Father time, p.12
Father Time, page 12
Of course, us dancing on the dance floor got everyone’s attention, including Xena’s. Unexpectedly, Xena walked over and started to drop it like it was hot. Bouncing her ass right in front of us. Once the song was over, Xena sauntered away.
“Walk me out? I don’t want any of your friends looking at my butt,” Sade said. We headed out of the gymnasium together, and the speculation began.
After the Homecoming dance, there were little rumbles about Xena and Jackson Reed messing around. There were even rumbles about Sade and me because our classmates saw us walking around together before and after class more often.
One day while serving one of my many lunch detentions, Sade was waiting outside of the cafeteria for me. We walked in the other direction away from the center, where everyone hung out during the lunch break.
“What did you do this time?” Sade asked.
“Nothing . . . I guess teachers don’t like being called by their first name.”
“Do you call your mother or grandparents by their first name?
“No.”
“So why would you call the teacher by their first name?” Sade asked.
“Because I have a problem.”
“We all know you have a problem, Tre,” she said.
A few moments glided by as we walked in silence. This would have been an excellent time for me to profess my love to Sade. But instead, I got cold feet and asked, “Do you really lick your boyfriend’s balls and his asshole?”
“No . . . That’s disgusting.” Sade said with a chuckle. “I only said that because you were out of line.”
“My bad . . .”
“You’re good . . . Honestly . . . I’m still a virgin.”
I stopped walking because this came as a surprise to me. “You’re still a virgin?” I asked.
“Yep.”
“Didn’t you and Jackson? “
“Nope.”
“Wait . . . So, you and Mike—”
“Never even kissed,” she said. “You kissed me before my boyfriend even tried.” We circled the school until lunch was almost over. We walked back to the area where all the other students were standing. Her boyfriend, Pretty Boy Roy, also known as Royal Jenkins, was sitting on one of the benches with a bunch of his cronies.
“I’ll see you later, OK.” Sade hugged me and ran over to where Royal sat.
There was a time that whenever Xena saw me in the hallways, she would go the other way. When we were in class, instead of laughing, she grew annoyed with my witticisms. One day before class, she tried to walk past me, but I blocked her from entering.
“What are you doing? You’re making me late.”
“Why have you been avoiding me?”
“Can you please move?”
“Not until you answer me.”
She hesitated a few seconds, “You don’t care about graduating. You act like a dumb jock, but you are smarter than that.”
“That’s the pot calling the kettle black. You’re playing kissy-face with Jackson Reed’s punk ass who flunked four times.”
“At least he’s being himself and not some act.” Xena strolled by me and entered the class.
Xena was right. The whole time I was in school, I acted as if I didn’t care about making good grades. I thought it was cool to be a dumb athlete. I acted as if I was sillier than I was. I only applied myself when I deemed it worthy of my time or if I needed to do well to receive a passing grade. Xena saw right through that. I found out Xena slept with all the senior football players except me, and of course, her cousin, Big Ted. We ended up with a 3 – 7 record in football that season.
It was hard to focus on class once the football season was over. Up until this point of the school year, I didn’t do any of my work. My term paper was due in a week and a half and didn’t have a subject to write about. If the term paper wasn’t completed, I would not be able to walk across the graduation stage with my classmates. The pressure was on because the term paper determined my final grade point average. If you didn’t turn in a term paper and held a high GPA, you still were able to graduate. But if you were me, the term paper would make or break your hope of graduating. This motivated me to get that paper done, graduate, and get as far the hell away as I could. I stopped procrastinating and put the pedal to the medal. I chose to write about events that occurred during the 90s.
The Internet did not exist for us back then, so I had to use other resources for research. Grandma hoarded old magazines and old newspapers. She stored them all in the spare bedrooms Armani, and I spent many nights in while my mother worked her third job. I grabbed all the newspapers and old magazines that Grandma had dating back to the early 1990s up to the Y2K scare. The more I read, the more I learned. But the more I learned, the angrier I became. We didn’t know anything about the world economically. The trash courses they taught us during grade school were nothing but distorted fluff to pacify children while their parents slaved and worked to fuel the economy.
