Teenage Love Affair Read online

  I looked at Courtney and we popped our lips, gave each other fist bumps, and I sat down.

  Just as everyone started telling me how good my report was, the bell rang. Forty-five more minutes and I’ma be like deuce-deuce baby.

  “Miss Fields.” Ms. Raymond called me on my way out the door. “On Monday, I expect a written and less creative report.”

  This chick knew she was trippin’. I didn’t even respond to that. Instead I headed to honors algebra and allowed my teacher, Mr. Watson, to bore the heck outta me.

  After three pages of mixing my first name with Ameen’s last name with hearts, clouds, and bubbles around it, class had finally ended and I was on my way to fulfill my destiny.

  I walked down the hall, mixed in with the first-period lunch students, walked out the side door of the school, and there was my baby sitting in my black ’97 Honda Accord. He crashed his onyx Escalade last month, so being the caring and supportive woman that I am, I let him stunt in mine.

  My man’s whole presence was fiyah: Five foot eleven, a muscular build that put 50 Cent to sleep—scratch that, it put 50 in a coma—he had a fresh Caesar with thousands of brushed-in waves, and his swagger was so serious that anybody looking at him knew he was nothing to play with.

  Lil’ Wayne’s throwback “Lollipop” was bumpin’ so loud inside the car, it looked as if the tinted windows were jumping. I slid in and Ameen looked at me with a sexy glare on his face. “You’re late.” He tapped the digital clock on the dashboard.

  “I had to go to algebra, baby. That was the only way I could cut without anyone noticing I was gone.” I reached over to kiss him and he pushed me back.

  “So what you sayin’?” he asked seriously.

  “I’m sayin’ I had to go to school.” I couldn’t believe he refused my kiss.

  “So school comes before me, that’s what you sayin’?”

  “No.” I hesitated. “Nothing comes before you.”

  “It better not, either.” He ice grilled me and pointed his finger in my face.

  “Don’t be mad.” I pecked the tip of his finger and he twisted his lips. “You know I love you,” I said.

  “Yeah, ai’ight,” he said as we pulled off. My baby was always jealous. Sometimes it was scary as hell, but cute. I eased back into the smooth black leather of my worn seats, and out the corner of the rearview mirror I spotted a shopping bag with Gucci written on it. It couldn’t be. I turned around in my seat and oh…my…God! The boots I wanted. I threw my arms across Ameen’s chest and started hugging him.

  “Slow down, Zsa.” He laughed as he swerved across the yellow line. “I’m driving.”

  “I can’t believe you bought them!” I screamed, holding one of the candy apple red wedged heel boots in my hand.

  “Yeah,” he said as I hugged the boots. “I felt bad for the misunderstanding we had the other day when I thought you were letting that dude kick it to you.”

  “I don’t wanna talk about that.” I quickly swallowed the lump in my throat, as the thought of how he yoked me by my collar flooded my mind.

  The last thing I wanted to think about was how frightened I felt with my collar in his hands and the look of rage in his eyes. I mean…I knew I had no business talking to that dude, although I didn’t know him and all he did was ask me for directions to Springfield Avenue. But still, I knew Ameen had had a bad day and all I did was aggravate it. So…in a way…I guess I asked for it. But my baby made my day once again with these thousand dollar kicks. “I swear you the truth.” I planted a wet one on his lips as we headed to his spot.

  Ameen lived with his mother, her boyfriend, his sister, and her baby. His house was ran nothing like mine. For one, he paid rent. Rent, can you believe it? Your mother taking money from you. Now, what kinda bullshit is that?

  Wait, that’s not all of it. You know I can chill in his room, right? Door closed, slow jams playing and everything, and Ameen’s mother has never knocked on the door or asked what we were doing. She really didn’t seem to care. As a matter of fact I don’t even think she knew my name. I would always speak and ask everyone how they were and they would respond by looking at me like I was stupid. Whatever.

  I walked behind Ameen into his room and before long we were doing things that I knew my mother would’ve had me drowning in holy water for.

  Two hours later I was showered, dressed, and ready to go to work. I grabbed my car keys off of Ameen’s nightstand. “Call me later.”

