Pushin' Read online

“Girl, I don’t know,” he says, walking to the studio door and checking on his baby. I follow him through the kitchen, seeing the same thing he does: a contented little girl knocked out on the futon, where I should still be. He turns around, wrapping his arms around my waist like I’m still his girl. “You know if I was going to wife anyone up, it would be you,” he says, attempting to kiss my neck, but I’m not having it. I promised my man I wouldn’t let Rah touch me, and here we are again.

  “Look, Rah, you can’t be all up on me like that. You know I have a boyfriend.”

  “What the white boy doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” Rah holds me tighter, now trying to kiss me on the lips. I smack him hard on the chest and wiggle away from him.

  “This is exactly why we need to keep things strictly business between us from now on. If you need your hair done again, holla. Otherwise, we can’t be alone together anymore.” Rah smiles at my declaration, letting me go. I pass him up, grab my hair bag and purse, and head for the door. I’ve got to get back to my mom’s house before my clients arrive.

  “No matter how many boyfriends you have or fiancées I get, it’ll always be me and you, girl, ’til the end,” he says to my back as I walk out the front door. Rah has an uncanny ability to get in my head and heart, but we need to grow up and get over it.

  Rah was my first love in junior high school, back in the day. I’m seventeen now and so is he, but we still act like the two twelve-year-olds who first fell in love at Family Christian many years ago. If Nigel hadn’t transferred to South Bay High this year, Rah and I would have never been friends again after I found out he and Sandy—my former best friend—were having a baby. Why he’s reappeared in my life, I’m not sure. But I have to do the mature thing and keep my distance from him before I ruin the good thing Jeremy and I have got going. When Jeremy comes over tonight, I’m going to tell him a million times how much I love him and try my damnedest to stay away from Rah from now on.

  My hands were so sore from braiding yesterday that cooking dinner was out of the question. Jeremy picked us up some Chinese food and we stayed in and caught up on our days before passing out in the living room. I love having Jeremy around and am so glad his busy surf schedule is over. I missed hanging with my man on a daily basis.

  It’s been a quiet Monday so far, but that’s about to change. With the rehearsals for the spring play in full effect this week, I’ll have less time than usual to hang with my dilapidated crew, and for that I am grateful. Nellie still hates me for making the cheer squad when I had nothing to do with the final decision making, and she knows that. But whatever. I’m tired of holding back my own progress because my friend has issues with me spreading my wings. If Nellie can’t be happy for my growth, that’s on her. I’m here to shine and that’s exactly what I’m going to do, with or without her enthusiasm.

  Speaking of which, I haven’t called my dad to thank him for sending my birthday card, and that was over a month ago. I guess I should be a big girl and say thank you, even if he only sent twenty dollars to accompany it. I’m not spoiled or anything, but I think I deserve more than that from my father for my seventeenth birthday. Mama always says I shouldn’t be ungrateful, and I’m trying. It’s just part of growing up to be the bigger person, so here goes nothing.

  I scroll down to my daddy’s contact on my cell and press Send. I’m half hoping he lets it roll to voice mail, but he picks up, beginning the awkward conversation my father and I always have.

  “This is Carter Jackson,” he says, like he can’t see my name on his caller ID. My dad can be so weird sometimes.

  “And this is Jayd Jackson,” I say, returning the formal greeting. “Hi, Daddy. Thank you for the birthday card,” I say, the first to break the ice. He always thinks I’m calling for money, but I stopped begging from him a long time ago. Working hard has its benefits. One is definitely the satisfaction of being financially independent.

  “Hey, baby,” my daddy says, seemingly happy to hear from me. “I was starting to wonder whether it and the money I sent got lost in the mail,” he says, like it was a hundred-dollar bill. “How’s my youngest daughter doing?”

  “I’m well,” I say, readjusting my backpack on my shoulders as I make my way out of the parking lot toward my Spanish class. I don’t mind being early for any class Mr. Adewale’s teaching. “How’s Faye?” I ask, noticing the seagulls circling above my head in the open sky. I’d better get to one of the covered picnic tables before they start dropping white bombs all over the place. So far this year Mickey’s the only one of my friends who’s suffered that humiliating event, but that luck can change at any time.

