Niya Page 4

  “Mom,” I said as I got up and put my sheets in the washer, “I don’t really know her. I just used to see her around at school. I left my notebook outside, and she brought it in for me, that’s all.”

  “You better not be friends with no gay. You hear me? I don’t like no gay for your friend.”

  I didn’t even answer her. Why would she care about who my friends were when she didn’t give a shit about me sleeping on the damn kitchen floor? I went into the bathroom, got undressed, and stood in the shower and just cried. How could I ever face Niya again? Her face had told me all that I needed to know. She had looked shocked to see me on the floor. I didn’t know what I was going to tell her if she asked me why I was there. I thanked God that it was summertime. I stayed in the house, avoiding her at all cost. I couldn’t even bring myself to write for the first six days. All I did was think of her.

  * * *

  It was a Sunday evening, and my body was hurting from so many nights of sleeping on the floor. My mother was cooking, and I was just in a bad mood. I probably was going crazy from so many days in the house with the people I hated the most. I was sitting in the living room, with my face buried in a book, unknowingly tapping my foot against the table.

  “Do you have to do that?” my stepfather asked.

  I didn’t even look up from the book. I rolled my eyes and purposely banged my foot against the table.

  “What the fuck is your problem?”

  I could hear my mother’s stillness as she heard him yell.

  “You, you are my fucking problem,” I snapped.

  I jumped up, went into the hall closet, and took out my notebook. I made my way to the front door. As I left the apartment, I could hear my stepdad yelling to my mother about how disrespectful I was and how he wanted me out of his house. I guessed that looking at me reminded him of what he had done to me.

  I sat on the stoop, breathing in the fresh air. The breeze was cool, unusual for a July summer night. It felt good to be outside. As much as I enjoyed the nighttime air, I asked God to please keep Niya away from the outside of the building. I just wanted to sit, think, and write. As I flipped through the back of the notebook, I read over a few of my entries. When I got to the last few pages, I noticed handwriting that wasn’t mine. I was confused, but I read what was written.

  When I was done, I didn’t know what to think. She had read my most private thoughts, and to be fair, I had done the same thing to her. I was smiling, but I wanted to know what all of this meant. She wrote that I seemed like someone she could love. It scared me, and it also made me feel wanted. I pulled out my MP3 player, put on my headphones, and let the music drown out the world. I listened to Bridget Kelly’s rendition of “Thinking About Forever” and just read her words over and over and over again.

  Chapter 9

  Niya

  I was on my way home from the Bronx. I had spent the day with a girl named Smiley. She was a cute chick who made me laugh. She was a homey, a lover, a friend. We never went all the way. I just liked to look at her, touch her. She was short and plump, a girl with curves that most men would be scared to handle, but I loved the feel of her. She was soft all over and sexy as hell. Sex dripped from her every word, and she knew how to play on that shit. She was one of those creatures who you were drawn to, and you just didn’t know why.

  Unlike Roxie, she never asked me for shit, so I always gave. I liked that about her. A few times I had left her some money on her dresser, only to find it in my pocket as I was on my way home. She was cool as shit and was always asking me to go to the clubs with her. After I let her read some of the things I had written, she tried all the time to get me to do open mic nights, but I wasn’t ready. I told her that one day soon I would take baby steps with a gay club and then would work my way up to performing.

  I had a lot of time to think as I drove. Jamilla had been on my mind since that morning I went to her apartment. What the fuck was she doing on the floor? As soon as I stepped in there, I felt sorry for her. I knew that she wouldn’t want me to see her like that. I even told her mom not to wake her up, but she didn’t listen. Every time I went out or came in, I hoped that I would see her outside on the stoop, but she was never there.

  As I got out of the car and headed to my building, I heard my name being called. I turned around and waited for my nigga Shawn to catch up with me. We said our hellos, and we spoke as he walked with me.

  “I just saw that nigga Rodney. He was asking about you,” Shawn informed me.

