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  That was six years ago, but it still feels like yesterday. Moe got twenty-five years. He has to serve at least fifteen before he is up for parole. Barry was my baby, the love of my life. We had been together since the eighth grade. His grandmom went to my grandmom’s church. We were inseparable. Barry’s grandmom would always drag him to church with her so he would stay out of trouble, and I would see him there. We started talking at church functions and picnics. One day we both played sick from church and went to the neighborhood carnival.

  Me and Barry were sixteen when our son, Davon, was born. When I got pregnant, I had to drop out of school because I was always sick. After I had Davon I didn’t bother to go back. At the time, Barry was in juvie for dealing. His whole time in we remained close and in love. We wrote each other every day and I would bring the baby up for visits every weekend. He promised he wouldn’t fuck up while he was in there and got to come home early to me and Davon. When he got home, he made up for being away from me and Davon by moving us out of my grandmom’s house and buying me a car. I didn’t even know how to drive. He would hustle, steal, or do whatever it took to hold me down. Barry was so good to me. We had our daughter, Deja, two years after Davon.

  One night when we were at dinner, Barry was ready to steal a Louis Vuitton bag for me, when we had money on us. I said, “Bey, I like her bag.” He asked me if I wanted him to steal it for me. He said, “I can get it as soon as she walks out.” I told him I didn’t want it that bad.

  The next day he got a booster to get the same bag for me. Some people said that Barry was a thug and that he would steal from anybody and got what he deserved. But I know he had a good heart. He was a good man; his grandmom brought him up good. Moe sometimes asks me to bring my kids up to the prison to see him. The nerve of him, knowing what he did. He is the reason Barry isn’t here, whether it was an accident or not. I just can’t do it.

  After he was murdered, I couldn’t make it on my own. I couldn’t keep my apartment up and dress nice too. I never had to take care of myself. Barry used to treat me like his little princess; he would help me take care of the kids. He did everything for me. Welfare was not enough to pay my rent. I had two kids. Davon was three and Deja was just turning one. So I ended up moving back in with my grandmom and we have been here ever since. I get a welfare check and with that money I try to pay my grandmom and get food. My grandmom took care of me most of my life. Now she is helping me take care of my kids. Our clothes money and shit like that I get from niggas or doing some kind of hustle. I don’t boost. That shit is corny and not enough money in it for me. I don’t have time to steal clothes and then try to sell them. I might do a credit card or check scam here or there, but nothing major. And when I do that I don’t touch the shit myself because that’s federal time and I’m not trying to go to jail.

  Davon is now nine and Deja is seven. Deja is in second and Davon’s in the fourth grade. I was packing my bag when Deja ran into the room and said, “Mommy, we coming with you today?”

  “No, baby, Mommy is going out of town.” I pressed her Afro puff on her ponytail in and continued packing.

  “Tanya, you need to take them kids with you. You never take them anywhere,” my grandmother lectured as she stood in the doorway of my room with her hand on her hip. She had her rollers in her hair and a red flowered housecoat on. My grandmother looks good for her age. She’s almost sixty. Henrietta is a woman that can hold her own. She doesn’t take shit from people and she will tell you about yourself.

  “Mom-Mom, leave me alone. I’ll take them somewhere when I get back. I’m going to Miami with Natalie and her cousin,” I said as I tried to finish packing.

  “Tanya, you ain’t right! You just like your mother.”

  “Mom-Mom, you tripping. Leave me alone, I’m trying to pack,” I said as I folded my turquoise bathing suit and placed it in my suitcase.

  “I’m not tripping. You are wrong. You had fun making them, not me,” she said. Then she looked up toward the ceiling and said, “Lord, I don’t know why people think they can just leave their kids on me. Your mother did it. You’re doing it and I guess in ten years your daughter will do it too.”

  “Mom-Mom, you know we love you. You know I’m nothing like your daughter Saundra. Davon and Deja are not going to leave their kids on you, because they are not having kids early. I’m going to send them to college and they are going to have good jobs,” I said as I went to hug her. She backed away from me and said, “Don’t try to butter me up. How you got money to go on a trip to Miami when you didn’t even give me any money this month?”

