Two Thin Dimes (7 page)

“Besides, what?”

“Besides, he may tell my mother if I did.” She turned toward him again. “Hey, let's talk about something else.”

He nodded.

“So, you like rap music, huh?” she asked.

This brought out a smile. “Is there any other kind?”

This made Jamaica laugh. “Of course, silly! There's R&B, jazz, gospel, rock 'n' roll, pop, country, tejano, opera, and so many others.”

“But they're not like rap,” Tameer told her. “Rap is like poetry. Rap
is
poetry. It's urban poetry. You can hear the pain, and the cries of the inner city in the lyrics. Listen to the beats, the rhythm, the power. Rap is our purest form of expression now.”

“So, you like poetry?” she asked.

“I love poetry.”

“Do you write?”

“Of course!”

“Let me hear some.”

“Sure, listen to this one…”

“H
e's bullheaded, he's arrogant, he treats me like…like…like I'm a buddy!” Jamaica griped as she paced the floor of the motel room, while LaChina remained sprawled across the bed, surrounded by her usual array of paperwork.

“But you had fun, didn't you?” LaChina asked.

“That's beside the point!” Jamaica shouted. Her hands flew through the air as she tried to find the right words. “He treats me…he treats me like…like…like I'm just…”

“An average person?” LaChina suggested.

Jamaica spun on her heels. “Yeah!”

Jamaica's frown made LaChina burst into laughter.

“That's good for him, and for you!” LaChina told her. “It's about time someone taught Her Royal Highness that her excrement does in fact exude malodorous.”

Jamaica folded her arms and shifted her weight to one side. “Ha, ha, ha. You should try out for Def Comedy Jam.”

“Look, Jai, he's not that bad. You waltzed in here yesterday bragging about how you caught eight fish! You, Jamaica Tiera Rochelle, caught fish!” LaChina sat up in bed, accidentally crinkling several sheets of her paperwork. “I'm sure that the angels in heaven stopped what they were doing and watched this miraculous event. I'm sure that it snowed it purgatory, and I'm sure that several of our snout-nosed, curly-tailed friends took to the sky. Jamaica, you fished, and you liked it!”

With her arms still folded, Jamaica closed her eyes and swayed back and forth as she reminisced about the previous day's events. Finally, a smile appeared.

“It was kind of fun,” Jamaica conceded.

Jamaica unfolded her arms and sat down on the bed next to her friend.

“It was a lot of fun,” Jamaica admitted. Motioning with her arms, she described her actions to her friend. “I cast my line, I reeled in my fish, and he even showed me how to take them off the hook. We sat and talked, and he even read me some of his poetry.” Jamaica turned toward LaChina and smiled. “I sang for him.”

“You sang for him?” LaChina shouted. “Jai, what were you thinking?”

“Don't worry, it was some of the new stuff that no one's heard yet. He wouldn't have recognized any of it, anyway. He only listens to rap music. He thinks of rap music as some type or urban poetry.” Jamaica crossed her legs and leaned back onto the bed, closing her eyes and spreading her arms out. “It was beautiful out there. The breeze was blowing, and it was so peaceful that you could hear the wind blowing and rustling through the trees. Ummmmm.”

The silence in the room caused Jamaica to open her right eye. She found LaChina staring at her. Jamaica quickly opened her other eye and sat up. “What?”

The frown of deep concentration left LaChina's face giving way to an expression of realization. Then, as quickly as her expression changed the first time, it changed again. LaChina's mouth fell open in astonishment, and she gasped.

Jamaica recoiled. “What?”

LaChina's arms flew forward and she embraced Jamaica tightly. “Oh, my sister! You are in love!”

LaChina rocked Jamaica back and forth while hugging her.

“I am not!” Jamaica protested.

“You are too! I can smell it!” LaChina released Jamaica, and lifted her arms high into the air. “It smells like…like fish, and trees, blowing wind, and poetry.” LaChina's smile spread wide across her face. “You are in love!”

“I am not!” Jamaica stood. LaChina followed suit, grabbing her friend, and pushing her into the tiny motel bathroom. She positioned Jamaica in front of the mirror.

“Close your eyes, Jai,” LaChina commanded.

Exhaling loudly, Jamaica folded her arms, shifted her weight to one side, and closed her eyes. “Now what?”

