Texts from Bennett (35 page)

“I’m sure yo’ brain is digestin’ some cheesecake and egg rolls right now, so you didn’t even take da time to do the math on what I just said right there, but yeah,
bitch,
I said ten ambalaaaances. And nine of ’em gonna be just for
you
. One of ’em is gonna be for your funny-lookin’-ass husband and his skippin’-CD-talkin’ ass. And after
I send your husband and all nine parts of you to the hospital, I’mma pick that ugly-ass dog up off the driveway and I’mma
eat
him.”

Mercedes took two steps back. “
Now play with me, bitch!
” she yelled and cocked her head side to side like a fundamental, classic ghetto chicken head, snapped her fingers twice, crossed her arms, and stared Carletta dead in the eyes.

Carletta swallowed the lump in her throat as her confidence hesitated. There was dead silence on the driveway. Mercedes didn’t even blink. Her heart was made of iron. She was rabid. Fearless. She looked through Carletta’s soul.

Carletta shook her head and began walking back through the yard she emerged from. After a moment, Milton and Franklins followed, but before she cleared the house, Carletta turned around and stared at Mercedes.

“You got issues. You got issues, white girl,” Carletta said. Then she vanished behind the house.

Mercedes approached Christina and stuck her hand out. “Ay, baby. I’m Mercedes.”

“Thank you for . . . not letting that lady . . . eat me,” Christina said as she shook and smiled.

Mercedes nodded, then swiveled her head my way. “Mac, honey, sorry I was sneakin’ up in yo crib and shit.”

“Save it; you’re an angel. That was the greatest thing I’ve ever seen. They were about to piss themselves.”

“Fuck that, y’all chill. Fuck them dumb-ass niggas. I wanna finish my rap! I ain’t get to finish my fuckin’ rap!” Bennett said.

Bennett began flipping through his notebook again.

“Okay. I’mma start this shit over. Dis one called ‘Gregarious Gang—’ ”

“Bennett, baby, please don’t rap that one. Please? I hate that shit,” Mercedes interrupted.

“How come?” Bennett said.

“Because all you did was pick a bunch of fuckin’ big words out of the tyrannosaurus book. I told you when you was writin’ that shit last night, it wasn’t gangsta enough. Do a different one, baby. Do the one you wrote for me on Valentine’s Day, boo . . .” Mercedes said.

“Nah . . .” Bennett said shyly. “Harper hated when I rapped that type of shit. I wanna impress Christina so she likes our family and shit.”

“Bennett, quit tryin’ to impress people and be the fuck yourself, baby, c’mon. Do the one you wrote for me. It’ll be a good way to send them on their first date, boo boo, c’mon.”

“You really want me to do that one?” he asked.

“Yeah, what was it called again?”

“ ‘Sex wit a Thug Bitch.’ ”

Christina stuck her head close to my face. “Harper’s your ex, right? The terrible one?”

“Yep,” I said.

“I wanna hear ‘Sex wit a Thug Bitch,’ Bennett. Seriously. Please?” Christina said, turning to Bennett.

“Really?” he said.

“Yes. Don’t do ‘Gregarious Gangsta,’ my friend Mercedes does not like that one,” she replied.

“Okay, den. Here go ‘Sex wit a Thug Bitch.’ ” Bennett fastly flipped through his notebook to locate it. “This is more of a love song and shit. . . .”

“Oh, I like love songs,” Christina said.

“
Okay, niggas!
” Bennett yelled, loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear. Loud enough to echo into Edgard and Mariam’s garage.
“Here go dat love shit.”

You got dat thug bitch pussy, dat thug bitch kitty,

you da baddest mothafuckin bitch in Kansas City,

dat thug bitch pussy, dat thug bitch lovin’,

I come and beat it up after a long day of thuggin’.

You my thug bitch, bitch, you hold my cock when I pee,

I don’t gotta get violent, you bust yo glock for a G,

don’t got just one gun, you got two nine-ahs,

one is named Brad, the other one is Angelina.

I love dat big booty, how it jiggle for a gangsta,

she a China doll bitch, her nipples will amaze ya.

We rob banks together, my bitch is hella paid,

She’s da baddest thug bitch da Jesus eva made.

“Dat’s how dat one go right dere,” Bennett said.

“Yay!” Christina said, clapping.

Mercedes followed. “Boo, you so mothafuckin’ good with them lyrics. Mmm!”

“I love the part about how Mercedes has two guns named Brad and Angelina, Bennett. Pretty genius if you ask me,” Christina said.

“Well, thanks and shit.” Bennett looked almost bashful as he said, “I hope y’all have a good date.”

“It will be a wonderful date,” she said.

And that’s when I heard Mercedes correct Bennett with a soft, loving voice, “Baby, my two guns are named Jay-Z and Beyoncé. You’re thinkin’ of my old guns.”

From the house across the street and one to the right, Edgard emerged shirtless from his garage holding a machete. His eyes were bright yellow and filled with ultraviolence. It looked like he wanted to send someone to meet his or her psychopomp, chopped into bits. He crossed the street to speak to us, with his machete on his shoulder.

“
Where big woman?
” he yelled. “
She scare boy.
”

“Holy shit, that guy has a sword! What the fuck is wrong with this neighborhood?” Christina whispered as he approached.

His skinny body was covered in scars and lashing marks. He had five very large exit-wound scars from what appeared to be from a splattering of buckshots.

“Uhhhh . . . hi, Edgard. You okay, man?” I asked, nervously.

“Where big, fat woman? Jean Paul afraid to ride bike. He fear big, fat woman. I kill for nothing to protect boy. I lose arm. Where woman?”

“Oh, I took care of that bitch, nigga,” Mercedes said as she popped a stick of gum into her mouth.

