A Deeper Love In Him

Chapter 4: Megan James

Megan came to my crib more than a few times with bumps and bruises here and there. Some more noticeable than the others she wore. Of course, Megan was a tomboy so naturally she was a little rough around the edges. Megan would arm wrestle and slap box with just about any boy on seventh Avenue. She liked to horse play, like all of us did. But something was oddly wrong with the bruises she's been getting lately. Even though we were all young at the time, we didn't have to work for social services to know that Megan was slowly becoming a victim of domestic violence. Some of the scars she tried her hardest to cover up while the others she'd just shrug off whenever someone brought them up. It was hard for me to picture Megan letting somebody (let alone a family member) wail on her...

During our gym class in fourth grade she had Arell in a choke hold for so long he started crying! I mean, it was the type of cry you do when your mom would spank you for spending food stamp money on junk food. Poor Arell, he turned as red as a tomato that day. I was sitting on the bleachers watching in awe at the shit going down on the gym floor. It was so embarrassing all the kids in gym class laughed, including me. Slowly rising up from off of the bleachers I stepped down to brake it up, as amusing as it was, I got tired of watching Arell kick and scream. Even though he needed it. Arell had a big ass mouth and that was what I didn't like about him. He got us into A LOT of unnecessary beef that I would always have to bail us out of. 

Anyway, I don't know how but somehow I managed to pull Megan's very long but quite muscular arm from around Arell's chubby little neck. She finally let go and then she turned to face me as if I was next on her hit list. We had to be standing about 1.2 inches away from each other, almost nose to nose if she wasn't a little taller than me. I could've sworn she was going to turn me around and put me in a chokehold too, but she just looked me dead in the face for two minutes. I wasn't sure if she was sizing me up or if she wanted to see if there was any "punk" Inside of me. When she got done seeing all she needed to see she held out her hand, as if she was ready for a handshake. Instead, I gave Megan the hardest dap that my small palm could manage at the time.

 "Tell your boy to watch his mouth if he don't want to get dropped." She said humbly, still gripping my hand from the pound. 

The first thing I noticed about Megan was how pretty her face was. She had a small round face with cheeks so high they made her eyes slightly chinky, complementing them was a pair of tightly curled eyelashes and a mole that sat a few inches above the arch of her right eyebrow. She kept a W-NBA sweat band around her head while her shoulder length dreads were braided neatly in back cornrows. I guess she felt how intensely I was staring at her, so she immediately dropped my hand as if it were on fire or something. She began Looking over my shoulder at Arell, with his hands on his knees in agony trying to catch his breath. Six other kids crowded around him, three of them were still laughing. Megan turned her attention back to me.

"You got a name, homie?"

"Joel" I said. My chin up in the air.

"Everybody calls me J.R though."

She nodded her head in agreement.

"Ight Jay R. Thanks for saving your homeboy... You would've came down off them bleachers any slower, he could've been dead."

She aggressively patted my shoulder before she walked away dribbling her basketball. That was only a year a ago, fourth grade year, the first time I met Megan and the last time Arell tried to base up to Megan. Since that day she and I went from slapping fives to hanging out with each other at the game store we purchased our video games from. Megan had connects everywhere she went, she knew a lot of people, she was close with the Barber who lined up the front of her hair, she and the sneaker retailer cracked so many jokes on one another you would've thought they were on an episode of Who's Got Jokes and on top of that, she was even friends with the man from the game store we always went to. Anywhere I went with her she was greeted with friendly hugs, welcomed with warm smiles, pounds and high-fives. She knew a lot of old heads, too.

"What's Up Everybody, Yo' this is my homeboy, Jay R!

Jay. R, these are my peoples!" She'd ecstatically introduce me as we walked Into the spots Megan knew better than me.

And just as warmly was they welcomed her, they welcomed me. I was no exception. She was real personable you know? She once told me that everything she'd ever owned, down from her Rockawear sweat suits to the different verities of sweat bands she'd collected. She got at a discount! Never paying the full price for what she liked and she didn't have to. She was very well respected for a 12 year old. She stood about 5 foot 5, almost an inch taller than me. Megan reminded everyone of a lighter skin version of Muhammad Ali's daughter, Layla.

Arell and I had been best friends since first grade way before Megan even came into the picture so you can imagine how jealous he became when he saw just how frequent Megan and I started hanging out. She showed me a lot and taught me a lot during the time we chilled together. Megan was dope, she was just as cool, if not cooler, than most Niggas I knew.

"I don't even know why you hanging with that he-she anyway bro, you like her or something?" 

Arell asked me one day on the elevator riding up to my floor. I looked at him from the corner of my eye and took a deep breath.

"Yo' why she gotta be a he-she? And to answer your question. No. I don't like her like that. Megan is cool." 

At this point I was scanning Arell's face for a particular reaction, so far he was still calm but not for long. I knew he wasn't going to like what I was about to say next but I went for it anyway.

"Maybe you should hang around her sometime, she could probably teach you a thing... Or two." I ended that last sentence with a smirk. My back leaning against the wall of the elevator just waiting for Arell's chubby face to turn red with anger and surely it did. 

"Listen yo,' ya little girlfriend cant teach me shit, I'm a boy. And no matter how much she tries to deny it, she's a bitch! Bitches can't teach a man shit. That's how I see it." 

Arell then put his hands deep down in his basketball shorts as if he was ready to pull out some treasure. It bothered me that Arell was truly this ignorant, my moms always said that I should hang around people that could teach me something and vice versa but it seemed like the more I tried to teach Arell, the less he learned.

When the elevator came to my stop I said confidently...

"If a bitch like her can make can make you cry just by putting you in a head lock, maybe she is a 'he-she' after all."