Hyena (8 page)

“Cuz I’m ’bout to go coop-coop. Get breaded, buy my mama something for her birthday.”

Coop-coop meant fuck in Jinx talk.

We get to this run-down house on a back road behind a liquor store. It’s winter and the trees are bare and the snow is gray and the street is empty. Bethany’s waiting in the doorway, storm door steamed up from the cold. I can’t see her glasses or her face but I see the outline of a dumpy girl and I know it’s her.

We roll in and barely speak. Jinx takes Bethany to the bedroom and leaves me with her little cousin. I sit there and talk with her about junior high school while Jinx and Bethany fuck in the next room. You can hear her hollering over the rap music.

I ask the cousin to show me her room; she says she can’t cuz they’re in there fuckin’. But she could show me her mom’s.

She takes me to the back of the house, to a filthy room that smells like cigarettes and dust, with wood paneling and
clothes on the floor. Hot pink bandannas are tied to the bedpost with a faded leopard-print bedspread thrown across the mattress.

I sit on the bed, tell her to come here. I kiss her on the mouth awhile. I tell her to get on her knees and take my dick out. She does.

“Put it in your mouth.”

She does as I say. I finish in her mouth without telling her. She’s gagging and spits my cum all over my lap. I wipe it off with my hand and smear it on her mom’s leopard blanket.

I say, “Thank you, you’re good at that. Excuse me a second, I’ma get Jinx.”

I get up and leave the room and pound on the bedroom door for him to hurry up. He’s taking forever, fucking her like he’s got a point to prove.

Five minutes later they come out. We’re all posted up in the kitchen.

He asks Bethany for the money. She says she doesn’t have it.

He’s like, “Bethany, why you gonna have me come over here and you know you ain’t got no money. Why was you lying? You knew you ain’t have no money.”

“I wasn’t lying, Jinx, my aunt had needed to borrow some to put toward the light bill—”

He cuts her off. “That ain’t got shit to do with me. You said you had something for me to hold for Mama’s birthday. Why you have me come all the way over here when you didn’t? You think I’m coming here for free? How’m I sposed to buy my mom a present?”

She’s apologizing. “I’m sorry, I had just gave it to her right before you got here, Jinx, I swear to God.”

It’s getting kind of weird; her little’s cousin’s fidgeting. I’m like, “Come on, man, fuck it. She ain’t got no money, let’s just go.”

She says, “I get my check next Friday; we can go cash it together.”

“What I’m sposed to tell my mama? Wait till next Friday for her present, cuz you had to pay the light bill? Fuck that.”

He starts looking around the kitchen, all three of us watching. No one’s talking. He’s looking in the fridge, looking on the table, looking on the counter.

He goes to Bethany, “Unplug that—I want that.”

I look over and he’s pointing at the most busted, run-down toaster ever. Aluminum, dents in it, a crooked lever.

She’s like, “You want the toaster?”

“Yup.”

Little cousin starts pleading, “But that’s my mom’s toaster.”

“And?”

“I don’t know. . . . You can’t have my mom’s toaster. That’s our toaster. . . .”

Bethany’s trying to console her: “Don’t worry about it, I’ll buy you guys a new one on Friday. When I cash my check, we’ll go get you a new one.”

I’m feeling kind of fucked-up. I mean the little girl just headed me off, I wiped cum all over her mom’s bed—now we’re ’bout to take her toaster? I’m like, “Jinx, man, come on, son, let’s just go.”

He walks over to the counter, pulls the plug out the wall, wraps the cord around the toaster, tucks it under his arm, and heads to the door, crumbs spilling all over the place. Bethany rushes after him trying to kiss him goodbye; he moves his head.

I look at lil cuz and say, “Sorry about your toaster.”

Arms crossed, looking away, she don’t say shit.

We’re at the car and Bethany’s hollering to Jinx, “Call me Friday, okay?!!”

We get in. I look at him, say, “Hell naw, dog . . . you wild for that one. You just fucked that ugly-ass broad for a toaster.”

He’s smiling. “I know, I’ma give it to my mom, she ain’t got one.”

“Well . . . knock the crumbs out that bitch ’fore you give it to her.”

His pager goes off and we head on over to the Sonic to get Shae that corned beef she wanted.

SHE CAME OVER THAT NIGHT
after work, drunk. I gave her Irish whiskey and fed her steak.

I told her we couldn’t fuck, I’m fasting.