  Just when I was about to answer her question, my ride beeped his horn.

  “I got to go, Mom-Mom. We’ll talk when I get back,” I said. I gave Deja a hug and kissed her and my grandmother good-bye. Walei, my ride, was outside. He is this African guy who loves to be mistreated, especially by me. I had met him walking down the street about two months ago. He rode past me and beeped his horn. I kept walking, so he put his car in reverse to talk to me, but another car was coming. So he went around the block. When he came back he jumped out of his car and said, “You are an attractive lady. Are you married?” I told him no. Then he said my skin was radiant and he had never seen anyone as beautiful as me. I have been in his pocket ever since. You would never know he was African until he opened his mouth. He has a thick accent. He treats me good and gives up the money. He bought me a Christian Dior bag. We go to fine restaurants all the time. He wants to show me off and I haven’t even kissed him. He’s like the only guy I can get money out of without having sex. I’m his showpiece and he is my moneyman. Walei even paid for my trip. He asked me if he could go and of course, I laughed at him. Walei is a student at the University of Pennsylvania. He is studying engineering or some shit like that. He’s about to graduate after he takes his summer classes. He comes from Lagos, Nigeria. He said it’s just like New York City and one day he is going to take me home to meet his family. I think not. I’m not going to no Africa. For what? So I can get stuck? Please.

  Chapter Three

  Natalie Martin-Grant

  I wanted to get my hair braided for my mini vacation. I didn’t want to be looking a mess with big puffy hair. I wanted to be able to get into the pool, to jet ski, and still look cute. I do not have time to even think about doing my thick hair in hot, humid weather. A girl at my son’s day care told me about a girl that did braids in her apartment building. She said that the girl, Heather, was fast, good, and cheap. Three things I needed. I called Heather and she said that she couldn’t squeeze me in until Thursday, which was the day of my trip. My flight would leave at 5:00 p.m. and I wanted to be at the airport by 3:00 p.m. I had to get there two hours in advance because of the security check. I asked if I could come real early. She said I could come any time while her kids was at school. So we agreed on ten.

  I arrived at her apartment, and I swear, the roaches answered the door. As soon as I knocked, one crawled down the door. I could smell a nasty mix of funk and roach spray. She opened the door wearing a dingy white bra and bright purple tights with white bleach stains on them. Her bones were sticking out of her ribs. She looked like a walking skeleton and had a cigarette dangling from her mouth.

  “How you doing? You Natalie?” she asked as she opened the door. “I thought you was my old man. I forgot I told you to come this morning,” she said as I walked inside her apartment. She asked me what kind of hair I bought as she threw dirty clothes off her sofa onto the floor.

  “I just bought the 1B Beverly Johnson,” I answered. She told me that was cool and asked me if I had a comb. I pulled one out of my pocketbook and then she asked me how I wanted my hair braided. I told her straight back with two layers and a design. Then she told me to have a seat on the floor. She took a pillow off her sofa and put it on the floor for me to sit on. It was so uncomfortable and her floor was very dirty. There were dirty shoe tracks and juice spills. While she was braiding my hair, I was swatting flies that flew by me. Her house would be the perf
ect setting for a Raid commercial. I wanted to kick myself for being cheap and not just going to a braiding shop to get my hair done professionally. Then I saw a mouse run across the kitchen floor and jump into the trash bag. She must have been used to seeing mice, because she didn’t budge. I screamed, “It’s a mouse” and jumped off the pillow.

  She said, “Oh, don’t worry about that mouse. He ain’t coming over here.” To reassure me she went and let her cat out of the bathroom. I sat back down. I wanted to get up and leave, but I needed my hair done. She was pulling my edges so tight. I felt like she was doing it on purpose. Then she asked me if I was tender-headed and told me to sit still and lean my head toward her. Then someone knocked on her door. It was her old man. He was a real old man too. He was about fifty and smelled like liquor. He sat down on the sofa next to her.

