on Friday, but I might be scrapping and I don't want all my goods showing. So, I'm saving my other pair of jeans for then.

“Hey, girl. Where you coming from?” Bryan says, sneaking up behind me. He must be coming from his part-time job at Miracle Market.

“I had a meeting,” I say, knowing he ain't buying my lie. But, it's what I'm sticking with.

“If you say so. How's the KJ drama going?” he asks, pulling out a joint from his backpack, putting it behind his ear. As he slips his bag over his shoulder, his phone rings and he doesn't answer it.

“Dodging the honeys again, I see,” I say, pulling his chain. “Why do guys have to be dogs?” I ask him, not really expecting him to answer.

“Girl, you don't know? Cookies can make a man crazy. And, vice versa for the girls and whatever they want from the man. It all makes us do some strange things, like dodging girls that call you every hour on the hour,” he says, erasing the phone number from his inbox. He's right; this whole day was strange. And, this situation with KJ was even stranger. Maybe Bryan can give me some advice on how to handle KJ, and a little insight on Jeremy too.

12

Déjà vu and Other Strange Things

—
BOB MARLEY

 

 

“T
he sooner you understand that men and women think differently, the better,” Bryan says, putting his phone in his pocket, giving me his full attention. “I'm surprised you even asked the question, especially considering you're the only girl in a house full of dudes. I thought you'd know this by now,” he says, sounding slightly disappointed.

“Just because I know it doesn't mean I understand, especially if it doesn't make any damned sense,” I say, pushing him with my shoulder. Bryan's by far my favorite uncle.

“All right, what happened at school today?” he says, knowing I'm irritated about something.

“Nothing in particular. It's just KJ and his bull, you know, the usual,” I say, dodging a pit bull coming my way. “Why don't people keep their dogs on leashes?”

“You know what, Jayd? You're asking some real stupid questions today,” he says, laughing at me. “When's the last time you've seen a dog on a leash around here? You'll be lucky if they walk them with chains,” he says, telling the truth.

“All right, that was a stupid question. But my first one wasn't. Why can't dudes understand that no amount of panties is worth this much drama?” I say, secretly wishing KJ could be more like Jeremy in personality. Jeremy doesn't give off player vibes at all.

“Because most boys KJ's age don't think that far ahead. They're all about the game, which is literally cat and mouse. Once the cat catches the mouse, there's nothing else he can do with it but play; it's the cat's nature.”

“What the hell kind of analogy was that, Pepe le Pue?” I say, socking him in the arm.

“I'm just telling the truth. I don't want you to think too hard about this, Jayd, 'cause there's really not a lot of worrying going on on KJ's side, believe me. I've been in his situation a couple of times, and all the brother wants to do right now is retreat.” Just then, I get a text from Nellie saying she made it home.

“Who's that? See, girls play games too,” Bryan says, reaching for my cell.

“It's just Nellie, fool,” I say, showing him her name on my screen.

“That doesn't mean anything. You know girls swing both ways more often than not,” he says, running ahead of me up Gunlock, toward home. It's evening time on our block, which means the smell of beans and fried chicken permeates the air, making me hungry. I hope Mama's making something good tonight. What am I saying; she makes something good every time she cooks.

“Whatever, Bryan. Me and my girls don't roll like that,” I say, not walking any faster. I'll catch up with him at the house.

“Not yet. But, that's beside the point,” he says, slowing down, allowing me to catch up with him. “Men are better at games because they know how to tap into the emotional element. And, women are all emotional beings,” he says, falling into stride with my step. “Once a man taps into that element, everything else is his,” he says, cupping his hands like he's holding something precious in them.

“So, what you're saying is it's the woman's fault for falling victim to her emotions,” I say, ready to attack his convoluted theory.

“No, Sistah Soulja. What I'm saying is women have to step up their game if they want the playing field to be equal.

“But, why does there have to be a playing field at all? Why can't we just be honest and satisfied with each other without all the BS?” I say, sounding naive.

“Because, the fun's in the chase. As strange as it sounds, it works. That's just the way it is, Jayd. If you're going to date in this lifetime, get used to having plenty of drama around you at all times,” he says, pulling his shirt out of his pants and passing me his backpack as we approach home. “Speaking of which, tell Mama I'll be back later. I've got some business to handle,” he says, passing the house up and walking down the street to only God knows where.