Most lessons we were taught had nothing to do with real-world matters. The term paper I wrote was about how we lack knowledge, economic literacy, and many other resources. I finished the six-page paper a couple of days before it was due. I became passionate about my thoughts and research. I turned it in and went on with my life. Mrs. Sullivan told me the following week that I needed to score a 79 to get my high school diploma. I knew that the paper I turned in would be good enough to pass, and I would graduate.
The following week in English class, I assumed my usual position, which was my head on the desk. Mrs. Sullivan handed out our graded term papers. She slid my essay under my head. I was pleasantly surprised. I received a 95, which was the highest grade in the class. Some of my classmates grumbled and complained that the teacher gave me a high score because there was no way that someone who went to sleep every day in class could score higher than most of the students who turned in their paper weeks before the due date. Xena, who was one of those chirpers, was disappointed with her score. Her grade on the paper was so low it dropped her GPA.
After class, Xena approached me and said, “Admit it . . . The teacher gave you a high score because she felt sorry for you.”
“No, bitch,” I replied. “I understand English better than your non-English-speaking ass.” I knew once it rolled off my tongue, that I was in for a hell of a ride. Xena played me then tried to insult my intelligence. The irony is she worked her ass off to get a 3.1, and I half-assed my way through high school and managed to get a 3.2 GPA. What would have happened if I applied myself? Xena became the third person on my shit list behind Kwesi and Jackson Reed.
At graduation, we all sat antsy as the ceremony commenced. Some students knew this was the beginning of the end, and others knew this was the end of the beginning. Some of the students would go off to college, and some would head into the workforce. Some joined the military, and others went to jail. Sade was the National Gatorade Player of the Year, the Gatorade Female Athlete of the Year, and a McDonald’s All-American. Sade was also the Valedictorian but opted out of her speech. Bobby Lee opted in because he was the Salutatorian. A few of the audience members chuckled as he made his way on stage. Everyone who knew Bobby Lee, knew he was about to talk his talk.
“I’m gonna make this quick and painless.” He bellowed through the microphone. “My fellow graduates, over the last four years here at Blytheville High School, we have learned a lot. Ms. Sullivan, my English teacher, understood the artist within . . . And never forced us to do anything we didn’t want to do. Mr. Clay taught us how to not get in trouble after the football season. And lastly, I want to thank the school district for hiring Coach Rocky as a foreign language teacher. Not only did he coach us to our first state championship in baseball, but I also now know how to curse in French. Thanks, Coach Rocky. Now . . . Va te faire foutre! Let’s party!” he yelled, then took his cap off and tossed it in the air. The rest of the class followed suit.
As the students’ parents migrated to the field, Sade approached me.
“Congratulations on not flunking, Tre Tre Bear,” she leaned in and hugged me.
“Hey, son!” A man shouted. We looked over and saw Kwesi. The graduation would be the first time he attended any school function of mine. “Congratulations on graduating. Let me get a picture of y’all.” Kwesi snapped a photo of Sade and me.
Sade darted a vicious glare at Kwesi. “I’ll see you around, Tre,” Sade said as Pretty Boy Roy stared as we hugged.
“Let’s get that picture, Son.”
Glenn held the camera and snapped a photo of us. Ma and Grandma walked up and hugged me.
“Congratulations, boy!” Grandma uttered.
It was good to see Grandma smile rather than give her typical scowl. Mom and Grandma were genuinely excited to see me graduate. I saw Papa sitting in the stands, and I knew he was proud.
Mama whispered to Grandma, “Kwesi taking pictures like he helped Tre get here.”
Kwesi might have been extra happy to get me off child support, but I was glad he was there.
After the graduation ceremony, there was a party hosted in the boys’ basketball gymnasium. Though I had now graduated, I still had a curfew until I officially moved out of my mother’s home. One of my graduation gifts from her was a later curfew. She let me stay out as long as I wanted.