  “Where are you going?” He hopped out the bed. “Hol’ up, wait for me.”

  “I have to go and pick up my little sister.”

  “So, what? I can’t use your car?”

  “I didn’t say that.” I hesitated. Lately, Ameen had been using my car a little more than I really wanted him to, but then again, he was my man. “We have to hurry, Ameen. She doesn’t like being at the neighbor’s too long.”

  He smiled. “You know I got you.”

  As we drove down Clinton Avenue toward Highway 78 West, I swear this mofo had stopped at least a hundred different times to speak to just about every dude he knew on the street. If he wasn’t blowing the horn like crazy, he was slowing down to kick it with someone. I was getting pissed by the minute.

  He slowed down for the umpteenth time and yelled across the street at a guy standing there. “Yo, come ’mere!”

  After a few minutes of Ameen kicking it with his friend, a guy pulled up next to us on the flyest 2009 royal blue and white Suzuki motorcycle I’d ever seen in my life. I waited for him to pull off since the light had turned green, but he didn’t. Instead he took his helmet off.

  Damn! Can you say fine?

  Imagine Idris Elba at seventeen, or better yet, Souljah Boy completely muscled out and looking like a man. Six feet tall with toasted almond colored skin, a crazy nice build, muscles everywhere, tattoos in all the right places, sexy dreads that hung midway down his back, and a shadow beard and mustache that would make the saneness chick hurt somebody. I hoped like hell that Ameen didn’t notice me starin’, because if he did, he would see that for a split second I was in love with somebody else.

  “Hey, yo.” The guy on the motorcycle called for my attention.

  Hey, yo? Last I checked, my birth certificate said Zsa-Zsa La-Shae Fields, not “Hey, yo.” So I turned around and looked at Ameen, because just that fast I’d been turned off.

  “You know him?” Ameen asked as his chiseled jaw clinched tightly.

  Before I could say no, the guy on the motorcycle said, “Zsa-Zsa.” I turned back around and this cat had the nerve to be smiling, and that’s when it came to me, exactly who this was. I hopped out the car. Tears of joy filled my eyes and my heart raced in my chest. “Malachi?!”

  “Yeah, it’s me, ma. What’s good? I been looking for you since I got back in town,” he said, hugging me tightly. The ring he’d given me years ago hung around my neck and pressed against his chest. “I missed you so much,” he said.

  “I missed you, too!” I couldn’t help the tears falling down my face. I felt like such a dork. “I can’t believe you’re here!”

  “Yeah, I’m back here for good.” He wiped my eyes and continued to hold my hand. I knew for sure that Ameen was probably pissed. “You look beautiful.”

  “Pardon me,” interrupted our moment. “You wanna introduce me to your friend?” Ameen said as he leaned over the middle console.

  “I was waiting for an introduction myself,” a pissed female voice chimed in. I looked up and a chick that I knew from school was standing there. I just hoped this wasn’t his girl.

  I turned to Ameen and said, “Ameen, this is Malachi, and Malachi, this is my boyfriend, Ameen.” They gave each other a fist bump and I turned to the girl Malachi was with and said, “Don’t I know you? What, are you two related?”

  “This is Staci,” Malachi said. “My girl.”

  I felt like I’d been stabbed. I swallowed, and Staci rolled her eyes at me. “Whatever,” she snapped. “Can we leave now?” She hopped on
the back of Malachi’s bike.

  “Yeah, whatever,” I said, getting back into the car.

  Malachi looked at me and his eyes seemed to apologize. Suddenly I remembered how it felt when he’d left the first time.

  “So I’ll see you around,” Malachi said.

  “Yeah,” I said dryly, watching them take off and head down the street. “You do that.”

  I turned to Ameen and was greeted by the palm of his hand. I tried to move, but Ameen palmed the entire side of my face and pressed it against the window. “You gon’ disrespect me!” Ameen screamed.

  “Get off of me!” I tried to swat his hands, but he grabbed my wrist with his free hand and said, “I dare you to move. Move.” He paused and looked at me. “Do it and see don’t I pimp smack you!”

  “What are you doing?” I screamed again.