LaChina moved in closer and whispered into Jamaica's ear. “Think about the breeze, the rock, the trees. Think about Tameer with his shirt off, and you sitting between his legs. His arms are wrapped around yours. It's quiet, serene, peaceful. Your head is resting against his chest, and you can feel his breath against your neck.”

LaChina stepped away from Jamaica, and examined her friend's reflection in the mirror for several seconds.

“Open your eyes, Jai,” LaChina told her.

Jamaica opened her eyes to see herself smiling in the mirror.

LaChina stepped forward again, tongue in cheek, nodding. “You go, girl!”

Tameer walked from his bedroom, down the stairs, and into his father's room.

“Dad, my carburetor's acting…up…”

Tameer's father, Eddie Lee Harris, stood in the middle of the bedroom wearing only his boxers. His hand was extended to his face, where it held in place a broken piece of metal that had once been a car antenna. Inside of this antenna were stuffed pieces of torn-off Brillo pad to hold in place the small pieces of crack cocaine that co-inhabited that fashioned pipe.

Tameer could only close his eyes, and hope that when he opened them again, this nightmare would be over. That his worst fears would have vanished. They didn't.

“Don't you goddamn kids know how to knock?” Eddie Lee shouted. “What the hell do you want, any goddamned way?”

Tameer's head remained facing the floor. He couldn't bring himself to look up just yet.

“How long, Dad?” he asked. It was a whisper.

“How long what?” Eddie Lee asked.

The evasiveness of his father made Tameer look up. He stared at Eddie Lee with a penetrating gaze, though his tears would not let him see clearly. “How long have you been a crackhead?”

“What? Eddie Lee's arms raged through the air in a violent fury. His voice boomed with the rage of Armageddon. “How dare you talk to me like that! You get the hell outta my room! What I do is none of your goddamned business, anyway! I'm grown!”

“Bullshit, it ain't none of my business!” Tameer shouted back. “Now I know where your pension goes! Now I know why all of the bills are falling on me! Now I know why shit is getting cut off all of the time! Now I know why you stopped living and being a human being! Look at you! You've regressed into an animal!”

“Goddamit, boy! You don't talk to me like that! You get the hell outta my house!”

“I pay the bills here!” Tameer shouted. He breathed in slowly for several moments in order to regain his calm. When he finally spoke again, it was in a relaxed, serene tone. “Dad, look at what you're doing to us. Look at what you're doing to yourself.”

Eddie Lee sat back down on his bed, crackpipe still in hand. Tameer stepped forward, and took several hard swallows before speaking.

“Who sold it to you, Dad? Was it one of my friends?”

Eddie Lee looked up at his son. “It doesn't matter.”

“It does matter,” Tameer told him.

“Goddamit, Tameer! Leave me alone!”

With his hands still shaking from his previous ingestion, Eddie Lee lifted the crackpipe back up to his lips, and using the cigarette lighter inside of his other hand, he quickly lit it.

Tameer leaped across the bed and swiped at the pipe with all of the fury and strength that he could muster. His blow sent it flying across the room.

Eddie Lee leaped to his feet. “My shit!”

At first Eddie Lee scrambled for the pipe, and then he turned toward his son. “You son-of-a-bitch!”

Eddie Lee threw a wild, frenzied punch towards his son, which Tameer was able to only partially dodge. Eddie Lee's fist landed across Tameer's ear, sending him back onto the bed. Eddie Lee quickly pressed on his attack.

“I paid twenty dollars for that, and you're gonna give me my money back!” Eddie Lee shouted.

Tameer quickly rolled off the bed and onto his feet, readying himself for his father's advance. Eddie Lee charged forcefully, and the two of them locked arms. Tameer, being younger, and in infinitely better shape, rapidly outmaneuvered his father and gained the advantage. Using Eddie Lee's momentum and weight against him, Tameer was able to send his father flying onto the bed.

Being of healthy size, with massive arms of his own, Eddie Lee's unrelenting grip allowed him to maintain a hold on Tameer, and bring his son crashing down onto the bed along with him. On the bed, Tameer's agility allowed him to quickly slip away, and finally gain the dominating position.

Blind with fury, Eddie Lee threw another punch, this one landing on his son's jaw. Instinctively, Tameer's left hand thrust forward violently, clasping Eddie Lee's throat. His grip was unrelenting.

