For the Strength of You by Victor L. Martin

snapped. “You be lettin’ Teck talk to me any kinda way.”
    â€œDon’t worry. I’ve been getting on him about his mouth. I’m sorry, baby.” He unfolded her arms and placed them around his neck as he moved his arms around her waist. “I’ma make it up to you.”
    â€œI’ve heard that one before.”
    â€œYou like your new car, right?”
    â€œYeah, and I’m worried about folks asking about my new car. I just made sergeant last week.” She smiled.
    â€œSo?” He kissed her on the neck.
    â€œSo, people are wondering how I got a Benz so soon.”
    â€œDon’t worry about that.” He ran his hands through her auburn hair. “I love you, girl.”
    She kissed him. “I’m ready to leave Selma.”
    â€œI know that, baby.” He continued to play in her hair. “Soon enough. Soon enough.”
    * * *
    No sooner than Fe-Fe stepped foot in the drug rehab program did she turn around and come back out. “I’ma try to do this on my own,” she said to Teck as she got back in the car. “Them niggas in there”—She shook her head—“is some real goddamn crackheads. And if that’s how I look, I know I gotta kick this shit.”
    Teck burst out laughing. “Come on, Fe-Fe. Let’s go home. I tell you what: If I catch you gettin’ high, I’ma kick yo’ ass.”
    â€œI can do it, Teck,” Fe-Fe assured him. “I just need somebody to believe in me.”
    â€œWell, I believe in you.”
    The first thing Teck made Fe-Fe do when they got back to her house was clean up. The house was just plain nasty, and it didn’t make any sense.
    Once she finished cleaning, he sat her down and said, “I like you a li’l bit. You seem like you could be cool. But I ain’t fuckin’ you until you have an AIDS test. I don’t give a damn how good you look. AIDS don’t have a face.”
    Fe-Fe sucked her teeth but reluctantly agreed. “You gonna go on the block?” she asked, not knowing, exactly what to say to him.
    â€œWhy?” He shrugged his shoulders.
    â€œBecause if you want to . . . you can sell from here. I can get the word out through the grapevine that you holding . . . and then you won’t have to be all out in the open. It’s just an idea, but I guess you gotta go see your girl or something.”
    â€œThe first rule of the street,” Teck said, pulling Fe-Fe on the couch next to him, “is you can never get high off your own supply.”
    â€œWhat the hell is that supposed to mean?” she snapped.
    â€œIt means”—He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead—“that if you fuck with my shit, we’re done. And then I’ma kill you.”
    â€œShut up. Why you talking dumb?” Fe-Fe said. “I already told you that I ain’t gonna get high no more.”
    â€œA’ight, li’l bit, we’ll see . . . and another thing: I don’t have a girl.”
    Fe-Fe’s face lit up. She smiled and hugged him tight.
    * * *
    Two weeks passed, and Tom-Tom was still nowhere to be found, Tammy was in Atlanta with her aunt and her kids, Monica and Anshon were kickin’ it hard, and Teck and Fe-Fe had locked down the block. Anshon was the connect, Teck cut up and distributed the weight, while Fe-Fe held the dough. Fe-Fe never asked Teck for anything extra. She took her AIDS test as promised, and most of the money that she and Teck made, she took her cut and sent it to the cousin who took care of her twin boys.
    Teck and Fe-Fe’s sales were coming in like clockwork. Every fiend in Selma seemed to be knocking on Fe-Fe’s door, and nobody ever thought anything of it. At most, they thought that Teck was getting high with Fe-Fe, which was why he was there all the time. A few people noticed that Fe-Fe was starting to gain weight and was looking much cleaner, but her being sober was the last