  “Butch, where my cigarette money?” she asked. He dug in his pockets and gave her a few dollars. She put the money in her dirty bra. He was sipping on something in a brown bag. She took a swig and I was totally disgusted. Then they offered me some. I declined and tried to just watch television, but I didn’t feel right. Finally after an hour and a half she was done. I needed some aspirins because my head was hurting. I paid her, said thank you, and walked to my car. Before I got back in my car I shook my clothes off to make sure I didn’t take any of her friends with me. I had saved about fifty dollars by going to her. However, the next time I’m not going to be cheap and will go to the African braiding shop. It might cost more, but at least there are no rats and roaches running around. And you get in and out without the extra drama. I checked myself out in my rearview mirror. I smoothed down the hair that outlined my face. I had to admit, she could braid some hair. Even if her house was a hot mess.

  It was just about noon. I needed to see if I could find a black skirt to go with a black and white shirt I had for my trip. When I arrived at the mall I went into the small-girl store. I took about five skirts into the dressing room with me. None of them fit. One wouldn’t go over my hips, the other wouldn’t zip, and I think I busted one of the others. I put that skirt at the bottom of the pile when I gave them back to the salesgirl and hoped she didn’t notice. I had no luck in that store. They do not cut their sizes right. Everything runs too small. These clothes are cut for a white girl with no hips. I got hips and butt, I thought. This is some bullshit, huh? I’m getting real tired of not being able to wear anything. I’m going with my girls to the beach and I can’t find anything to wear. What was I going to do? I needed a skirt badly! So I had to do the ultimate. The ultimate was to enter the big-girl store. I had never, ever in my life bought anything out of the big-girl store. I am small at the top and big on the bottom. My stomach is perfect when I hold it in. When I don’t, that is another story. I am a 14 and in between sizes. Okay, maybe I am a 16, but I can fit some 14s. Anyway, I have been working out since I had my baby and trying to go back to a 14, maybe even 12. I was always a borderline big girl. Now, today, I was officially a big girl. I moped into Ashley Stewart in the mall. I looked around to see if anyone saw me go in. No one did.

  A saleswoman came up to me and asked, “Can I help you?”

  “No, you can’t!” I said.

  “Okay, well, I’m Patty and if you see anything you like or need assistance, just let me know. Today we are having a forty-percent-off sale. And you can save another ten percent if you open a charge card with us today.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said. I paid her no mind and continued to look around. I saw black skirts on the rack. I grabbed one. It was a size 26; that wasn’t going to fit me. I put that back and then I saw a size 16 and a size 14. The saleswoman, Patty, noticed I had things in my hand. She said, “Let me get you a dressing room.” I followed her to one.

  “It’s a nice day outside,” she said as she opened the door. I agreed and went into the dressing room. “We have these great cute capri pants you might like. If you want, I can get you a pair.”

  “Okay,” I said. I tried both skirts on. The 14 fit, thank God! I knew I was a size 14. I began to undress when she passed the pants over the door to me. The skirts fit perfect, but I liked to die when the 14 pants didn’t fit. I had to ask for a 16 in the pants. I was about to cry when I thought I heard my phone ring. I looked at the phone, which had caller ID. It was my cousin Janelle. “Hey, girl, are you ready yet?”

  “No, I just came from getting my hair braided and I am picking up a few last-minute things.”

  “You’re going to be late. Where are you at?”

  “No, I won’t. I’ll be fine,” I said.

  “What’s wrong with you? Why you sound like that?”

  “Nuttin’, I’m just in the fat people store trying on clothes. I don’t want to be fat.”

  “You just had a baby. You’re not fat. You’re nice looking. I would love to be married and have a little cute baby.”

  “And I would love to be your size.”

  “You are so crazy. Girl, I am so broke. I don’t get paid until I get back and then when I get back, I have to pay my mom and my uncle Teddy back. I hardly have enough money to go. How much money are you taking?”

  “Like five hundred. If you need to borrow some money I can take some out of the bank.”

  “No, that’s cool. You don’t have to do that. I should be okay. Well, hurry up and finish shopping. And good luck with Anthony. You’re going to need it!”

  “I know that’s right. See you tomorrow. I’ll try to call you tonight.”

  I walked out of the dressing room and a fat, fat, fat white girl with red hair said, “Don’t you just love this store?”