I joined Bobby Lee and Big Ted at the graduation party. “You sum bitches best put some pep in your step! This is gonna be the last time we see any of these clowns for a while!” Bobby Lee yelled as he danced his way onto the dance floor as “The Cha Cha Slide” by DJ Casper played. At the part of the song where it goes, “How Low Can You Go . . . Can you go down low?” Bobby Lee’s perverted ass lay down on his back, and some chick sat on his face. That would be the last time I saw Bobby Lee. Big Ted and I rocked out until it was time for his girlfriend Jasmine to leave. I walked with them to the parking lot where she had parked.
“Are you ready for college?” I asked as we all headed to the parking lot.
Big Ted took a moment to respond then answered, “I don’t want to play for some sorry Division 3 squad. But, if I can help them win a championship, I’ll get my chance to play for a Division 1 school and possibly get to the pros.”
“Fool, you didn’t even lead us to a winning season.”
Big Ted grew defensive, “That’s because we were coached by a dumbass who doesn’t know the game of football.”
“So, you’re gonna play for his brother?”
We chuckle.
“Are you coming back in?” I asked.
“Yeah, give me a second,” Big Ted said.
As I headed back toward the gym, someone yelled, “Yo, Tre!” I turned to my right, and it was Sade’s boyfriend, Pretty Boy Royal. “I heard what you said to my girl,” he said as he got in my face.
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
“You called my girl a bitch!”
“I never called Sade a bitch,” I said, baffled.
“Nah, fam! I ain’t talking about her. I’m talking about Xena . . . My other girl.” A couple of his cronies circled around me.
At this point, I did what any rational person would do . . . I lied. “Man, I don’t even know Xena.”
Some random person shouted from the side. “I bet you won’t hit ‘em, Pretty Boy Roy!”
“You talkin’ with your tongue out yo shoe,” Pretty Boy Roy said. “You walked her on the homecoming court.”
Royal’s brother Kane blurted out, “Enough with all this talking.” Kane threw a sharp hook and caught me right in the jaw. It knocked me to the ground. That was one of the hardest blows I had ever taken. He hit me so hard I could taste the punch. Royal jumped on top of me and started kicking me. I wasn’t the biggest, but I was stronger than him. I managed to wrestle him to the ground, get on top of him, and land a couple of jabs to his jaw.
I took a blow to the back of my head from Kane. He began to stomp on me. In between him and Royal’s punches, I recalled seeing a timid Big Ted look on from a distance. He saw that I needed help and didn’t want any smoke. Big Ted walked back into the gym. What made it worse was Jackson Reed’s punk ass laughed while these guys whooped my ass.
Suddenly, a couple of gunshots cracked into the sky. Everyone scrambled. A couple of drunk graduates had decided to pop off a couple of rounds to celebrate finishing high school. I managed to sneak off to the side of the gym and hide until it was clear. I waited almost an hour until the last cop had left. Once it was clear, I strategically walked back home, lost in thought.
I woke up the next morning with a busted lip, an almost broken jaw, and a swollen eye socket from the fight the night before. I couldn’t hide my injuries from my mother, so I told her what went down.
Someone banged on the door. I answered, and it was an enraged Papa. “That sapsucker stole my car when we were at Tre’s graduation. Heard it on the scanner last night. Armani was riding in a car, smoking weed with that other sapsucker Jackson Reed and shot bullets at some house. Damn fools were arrested after a high-speed police chase on I-55. The car is totaled, but Armani’s OK.”
My mother had grown tired of Armani acting out and the trouble he caused. She knew his antics outweighed his contribution to the family and she sent him off to reform school. Mom knew I had to leave sooner than later. I added Pretty Boy Roy and Big Ted’s names to my shit list. I licked my wounds; I quit my job at Burger King and vowed to get as far away as I could. The following week my mother dropped me off at the Greyhound bus station, and I was on the first thing smoking out of Arkansas.
