Waiting to Exhale (15 page)

"Felicia."

"That's the one you've got a crush on. Now tell me I'm wrong."

"You're dead wrong, Ma. I can't stand that girl. She's whacked."

"You mean she's on drugs?"

"No. It means she's a no go. 111. As in ugly."

"I've seen that girl before. And she is not ugly." But she knew what he meant. Felicia was fat. When Gloria first started putting on weight, every time a new diet came on TV, Tarik would drop hints. "Look how skinny that lady is now, Ma. Why don't you try that one?" Gloria had ordered so many $19.95, $79.95, and $129.95 diets that she turned into a bitch and almost drove the boy crazy, trying to function on liquid food, no food, tiny portions of food, and stuff that didn't look like food. One day, Gloria just got pissed and told him to buzz off. "I'm not a goddamn whale," she said. "When I get up to a size twenty like Sister Monroe, that's when you can talk about me. But for now, keep your mouth shut." When she got up to a size eighteen, every now and then she'd accidentally lose five or six pounds, and she'd mention it to Tarik. "That's great, Ma," he'd say. Gloria knew she embarrassed him, because one time he came right out and asked her if she just had to wear her dresses so tight, with her boobs pushing all out like that. How did she ever expect to find him a father or get a husband, being so fat? Hadn't she noticed that since she got this big, the men stopped coming around? In church, Tarik looked for men who weren't wearing wedding bands, hoping Gloria would introduce herself, but no one except deacons' wives ever paid her much attention. "Don't you get tired of going out with your girlfriends?" he asked her. And sometimes Tarik looked at her with pity. "You're too pretty to be this fat, Ma," he'd say. "I wish you could look like you used to." All Gloria could say was that even if she lost a hundred pounds, she could never look the way she used to.

"Tell me something else," she said to him now. "Why is it that it's damn near ninety degrees outside and you're wearing a turtle- neck?" Before he had a chance to answer, Gloria reached up and pulled the neck of his shirt down toward his shoulder. Sure enough, two round strawberries were engraved on Tarik's neck. "Did Terrence do this to you?"

Tarik dropped his head and stepped backward, bumping into a chair at the kitchen table. "No," he mumbled.

"Speak up; I can't hear you."

"No," he said clearly.

"Tarik. Sit down. And don't say two words to me until I tell you to."

He looked at the clock. It was two-thirty. "Ma, I'm supposed to meet my homeboys on the court at three."

"That's not my problem, is it?" she said, and went on about her business. It took Gloria four minutes to put the rest of the liver in the skillet, switch the dial from high to medium, get two pots out of the cabinet, measure the water, and stir in some rice. Tarik watched his mother's behind jiggle as she shook the frozen vegetables from the bag, and when she bent down to put the biscuits in the oven, the skirt she had on looked as if it was busting at the seams.

"So," Gloria finally said, as she sat down at the table. "Are you having sex these days?"

"Sort of," Tarik said, and pushed the newspaper aside.

"Sort of?"

"Yes."

"Since when?"

"Ma . . ."

"Ma, my ass. Since when?"

"Since last summer."

Gloria thought about that. It was the middle of February. Damn. She pushed the chair away from the table and went to turn the air conditioner up, because the oven was making the room too warm. Her thighs kept sticking together as she walked. She turned the thermostat to seventy degrees, then stood there for a minute. Her baby was fucking? That's probably why his grades have dropped, she thought, and wanted to chuckle but didn't dare. He's pussy-whipped. Coming had affected the boy's brain. They're all alike, she thought, as she wiped the smirk off her face, did a quick squat so her thighs could breathe, turned the corner, and sat back down. "Do you think you know what you're doing?"

"I think so," he said, and tried not to grin.

"Oh, you do, do you? Look. It's been a while since we talked about this, Tarik, and I never really expected you to come up to me one day and say, 4Yo, Ma, I'm doing the wild thang now,' but my Lord, Tarik. This is just one reason why I've always wanted you to have a father. Let me ask you something. And don't lie to me. Are you using condoms?"