“
Who is ‘nigger’ for?
” Edgard asked.

“Who is what?” Mercedes replied.

“ ‘Nigger’? Who is for? Who you say ‘nigger’ for?”

“Uh, come on playa, it means lik—” Mercedes said before being cut off by Bennett:

“No one, man. We aren’t sayin’ it like that, doo,” Bennett said.

“
No! I say ‘nigger,’ ”
Edgard asked. “
You call Jean Paul ‘nigger’ when your skin milk?
”

“No, no, we didn’t say anything like that. We love Jean Paul! No one was speaking about him,” I said, not really sure what I was trying to accomplish.

He stood closer to Bennett and Mercedes, dangling his machete to kneecap height.

“
You scream every time,
” Edgard said to Mercedes. “
You scream loud. Make loud scream every time Jean Paul scared of you.
”

“Nah, mane, she ain’t tryin’ to be—” Bennett replied, but was cut off.

“
Shhhh! Why you say ‘nigger’ any time? Why you say? You see cool sun and clean water? You not say,
” he said.

Everyone was getting much more tense. Edgard could smell the fear on all of us. Most likely, if I had a hunch, because he was acting crazy and, well, carrying a machete.

“I kill two beggars in Somalia for steal bread from wife. I kill all you for scare boy.”

Edgard turned around and showed us his back. It had a giant suture scar, from the nape of his neck all the way down beyond his waistline. It looked like a giant alligator tail in scar-form, running down his back. To this day I have no idea what the scar was from, but I think all of our imaginations lit up imagining how his life had brought him that.

“Damn, mane. You’re a thug for
real
. Look, doo, we don’t wanna say that word like that about you. We are so sorry. Your son Jean Paul! Haha! He’s great when he draws!” Bennett said, in a high-pitched, high-spirited voice.

“
Dross? Drawse? Draws?
” Edgard asked, sounding it out.

“Yeah! Draws! Jean Paul, draws great pictures. He’s so cool!” Bennett said, opening his notebook, showing one of his own drawings. “Jean Paul is so good at drawing! Look at this, Jean
Paul is so much better!” He pointed to a picture he drew of a fat woman.

“Jean Paul drawing yes. Yeah!” Edgard said, cracking a smile. He began studying Bennett’s drawing and giggling. After flipping through a few more pages of Bennett’s drawings, Edgard was laughing hysterically.

“Hahaha! You drawing of shit. Hahaha!” Edgard said.

I turned and gave everyone a glance to indicate they really should join in and laugh.

“Yeah, Bennett. Jean Paul is
so
much better than you at drawing! Hahaha!” we all said, in some form or other, in unison.

“Okay, man. Hahaha. I give Jean Paul. He laugh and shit on. Hahaha!” Edgard said, ripping a picture out of Bennett’s notebook.

Bennett began chuckling. He seemed very relieved, as we all did, that Egdard’s mood was lightening up a bit. He didn’t even acknowledge the fact that Edgard had ripped one of his drawings out and compared it to “shit.”

Edgard studied us all head to toe and turned around, walking back to his house. Once he was inside, we all let off a deep sigh of relief and chattered about what had just happened.

•

Even afer the neighbors’ garage door was long closed, Bennett kept staring across the street and one house to the right. I knew he was looking in that direction because he was still focused on Edgard. He’d been visibly moved by the scars and markings on Edgard’s body; I was sure he’d never seen anything like it. As I watched him watch the house, I got the sense that something inside of him changed because of it. Perhaps not a full transformation, but a seed was planted.

“Are you ready to go, boo? My car is up at the park, we gotta go get it.” Mercedes kissed Bennett on the cheek.

Bennett approached me with his hand out. I shook it and hugged him.

“I ain’t no bitch or nothin’. So don’t think dis mean I’mma stop bein’ G as fuck. But I just want you to know dat I love you,” he said.

I had to fight tears for a second.

A quick one.

C’mon. It was the most vulnerable thing he’s ever said in his life.

“I love you too, little cousin. If you ever stop bein’ G as fuck, I’m gonna be very upset with you,” I said.

Mercedes nudged my cousin. “Come on, baby, let’s go. A thug bitch is hungry.”

Bennett gave his typical elongated five to Leshaun and began to walk off with Mercedes. He made it about a driveway-length away and turned around. He flashed a C sign. Then he dropped his hand, briefly hesitated, and lifted it back up, flashing a peace sign.

I flashed a peace sign back. Bennett and Mercedes turned around and walked off, toward the park. Leshaun vanished. No, seriously. I have no idea where he went. He was swallowed by the shadows and obscurity of the book’s dramatic and fucking awesome ending.

I looked over at Christina, wondering what she thought of all that had happened. “So uh. Yeah. I know my family is crazy. And a crazy lady almost ate you. And the other just threatened to execute all of us with a machete. But . . . if you’re still interested in going on a date with me, I know a great place in the neighborhood,” I said to Christina.

She jingled her car keys and smiled.

“Come on, baby, let’s go. A thug bitch is hungry.”

Messages

mercedes found a bitch number on my phone she mad as fucc aint given me no kitty.. i got crip balls

Were you texting girls?

duh nigga.sum of us like 2 git pussy. not all us sit arund jaccing off 2 gay porn eating low fat yogert like u

What are you gonna do about it?

get her a e pill or sing bruno mars to her all soft then hopfally fuk

Messages

have u ever seen wheal of fortune? it a show with this blond hoe who turn letters for you and u try to spell a word and win da trophy . . .?

Yes Bennett, I’ve seen that show.

well IM watching it right how and da unsolved puzzle says . . . . HA HA AIDS

Don’t you have to work tonight?

i got fired nigga