I told her I lose interest in a girl if I smash too soon.

She told me she’d never heard it called smash before.

She told me she was on her period anyway.

I’m a Viking. I told her periods don’t bother me.

We end up on my bed, making out. It gets heated.

“Let’s chill.”

We do.

I fall asleep and wake up to her kissing my neck, rubbing my dick.

I bought a new bed because of nights like this. Fucking to fuck. I was trying to keep the new one DNA-free. It was gonna be my little gift to my future girlfriend—an untainted bed, like a born-again virgin.

Then it dawned on me: that’s gay as fuck. Sure, the whole
celibate-till-you-meet-the-right-girl thing would be nice, but it’s not practical. It’s just leaving me horny. I’m developing a porn addiction and a rash around my dick from jerking off with cocoa butter.

I hadn’t smashed in two months and I was about to ruin the bed. I guess we could’ve fucked on the couch, but I don’t trust the legs on that thing.

Fuck it.

I kneeled above her, lifted her skirt and yanked off her panties, took my shirt off, and put it under her ass. I pulled out her tampon and threw it behind the dresser. Unwrapped a rubber, put it on my dick, and fucked her.

She lay there on top of me, with me still in her, panting.

It was good.

My Jordan shirt’s ruined.

She hopped in the shower.

I washed the blood off my dick in the bathroom sink.

We went to bed and fucked again in the morning.

When I came I looked at her like, what have I done?

I’m telling her, “We shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know. . . . We shouldn’t have done that.”

Why the fuck did I do that?

I see how this is gonna end. How many of those “let’s keep it light” talks am I gonna have?

After a while, it’s never light.

She’s consoling me for banging her, like I’m the girl. Patting my shoulder, telling me it’ll be okay.

She says, “It wasn’t casual sex; there was nothing casual about it.”

Whoa.

I stop her. “How gay is this shit? I’m good. I’m sorry, that was fun. I had a good time last night.”

She leaves for work.

I get out of bed and make tea.

Drink it on the couch and say to myself, “Oh Jude, what am I gonna do with you?”

AS A TEEN I WAS
having problems with my molars. I hadn’t been to the dentist since the fifth grade; we didn’t have insurance.

We were “the working poor,” barely making rent, missing it some months. That health shit’s a luxury when you’re scraping by.

Both my parents had bad teeth, so it was important for us to keep our shit clean.

Every time my old man would have another problem with his mouth he’d call me over to his dresser in the living room and pull from the top drawer a mason jar with six yellow rotted-out teeth in it.

He’d bring me close and shake the jar in my face, teeth clanging against the glass and start yellin’. “Look at dis! Ya know what dis is?! These are my fuckin’ teeth, this is what happens if ya don’t brush ya teeth! Brush ya fuckin’ teeth!”

I’d roll my eyes. “I do, chill out. . . .”

“Oh you do?” He’d stick his finger in his mouth, pull back his cheek, and expose gaps where his teeth used to be. “Look at that! All ya got is ya teeth! Brush ya fuckin’ teeth! Or you’ll end up like me!”

I brushed my teeth, but they got fucked-up anyway. I guess I shoulda flossed more.

My ma saw some ad in the paper; a new local dentist was charging sixty bucks for fillings and a cleaning. She got it in her head that she was gonna take me there.

I didn’t take her serious; she was always making plans. Like, we should go hit an art exhibit or take a nature hike before school. We never did.

My mom worked three jobs; we’d get up late; my stepdad Terry would be out all night in the van and bring it back on empty. We’re just trying to get to Mobil before we run out of gas. Put thirty-seven cents on pump two and get to Rochester.

We get home, my mom’s been working all day. Terry’s on the couch, hungover drinking a Rolling Rock, watching soap operas with his sunglasses on. There’s nothing in the fridge to eat but some cold cuts, and he wrote his name on ’em.

We ain’t never take that nature hike.

For weeks she’d be like, “Just wait, when I get my check, we’ll go to the dentist. We’ll get your teeth cleaned and fix that tooth for you. And maybe we can get lunch before that, too.”

I’d be at the kitchen table with a toothache nodding. “Okay, Mom, sounds good.”

“And Jude, once you get your teeth fixed, you’ll be starting new, and then you can take better care of them. Because you
have to take good care of yourself; you’re the only self you have.”

She even had the little coupon from the paper saved, folded up neatly.