  “She’s good, working hard,” he says. “When’s the last time you’ve been to the dentist or the eye doctor?” my father asks, all up in my business this morning. Since when does he care about my physicals? I locate a safe, covered spot to continue my morning conversation and take my backpack off. This thing can get heavy when I’m walking around.

  “I don’t know, Daddy. Since my mom took me last, I guess.” And who knows when that was. Unless I’m having some sort of pain, I don’t get regular trips to the doctor, especially if it involves my mom having to take time out of her busy social schedule or time off work. I have to be near death just to go to the pediatrician.

  “Well, Miss Jackson, that won’t fly anymore,” my daddy says, clearing his throat. He loves calling me by my last name because it’s his name, too. I guess Jayd reminds him too much of my mom and Mama. “You’re a big girl now, and you can drive yourself to your appointments.” I never thought of that. I guess I could technically be responsible for my own well-being, but that’s not on my itinerary, either, even if my vision has been a little blurry.

  “Daddy, I’ve got too much to do, and besides, the eye doctor and dentist are all the way in Long Beach. That’s too far for me to drive, even if it’s not rush hour traffic.”

  “Girl, your stepmother and I work hard for those benefits, and you’re going to use them or get kicked off,” my dad says, threatening me. But I already know my medical benefits are a part of the custody agreement he and my mom agreed on when they got divorced, so his threat is empty, but I hear him. I need to take better care of myself, especially while I’ve got access to his benefits. I know he’ll bump me off as soon as he can.

  “Well, can I at least get switched to a dentist and optometrist closer to home?” I ask, realizing the school bell should be ringing any minute now. Usually I wouldn’t be in a rush to get my day started, but I would gladly welcome any interruption to this conversation.

  “No. You can go where we all go. You’ve still got your mother’s car, right? Or has she taken it back already?” It’s funny how my dad always thinks the worst of my mom, but he’s the one doing all the hating. Go figure.

  “Yes, Daddy. But gas and time cost money that I don’t have,” I say, alluding to the fact that he doesn’t pay my bills, even if technically he should. I love it that my grandfather gives me gas money whenever he sees me; it makes a girl feel special and loved.

  “What happened to your job? Did you quit doing hair already, girl?” He is so far off it’s not even funny. My dad also doesn’t know about me moving to my mom’s and frankly, it’s none of his business.

  “No, Daddy. I still have my job.” And my side business braiding hair, but he doesn’t need to know that, either. “The point is that Long Beach isn’t down the street, and because I work in Compton and go to school in Redondo Beach, I don’t have the time to drive all the way there and back. Why can’t I just switch it?” And why does he have to be so damned difficult? It was his idea for me to go, but now that I want to, it’s too much. What the hell?

  “Because you can’t, that’s why. Now call and make an appointment sooner than later,” he says, in his usual demanding tone. I wonder if he’s this mean to the car salesmen he manages. “Your stepmother and I get charged whether you go or not, so go.” There’s the first bell and right on time, too. Me and my daddy need to go to our separate cor
ners and cool off before I snap.

  “’Bye, Daddy,” I say, more than ready to go. I have a lot to do today, including studying for my debutante meeting next weekend. I haven’t memorized nearly as much as I need to. Mrs. Esop made it a point to politely scold me for my lack of knowledge about sorority history at the last meeting. At least it was in private because, like my daddy, she can be a bit much at times.

  “’Bye, Jayd. Have a good day, you hear?” I return the well wishes and hang up the phone, looking around at the campus full of students and teachers alike. From where I’m seated, I can see the ocean clearly. I wish I were sitting on the beach listening to the waves, and not about to start my school day. If I didn’t have an ASU meeting at lunch, I might find my way to the shore. But duty calls and I’ve got to answer, even when I don’t necessarily want to.