"Most of the time."

Another gas pain shot through her rib cage and settled in her heart. She took a breath, then exhaled. Gloria eased out of the chair, got the Pepto-Bismol from the refrigerator, and took two tablespoonfuls. ThPS liver was sizzling, and the rice was about to boil over, but Gloria couldn't move another inch until this pain passed. She leaned on the countertop for support. "Most of the time?"

"All the time," he said. "Are you all right, Ma?"

"It's just indigestion. I'll be all right in a minute. Don't lie to me, Tarik. You can't lie about this kind of stuff."

"All right, all right. Most of the time," he said, and stretched his long legs out.

"Most of the time isn't good enough, and you know it. You know how many diseases there are out in the streets these days?"

"Yeah, but, Ma, I don't mess with those kind of girls."

"Those kind of girls? Anybody can get VD. I've had it."

Tarik looked at his mama in total disbelief.

"And now there's AIDS. You young people may think you're immune, but this is one disease that can kill your black ass."

"I know, Ma."

"You ever heard of crabs?"

"Crabs? Yeah, you eat 'em?"

"You don't want to eat these," she said. The pain had started to let up, so Gloria sat back down. "Half of these young girls out here don't know when to change their Tampax, let alone what the word 'douche' means."

"What does it mean?"

"A douche? Ask one of them to explain it to you. How many?"

"How many what?"

"How many have you slept with?"

"I haven't slept with anybody."

"Don't get cute with me, Tarik."

"Nine."

"Nine! Nine different girls? Just since last summer?"

"That's not a lot. You should see how much action most of my homeboys get."

"I don't give a damn what your 'homeboys' are getting. It's you I'm concerned about. I want you to listen to me, and you listen to me good. You do not-you understand me-you do not walk out of this house from this day forward without your house key and a condom in your wallet. Do you understand me?"

"Yes."

"And you do not, under any circumstances, believe a damn word any of these sweet little innocent girls tell you when they say they're using something."

"But they are."

"How do you know that?"

"Because they're all on the pill."

"You can believe that shit if you want to, but, Tarik"-she took her first smooth breath; the Pepto-Bismol had worked-"listen to me. You're a handsome young man. Until recently, you were a straight-A student. You're a decent athlete, a fine saxophonist, and I'd like to think you've got a future-and I'm not talking about this navy business, either. This phone rings off the hook with nothin' but girls on the other end, and I'm not saying anything is wrong with that. I'm not saying having sex at your age is wrong, either. But some of these teenage girls are dizzy as hell, their mamas don't teach them anything, and some of them don't think any further than today, let alone tomorrow. That includes you and whatever it is you're doing that you think is so great between their legs. Having sex without any protection makes babies. Get it? Like one plus one equals two. For some of these girls, the only thing in their future is a baby. And Lord knows you could make some pretty ones. I just don't want you to be so naive and take their word for it when they tell you they're on the pill or any nonsense like that. You protect yourself, you hear me?"

"Yes, Ma."

"I don't care if they're using a diaphragm, the pill, that damn sponge, and foam all together-you put your business on regardless. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Ma."

"So back to one of my original questions. Did Terrence put that hickey on your neck?" Gloria was laughing now.

"No," he said, blushing, then he started laughing too.

"Then who did?"

"Michelle."

"Michelle?! That itty-bitty white girl who lives two doors down?"

"You asked, so I'm telling you."

"You mean to tell me you're screwing a white girl?"

"What's wrong with that?"

Gloria had to think about how to answer this one. The first thing that popped into her head was Bernadine and John. Was this shit catchy or what? In the seventies, when she was still living in Oakland, everywhere she went she saw black men with white women on their arms. Back then, the men seemed to be doing it more to prove a point. Then things cooled down for a few years. Now Gloria was wondering if "our" men were running to white women again becaus e w e were doing something wrong? Her son wasn't even a man yet, and he was already on his way. What was the deal here? Did white women have something we didn't? Were they doing something to these boys and men that we couldn't? "Look," she said. "All I'm saying is that I just assumed when you started liking girls that they would be black."

