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I stand up, eyein’ Elijah as he comes down the stairs. “Elijah, did you have homework today?” I gotta stay on Elijah’s ass when it comes to his schoolwork; otherwise he’ll end up with a buncha damn D’s and F’s on his progress reports for homework. I try not to be too hard on him since he’s my eyes and ears when I’m not around. Don’t shit get past him that I don’t hear about. He sits back, takes in everything. Then, the first chance he gets me alone, he gives me a minute-by-minute report. So I can’t fuck him up too bad. But he knows I’ll rock his goddamn ass if his homework isn’t done.
“Yes. I already did it,” he says, shiftin’ his eyes.
“Where is it? Go get it and let me see it.” He looks at me all crazy and whatnot. And I know he’s lyin’. “Elijah, don’t do it. Don’t get fucked up tonight. Go get that goddamn homework—you know, the shit you didn’t do, but shoulda did the minute you walked through this door—before I turn the ghetto switch on and fuck you up. I see all of you lil’ fuckers musta really thought I was gonna be locked up for a few days, didn’t you? Well, guess what? I’m not. Now go get that homework and get yo’ ass over at this table and get it done.” As Joshua is comin’ down the stairs, I add, “And, Joshua, you help him.”
He sucks his teeth, goin’ into the kitchen.
“Did you hear me?”
“Yeah.”
“Josh! Don’t have me bang you in ya fuckin’ mouth. What I tell you about yeah-ing me? You kids gonna fuckin’ respect me around here goddammit. Or I’ma put your black asses out. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, Ma. I heard you.”
I glance over and see Darius playin’ Xbox with the twins and smile. “Darius, I need to see you in my room,” I say as I’m walkin’ down the hall. That’s code for let’s spark a blunt and talk.
“Aiight, I got you.”
A few minutes later, he’s sittin’ in my leather recliner chair with his feet kicked up on the ottoman, passing me a blunt. “Yo, wassup with the stash I gave you?” he asks, blowin’ smoke up in the air.
“Boy, please. I’m savin’ that for a rainy day.” I take a deep pull, then hold the smoke in my lungs, blowing it slowly out. “These goddamn kids stress me out. That fuckin’ bitch down at the school today really tried my nerves.”
I hand him back the blunt.
“Who?”
“Goddamn LaQuandra, talkin’ ’bout I’ma unfit mother and need to have my kids taken away from me.” He shakes his head, takin’ two pulls from the blunt, then passing it back to me. “Do you think I’ma fucked up mother?”
“Nah. You holds it down, Ma. I mean, yeah, you get a lil’ reckless at times . . . ”
I raise my brow, snatchin’ the blunt from him.
“I’m sayin’, Ma. You go in hard. And sometimes you real extra wit’ it. But you def not an effed-up mother. Shit, we’ve always had food to eat and clothes on our backs. I can’t front. You always kept us laced in that hotness. And you stayed on my ass to finish school. You handle ya handle, Ma; real talk. And you ain’t no joke. Shit, you fucked me up a few times, so I already know what it is.”
I laugh, wavin’ h
im on. “Boy, hush. I ain’t never really fuck you up. I let you get away with a lot.”
“Yo, Ma. Stop.” He takes off his fitted, pointin’ to a scar above his hairline. “Then how I get these stitches in my head?”
I close my eyes, leaning my head back in my seat. He was sixteen, and thought his ass was grown. I had walked in on him and three of his friends up in his room, drinking and smoking weed and I went off. Instead of him apologizing, he tried to step to me like he was a grown-ass man, poppin’ a buncha shit. So since he wanted to show off in front of his niggahs, I gave ’em all a show. I snatched the bottle of Alize they’d been drinkin’ from off the dresser and went upside his head with it, knockin’ his ass out. He woke up in the hospital with a slight concussion and thirty-eight stitches to the head.
He laughs. “Yo, Ma. You was dead wrong for that. And then you told ’em down at the hospital that I had gotten jumped.”
I laugh with him. “Yup. I sure did. Shit, I didn’t feel like goin’ to jail that day. But I bet you didn’t try ’n talk shit to me again after that, either. Did you?”
“Hell nah. Beetle ’n ’em still clown me about that shit ’til this day.”
I shift in my seat, takin’ another pull from the blunt, then handin’ it back to him. Besides the fact that Beetle is one of the barbershop owners, and is one of his best friends, if he ever found out I sucked and fucked Beetle’s fat, juicy dick last summer, he’d be ready to kill his ass. They’ve been friends since sixth grade, and he spent many nights at our apartment. So he was like family. But, last summer, Beetle stepped to me all grown and sexy, talkin’ about how he’d been feelin’ me. And I quickly forgot his ass wasn’t no damn kin of mine and handled him. Whew, the sex was all that! And we fucked for about two months before I had to cut him off.
“You know Beetle’s always askin’ about you. He keeps sayin’ he’s gonna stop by to see you.”
I bet he does. That niggah’s probably still thinkin’ about this pussy and ass. I smile, passing the blunt back to him. “Tell him I said hi. I need to come down to the shop one of these days, soon.”
“Yeah, you do.” He glances at his watch. “I gotta bounce. I’ma hear Shenille’s mouth. She stays snappin’ if I’m out too late.”
I frown. “Tell that bitch to call me if she gotta problem.”