  I sucked my teeth and went on with our conversation, as if I didn’t hear him. Once we were closer to my building, we saw the usual faces, and I stopped and chilled with a few of the neighborhood guys. No one brought up what Rodney had said, but they all seemed to be a bit different toward me. Now they spoke as if they knew that I was into girls.

  “Ay, you know who was asking about you?” one of them asked me as we passed around a few blunts.

  I remained quiet.

  “That Jamaican girl with the red hair. She been asking Marco about you. You better check on that,” one guy said.

  I didn’t answer. I just laughed it off and told them that I was good.

  “White Boy been telling us to tell you to get up with him, but we told him you ain’t really been hittin’ the block much. You need to get back to work, nigga,” another one said.

  “That’s why I work for myself. There’s no clocking in,” I answered.

  The longer we stood there, the more I noticed I was getting checked out. I didn’t know if it always happened and I was too afraid to acknowledge that, but it was crazy. Some even openly flirted. The more I smoked and sipped, the more I didn’t care who noticed.

  “Ay, there she go,” Marco said, speaking of the girl with the red hair.

  She was bad as shit. Damn near naked. Her outfit didn’t leave much to the imagination. Her hair was short and the color of a fire hydrant, while her skin was the color of coffee with cream. We all watched her as she came our way. My heart was racing, and as bad as I wanted to talk to her, I prayed that she didn’t say shit to me. She looked aggressive, and it scared me. My prayers weren’t answered, because she came straight to me. The blunt that I was smoking hung from my mouth. I had forgotten about it as she approached.

  “I have been looking for you,” she said as she took the blunt from my mouth and put it to hers.

  “I heard,” was the only thing I could get out.

  She was cool. She spoke about my clothes a lot. Talked about my jewels and the shoes she had seen me wear. Another Roxie, and I didn’t need it. One was enough. She was hot, no doubt, but she had nothing special, no substance. As she leaned on me, spoke about me as if I wasn’t there and she planned to be with me, as if I didn’t have a choice, my grandmother came out of my building and called my name. As I looked Granny’s way, I saw her.

  I pushed Red off of me and almost killed myself as I tried to cross that street at a run. It felt like it had been so long since I had seen her. The car that almost ran me over stopped just in time, but I didn’t care. I could tell that she had seen me and was now trying to hurry up and go back in the building. I ran faster and caught up to both her and my grandmother.

  “What’s up, Gran? What’s up, Jamilla?” I spoke to both of them, but I was looking only at one of them.

  “Your father is on the phone,” Granny announced.

  That shit slapped me in the face so hard, I could have sworn that my high was gone. I finally looked at my grandmother, and I could tell that she really wanted me to talk to him.

  “Give me a second. I’ll be right there,” I told her.

  Granny went into the building, and with just the two of us standing there, I didn’t know what to say.

  “Where you been?” I finally asked as I tried to make eye contact with Jamilla.

  She didn’t answer right away, which gave me a chance to really see her. When I looked down at her hands, I saw she was holding on to the notebook so tight that her nails were digging into it
.

  “I was in the house. Not feeling well,” she lied, and we both knew it.

  “I need to speak to you. Can you—”

  “Niya, come in here,” my grandmother yelled out the window.

  I didn’t want to move, afraid that it would be another week before I saw her again. I grabbed her hand, and without asking, I walked her up to my apartment.

  Chapter 10

  Jamilla

  I sat in Niya’s living room, with her right beside me. Her leg was against mine as she spoke on the phone. Not that she was doing too much talking. A yes here and a no there. I could tell that she really didn’t want to be on the phone at all. After a few minutes, she called her grandmother back into the room and waited for her to take the phone back into the kitchen. Then she sat there for a minute, just breathing. I watched her nostrils flare before she took a deep breath, looked at me dead in the eyes, and asked, “Want something to drink?”

