If I Was Your Girl Page 2

  I didn’t answer.

  “Don’t you ever in your stupid life talk to me like that! You so stupid and dumb. This why don’t nobody else want you! And no matter how I keep tryna stay with you, you keep actin’ dumb! You need to get outta my business, retarded ho! You came around here actin’ like a clown and all we gon’ do is laugh at you.”

  “Don’t be talking to her like that!” Seven screamed.

  “You the stupid one!” Tay said.

  “I know you ain’t talkin’ to me, you crazy ass, crack-head baby!” he spat with a sinister laugh.

  “And what are you, Quamir?” Seven said. “At least Tay got an excuse.”

  Tay blinked her eyes. “Excuse me?”

  “Ho, please,” Quamir snorted. “I’m definitely not gon’ argue with no virgin.”

  Feeling as if I was due to pass out at any minute, I fought with all I had to at least sound strong. “Boy, please. You been with this raggedy ho all week, and you talkin’!” The tears dancing in my throat stopped me mid-sentence. “This really yo’ baby mama, Quamir?”

  “Did I tell you I had another baby? Uh, answer me!”

  Silence.

  “Answer me!” he screamed.

  “No!”

  “Well then, why you assuming things?”

  “What?” Shanice screamed, a flood of tears streaming down her face. “So what is you sayin’? That we don’t have a son?” She punched him in his chest. “You sayin’ he ain’t yours?”

  “Stupid tramp!” I tossed in the wind. “This broad really got a baby by you?” Suddenly, I felt like my son had been reduced to nothing. He wasn’t the oldest, he wasn’t the youngest, he wasn’t even the one by the baby mama his daddy loved. He was just one of Quamir’s kids. “You ain’t nothing, Quamir! Matter of fact, it doesn’t even matter what you do ’cause I’m out!”

  “And I’m done with you, too.” Shanice said. “I’m sick of you cheating on me!”

  “Hos is always schemin’,” Quamir said. “Man, please. Both y’all knew the deal and now you tryna act like you ain’t know about the other? Now if you wanna stomp each other, then don’t talk about it, be about it!” He stepped from in front of me. “What I care!”

  Shanice started going off on Quamir, but I stood there. Stunned. Embarrassed. Wishing I could fly away and nobody would see me. Although he hadn’t hit me, I felt like I’d been beaten. Why would he play me like this? What happened to him falling on his knees and telling this chick I was wifey?

  I became anxious and didn’t know what to do, where to turn, or how to act. I thought about crying but couldn’t get any tears to come out. Then I thought about dying, but thinking of my son reminded me I had a reason to live. Then it hit me, I felt like nothing, as if all my wind had been sucked out and all that was left was a worthless shell.

  “I’m leaving,” Seven spat. “If you wanna stay here and take this crap, then do you, but me, I’m outta here!”

  I stood there for a moment before walking backward to the car and getting in. I knew I looked crazy; I felt out of my mind. As the three of us got in the car and slammed the doors, I tried my best to believe what I was about to say. “I am so done with his ass!” I sniffed as tears covered my cheeks like glaze. “And I know he gon’ come back beggin’ me…like he always does. But I promise you, he gon’ have to work real hard to get back with me. ’Cause I’m not beat for this no more!”

  “You sound,” Seven said, shaking her head as we drove off, “so damn dumb.”

  2

  It was June and my room felt like a sweltering eighty degrees. My ceiling fan felt like it was doing nothing but making noise. Drops of sweat formed on my brow and my upper lip, and curled the edges of my flat ironed ’do.

  I lay in the middle of my full-sized bed, my head underneath the pillow as the early morning sun rays covered my exhausted body. I had one arm swinging to the floor and the other thrown across my wide-awake, eight-month-old son, Noah, so he wouldn’t fall out the bed.

  Honestly, I just wanted a moment to cry. My life was a mess and all I kept thinking about was making things right with Quamir, even though I was the one who’d been mistreated.

  Like, I knew he was dogging me. I wasn’t blind; I could see what he was doing to me. But so much of me felt like I was driven to stalk him, go through his things; listen to his voicemails, and anything else that continued to prove that he was no good.

