When I Was the Greatest (22 page)

I didn't say nothing. I just sort of let the words bounce around inside.

“Oh, and when I was leaving, he apologized to me—to us, Kenny—for how he acted the other day when you were cutting their hair. He seemed genuine about it, so I told him not to worry about it.” She looked at Black—Kenny, as she called him—and gave him a sweet grin. “So babe, if you see him, treat him regular. He's forgiven. He's got enough on his plate, and something tells me he's learning his lesson in a much harder way than he ever thought.”

Like a phantom, Jazz came popping up from around the corner. I knew she would show up as soon as she heard the voice of a woman who wasn't Doris. She was protective in that way. Or maybe just nosy.

“Who's that?” she asked.

My father looked shocked, as if he didn't see this coming. As if he didn't know there was no way Jazz was going to let the voice of another woman in our house slide, without finding out what was what, and who was who, and what was who doing in our apartment.

“Jazz,” he called to her, waving her closer. “This is Kim. Kim is Black's girlfriend.”

“Oh. Hi, Kim.” Jazz held out her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, Jazz,” Kim said, flashing that smile.

Jazz looked Kim up and down in a split second.

“Nice shoes.”

Kim chuckled. I glanced down at Kim's shoes. They were nice. Hadn't even noticed them.

“Thanks, Jazz. They look a lot better than they feel! These things are killing me!”

“Is it pinching in the toe or rubbing on the heel?”

“Girl. It's—”

“Uh. Excuse me,” Black interrupted with perfect timing. “We gotta go.” Jazz and Kim both looked at Black, shrinking him down to nothing.

“Anyway, nice meeting you, Jazz.”

“You too, Kim,” Jazz said, wrapping her arm around John's waist again.

John bent down and kissed her forehead, and told her that he would be right back, that he needed to speak to Black outside for a second.

When they all left, Jazz took her seat on the couch and turned the TV back on. The stupid show seemed to pick up right where it left off. I ran over to the window to watch John and Black, but then caught myself and stepped away a little. Didn't seem like a good idea to be too close to the window, y'know, in plain sight. But I could still see John and Black talking. The thought of my dad planning some sort of hit was crazy, but I knew that's what was happening. John and Black talked a while, both using their hands a lot, which let me know that the conversation was pretty serious. John kept pointing to his car, and Black kept nodding his head in agreement. I kept thinking about that gun I saw. I knew that's what John kept referring to. He was probably letting Black know that he had heat and that there ain't no choice but to drive to Brownsville and off whoever was looking for me. Black started shaking his head no, obviously trying to talk my father out of it. But it didn't seem to be working. Then they shook hands and hugged, my father waved to Kim, and he jogged back toward the door.

The rest of the day went pretty smooth if you didn't count the fact that I knew I was being hunted, which I have to tell you is a pretty jacked-up feeling. Like I said, I steered clear of windows, and kept Jazz away too. John knew that I was stressed about everything, so he made sure that the rest of the night was cool. We both knew we couldn't let Jazz know what
was going on, because if I told her that some dudes were looking for me, it would've been the world's first case of a child literally crying themselves to death.

So the three of us watched movies—Jazz's picks, of course—and Jazz and I listened to John tell a bunch of stories about how we were when we were younger. I'd heard most of them a million times, but it was nice to watch Jazz take them all in for the first time. John told her that she was talking way before she was walking, which everyone thought was so strange. Made total sense to me! He said she would crawl around speaking in complete sentences about what she wanted and what she didn't want, but couldn't figure out how to stand up and put one foot in front of the other. John said he would always just say to her, “Little girl, stand up,” because he knew she understood him. Then one day he said it, and she just did it! I remember that. He said that's how he and my mother knew that Jazz would be an old soul.

He did tell one story I had never heard before. He said that when I was three or four, I would go to bed every night with a stuffed dog him and Doris got me. I remember the dog's name was Roofus. John said he would come to tuck me in, and I would make sure Roofus was lying flat on my stomach, with the covers over him, too. He said I would be holding and hugging Roofus so tight that after a while the stuffing started coming out of him. Every night my father would do this, and before he'd leave the room, he'd ask two questions. The first was whether or not I wanted the nightlight on. I always said no. The second was whether I wanted
the door closed or cracked. I always said closed. John said that one night, when he was tucking me in, he asked the two questions, and I answered like I always answered. Then he said, “You're so lucky. You don't have to be afraid of the dark because you have Roofus here to protect you.” I looked at him and laughed, and said, “No, Daddy. Roofus is lucky. I protect him.” And now he said that's why he really wasn't surprised about me taking up for Needles, that I've been that way since I was young.

By the time my mother got home, the three of us were knocked out on the couch, John and I slumped side by side, Jazz laid out across our laps. I heard the knob turn and the door open, and by the time I could lift my head, John's head was up too.

“Ma?” I whispered, my throat full of sleep.

“Lord have mercy, look at y'all,” she said, touching the top of my head as she walked behind the couch. “Get your little sister up and go to bed.”

I slowly slid out from under her legs and scooped her up in my arms like a baby.

“Night, Dad,” I whispered to John.

“Good night, Ali.”