  “You cheating on me with that dude? Huh? You cheating on me?”

  “Would you chill, Ameen?” I can’t believe this.

  “Who the hell was that?”

  “Malachi!” I screamed. “He was my best friend.”

  “Oh, now you got best friends? So what am I? Nothing? You have to be crazy disrespecting me!”

  “We were best friends when I was a kid!”

  “And here I bought you a thousand dollar pair of boots trying to make up with you!” he screamed toward my ear. “And you gon’ disrespect me? This is the same thing you did the other day when that dude asked you for directions.” He mushed me again before letting me go. “As a matter of fact”—he grabbed the Gucci shopping bag—“these are going back.” He opened the car door.

  “Ameen!”

  “Don’t be calling me now.” He took my car keys and tossed them toward me. “Call me when you know how to act!” He slammed the door behind him and disappeared up the street.

  Tears filled my eyes, and all I could do was hold my hand over my mouth and cry silently.

  A few minutes later I started my engine and placed the car in drive. I felt like my heart was underneath my back tires. I hated that my mind kept rewinding what had just happened, but I couldn’t help it.

  Everything inside of me said I was stupid for taking this. I knew I needed to walk away, especially since I grew up on my father’s saying boys not ’spose to hit girls. The problem was I also grew up on, don’t do what I do, do what I tell you, because every Friday night, before my father died from cancer, he would beat my mother like she stole something.

  But then again this isn’t really the same thing that my parents went through. I mean…we don’t live together…and we aren’t married. Ameen is nothing like my daddy was when he would get drunk. Ameen only yoked me up once or twice…okay and maybe he just mushed me…but still, there are times when I did defend myself. I’m not all weak like my mother.

  I turned the radio up to drown out my sorrows and that’s when I looked at my gas gauge and realized it was on empty…oh…my…God…

  2

  Energy…This love is taking all of my energy…

  —KERI HILSON, “ENERGY”

  I couldn’t wait to get home and cry in peace. The fight with Ameen was messing with every part of my being and I felt like…like…I couldn’t think straight and if I didn’t get my relationship back on track I was sure to wither into a thousand pieces.

  I parked my car and walked to my neighbor’s house to pick up my ten-year-old sister, Hadiah, who resembled a young Raven Symoné and was way too grown for her age. We were close, though, especially since more times than not my mother wasn’t home and it felt like all we had was each other.

  I rang my neighbor, Ms. Lucinda’s, bell. She was a sweet old lady who kept Hadiah a few hours after school until I picked her up. A few seconds later Ms. Lucinda opened the door and Hadiah was standing there, giving me the eye as if to say “what took you so long?” But hmph, she would have to understand I was going through some things.

  “Thank you, Ms. Lucinda,” I said.

  “You’re welcome, baby.” She smiled.

  Hadiah waved and Ms. Lucinda closed the door.

  “Yo,” Hadiah said to me as I unlocked our front door and we walked inside. “Ms. Lucinda had me in there watching Wheel of Fortune and learning how to knit. I swear I can’t take it.” She wiped her brow. “What in the world took you so long?”

  “Ms. Lucinda is a nice lady. Plus me and Ameen had an argument so I am not in the mood for your sarcasm.”

  “You two are always arguing,” Hadiah said, exhausted. “And I may only be ten, but when Michael, my boyfriend in class, kept wanting to argue and every time I turned around he was showing off on the school playground, I dumped him. Maybe you should think about that.”

  “When you’re seventeen you can talk to me about my boyfriend. Until then, do your homework.”

  “I finished my homework.”

  “Okay, well watch some television.”

  “I can’t. I keep hearing Wheel of Fortune music in my head. I need to do something else.”

  “Well, you figure it out while I warm up the dinner Mommy cooked.”

  Hadiah followed me into the kitchen, sat down at the table, and proceeded to tell me the happenings of fourth grade as if anything they were going through compared to my drama.

  Not for one minute can I tell you what she said. My mind was too busy replaying the argument I had with my man.

