“Stopping by my mom’s block to check on her before we head out.”
Zoya snatched her hand back and stared at me with her arms folded. “You’re taking me to your mother’s house?”
“Yeah. Kind of have to do that when you check on someone.”
“Gerald, seriously? She doesn’t want to meet some stranger.”
I chuckled. “You not a stranger, Boobie.”
Zoya paused and then she gasped, slapping her hand to her mouth. “You did tell her about my periods. Gerald, you want to keep me panicked, huh?”
I winked. “You locked in with Paulette.”
She was so frazzled, her ass shoved her laptop back into the tote bag. “What am I supposed to say? How do I even act around her? I’m not even dressed properly.” She went on, panicking about what she was wearing.
“I know Menace is a little touched, but he never taught you how to greet people?” I joked with her, and she smiled. “Ah, a smile.”
“It’s a nervous smile, Gerald. How many women do you bring to meet your mother?”
I shrugged. “Too many to count.”
She shoved me and then rolled her eyes. “We’re just friends, so there’s no need to complicate things.”
“Who you trying to convince, Ms. Lawyer?”
Pinching me, she narrowed her eyes at me. “Stop calling me that.”
“Tell me why.”
“Cause my name is Zoya, but don’t call me that either.”
Licking my lips, I looked over at her. “What you want me to call you? Baby?”
She couldn’t hide the way she was blushing in the passenger seat. I watched as she quickly tried to look out the window, pretending she wasn’t bothered. The shit was so cute because that wasn’t something normal for her.
“Leave me alone, Gerald.”
I laughed, as I pulled onto the block. Everybody was outside enjoying the weather. You had the old heads that were sitting on the stoop with a paper bag that concealed their Colt 45, while their cigarette sat housed between two fingers, and they talked shit amongst themselves.
The young niggas were posted up outside the corner store, some sitting on the ice chest outside the store, smoking weed, and shooting dice, while hollering at whatever shorty passed their way. Unlike the old heads, their blunts were tucked between their lips, hanging from the side of their mouth, or was tucked behind their ear while they blew on the dice and tossed them into the circle of men holding cash in their hands.
Like I knew she would be, my mother was a few houses down, her chair parked in front of the stoop. She held a plate of food with foiled covering the top of it, while she ran her mouth. Her loud boisterous laugh could be heard as I double parked on the block. Everybody in this neighborhood looked out for my moms.
She knew everybody from the young niggas on the corner to the old heads across the street. They all respected her and knew how the fuck her sons were coming behind her. When we lost my little cousin, they all pulled together to bring food and whatever was needed for the family. As a kid, the elders would look out for me and Khaos whenever my mother was working late.
I knew I could get food at Ms. Shirley’s house, or Ms. Pam was going to tell me to pick my pants up. Back then, you had a village, and they weren’t afraid to bop you in the back of the head and then tell your mother. New York City was a melting potof different cultures, races, and people, however, the Caribbean community in Brooklyn was something bigger.
It didn’t matter which island you came from; we all looked out for one another. We all talked our shit about which flag or island was superior, but when it came down to supporting one another, that was what always mattered the most to us.
“She’s right there.” I pointed, as she was playfully slapping a friend, while they laughed about something.
There was something beautiful about watching my mother smile. She didn’t do it often when I was growing up. There was never anything to smile about when you were a single mother of two hungry ass boys.
You start to forget what laughing felt like because you were in survival mode. Moms was always trying to be the light to the darkness that loomed over us. As long as she heard a laugh or saw a smile from her boys, she was good.
In her eyes, she didn’t need to laugh anymore. Being a mother and providing for her boys was all that consumed her. That was all she was put onto this earth to do, and she did that shit with one arm pulled behind her back, while life continued to toss haymakers at her.
Zoya looked at my mother and smiled. “She’s beautiful. You resemble her a bit.”