  I shook my head yes and was thankful when she got up. It gave me breathing room. I didn’t know why she made me so nervous. Maybe it was because I had read what she had written. A few minutes later she returned with two cups of soda and handed one of them to me. As she sat back down, the scent of her cologne blew my way, and instantly, I felt intoxicated. She smelled sweet, but not in a feminine way. Her scent wasn’t strong, but it still lingered in the air, as if she had just sprayed on the cologne. She smelled fresh, with a hint of vanilla and light musk. I took my time looking at her. Not a damn hair was out of place; every strand had been pulled back in a neat ponytail. Her clothes were nice, expensive, and without one wrinkle. I was examining her as if she wasn’t there. By the time I reached her face, she was smiling, as if she had caught me.

  “Like what you see?” she asked.

  Her question made me jump, and I spilled a few drops of the soda she had brought me. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. Sorry.”

  She laughed as she got up, and then she disappeared into the kitchen and came back a minute later with a paper towel.

  “I was only joking, unless . . . ,” she said as she handed me the paper towel.

  I was so damn uncomfortable, as I was holding my breath. I knew that she was being funny, but I just didn’t know what to say.

  “Let’s go in my room,” she said and stood up, but I remained seated. She looked at me as if she was asking me what was wrong.

  “What about your grandmother?” I asked as I looked up at her.

  “Oh, she’s cool. She’s about to roll up and go to bed. I keep telling her to leave the smoking to the grown folks, but she won’t listen,” Niya said as her grandmother came into the living room. They both laughed as I looked on.

  “I tell you already, I smoke before you born. It my medicine,” Granny said.

  “Yeah, that’s why you always go to bed after. It’s all right, Granny. You can’t hang, but I still love you.”

  I loved watching them. They seemed like friends, not just family.

  Niya’s granny looked at me. “You are?”

  “Oh, sorry. I am Jamilla,” I answered.

  “Yes. I see you before. Nice to meet you. Niya, mi amor, I go to my room. Good night.”

  She went into her bedroom, and Niya waited for me to enter hers.

  * * *

  Niya’s room was just as neat as she was, with a lot of music and posters and a lot of notepads. Her closet was packed with clothes, and she had so many shoes that some had to be lined up against the wall.

  “So you’re a shoe whore?” I asked as I sat on the desk chair. She got on her bed and lay back.

  “Everyone has an addiction. You want to add something to that Coke?”

  I wasn’t in the mood to drink, so I told her no. She asked me if I wanted to smoke. To that, I said yes. She got up, turned on some music, and went to work. This gave me a chance to look at her freely. I was able to act as if I was watching her roll.

  “Did you get a chance to write in your notebook?” she asked, forcing me to take my eyes off her body and bring them up to her eyes. She stopped rolling as she waited for my answer. Her sly smile let me know what she was really asking.

  “I saw what you wrote,” I said, answering her true question. Her eyes widened before going back to their natural size.

  “I hope you’re not mad that I read it, but I couldn’t help it.”

  I smiled. “That’s okay. I once read your private thoughts, too.”

  She lit the blunt, got back on the bed, and leaned back on her pillows. As she smoked, she looked at me through the smoke that escaped the burning bud of love.

  Drake’s “The Real Her” played in the background as I waited for her to pass the smoke. I was so nervous, and that song was making me think too much.

  “You’re too far. Come here,” Niya said as she patted her bed.

  I didn’t move. “Just sit up.”

  She continued to smoke. “Nope. Come here. I won’t bite. Well, I normally don’t, unless . . .”

  She made me laugh. I got up and sat at the foot of her bed.

  “You’re still too far. See?” She stretched her arm out to show me how far away I was.

  “No I’m not. See? I can—” I stopped in mid-sentence when I went to reach for the blunt and she took my hand and pulled me to her. She pulled hard enough to bring me up close to her face.

  “This is better. Now, let me blow you.”

  I didn’t answer. I watched her take a long drag off the stuffed cigar and just waited.

  Siya had both of our heads bobbing. “Tainted” played on Niya’s radio and spoke to both of us. We had both been tainted and destroyed in our own ways, but in a weird way, I felt halfway healed by being there with her.