  I warmed up the dinner of chicken, corn, and collards that my mother cooked and left for us in the refrigerator. Lately, leaving cold dinners behind was all my mother was sure to do. Anything other than that was up for negotiation. She was never home on time or at a reasonable hour. True, she was a corrections officer for Northern State Prison, and, yes, she worked evenings, but it seemed as if we never got to see her anymore.

  She was never here to know what we were doing, how we were doing, or what was going on. I used to fill her in on my day until she started falling asleep on me and then I figured if she wasn’t interested, then to hell with it. Besides me and my moms never really kicked it like that anyway.

  I always felt angry with her, as if she was the cause of most of my problems. Like how, after my dad died of cancer last year, she up and moved us into this house. She didn’t ask how we felt or what we thought, she just moved us, and I felt like she was in a rush to leave my dad’s memory behind in that dusty apartment. That’s when my brother, Derrick, joined the army and never came back, leaving me and Hadiah here with my mother by ourselves.

  And no, my dad wasn’t the best, but he was mine, and up until he died he was always here when we came home; he always seemed interested in what we did and what we had to do. But, as I sat there with my sister in that lonely house, with tears sitting at the base of my eyes, I realized more than ever that all we have in this world is one another.

  I watched my sister eat because with tears dancing on my tongue, I couldn’t put a morsel of food in my mouth. “I’m going to bed,” I said to her.

  “Me too.” She cleared the table and then looked at the chore chart that hung on the pantry door. “Tonight is your night to wash the dishes.”

  “Well, it’ll have to wait until tomorrow because I’m tired.”

  I rose from my chair, practically ran into my room, and as soon as I closed the door tears slid down my face. I looked at the clock and counted the hours that had passed since me and Ameen fell out. I couldn’t fight it anymore. I needed to call Ameen at least once…yeah, that’s it…only once, and if he doesn’t answer then forget it. I definitely won’t be sweatin’ him.

  I picked up my phone and called him only to get his voice mail. I swallowed the ache in my chest and tried my best to make it go away.

  I changed into my silk pajamas, cut the radio on, and laid in my bed. Then it hit me, if I called Ameen one more time, he just might answer…so I did…and nothing. I hung up. A few seconds later I called again…. No answer. Forget it, I’m done. If he doesn’t call me then, oh well, his loss.

  I laid still for a few moments, and then I turned back
over and looked at the phone. Okay…maybe just one more time and he’ll answer. One more time ended up being a thousand times, and the last time I called the phone didn’t even ring, his voice mail simply picked up. Which could only mean one thing; he’d turned his phone off.

  I felt so stupid.

  I returned to staring at the ceiling, and the last thing I remembered before I fell asleep was the radio playing slow jams and wondering how long it would take to put my life back together again.

  “Zsa-Zsa La-Shae Fields, get out that bed!” stunned me out of my sleep. Instantly I sat straight up. I felt like I’d been fighting a war instead of coming around from being asleep. My eyes felt heavy, and my heart was racing. I couldn’t see clearly, but I could swear I heard my mother’s voice.

  “And I mean get up right now!” Now I knew for sure that was my mother. I still couldn’t see clearly, but I could see well enough to read the electric red numbers on my alarm clock, which said 2:00 AM. I didn’t respond to my mother’s invasive voice because obviously, unless this was an extreme emergency, the chick was trippin’. I grabbed my pillow, snuggled under my blanket, and closed my eyes.

  “I know you heard me!” She snatched the covers off of me and then yanked the pillow.

  Now it was on. I turned over and sat up. “Are you for real, comin’ in here like this?!”

  “You better shut your fresh mouth and get up to wash those dishes! It was your night to clean the kitchen and you just left it a mess!” She clinched her jaw. “I want you up and those dishes washed. Now!” She flicked the light on and I swore I went blind.

  I fell straight back on the bed and prayed out loud. “Lord Jesus, help me with this lady here because she is—”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Gettin’ on my nerves!” I sat up. “Why would you wake me at this time of the morning?” I looked her over. She still had on her dark brown and tan corrections officer uniform. “You know you’re not at work, right?” I said. “You know I’m not one of those prisoners on the cell block?” I popped my eyes open wide. “So why are you in here acting like you can’t tell time?”