  The days become longer and more intolerable every day we get closer to summer. I’m grateful that I get to see Mr. Adewale twice a day, and three times when we have an ASU meeting, like now. Jeremy wanted to chill with me for lunch, but we’ll have to wait until later to catch up. I’m actually looking forward to our first official meeting as officers. Ms. Toni’s going to lay down the law today and pass out a list of our official duties while Mr. A discusses the school calendar for next year. I doubt that Chance will show up since he wasn’t in fourth period. I know he’s going through a lot, but he needs to suck it up and take his office of treasurer seriously. Otherwise, he’s going to lose it before he even officially begins.

  I step into the classroom with my lunch in hand, ready to grub and get on with this meeting. The sooner we get Monday over, the faster Friday will come. The only person present is Nigel, and it doesn’t look like he ever left to get lunch like the other classmates who are also in ASU. I know he’s hungry and I also know Mickey isn’t the type to get her man’s food—it’s the other way around with her, so something else must be up. I walk over to my friend’s desk and take the seat next to him, where his girl usually sits. I’ll move when Mickey gets here. I hope she can appreciate me checking on my friend.

  “Jayd, my mom wants you to call her when you get a chance. She needs to give you the new schedule for the debutante shit,” Nigel says less than enthusiastically.

  “What’s up with the sour attitude today?” I ask, noticing how agitated Nigel is.

  “Man, it’s everything,” Nigel says, putting his head in his hands. He looks like he wants to cry, but I know better than that. Brothas don’t drop tears unless someone dies or they lose a game.

  “You want to talk about it?” I ask. We’ve got about three minutes until the rest of the African Student Union members arrive. That’s not much time, but it’ll have to do.

  “Jayd, I’m not ready for this,” he says. I know he’s not talking about the meeting, so it must be the baby. “My mom’s been riding me all week about getting a job and shit, and you know I don’t have time for that,” he says, sharing his stress with me. I don’t know what Nigel was thinking, taking on a baby, especially when he knows he’s not the father. Talk about a reality check.

  “Well, I’m sure there’s something you can do that won’t take up too much of your practice time,” I say, putting my right hand on my boy’s shoulder. I’m here for my friend like he’s always here for me, even if I disagree with some of his recent decisions. Don’t get me wrong—I think it’s honorable the way Nigel’s standing up for Mickey and Tre’s baby, especially since Tre saved Nigel’s life by sacrificing his own when Mickey’s ex-man tried to shoot Nigel after he found out Mickey was cheating on him. But it’s still not Nigel’s responsibility to raise this child.

  “Like what, Jayd? My mom’s expecting me to be an escort at the ball, too, and God knows I don’t want to do that shit again,” Nigel says, again shaking his head in distress. “The baby’s going to be here before we know it, and I don’t even know where we’re going to live. What the hell was I thinking?” Nigel’s really feeling the heaviness of his chosen path this afternoon. Having a baby is more than a romantic notion. I guess when he thought they were all going to live under one roof and be a happy black family—like the Cosbys meet Reba—it was cool. But now that the baby is affirmatively not an Esop, his mom has laid down the law, and Mickey and her baby not being in the family was her first declaration.

  “Does Mickey know about all of this?” I ask, wondering how much of his emotions Nigel shares with this girlfriend. They need to be as real with each other as possible, but too real might piss Mickey off.

  “Nah, I’m afraid to tell her,” Nigel says, looking into my eyes and I into his. “She’s so scared about giving birth, and I don’t want to trip her out about this. I told her we’d figure it out before the baby gets here, though.”

  “Well, that’s sooner than later, my brotha,” I say, focusing on Nigel’s dark brown eyes, trying to jump into his mind and cool him off before the rest of the group arrives, which should be any minute now. Mr. Adewale and Ms. Toni went outside to chat and should return any minute as well. If Nigel could just step back from all of the emotions he’s feeling, he might be able to gain some insight on what it is that he should do in everyone’s best interest. He and Rah make good money from their side hustles, but because Nigel’s an athlete, he doesn’t hustle as hard as Rah does and his money from his parents is great for him, but not nearly enough to support a family.

  “I know. Don’t remind me,” he says with a slight smile but more pain. “I can’t believe she’ll be here any day now.” I focus on the darkness of Nigel’s eyes, feeling his mind cool at my entrance. He’s a tough one to crack, but I’m in.