  “Easy-greasy,” my sixty-year-old Cousin Shake yelled, scaring me out of my misery. He banged on my bedroom door, causing it to vibrate. “If you gon’ slide down the pole with the hoochies at night, then you got to get up and catch the bus with the freaks in the mornin’.”

  I promise you I couldn’t stand him. I wiped the tears from my eyes, marched over to the door and snatched it open.

  “What, you wanna do somethin’?” He pushed up on me, then pretended to be holding himself back. “Don’t hold me back. Please don’t hold me back.” I sucked my teeth. Every day he put on a show at my door. He skipped in place and the rainbow striped biking shorts he had on, with the loose jock (that he refused to let anyone explain to him went on the inside of his pants) bopped up and down along the middle of his thighs. And the four tires he had around his stomach all smacked each other like tuba beats, while his too-tight muscle shirt crept up his chest, scaring the hell outta me. Immediately, I started to scream and slammed the door in his face.

  “Thought you ain’t wanna do nothin’!” he said sounding as if he were trying to slither into my door crack. “Now get yo’ azz up and get ready for work fo’ I bust you upside the head.” And just when I thought he was gone, he pounded on the door again.

  “Yes!” I snapped.

  “I cooked you some grits, they on the table.”

  “Thank you.” I smiled. This was the only part I loved about his over-the-top ritual. “You love me, don’t you, Cousin Shake?”

  “You know I do. Now get dressed for work, fo’ somebody gets hurt.”

  After I showered, I laid out my work uniform: a black hair net, white short sleeve shirt with IHOP stitched on the collar, a tight fitting black skirt, and a pair of throwback Pumas.

  I walked into the kitchen with Noah, to prepare his bottles before I went to work.

  “Hey Nana’s man,” my mother said as she took the baby from my hands and pointed to the clock. “Why are you still home? Haven’t you gotten into enough trouble being late?”

  I ignored that comment, especially since she worked her work schedule around mine, so that she could babysit (which was the only time I felt like she ever helped me out). I took a deep breath. “Good morning, ma.”

  Her eyes glanced at the clock. “It’s close to being a good afternoon.”

  It was only ten o’clock in the morning. “I was up late last night.” I tried to watch my tone.

  “Of course you were. Crying over a no-good dog is hard work.”

  “Whatever,” I mumbled.

  “Yeah whatever, all I know is you better not come up in here without no job, because you chose to run the streets, and don’t think that just because I don’t see I don’t hear.”

  Here we go…

  “Alright Grier,” Cousin Shake huffed his way into the kitchen. “I already done put it on her, she don’t need no more.”

  To keep from snapping, I thought about humming, but since she was already wired and seemed to be looking for a reason to let me have it, I didn’t hum.

  “I know that’s right,” my mother said, shifting the baby from one hip to the other, “’bout time you learned to be quiet. I’ll tell you this though. I’m tired of you and this Quamir nonsense. If you got to chase a man around in the street then—news flash, Toi—he doesn’t want you.”

  That comment was a clear indication that my sister’s been running her mouth…again.

  “Oh,” my mother continued on, “I spoke to my friend Phyllis, the caseworker at the welfare office, and she said they have a new program for teenage mothers in high school where the
y will pay for the daycare. I want you to go down there soon and apply.”

  “Okay ma.” I just wanted to shut her up. “I will.”

  “I hope you didn’t answer that quickly just to shut me up.”

  This was a no-win situation, so I simply said, “Bye,” as I left out the room, heading for the bus stop.

  3

  I’d been working at IHOP part time, every day and every other weekend, for about six months.

  As I pushed through the double glass doors the sweet aroma of pancakes and maple syrup floated through the air. The lobby was mad crowded and the floor was overflowing with customers. I was a few minutes late and my manager shot me the eye and pointed to his watch. I went in the back, placed my purse in my locker, and headed to my first table.

  “Hey girl!” I waved at Tay, who was passing by me.

  “Five o’clock, baby girl,” she smiled, “five o’clock.” Immediately, I looked to my right and there was a table full of cuties. “Either they college dudes or big ballers.” She batted her eyes while waving hi to one of them. “I tried to take them off your hands and get them moved to my section, but you know Mr. Stick-Up-The-Ass,” she pointed to our manager, “was all in my grill.” She circled her hand in her face. “Needless to say, they all yours. Just save li’l Idris Elba, the one sitting in the corner, for me.”