Eddie Lee found himself clasping both of his hands around his son's wrist and forearm, in a vain effort to remove Tameer's hand from his closed airway. It was his father's gasping that gave Tameer pause.

In only seconds, the room had gone from a crashing, cursing cacophony of violence, to a horrific, screaming vacuum of eerie silence. It was in this sensory void that Tameer found himself looking around, and spying his hand in the air with his fist balled tightly, ready to strike his father. His breathing quickly became labored.

“Oh God…oh God.” Tameer swallowed hard, and quickly climbed off his father, only to stumble backward.

“Oh God…Oh God…” He stared at his hands, and he hated them.

Stumbling and out of breath, he flew from the room, leaving Eddie Lee rubbing his throat and searching the floor for his lost pieces of crack.

The trip down the stairs was rapid. Tameer grabbed his work shirt from the arm of the couch, and bolted from the house with the speed of a greyhound, yet the grace of a drunken camel.

Inside of the car, the frustration of trying to get his key inside of the ignition switch was all it took. The floodgates opened.

“Fuck! Shit!” Tameer's fist struck the dashboard first, then followed with a blow to the windshield. His elbows joined in, by slamming themselves against his seat, and his feet took out some of his frustration on the floorboards.

Soon, the inside of the vehicle became a therapeutic cacophony of crashing, banging, pounding, stomping, kicking, elbowing, pulling, ripping, tearing, and cursing. The blood on his hands went unnoticed, as did the physical pain from his earlier fight with his father, and his current fight with his vehicle. The only pain that was felt, was that which he couldn't help. It was inside.

J
amaica and LaChina strolled into the store as Tameer was finishing up with a customer. Jamaica was all smiles. She clasped her hands together as if holding a fishing pole, and dramatically thrust them forward as if she were casting a line.

Tameer simply stared at her. His face remained passive, unsmiling, bitter. His bandaged hand rested visibly on the store's checkout counter, its brownish-red stain drawing Jamaica's attention.

“What happened?” she asked, placing her hand on top of his.

Tameer pulled his hand away, allowing it to fall out of sight behind the counter. “Nothing.”

Jamaica pressed ahead. “Let me see that.”

Tameer shook his head and stepped back. Jamaica shifted her gaze to his face. She now noticed the puffiness of his slightly swollen face.

“Tameer, you've been fighting!” Jamaica cried out.

Tameer turned away from her. “It's nothing.”

Jamaica reached over the counter and clasped his face. “What happened?”

“Nothing.” Tameer jerked his head away. “Don't worry about it, it doesn't concern you.”

Tameer turned and walked away from the counter to the employee area in the rear of the store. Jamaica followed.

“So, it's like that, huh?” she asked.

“Like what?”

Jamaica stopped. “You know what. You're pathetic.”

“I'm pathetic?” Tameer asked. “Why, because I don't have time to make goo-goo eyes and fall all over you?”

Jamaica shook her head. “I didn't ask you to do that. I just stopped by to see how you were doing.”

“I'm fine,” he said flatly.

“No, you're not, you're an asshole.”

“I'm an asshole because I don't have time to be your damn shrink?” Tameer turned and faced her. “Look, I got problems of my own, all right? I'll listen to yours later.”

He turned and was only able to walk several steps before his emotions came out.

“Goddamn it!” Tameer kicked a stack of boxes that were filled with shoes, sending them flying throughout the cramped storage area. “What does everybody want from me!”

“The only thing I wanted was a friend, but I see that I came to the wrong place!” With that, Jamaica turned and walked away and out of the store. LaChina stood silently in the doorway with her arms folded, leaning against the door jamb.

“What?” Tameer snapped at her. “I suppose you want me to take you out so you can tell me about your problems, too?”

“No, I want you to take your problems out on whoever caused them, and not on my friend,” LaChina told him.

“Look, I'm sorry…I…I can't do what you asked me to do.” Tameer shook his head and looked away. “Something came up. I'll give you your money back.”