In my room I lay in bed, lights off, but I left the door cracked for the first time in my life. I tried to go to sleep, but my brain was going in a trillion bad directions, wondering what would happen when the sun came up. When it was daytime again, what terrible thing might go down? Was my father going to really go to kill those guys? Was he really going to
put his life in danger for me? Then I started thinking about if I would do that for him. Would I risk getting killed, or at least getting the crap beat out of me? Would I do that for Jazz? For Doris? Of course I would. I did it for Needles!

It was so much to swallow. What if John gets caught? What if he goes back to jail for shooting someone again, but this time for life? What if he misses and they shoot him! Oh, man! What if he can't find them and they find me first? And in that moment, I thought that maybe helping Needles was a mistake. Maybe it was a mistake so big that my father, and my family, would be paying for it forever.

15

I woke up early the next morning. Well, I don't know if you can really call it waking up, since I never actually got to sleep. I rolled out of bed and hurried into the living room to see John, hoping he hadn't already taken off for Brownsville. It was important for me to see him, to talk to him, not that I could talk him out of it. I'm not even exactly sure that I wanted to. But just to see him and talk to him. You just never know, and I didn't want him leaving, and something happening, and me not catching him to say good-bye before he left.

I hadn't heard any arguing or anything like that in the middle of the night, so I assumed it was cool with Doris for him to stay here. When I came into the living room, the two of them were sitting on the couch having coffee. I couldn't believe my eyes. My parents together in the morning. And they actually seemed natural around each other.

“Morning,” I said, trying not to make things awkward.

“Morning, Ali,” John said.

“Hi, sweetie,” Doris said. She stood up, gave me a kiss
on the head, and then went to put her cup in the sink. “I'm gonna be late for work. The A train'll probably be all jacked up as usual.” She grabbed her bag. “Y'all behave. Ali, look after your sister, and you still ain't allowed out this house. Understand?”

I knew that was coming. I just nodded my head yes.

“And John,” she started. She walked over to him. He stood up, and she wrapped her arms around him tight. She whispered something in his ear, and when she pulled away, she whipped toward the door so fast, I couldn't see her face.

“She okay?” I asked.

“Yeah, she's okay. I told her that I was going to go take care of all this drama today in Brownsville, and of course, that has her all shook up.”

“So you really going to do it?”

“Ali, I don't see no other choice. Either I handle them or they handle you.”

“Or we could just leave Brooklyn.”

“Leave Brooklyn? Boy, this is home. You leave home on your terms, not because someone ran you out. Got that?”

“Got it.”

We sat quietly for a second, and then I got a whiff of coffee, and bacon, and cinnamon. I glanced over to the kitchen. No pots. No pans. Stove off.

“Hey! Ma cooked for you?” I asked jealously. Doris never cooks breakfast for us because she leaves so early. If she had cooked breakfast for my father, I was going to be salty.

John looked at me crazy and laughed. “Now, you know
your mother ain't make no breakfast,” he said, shaking his head. “I think it's Brenda upstairs. Go ahead up there and ask if you can have some.”

I laughed. “Ms. Brenda is cool, but she don't seem like the type to share food.”

John hooted. “Got that right!”

About twenty minutes later he'd gotten himself together and was about to leave the house. I asked him why he was leaving so early, and he told me something about how if they hustle like Brother said, then they should be wide-awake and on the block, and that it's best to catch them early before they start looking for me. Jazz was still asleep, which was unlike her, but when I thought about it, maybe she just felt more comfortable knowing that John was in the house. We didn't really talk about too much before he took off, or have any sort of amazing father/son lightbulb moment, but the time we spent, to me, was quality. I told him that I loved him, which wasn't too hard to do. I know for most guys it's pretty tough, but because I'm so affectionate toward Jazz, and I'd watched John be the same way, it seemed like a normal thing to say, especially knowing what he was about to do for me.

I asked if he was going to tell Jazz good-bye, and he said that he'd rather not wake her. He told me to do it for him, and to not worry too much because he would be back. But if there is anything I've learned about parents, it's that they always tell you a positive thing in the middle of a negative situation because they don't want you to trip out. And I appreciate that. He reached down and picked up his Yankees fitted
cap, brushed it on his thigh, and slapped it on his head. He hugged me tight, and awkwardly, then pushed me away and gave me a left-handed handshake. Not dap. A handshake. Grown-man style. And he squeezed tight. So I squeezed tight. And then he left.

Like usual, I walked over to the kitchen window to see him leave. There was really nothing to it. John just got into his car and pulled off. I leaned to the side to follow the car as far as I could, but before I knew it, it was gone.

When Jazz got up, we did all the things we normally did. I needed things to be as regular as possible to keep my mind off John, and to keep me from acting weird around Jazz, which would then lead her to asking questions and worrying. So, everything went like usual. She cooked breakfast. I tried to help, but of course she wouldn't let me. Pancakes, eggs, and orange slices. I ate it. We watched her shows. News, talk shows, soap operas. I helped her look through magazines for cool scrapbook pages while she picked my brain. All of her questions were about our folks. She wanted to know why John had spent the night, and if it was because he and Mom were thinking about getting back together. But I didn't really have an answer for her. To be honest, our parents was the one thing I didn't want to talk about. Not right then. Not with the thought of our dad never returning swimming around my head like goldfish in a shark tank. So I talked around all her questions, never really giving her any direct answers. After a while she just stopped asking and zoned back in to the TV.