  “Alright Tay.” I turned toward the table and as soon as I made eye contact with the cutest one in the clan, I took a step and some kind of way I ended up splattered…all…over…the restaurant’s floor.

  “Help me.” I heard a scratchy voice say from beneath me. “Please Jesus, save a pimp.”

  And when I looked down, I could’ve punched this dude in the face. It was Percy. Three and a half feet tall, Midget Mac, aka Percy Elwood Jenkins and two members of his too short crew: Cle’otis and Shim-daddy. And yes, Shim-daddy was his real name.

  Be thankful that this crew wasn’t in your ’hood, because I swear to you they were the world’s best stalkers. Everywhere we went, they went. Following us, calling our names, tapping on our knees and begging us to please to go out with them. But Percy was the worst. And it wasn’t because he was a dwarf either. Nobody paid any mind to that. It was because he was aggravating as hell, was always trying to get with somebody, and every time I looked at him, in the great words of Cousin Shake, he tore my eyes up.

  He had a perm, Snoop Dogg curls in his hair, Lil Jon’s glow in the dark grill (that spelled his name on the top row of his teeth), T-Pain’s sweat socks to his knees, Andre 3000 plaid short-set, and Bishop Don Juan’s rhinestone-studded-corduroy flip flops.

  “Why is yo’ li’l retarded ass,” I said as Tay helped me up, “always in my way?”

  “’Cause you want me in your way.” Percy growled.

  Instead of cussing him out, I crouched on my knees, squinted my nose, and barked like a German shepherd right in his face.

  And in true Percy fashion, he passed out, spread out on the floor in front of all the customers like he was Jesus on the crucifix. I wanted to smack him. But instead I left him laying there.

  “Psych homie. I was just playin’.” He magically appeared before me. “But your breath was a little tart.” He waved in front of his nose, “Don’t worry, we can get you some Altoids and hook that up. Can’t have you parading through the Little People’s Convention and ya breath stink. People be like, ‘there go Beyoncé, stank-ass breath and all.’”

  God must be punishing me.

  “My little brother,” Tay rolled her eyes at Percy, “is the same size as you.”

  “Then ya mama need to bring him to see his daddy and stop playin’.” He smiled and his mouth lit up. “Ask her what she waitin’ on.”

  “Lil’ Bootsy!” Percy’s mother, who always seemed to appear out of nowhere, screamed. “Why are you always embarrassing me! Boy, get yo’self over here and sit down in this booster chair! And you better put this seat belt on. I swear I can’t take you nowhere. You gon’ mess around and I’ma have to bust you out. I see that comin’.”

  Me and Tay fell out laughing. “Ladies,” my manager said in a warning tone, causing us to separate and service our customers. I walked over to the table of cuties.

  “Welcome to IHOP. Would you like something to drink?”

  “Nah,” the king of cuties said. “Your number will do.”

  “973—” I said almost immediately without thinking. What the heck was I doing? Usually, I had more control then this. But damn, he was soooooo fine. And not that Chris Brown, pretty boy fine, but that rough rugged, 50 Cent fine, the kind of fine your mama doesn’t want anywhere near your house, but you can’t seem to do without. That kinda fine was right here in the flesh. He was like Juelz Santana…but finer. Six-two, tattoo on the side of his neck and a few sprinkled across his forearms, slanted eyes and thousands of spinning waves.

  “What’s good ma?” he asked. “You gon’ finish hooking me up with the number or what?”

  “Boy, please. I ain’t thinking about you.” I did all I could to suppress my blush. “You want something to drink or what?”

  “Damn ma, you feeling me like that?”

  “Yes—no….” Why was I stuttering?

  He stroked my hair away from my face and pushed it over my left shoulder, “You real pretty. You know that?”

  I took a step back. This whole deal was a hot mess. I sucked my teeth. “Coke or Sprite?”

  “Coke.”

  I wrote his order down and before I could get to his pot’nah, he said, “I’m Harlem. So what’s your name?”

  I ignored the question. “You wanna order your food now?”