  No, I do not, I thought. I just gave her an evil look like, we are not the same size, so don’t ask me any questions. I took everything I wanted to buy to the register. I had tried on about nine things and was only buying two. Everything else I laid on the counter. The girl said, “Do you want this stuff?” I told her no and she called another salesgirl over to hang everything back up.

  Once in my car, I inspected my neck and chin. It did look like I might be getting a second chin. I don’t know why it’s been so hard for me to lose weight. I have been working out nonstop. Push-ups, sit-ups, running, jogging, walking, even swimming. Okay, well, I didn’t really swim, but I did leg exercises while I was in the bathtub. For the last four days I have been exercising, so why did I only lose two pounds? All that work I have been doing, I should have lost at least twenty pounds! Goddamn. I should have stopped eating the soft, chewy chocolate chip cookies at McDonald’s months ago. But I couldn’t. They were so good they were calling my name and I answered them. It’s all good though, ’cause I am just going to have a good time, nothing else.

  My husband doesn’t even know I am going on my trip. If I would have asked him, he wouldn’t have understood and said no. He said women shouldn’t take girlfriend trips after they are married. I don’t agree with him. I haven’t been on a vacation since about 1999. I am so overdue. I packed my clothes a week ago and put them in my trunk. My plan is to tell Anthony that I am going to the store this evening and instead go to the airport. I’m going to teach him a lesson, because Anthony won’t change a fucking diaper and I’m sick of it. He expects me to take care of the baby, fix his food, clean the house, and be ready to service his needs when he gets home. He does the bare minimum with our son. He might pick him up and say, “What’s up, big guy?” then put him right back down. Anthony just irks me. At night he will even wake me up out of my sleep and say, “Baby, I’m thirsty, can you get me something to drink?” I just ignore him. I blame his mother because she made him into the big baby that he is.

  I said I am going to get another job so I can get out of the house. I used to do catering at the Sheraton at the airport before I had the baby. I did a lot of weddings, anniversary parties, and conventions. I also went to school for a couple of semesters at Weidner University and was a computer science major. It’s been so many years I forgot everything I learned. Lately, I have just been helping my mom at her hair salon. She pays
me to prep and wash her clients for her. I hate it. That’s why I’m looking for a job. I have been looking for a while without any luck. I put the baby in day care because I thought I would have found something by now. I told my mom I wasn’t helping anymore when I get back. So that’s my life right now, working with my mom, Anthony, and the baby.

  Initially, me and Anthony, our relationship was good, like all relationships are in the beginning, but then things changed. I don’t know if it was the baby or what. We had him a year after we were married. All I can say is things have really changed for the worse. His mother, Ms. Renee, adds fuel to the flame by spoiling her son’s ass. The first few months we were married she used to come over, wash his clothes, and call him over to her house for dinner every night. Even after I told her I had cooked. She is a bitch. I cuss her out all the time and my mother almost beat her ass at my wedding. She means well, I guess. I know she is lonely because her husband, Anthony’s dad, died when Anthony was five. And she has been trying to compensate for his father’s death with attention and gifts ever since.

  Anthony is a mechanic at Foreign Car Imports, a dealership not too far from our home in southwest Philly. His uncle left him our house, so we don’t have a mortgage. We don’t have a lot of bills. However, Anthony wastes all of his money on his car. He has a 1985 brown Cadillac. It was a crashed-up bomb when he bought it. He has painted it and put rims on it, a stereo in it, and a bunch of expensive shit I know we can’t afford. The car even has a leather interior. He had the audacity to say that the baby car seat couldn’t go in it because it might destroy the interior. He bought me a green 1996 Ford Taurus from the auction. And I have to beg him to put brakes on my car. My husband thinks crazy. Sometimes I think he loves the car more than he loves me. And I hate when we are riding in his car and some guy likes it and says, “That’s what up” or “What year is it?” and they start talking car talk at a traffic light. That makes me so sick. That gives him more incentive to keep spending on his piece-of-shit car. When Anthony is not playing with his car, he is playing with his Playstation 2. Yes, a grown man on a game. But his ass looks at me sideways when I buy anything for myself. He’ll say, “Is that a new shirt? When you get that?” When I go to the mall, I have to hide my bags and shoe boxes because he tries to count my money.