“I don't want the damn money, Tameer.” LaChina stood and approached him, extending her finger into his face. “Let me tell you something. That girl was so happy when she came back to the room yesterday, she couldn't eat, she couldn't sleep, she couldn't do anything but talk about catching some damn fish. She remembered every word of every poem you recited for her. That little outing really meant something to her. Hell, you meant something to her. I hadn't seen Jamaica that happy in a long time. Men treat her like she's a Barbie doll, or like she's some damn trophy! But you…” LaChina shook her head. “You were different. At least I thought you were different. I thought that I saw something in you, something real, something pure. But I see that I was wrong. You're just like all the others. You're a boy trapped in a man's body. Well, here's a hint, boy! Real men don't run away from their problems, and they sure as hell don't take them out on innocent people. You hurt her, and you need to apologize.”

Tameer's gaze fell toward the floor, and he let out a deep, hard breath. LaChina was right. He had treated Jamaica badly for no reason. Now ashamed, he held his head low, and walked past LaChina without saying a word.

The mall was not very crowded today, so he was able to spot Jamaica easily. She was seated on a bench a couple of stores down. Her hands were wiping tears away from her face, and the sight of her crying made him feel two inches tall.

Jamaica looked up, and upon seeing Tameer walking toward her, she quickly rose and headed in the opposite direction. He had to jog to catch up to her.

“Jamaica!” he called. “Jamaica!”

She ignored him and continued walking. Her steps advanced her along the mall's path quickly.

“Jamaica!” Tameer called to her again. She still did not answer. Quickly, he jogged past her, turned, and stopped in front of her. She continued her stride, causing him to walk backward in order to prevent himself from being trampled.

“Jamaica, I'm sorry,” he told her. “I shouldn't have taken my problems out on you.”

She continued walking in silence.

“Jamaica, please talk to me,” Tameer begged. “I'm sorry!”

Jamaica continued in silence.

“Jamaica, would you please just stop and listen!” he shouted in frustration.

Jamaica stopped.

“You know what, Tameer, I'll stop, but I won't listen. The reason that I won't listen, is because now it's my turn to talk.” Jamaica shook her head and smiled at him sadly. “You know, I didn't want to go out with you; it was China's idea. But I decided what the hell, I'll give it a try. The first date, we talked, but I kinda didn't know what to expect, so it was kinda awkward. But boy, the second date, the trip to the lake, that was original.”

Jamaica closed her eyes and bit down upon her bottom lip, as she turned her face toward the ceiling. A smile wafted across her face as she reminisced.

“Right down to the poetry, you pulled one outta the hat on me that time. It took me by surprise. Guys usually don't do that. But you, oh, you did everything right. You were a gentleman on that boulder, you were charming, you were fun, I
had
fun. I actually got to relax, unwind, and be myself for an entire day. I got the chance to talk about my life, my past, and share my deepest secrets with a friend.” She opened her eyes and turned toward him. “Tameer, I thank you for that. It was the first time I had ever been able to do that. It was the first time I had ever been fishing.”

Jamaica turned away from Tameer, and closed her eyes once again, as she thought of another time, another place.

“When I was a little girl, I used to dream of one day going on an outing like that with my father. It would be perfect, like our day was.” Jamaica turned back toward Tameer, and stared into his eyes. “Tameer, I will never forget that trip, or you. And that's how I want to remember things, that's how I want to remember you. I want to remember being between your legs, feeling safe in your arms, talking, laughing, singing, and catching fish together. Tameer, you don't owe me anything.”

Jamaica shook her head slightly, and placed her hand gently upon his chest. “Not another date, not another trip, not an explanation, not an excuse, and not even for the glasses.”

Jamaica leaned forward, closed her eyes, and kissed Tameer firmly on his lips for several moments. “Good-bye, Tameer, you take care of yourself.”

Jamaica stepped to the side, walked around him, and disappeared into the mall. Tameer stood alone, still facing in the same direction, and listened as her footsteps faded.

“Why don't you just call her,” Savion suggested, while sitting down on the edge of his brother's bed. “Just tell her that you was fucked up.”

“I tried to tell her that at the mall,” Tameer explained. “But she wouldn't listen.”

Savion nodded his head in agreement. “Yeah, well, then in that case, I fully agree with you. You screwed up big time.”

Tameer exhaled forcibly. “I sincerely thank you for your expert opinion.”

Tameer bounced his basketball against the wall for the one-thousandth time since returning from work.

Savion slapped his brother across his knee. “Take my advice, big bro, beg! Call Jamaica and beg!”

“You think it's worth it?” Tameer asked.

“Do I think it's worth it?” Savion smiled, and tilted his head to the side. “Do you?”