  He looked at my tag. “Toi. I like that.”

  “Me too.”

  One of the dudes sitting with him said, “Can I play with you?”

  “Whatever.” I blushed. “Are you ready to order or you still hooked on phonics?”

  Harlem laughed, and oh what a cute laugh.

  There were about three girls at the booth behind them who started snickering.

  Harlem gave me a one-sided smile. “You wanna take this outside?”

  “You threatening me?” I said jokingly.

  “You want me to threaten you?”

  “I do. You can threaten me.”

  Tay, who was standing behind me, turned away from her customer and said, “And you can threaten me.” She started pointing around the table, “and you, and you, oh, and definitely you. You can threaten me any way you want.”

  “Tay,” I said, tight-lipped. “Stop it.”

  “Oh.” She smiled and turned back toward her customer. “Hollah.”

  “Ai’ight, ma,” Harlem said. “Ask my boy what he orderin’. I ain’t sure yet.”

  I looked at him out the corner of my eye. “Whatever.” Was I still blushing? I looked at the dude sitting next to him. “What you orderin’?”

  He pointed to Harlem, “The same thing he is, but if I can’t get that, I’ll take one of your friends on the side.”

  “Somebody call me?” Tay practically tripped over to the table. “I mean,” she said, straightening her apron out, “I’m here…” She stared at one of Harlem’s friends. “Dang boy, is Idris Elba yo’ daddy? ’Cause you fine as hell.”

  “Thank you.” The guy blushed. “But my name is Ibn.”

  “Heyyyy,” Tay said with a twang. “You like the moon—the stars—and all that shit put together. You so fine, I know yo’ daddy pretty.”

  “Tay,” I said again, still tight-lipped.

  “I’m just sayin’.” She smiled. “Just keepin’ it real—hollah!”

  “Why don’t you keep this real?” Sounded over my shoulders. Instantly, my heart started thundering in my chest. I turned around and Quamir was standing there. Immediately, I took a step back.

  Quamir looked Harlem dead in the face. “Listen, li’l dude. Unless you looking to get hurt, you’ll back away from my girl. ’Cause trust and believe, you don’t want none of me.”

  Harlem laughed as he l
ooked at Quamir. “Is this the part where you want me to be scared or what?”

  “What you say, pot’nah?” Quamir snapped, obviously caught off-guard. “’Cause I will put a cap right in your ass. Try me. I ain’t nothin’ to play with.”

  Harlem looked at Quamir like he was stupid. “Whatever, man.”

  “I got your whatever, man. You better relax and step away from my girl.”

  Harlem frowned. “‘Let me kick this to you real quick. Unless you gon’ take her out of here now and have her follow you around, telling me you’re her man doesn’t mean shit to me, ’cause everywhere and every time I see her I’ma kick it to her and that very day she’s missing and you’re wondering where she is,” Harlem slipped the pen out my hand and wrote a phone number down on a napkin, “call me and I’ll be sure to let you hollah at her for a minute.”

  “Oh damn,” Tay said. “What’s really good?”

  “Shut up.” I looked at her.

  “You talkin’ all that,” Quamir spat, “but I betchu he won’t take it outside.”

  “Not right now,” Harlem said, “’cause I’m ’bout to order my food. But when I step out that door and you bring it outside, then it’s whatever.” He looked at me. “Now, can I place my order?”

  “Yes,” I looked down at my order pad, hoping Quamir would get the hint to leave. “What would you like?”

  “Oh, you just gon’ take his order right in front of me?”

  I’m a waitress. What does he expect me to do? Usually I would’ve taken this on, but this time I ignored him. I couldn’t lose my job because I had to take care of my son. It was a rare occasion that anybody besides my mother helped me do that.

  “Oh ai’ight, Toi. This how we rollin’?” Quamir asked in disbelief.

  I turned to him. “Baby,” I said as soft as I could, “please let me work. Give me five minutes and I’ll meet you outside.”

  “Five minutes? Oh, I ain’t good enough for right now? I got to wait five minutes to be somethin’ around here?”

  He was embarrassing the heck outta me. “Sweetie, please,” I said as nice as I could, doing everything in my power not to cause a scene.