  Niya sat up, her mouth full of smoke, and pressed her lips against mine. My heart danced not only to the beat of Siya, but also to the beat of nervousness. She gave me chills and made my palms sweat. I inhaled the smoke while keeping eye contact. She was so pretty, so handsome, just beautiful. I watched her lips curl into a smile as she sat back and rapped along with Siya. I took the blunt from her hand and looked away from her.

  “Can you roll another one? I’m tryin’a get fucked up,” I said.

  She got up, filled her cup with vodka, and rolled two more blunts. I didn’t speak as I got up and sat in the desk chair as she rolled. My mind was occupied with confusing questions. I thought about the things she had written in my notebook, the things she had read, and I wanted to know what she thought of me in the present moment.

  “You sure are quiet. Is that how you get when you smoke? What are you thinking about?” she asked. She had finished rolling and was pulling off her T-shirt. Her diamond chain shone against her skin. Every time she moved, something sparkled. Either her earrings, her necklace, or her bracelet.

  “I was thinking about you reading my notebook.”

  “What about it?” she asked as she looked dead at me.

  “What do you think of me now that you have read all my inner thoughts . . . of you?”

  She smiled again, and so did I. “Are you going to come up here and lie down with me, or do I have to pick you up and put you on the bed?”

  This time I crawled on her queen-size bed and rested my back against her headboard. She downed her half of a cup of liquor and poured another. I asked her to add some liquor to my cup of Coke, and after she did so, I took a big sip. We smoked, with me right beside her, her arm against mine. Her skin was warm, soft, and burned weird thoughts into my mind. I listened to her speak.

  “I was kind of nervous, knowing that you were writing about me,” she said, finally answering my question. “I always noticed you, but you never noticed me, or so I thought. So to read what you wrote, to be able to read what you have been going through—it made me feel close to you. It also made me sad. Are you gay?”

  I jerked and jumped at her question. “What? Where in the hell did that come from?”

  She sipped her drink, and I pulled on the weed. I was already fucked up, and we were only o
n the second blunt.

  “Just thought I would ask. Gay, bi, straight, curious?”

  “Are you gay?” I returned, answering her question with a question. I watched her eyes as she looked into mine. “What? Not so easy to answer?” I asked. I handed her the blunt but refused to drop my eyes from hers.

  “I—I am, yes.”

  “Yes what?”

  I wanted her to say it, for me, and for her. She smoked, drank, smoked, and drank again, but I waited.

  “Yes, I am gay. I like pussy. Does it change anything now that you have heard me say it again?”

  I started to laugh. I didn’t know why, but soon she joined me.

  “No,” I said as I lowered my body and rested my head against her pillows. “Do you feel any different?”

  She thought about it for a minute, then said, “Maybe a bit relieved. Not that you didn’t know it, anyway. So tell me, what are you?”

  She was now on her pillow, only a few inches from my face. I watched her eyes travel from my eyes to my nose and down to my lips before moving back up again. I was all of a sudden comfortable with her. I was no longer nervous. It was as if her truth and her acknowledging her truth had somehow set me free.

  “I am straight . . . I think,” I said.

  Again, we shared a slew of giggles, never taking our eyes off each other.

  I had so much fun with her that night. Being near her just seemed so right, as if she, the person, could never do any wrong. Because of that one night with each other, we formed a bond that would link us together for life. Lying there, I knew that she would become my everything. My only hope was that she was feeling the same way.

  Chapter 11

  Niya

  It was almost two in the morning when I felt her next to me. I didn’t even remember falling asleep. I slid off the bed without waking her up, used the bathroom, and went back into the bedroom. At first, I just stood there looking at her. As I stood in that doorway, there was nothing more beautiful than her. There were so many things that I wanted to do to her, say to her, and make her feel, but with her telling me that she was straight . . . maybe, I didn’t want to take too many chances.