Tameer nodded slowly. “Well, yeah…I mean, I guess. Of course!”

“Well, then, call her and beg,” Savion told him again. “Tell her you're sorry, tell her you messed up, tell her you didn't mean it and that it'll never happen again.”

Tameer lifted an eyebrow and smiled. “I take it you've done this before?”

Savion produced a small, black, vinyl-covered notebook. “I call this the Savion Harris book of apologies. I got a thousand of them in here.”

Tameer laughed. It was his first time laughing since the previous day. “I guess you're right, I'll call.”

“Good!” Savion rose from his brother's bed. “I'll see you tomorrow, bro.”

“All right,” Tameer told him, as they clasped hands. “Later.”

“Later.”

“He's an ogre, a barbarian, a…a…a pig!” Jamaica's steps were rapid, quick, determined. She paced the floor of the motel room with a vengeance. “I mean, whoever heard of a fishing date! Fish are slimy, oily, polluted, smelly creatures! The nerve of him!”

Lying across Jamaica's double bed, LaChina crossed her gorgeous mocha legs. “You're absolutely right, Jai. The nerve of him!”

“Can you believe him?” Jamaica asked. She took another long swig from her glass of Courvoisier.

“The nerve of him!” added Jemia, who had supplied the liquor for tonight's gathering. She raised her glass into the air. “All men are dogs!”

“Here, here!” concurred LaChina.

“Or frogs!” added Arianna, who was Jemia's cousin on her father's side.

All of them quickly broke into an alcohol-induced giggle.

“Frogs?” Jemia lifted an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Frogs!” LaChina nodded.

Jamaica sat her glass down on the nightstand and turned toward LaChina. “How can they be frogs?”

LaChina took another sip from her glass. “Girl, I don't know. Remember Chris?”

“Chris?” Jamaica asked.

“The stockbroker,” LaChina slurred.

“Oh yeah, lil' hoppy!” Jamaica burst into an alcoholic laugh, this time covering her face.

Laughing, LaChina held up her pinkie and began wiggling it. “We should have nicknamed his ass Lil' Tadpole!”

All of the girls broke into uncontrollable laughter.

“Ooooh, girl!” Jemia shouted. “Not one of them!”

For the second time in twenty minutes, Tameer lifted his cordless phone to his ear. After listening to the dial tone for several seconds, he pressed the power button, turning his telephone off. Like before, he thought it useless. Slowly, the phone fell back down to his side, and again he found himself staring at the ceiling.

“I mean, I could have been in St. Moritz showing off my new Russian sable, or at Beaver Creek, skiing in my latest DKNY ski suit,” Jamaica whined as she paced the floor of the motel room. “I…I could have been in Bora Bora where it's warm, drinking Chateau Margaux, or at the Vong in Hong Kong eating pastries. You know how Chin loves to fix crepes especially for me. I could have been in Paris, at the Hotel De Crillion, stuffing myself with canales from Bordeaux, or drinking Moet and Chandon at the Golden Door, while Romare gives me the best massage in the history of Western civilization.

“But no! I'm here in this God-forsaken place eating grease sticks and drinking hard liquor from a plastic cup! I'm here at this place, riding in multicolored, plastic, Korean death traps, and it's all because of you!” Jamaica spun and pointed at LaChina.

LaChina waved her hands in a calming motion. “Jai, it's okay.”

“It's not okay!” Jamaica shouted. She began sobbing. “I have a Ferrari Enzo, a Bentley Continental GT, and an Aston Martin DB 9. I don't have to ride in a Hyundai, and hold jumper thingys, and wait outside of the car while my dates pop clutches!”

Jamaica's tiny hands rose, and she began walking toward LaChina. Her voice grew rough and deep. “I'm going to strangle you.”

Tameer kicked his covers off, and tossed and turned in his bed for several minutes before finally sitting up. He knew why he could not fall asleep, as his first glance was toward the telephone. His fist pumped the air.

“Damn, I screwed up!” he said to no one in particular. “I had her, and I messed up! I had the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, and I treated her like crap. What the hell is wrong with me!”

He lay back down, knowing that sleep would not come easy.

“I hate you!” Jamaica screamed.

LaChina rubbed her throat. It was still sore from Jamaica's strangle-hold. “Jai, murder is a felony!”

“I hate him!” Jamaica shouted. She stomped her foot hard against the floor.