Teenage Love Affair

Chapter 6

MALACHI IN THE MM ⬆⬆⬆⬆

You probably say that it was juvenile but I think that I deserve to smile. . .
-Jazmine Sullivan, "Bust Your Windows"

I was in hell. I slipped down the slope from being a flygirl to being a desprate one. And what's messed up is that I didn't remember when the transformation took place. All I could see and all I could feel was pain. . . and sorrow. . .revenge. . . and embarrassment. It was like Ameen was proving the point of everyone who said he was worthless and he was making me pay for it.

Sometimes I thought I was waiting for someone to jump out the closet and say, "Psych, chica, this ain't your life. This is an extended episode of Hell date." But no one had jumped out yet.

I eased out the bed, stood at the mirror, and looked at my face. My eye was swollen and red and my face was tritoned: milk chocolate on one side and black and blue on the other. The bruises on my face felt like aching tears, and there was no way with everybody and their mama in Club Heated last night that I was going to school.

But then again, I had to go, because if I didn't then everyone would think that Ameen and the chick he was with had punked me. I felt bad enough as it was, so there was no way I could go out like that.

Just as I decided that I could wear makeup and my Chanel sunglasses and simply tell my teachers I had pink eye, my phone rang. I looked at my caller ID because there were only a select few that I wanted to talk to. But it was Asha so I picked up.

"Wassup?" I said, attempting to play off the tears trembling my throat. I was so sick and tired of being a crybaby.

"Wassup?" Asha said, taken aback. "We need to talk. I had my brother drop me off. So, I'm outside. Open the door."

I looked at the clock and it was 6 A.M. "You're kidding me, right?" There was no way she could see me like this. "Why are you here this time of the morning anyway?"

"Because I couldn't sleep thinking about you. Now, open the door," she insisted.

"I'm grown. I got this."

"Would you open this door! I already know your eye is black."

"Fine." I hung up and slipped on my robe and slippers. As I tipped to the front door the living room light popped on. "Zulu," Cousin Shake said, "where you goin'? In ya robe at that?"

Already I was sick of him sweatin' me. I'm not gon' be able to live like this. "I'm not going anywhere, Cousin Shake." I turned around and almost threw up in my mouth. Why was he standing in the doorway of his room with a short waist housecoat on and a tight pair of Speedos? His knees looked as if someone painted them with powder, and someone please tell me why did he have on white sweat socks to the knees with green stripes going around the top and brown corduroy slippers?

I shielded my eyes. "Cousin Shake, please put some clothes on."

"Don't try and get off the subject. I said where are you goin'?"

"Nowhere."

"You coulda fooled me. You ain't walkin' no street corners, is ya? The gold digger in ya comin' out?" He started shaking his shoulders and moving his feet from side to side as if he were doing the crip walk. "I ain't sayin' she a gold diggin'," he rapped, "but she ain't messin' wit' no broke-to-broke-to broke figures. . . . That's Shake's remix. Now where ya goin'?" He stopped dancing.

"Cousin Shake, why are you sweatin' me,dang?!"

" 'Cause I'm security. Strollin, bad kids too grown-and ya mama can't control you security. Smell me? Now, where ya goin'?" He picked up his supersized bottle of blessing oil. "Or it's gon' be a problem. And is that a black eye on your face?"