 

 

When I walk in the house, I see Mama's already in the kitchen, working her magic like only she can.

“Hi, Mama. Bryan said he'll be home later. How was your day?” I say, putting my backpack on the floor and Bryan's on the chair next to the dining room table before walking into the kitchen to give Mama a kiss and get to work.

“My day was fine, baby. How was yours?” she says while putting a big pot on the stove.

“It was okay. I went to the mall with Mickey and Nellie after school,” I say, leaving out the rest. I hate lying to Mama, so I'll just avoid the rest of the truth instead. I knew she didn't remember that I got out early today. That's one thing about Mama; she's not into the school's business. She's just glad that I go on a regular basis and get decent grades, just like my mom. Everything else is irrelevant.

“Mama, how come I always have so much drama around me when it comes to these girls? Trecee sent some stupid note to Misty talking about fighting me on Friday. And, I'm tired of this mess,” I say, picking up the onion on the table, ready to slice it like it's KJ's head. “Why does this always happen to me?” Mama doesn't say anything for a long, long time. When she pauses like this, I know not to interrupt her thoughts. It's usually to let me think about what I just said before she adds her fifty cents. I start to peel the onion as Mama begins to speak.

“From the beginning,” Mama said, “I knew you were different. You almost didn't make it, girl. I thought your stubborn behind would never pick the right year to be born. But, you had to come when you thought it was right, not when I wanted you to come.”

Mama loves to tell stories while we're in the kitchen. I love to listen while I chop the onions, or grate the cheese, or sift the flour, or clean the greens—whatever she and Jay tell me to do. They're the masters of the kitchen. Her stories are always humorous, long, and full of half truths, which is what makes them the most interesting.

Every time she tells the story of my birth, I get a little nervous because I'm not so sure I want to hear it. It's starting to feel like déjà vu, and I think she can sense this. I also don't like hearing it because it always reminds me I wasn't planned.

My mom was pissed to discover she was pregnant right when she finally decided to leave my dad. I don't need to feel any worse right now. What do I need to hear this for? But, I do love to hear Mama talk. And it's rare for us to be alone in the evening. Everyone's usually home by now.

“Mama, what does this story have to do with Trecee wanting to fight me?” I ask, a little irritated. I really need Mama's advice right now, not some mystical story about how I was born.

“The story of your birth helps you to understand your place in the world. If you would remember it when you have these problems I wouldn't need to repeat it so much. Now, shut up and listen. This is also part of your homework: listening for your lesson. Hand me that wooden spoon over there.”

I walk over to the overly crowded kitchen counter and grab the wooden spoon. I sit down, pull a paring knife out of the raggedy blue plastic dish rack and start cutting onions for the red beans and rice.

“You almost didn't make it,” Mama continues. “Your mama and daddy had been married for only seven months, and they were breaking up already. Oh, those two could fight and make up. But, this time was different. Your mama couldn't take it anymore. She moved in with him to get away from home, so in her mind she couldn't come back here. So, she went and stayed with your aunt Vivica.

“Your aunt Vivica, her husband, and your mama all went to Vegas for a weekend getaway. Well, your daddy went down there to get away too. As the universe would have it, they ran right into each other for one more night in Vegas. That, my child, is when you decided to be conceived. In the middle of the desert, on a hot night in late June.

“You were born on your mama's birthday. She wasn't happy at all. Oh, I remember that. Your mama complained during the whole pregnancy. She said you took everything—her beauty, her energy, her waistline. But, more importantly, you took her birthday, which y'all now have to share.”

I've always had these daydreams, or premonitions, if I can call them that. Anyways, right before something is about to happen, I have a déjà vu type experience, sometimes preceded by a hot flash, like the one I had in the mall earlier. Mama's the only person I can talk to about these things. She says it's because I was born with a caul on my head.

It was my mom's twentieth birthday. She was out celebrating with my aunts. Mama said my mom had just gotten her hair done, her shoes were new and her nails were fly. She was rocking a fresh new miniskirt with one of them big loose off-the-shoulder shirts that fit tight at the hips. At nine-months pregnant, my mom was looking hot. She said she wasn't lettin' no baby get in the way of her celebrating her birthday.