*****
My concentration is broken by multiple vibrating messages and alerts from my phone. This time it is not Eva. Bobby Lee sent me a screenshot of a ticket and a message that reads, “If you don’t get here now . . . I’m processing this first thing Monday morning, you sum bitch.” Bobby Lee sends another text that reads, “Sade’s here, and she’s hotter than the devil’s armpit. She’s got me over here sweating like a blindfolded lesbo in a fish store.”
I text back, “LOL! I’m on my way!” I rummage through my suitcase to find something to wear for this damn class reunion.
CHAPTER 20
A handful of overweight guests enter the lobby of the Holiday Inn. I have been sitting out front in this rental car for at least 10 minutes, scoping out the place before joining the rest of my old classmates. I crank the engine and place the gearshift into drive. As I inch the car out of the parking space, a car pulls up and blocks me. The car parks right beside where I’m parked. The person driving the car steps out of the vehicle. I instantly recognize her.
I shut the engine off and hop out of the car. “Xena . . . Xena Jones. Is that you?” She turns her head, and it is the gorgeous and voluptuous Xena Jones. Xena and I stare into each other’s souls. She has a motherly glow, but deep within, there is a thirst for something refreshing.
“Tre!” she shouts ecstatically. “Wow! You look . . . You look amazing.”
“Thank you,” I say. “Father Time has been on your side, Xena.”
“It’s been some years.”
“I know.” We stare into each other’s eyes for a few seconds. Not a word is said, but no words are needed because we have unfinished business.
My pocket starts to vibrate. I receive a flurry of text messages all from Bobby Lee that read, “Hey FATHERFUCKER . . . I’m looking right at ya.”
I look up and notice Bobby Lee staring at me through the double glass door of the entrance. He opens the door and shouts, “Bring yo ass in, Buddy Ro!”
I enter Bistro Eleven 21, which is attached to the side of the Holiday Inn. We shake hands then hug each other. Bobby Lee, who is a sweaty hot mess, pushes me away. “Get off me . . . It’s hot.” He starts fanning himself, “I’m sweating like a priest at a little league game. I need a beer.”
Bobby Lee leads the way into the bar as we walk through a flock of our former classmates who are staring at their phones. “I don’t remember half of these sum bitches,” Bobby Lee says as we shuffle through our classmates.
There’s a bunch of small talk going on as we walk by a table filled with familiar faces. Mike Rodriguez, Big Ted Jones, and Jackson Reed’s punk ass all sit together at a table. A few voices shout, “Tre! Is that Tre?”
Big Ted and I give each other a fist pound. Sitting next to him is an extremely hefty, greasy-skinned, pimple-faced lady with disheveled hair. She is wearing a filthy housedress and has a butch-looking face with short purple hair.
“Hey, man . . . This is my wife, Apple.” She looks more like a rotten tomato than an apple. Apple’s smile looked like she had been chewing on charcoal from all the rotten teeth in her mouth. She sticks her hand out as if she wants me to kiss it. I give her a fist pound as well.
“Nice to meet you,” I say. “You know what, Big Ted? For years you were on my shit list because you didn’t help me when I got my ass beat by those guys at the graduation party. Now that I see you with your lovely wife, I’ll let bygones be bygones.”
Mike Rodriguez randomly blurts out, “I do so much coke my dick stopped working!” Mike looks as if like life has not treated him well. He has put on about 80 pounds since high school. His eyes are sunken in with dark bags under them. Mike appears to not have gotten any sleep in the past few days. The little hair that’s left on his head looks like it’s running away from his face.
“Congrats on the accomplishment,” I say mockingly.” I’m sure you’ve made your parents proud.”
“I haven’t seen you in a minute. How come you don’t post much on Facebook?” Big Ted asks.
“I only log into Facebook to unfollow people.”
Bobby Lee interrupts, “Ain’t that something with the Internet? Kids now have to deal with cyber-bullies . . . In my day, I’d just turn the phone off.”