A few weeks pass; she gets her money up and makes the appointment. I take a half day off of school. It’s spring. It’s sunny and breezy. You can feel it in the air, it feels hopeful.

When the weather was like this, my old man used to say, “It’s days like this makes me happy I didn’t kill myself.”

We’d laugh and say, “Shut up!”

We pull into the brand-new strip mall. Our van’s beat-up but we’re wearing our nice clothes, and my mom’s commenting on how nice the parking lot looks with its new painted lines.

She’s excited to be doing this for me. She’s happier than I am.

We roll up into a full waiting room, I sign in, fill out the paperwork, the little dental hygienist lady takes me to the back. I’m sitting there in the dental chair with my bib on. My ma’s back there with me, too.

They’re being real nice, with the how-ya-doings.

“Do you want some water?”

“Yes, please.”

And in comes the dentist with a hi-de-ho and what can we do for ya?

He’s sitting on the stool talking to me. I tell him where it hurts.

The lady from the front desk comes back with a folder and pulls the dentist aside, they’re talking in hushed tones.

Then the dentist gets serious; he asks my mom how we’re gonna pay for it. My mom’s got the cash in her hand, sixty dollars ready to give to him.

He tells her it’s not enough. He’s pointing to my forms, telling us how we don’t have insurance.

She shows him the ad. He tells her that ad’s for people with dental insurance.

He points at the fine print at the bottom of the coupon she’s holding. He tells us how much it’s gonna be, it’s like four hundred dollars. It might as well have been four thousand dollars. We ain’t have it.

My ma’s standing there with the coupon in both hands. Her face breaks. Her eyes well up.

The dentist is thanking us for coming in and asking us to leave.

I hand the hygienist my cup; she won’t even look at me. They undo my bib; I get out of the chair. We walk down the hallway, past the receptionist, past the people in the waiting room, and we walk out.

I keep my chin up, but I’m embarrassed and she’s mad. Mad she ain’t see the fine print and mad they put it on there so small.

We just wanna be normal.

We’re in the parking lot and she’s shaking her head, muttering. We look like someone just stole our bike.

I put my arm around her. I’m like, “Fuck them, Mom, I’ll be fine. Fuck them coupons wit they fine print and shit. My shit ain’t even been hurting lately. I’m good.”

She nods. “Yeah. Fuck them.”

“His breath stank anyway. No-chin-having motherfucker. How the fuck you gonna be a dentist with some stanking-ass breath?”

We laugh about it, hop in our van, and drive off on that sunny spring day.

I’M AT A PARTY HOUSE
in Hollywood to grab some 2C-E from my dubstep, death metal, computer nerd homies. It’s a designer drug, psychedelic. I’ve never done it before.

They’re telling me they snort it and hit the water park. It feels like you’re cumming when you go down the waterslide. The body buzz is that good.

I tell ’em that’s creepy.

Johnny’s like, “Yeah, I was in the kiddie pool with a boner and didn’t realize it. No one told me.”

“That you had a boner?”

“No, that I was in the kiddie pool.”

We’re laughing. “Hell naw.”

The art school junkies on the couch stop watching cartoons long enough to give us a dirty look. Fuck them and fuck skinny jeans. I cop five capsules. I shoulda bought more.

Paulie’s like, “What are you going to do on it?”

“What I always do. Fuck.”

Johnny’s like, “That’ll be awesome. Better have her get the morning-after pill. You’re not gonna be able to tell if you came or not it feels so good.”

“I’m straight—I’ma rock a condom.”

They look at me like I’m retarded. “A condom?”

“Trust me, as many fucking abortions as I’ve been through? I always wear a condom.”

I end up doing it that Saturday with a girl I was seeing. I was helping her look for an apartment, then we had some dinner. I throw the 2C-E on a plate, chop that shit up, and we go for it.

She’s nervous, she never tripped before. Lately, whenever I do drugs it’s with a beginner cuz all my old drug buddies went and joined AA, got married, or grew the fuck up. I gotta walk her through it.

I say, “Snort that shit.”

“You first.”

Fair enough. I roll up a five, cuz I’m on a budget, put it to a line, and blow it up my nose. When I was a kid, me, Dre and Roach chopped up some lines of sugar, wanting to be like the drug dealers on
Miami Vice
. I went first. I sniffed that shit and started sneezing and coughing and spitting. After me, they ain’t want none.