"This is the nineties, Ma. What have they been teaching us in church all these years? Didn't Reverend Jones say that people should like each other because they like each other, not because of the color of their skin?"

Gloria said, "That's true. But look. I don't have anything against most white folks, and who you like is your business. I want you to know that. If I had a real problem with 'em, we wouldn't be living in this neighborhood. Do you like this girl?"

"She's pretty def."

"Wait. Don't tell me. I know the girl can hear, so I suppose this means you like her."

"She's all right."

"Are there any black girls you like?"

"A few."

"But you like white girls better?"

"I like this one."

"Why?"

"Ma, what is this, the third degree or something? I just said I liked her. What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing is wrong with it, Tarik, but how old is this girl?"

"Her name is Michelle."

"Whatever. How old is she?"

"Eighteen."

"Eighteen! You're only sixteen."

"Sixteen and a half. So what?"

"Doesn't she go to your school?"

"Yeah."

"I hope she's a senior."

"She is. But what difference does age make, Ma?"

"None, Tarik. None. But I bet her parents don't know you're tiptoeing over their house at night, do they?"

"Yeah, they do."

"Do I look like a complete fool to you? Don't answer that. Just let me say this and get it over with. If I ever hear from her parents that they've busted your black ass in their house in bed with their daughter, that'll be the end of it, do you understand me?"

"Yes, Ma."

"Tarik, all I'm trying to say is there's a right way to do things, and there's a sleazy way to do things. If you don't know it, it's called discretion."

"I'm always careful, believe me. I don't want to get caught."

"You've already been caught."

"I don't mean like this."

"You just better watch your step and be careful where you put that thing."

"I am, Ma."

"Tarik?"

"Yes, Ma?" He was looking at the clock now. Three o'clock had come and gone.

"I hope you don't get any happier about this newly discovered feeling than you obviously have already, 'cause I don't want to see you bringing home any more C's and, Lord, please not another D. Can you promise me you'll try to concentrate on one thing at a time?"

"Yes, Ma."

"And believe me: If somebody ever comes knocking on this door telling me their daughter's pregnant by my son, it'll not only break my heart but it'll mess up everything for you, everything I've tried to do for you. Do you understand what I'm trying to say, Tarik?"

"Yes, Ma."

"Do you hear what I'm saying?"

'II do, Ma. And I promise. I'll be extra careful, and you'll see, my grades'll improve. I guarantee it."

"Thank you," she said, and got up. "Thank you. Now let's eat."

Tarik and Gloria agreed that the liver and rice and mixed vegetables and biscuits were good. After he emptied the trash, Tarik went upstairs to his room, and Gloria heard him playing his horn. He always left his door open, because he knew she loved to hear him play. Sh
e w as putting the leftovers into plastic containers, stacking them inside the refrigerator. She scraped the gravy off the plates, rinsed out the pots and pans, and put them in the dishwasher. While she poured the detergent in, Gloria was thinking about what Tarik had told her. She was wondering what kind of lover her son could possibly be at sixteen and a half years old. Shaking her head from side to side, she pressed the On button and heard the water spraying out. She put her elbows on the counter and crossed her arms. Through the window she could see that For Sale sign in the front yard of the house across the street. It had been there forever. Gloria dropped her chin in the palm of her right hand. After a while, she couldn't see that house or that sign. She was trying to picture her son on top of some girl, with his clothes off, giving her pleasure. She hated to admit it, but she envied him. She stayed there for another ten minutes, staring at the glare on the glass. But now Gloria was thinking about Gloria. Wondering if she'd ever get a chance to welcome a man into her life. If she'd ever get a chance to say "I love you" or if somebody would ever say it to her. She didn't even want to think about the area between her legs.