Cracked Roots & Roses 2: Fast Trackin

This was really happening. A boy, who was well-known, best-dressed, and a junior, was actually checking ME out. When the bell rang, I went to the main stairwell to get to my 6th-period class. He legit walked beside me all the way there and was outside when the class let out. I wasn’t really flattered; I was more concerned. I had been on the receiving end of a couple of pranks growing up, and I just didn’t have it in me to endure one in my first few months of high school.

At this point, I started to see him around the school all the time. My school was a vocational school, so we rotated majors during the first two years to see what we resonated with. My next rotation was Commercial Arts. It turns out this was his major, and he was in the class when I was in the class. I knew his name because everyone knew his name. Let’s call him Gino (not his real name).

Gino was an excellent artist, even more so than my father—which said a lot. My father was the greatest artist I had ever known personally. Art class felt like home to me. I never knew I was good at art until I took this class. The teacher was also a good artist and very easy on the eyes and nose. I heard all about him from my sister before I started school. Oh, the girls—and some of the guys—swooned. He was a tall, honey-complexioned Black man in his late 40s. He drove a red convertible, smelled like a million bucks, and was dressed to the nines every day. He spoke with a low tone and didn’t take any mess from the class clowns.

He convinced me to consider taking his class as my major. My arm didn’t need much twisting. Gino was in the class, I was good at it, and just being around this teacher made me want to do my best. He adopted me as his pet fairly quickly because not too many girls took this class as a major.

The summer after my freshman year, the teacher had the school hire me as his assistant. He was in charge of the mural being painted in the auditorium, so I helped mix paint, trace patterns, count paperclips, and nod my head. It was a cushy summer job, and I was grateful to have it.

Before that summer and my cushy job, Gino started expressing more interest in me. One day after class, he asked for my number. I declined but told him I would take his. I had to control this part because there was no way I’d let him call my house and risk my father answering the phone while drunk. That would surely be the end of anything between us.

After a few days, I called him. I can’t remember much of the conversation—it’s been too long—but I know we didn’t talk on the phone very often. In the morning of one of our early dismissal days, he joked that I should come to his house to watch movies or cartoons after school. I jokingly agreed, but he wouldn’t let it go. So I went.

We had been talking on the phone and flirting for a couple of months, so I had no issue with going. He lived about a mile from the school, so we walked there after school. We sat in the living room, watched a movie, and ate fast food. When the streetlights were close to coming on, he would walk me to the bus stop.

I began to go to his house once or twice a week. I would lie and tell my mom that I stayed after school to study or went to Tanya’s house. We all had a “Tanya” at one point in our teenage years. Tanya was my childhood friend who lived near my high school but attended a different school. She was the perfect alibi because they rarely had a working phone, and my mom knew her mom.

As usual, school let out early, and I headed to his house. At this point, there wasn’t a horse wild enough to keep me away from him. He was cool, funny, could dance, was nice to me, and thought I was smart. He was a bright light in my otherwise dark existence.

One day, when I got to his house, his mom was on the couch watching TV. This was different; she was usually closed up in her room or at work. So, he suggested we go down to his bedroom to listen to music. I agreed.

His room was finished-but-in an unfinished dark basement. He had a combination lock on the outside of his door. I thought it was odd, but who was I to talk about what was odd? I was dumping urine and blood into the toilet daily.

His room was just what I imagined. He had a modern stereo system, 2 larger than life speakers, a small TV, a weight set, Nike shoe boxes stacked high against the wall, a twin-sized bed, and an older upholstered chair near the door. I sat on the edge of the chair at the door. It hadn’t occurred to me until I was down there: I was actually in a boy’s room and had no backup plan.

I wasn’t too concerned though because he wasn’t like that. I had talked to a boy for a brief period before high school who was like that. He had five hands if he had two. It was miserable. No matter where we were, he was pawing at me like cheap leather and shoving his tongue down my throat. Gino was not like that. He would kiss me, but not passionately—if you catch my drift. Almost like he wanted to be respectful.

I knew he wouldn’t suddenly grow more hands; that wasn’t his way. So, I sat on the edge of the chair, and he sat on the floor in front of the stereo, playing his favorite songs for me. He would two-step to certain ones and pull me in to dance.

He was an old soul. He played a lot of Earth, Wind & Fire, the Isley Brothers, and Marvin Gaye. This was late 1990, and he was 17. I was expecting more Tupac or Ice Cube. He had that music, I saw the tapes stacked there but wouldn’t play it around me, how sweet.. he apparently didn’t know I listened to it at home all the time. That first day in his room was fun. I laughed until my face hurt.

When I told him I had to go, as usual, he walked me to the bus stop and waited with me. When the bus was near, he gave me a hug and slid his hands into my back pockets. Not like him, but okay.

When I got home about 30 minutes later, my mom gave me the obligatory lecture about being “fast” and probably lying about Tanya and school. Then, she dropped it when her show came on. I went to my room to get undressed for bed after washing dishes.

When I pulled my jeans off, a wad of cash fell out of my back pocket. Excuse me—$700 whole dollars fell out of my back pocket! I scooped it up, hid it in the back of my underwear drawer, and put my nightgown on.

When everyone was asleep, I quietly grabbed the cordless phone, went into the pantry, and closed the door. I asked him, “What is all this money for?”

He said, “Because you’re my girlfriend, silly.”

This was new. I had been a girlfriend before and never got a penny for the title. I said, “I can’t keep it. I’ll get in trouble.”

He said, “I’m not taking it back. Just use it as needed. Get your hair done, buy some clothes and food, or something.”