  I see Nigel’s worry and frustrations clearly now, and also feel his pain and fear about taking on Mickey and her baby. I don’t know how he felt before verifying the paternity, but now that it’s Tre’s baby, Nigel’s feelings are mixed. He’s grateful he dodged a bullet more than once, but now he’s not sure he made the right decision taking the weight of Mickey’s world on his shoulders. On one hand, he’s happy the baby’s not his and that he has another chance at getting it right next time, birth control included in his future plans. But on the other hand, Nigel wishes the baby were his so his parents would have helped out, no matter how displeased they would’ve been. Also, that way he would’ve had a concrete connection to the baby, which he fears he doesn’t have now.

  It’s my job as Nickey Shantae’s godmother to make sure that Mickey and Nigel get their acts together, and that’s just what I intend to do, starting with Nigel stepping all the way up if he’s willing to. If it weren’t for that little baby speaking to me in a dream a few months ago when I tapped into Mickey’s sleeping head, I would probably feel very torn about Nigel claiming Mickey and the baby, too. But we’re past that now, and I have to get my boy to see things my way, and fast. Nigel doesn’t have his running shoes on yet, but he’s shopping for them.

  “Nigel, you’re a good brotha and you love Mickey and her baby,” I say aloud, watching as the words move from my mind to his. Nigel knows he’s made the right choice but doesn’t have the support he needs to walk his chosen path. That’s what I’m here for.

  “I do love Mickey and the baby, too,” Nigel repeats, calming down as his mind clears. “I love them both and I’m going to take care of them.” Right as we come to a psychic agreement, Mr. Adewale walks back in with the rest of ASU filing in, too. I release Nigel from my visual counseling session and turn my focus to our fine-ass teacher taking his place at the board.

  “That’s weird,” Nigel says, blinking his eyes quickly and shaking his head. “I feel like my ears just popped or something.” Some people are more sensitive to my mom’s gift than others. I remember when cooling Jeremy off during an argument we had at Mickey’s baby shower, he said he felt like he had a brain freeze. Chance’s mother felt a similar sensation when I met her for the first time, trying to calm her hot ass down, too. I guess the aftereffects are different for everyone.

  “Good afternoon, students,” Mr. Adewale says, Ms. Toni
making her grand entrance last and winking at me before she takes a seat behind the teacher’s desk. They make a great team. Too bad Ms. Toni’s not in the market for a much younger man. I wouldn’t mind seeing the two of them together, but she’s still mourning the tragic death of her husband years ago. To hear her tell it, all she has time for is her two daughters and her job.

  Mickey waddles in, completely uncomfortable in her pregnant body. I feel for my girl, especially since the worst is still yet to come. She looks at me sitting in her seat and I can see the neck getting ready to roll. Before Mickey can say a word, Nigel rises to help his girl out.

  “I love you, baby. You know I’d rather be with you any day. I just want you to know that,” Nigel says, bringing Mickey’s hands up to his lips and kissing her knuckles. Mickey’s tears fall on her shirt, wetting the delicate blue fabric. He then places his hand on Mickey’s stomach and she puts her hand over his, letting them bond with their baby for a moment.

  “Well, isn’t that sweet,” Misty says, late as usual. KJ and the rest of their crew take their seats as we finally begin our meeting. I wish Jeremy were here, but he opted to nap in the library. Lucky him. Hopefully we’ll both get some good rest tonight. I wish I could slow down like Jeremy does when he feels like it, but a sistah’s got too much work to do to simply stop. I’ve got to keep pushing if I plan on making it through the next six weeks of school, starting with making it through the rest of this week.

  9

  Pushin’

  “How can I ignore?

  This is sex without touching.”

  —BJÖRK

  Sweat drops slowly make their way from the top of my forehead down to my cheek, eventually landing on the fresh white sheets. I’m panting heavily and the cramps in my stomach are almost too much to bear.

  “Ogunlabi, please help me,” I say, reaching my hand out to my husband for support. Mr. Adewale and I are again married, like in another dream I had when we first met months ago. The contractions are getting fiercer with each passing moment. “The baby’s coming!” I shout, more out of excitement than fear.