They were all dancing and having a good time when my mom's water broke. She went into labor right there on the dance floor. I guess that's why I like music so much. Well, by the time we all got to the hospital I was on my way, and Mama was right there. It was just before midnight and the doctors were amazed at how easily I came into this world. Smooth as silk, because of the caul on my head, if you let Mama tell it.

A caul has superstitious tales associated with it that date way back past slavery to our time in West Africa. Mama says that where she grew up, cauls are respected for their powers and their uniqueness. Children born with cauls are seen as special because they have a direct link to their ancestors, which gives them the gift of sight. Children born with cauls are usually girls. These children also suffer during their childhood because of their uniqueness and because they seem to always have drama happening all around them.

“You would have been a queen had we stayed in Nawlins, Jayd. You and your mom, because you're my daughters and your blood is strong. Understand that there will always be drama in your life. Always. As long as you're Jayd Jackson, granddaughter of mine. You just have to deal with it.”

There are good caul stories and bad caul stories. Mama always tells me both sides to everything. She also says the responsibility of the caul is in the hands of the mother. The mother is supposed to take the caul, wrap it carefully in a clean piece of cheesecloth or another cotton garment, and bury it in the garden of the house the child will live in.

“If this ritual of reverence and respect is performed, the child and her powers will be protected always and she will have guidance from the ancestors. If this is not done, she won't have her rightful protection and guidance, and she'll have to learn her power by way of wisdom, which comes out of suffering and drama, in your case.

“Considering the circumstances of your birth, your mama wasn't trying to hear too much else, especially not about something wrapped around her baby's head. The doctor saw the thin, purplish-blue membrane covering your head and thought it was choking you. He took it and threw it in a pile of biologically hazardous waste to be burned. Your caul never received a proper burial.

“It was burned, my little fire child, and your destiny cannot fulfill itself in any other way. This is why, I suspect, your visions are limited to your dreams, unlike your mother and me.” My grandmother pours the last of the tomatoes into the huge boiling pot of beans, and turns to me with a warm smile on her face.

“I cried for a month when they told me they burned it. Then one night when you were almost a month old, I had a dream of a child bursting out of a ball of flames that seemed it was big enough to fill all of eternity. This child emerged with some scars, but overall, she was healthy and stronger for it. I never feared for your survival after that.

“I knew that your path would be rough, yes, but impossible, never. Instead of the power of sight, you have the power of words. Like the charm bag I gave you. There are words written on them you need to pay close attention to. You'll learn of your special path and powers as time passes. Now, chile, it's time to make the corn bread.”

Mama may have been trying to make me feel better and maybe even a little special by telling me about my path and powers, but the first time she told me this story I was scared. The first power I need to learn about is how to squash this mess with Trecee without getting into combat with her. I really need a way to make it through the rest of this week without any more bull from Misty, Trecee, or KJ.

“But, Mama, you ain't helped me figure out what to do,” I say, passing her the sifted cornmeal. She starts to melt the butter in a cast-iron skillet while shaking a little of the cornmeal over the melting butter. It gives her corn bread a special crispy crust that melts in your mouth. Mama can throw down in the kitchen.

“Jayd, what do you want me to say? Sometimes you have to do things you don't want to do. In your case, you also have to be careful of wishing bad things on people.” Mama picks up the bowl of corn bread batter and pours it into the skillet, which she puts in the oven to bake. The scent engulfs the entire kitchen, and so does the heat.

“It's hot in here. I need to get some air,” I say, moving toward the back door. I can't deal with any more mystical homework or cleansings or anything. I've got to figure out how not to whip this girl's ass in two days.

“You're a fire child, Jayd. I've told you that many times, and yet you still don't hear the lesson in the story,” Mama says. “You may regret the circumstances of your birth but you can choose how to react to the story of your birth, just like you can in this situation with Trecee.” Mama stops talking to take a sip of her water. “Keep a cool head, listen, and be patient. You can control your powers like you can control your actions. Now go think about that for a while,” Mama says, shooing me out the door.