I reluctantly said, “Okay, thank you,” and hung up before anyone could hear my muffled giggling.

I was on a cloud. He was so kind yet was a teenage boy—how could this be?

After a few more weeks, one day while waiting for my bus, he said, “I wish you could spend the night.” I lightly agreed… lol. Teenage lust and longing can only be suppressed for so long; I mean, how much kissing and heavy petting can one couple do? Y’all, remember I wasn’t saved… so please hold your stones, I’m going to tell you the whole truth. I told him I would make something up and come over the next weekend. That whole week I was planting the seeds about staying the weekend at Tanya’s for a dance. My mom finally reluctantly gave me the okay that Thursday. She said I had to call her when I got there, which was new but not shocking, I wouldn’t buy it if I was her either.

When I got to Gino’s house, I called Tanya from his house, then called my mom on three-way and had Tanya say “Hi” and that I was there. Tanya was an excellent wingman; she was wrapped up in her own hood love story, so she knew where I was coming from. I stayed the night and, just as planned, we went to the next level, y’all know what l’m saying. I wasn’t really ready, but I don’t think a teenager ever is. The first time with someone is nothing to write home about, it’s as time goes on and the comfort level is increased and nervousness leaves. While there that weekend, I met his whole family with the exception of his two older brothers, who were serving time in the pen for drug charges. I was closer in age with his nephew but was mostly around his older sister, the gambler. She was a few years older but was cool to hang around, kinda like a big sister who liked me.

Gino had gotten dressed and left early the next morning; he was always gone.

Later that morning, I was upstairs at the kitchen table with his nephew, having cereal. He put his spoon down and said, “Do you know what Gino does?” I hadn’t thought about it, so l said, “Nope.” He laughed and said, “He sells weight.” I had heard the term and knew it was drug-related, but wasn’t sure of what it really meant. Also, I had never met a drug dealer, let alone dated one. Then it all made sense. He was 17 and always had about $500 in his pockets at all times.

He had thick gold chains, leather jackets, and the newest sneakers every other week. I didn’t know what to think of this. It was kinda intriguing to my young impressionable mind. What was my role with this information anyway? Was I to urge him to stop, ignore it, go with it or break up with him?

Late that evening, when he came in, I was on the couch watching a movie alone. He sat next to me and put his hand on my leg. I turned to face him and said, “Do you sell drugs?” He smirked, grabbed the remote from the table, and started flipping channels. I said, “Are you a gangbanger?” He laughed and said, “Nobody gang bangs anymore, you watch too much TV. Let’s go downstairs.” That was it. He didn’t answer the question, and I didn’t push the issue. I wasn’t interested in making mountains out of molehills. I was down for whatever came with being with him.

Well, “whatever” did come the very next week. While in English class, two cop cars pulled to the front of the school. A few minutes later, Gino was being put in the back of the cop car in handcuffs. It felt like all eyes were on me. They all knew he was my boyfriend. The whole school knew. Boys wouldn’t flirt with me or say anything more than “Hi,” because they feared him. The rumor that reached my ears by the end of the day was that he beat a boy up with brass knuckles so badly that his teeth and blood were all over the second floor near the T.

I decided to go to his house after school to see if anyone knew what really happened. His nephew was outside, so l asked him. He said he got into a fight but would get out on an I-bond later. I went inside briefly to say hi to his mom and sister, then went home. I believed the school rumors more than his nephew. His nephew wasn’t there, so he couldn’t speak on it. I would ask him myself another time.

That weekend, as usual, I told my mom I was going to Tanya’s house and took a weekend bag with me to school that Friday. After 9th period, I took the bus a couple of stops to his house. He lived close, but it was now wintertime and too cold to walk. He wasn’t there, of course, so I sat with his mom. She was a nurse and usher in her church. She would go in her bedroom every night at 8 p.m. to pray out loud. I didn’t understand that about her. She had six children, and none of them seemed to be doing okay. Her two oldest sons were in jail, her oldest daughter (the nephew’s mom) was strung out, her middle son was openly gay and living with a man; this was the early ’90s, but still, it just was not very common. The two youngest were Gino and his sister, who was three years older than he. She was a compulsive gambler who was seriously dating a very married man. Like he would come to stay for days at a time in her bedroom.

It’s like his mom knew the Lord for herself but never told her children. Her two youngest ones would give her money often, and I believe this caused her to look the other way. She never asked about my parents or why I was over there all the time. I think Gino was her gravy train, and she was just glad to have a normal girl around her. So, she kinda adopted me. She called me “her Kim.” She would take me with her to run errands and to go grocery shopping. Her youngest daughter was a big card player; her specialty was Tunk, but Spades worked in a pinch. She played for days at a time for thousands of dollars.

The problem was, she had two children by the married man, and both of those boys were under five. She would often leave them with her mom to do these marathon card games. That burden quickly became mine by association. I found myself babysitting while my boyfriend was out doing God knows what, and she was at a card game. I became a part of the family, and I loved it. No buckets to dump; they had heat and hot water, a fully stocked fridge, and let me do whatever I wanted. They doted on me because I was his.

One night, I went downstairs to go to sleep. Shortly after, my boyfriend came in at 1am. We stayed up talking and laughing. I asked him to tell me what happened to Antwon. He smiled at me and said, “Kim, I’ll talk to you about anything, but not man business.” So l had to drop it. He wasn’t mean about it or anything, just a matter of fact. So, I went on blindly with him. The following week, when he took his shirt off, I noticed a new tattoo. It was a heart with my name on it, the size of his hand, on the left side of his chest.

Be still, my teenage heart…