they listened, Wallace’s voice like a grown man, rich and deep, his freestyle words weaving a story, a Redfern story about throwin’ down and survival.
AnnMarie said, Dang, Wallace. You got a ill flow. I didn’t know you was rappin’ now.
Wallace smiled. Trying my hand and whatnot.
Word, Darius said, thoughtfully. Sound like a hit.
Wallace glanced at him, then ducked his head. Give it to Big Mike? I owes you.
Darius said, Yeah, I show it around. I give it to him.
But soon as he left, Darius tossed the CD in the trash.
AnnMarie looked at him, surprised. Why you do that? You didn’t like it?
Competition, baby. Competition.
One Sunday before the party on Gipson Street, Darius had been out with his homies. AnnMarie wanted to jump out her skin, her mind on him 24/7, skin atingle, the memory of his touch, his lips on hers, locking her in a daze of love ache. No way she could stay inside with Blessed all day, so she wandered over to Niki’s.
Niki’s brother Bodie opened the door. He said, They in there.
She climbed the stairs, heard a soft rustling and pushed open the bedroom door.
At first AnnMarie didn’t know what they doing, why Niki was pressed up against the plump girl like that. Then she saw Niki’s hands draw away, her lips pulling out of a kiss and AnnMarie took a step back, startled.
What you want, AnnMarie? Niki said sharply.
Oh. Sorry, I was just looking for y’alls.
Niki snapped the pick from her back pocket and started working it through her cinnamon curls. Sorry, AnnMarie said again. She crossed the room and sat on Niki’s bed. No one said anything for a minute, then AnnMarie pulled out a pack of Kools and said, You want one? Sure, I have one, the girl said and plucked a smoke from the pack.
She said, I’m Latania, who you? AnnMarie told the girl her name, then they lit up, blowing streams out the open window. Latania said, Turn on the radio, Niki, so Niki put on the radio and they listened to Hot 97 for a while, DJ Drastic playing a string of songs, and by the time “Waterfalls” came on, Niki seemed to’ve relaxed and they all started in about the hottest girl groups—TLC, En Vogue, SWV, Destiny’s Child …
Later, Latania caught a dollar van back to Jamaica where her mother lived and Niki walked AnnMarie home.
They walked a ways in silence. Niki’s shoulder brushing hers, cigarette smell still on her breath.
Don’t say nothing to Nadette.
Nadette? Why would I.
Jus’ don’t say nothing to nobody.
AnnMarie said, I won’t.
And she didn’t. But she thought about all the times Niki had slipped off with Nadette, all the things she hadn’t known, and it crystallized right then, how sometimes you grow up without nobody having to explain.
In the walk-in, Darius had said, Come lay with me a small little minute.
And when he eased himself into her slow, he whispered, You okay, you okay, baby …? His lips by her ear, hands running down her body. Stroking. Licking, making her wet.
She’d said, Don’t stop. Don’t stop.
holdin’ it down
10
If you asked her now, years later, she’d tell you it wasn’t one thing in particular—a certain beef or comment dropped, the need for retaliation or an unspoken urge that made her life spin off the way it did. There’d been the studio room and the walk-in closet and the fact they was fucking like bunnies, AnnMarie thinking Darius was It—the be-all, end-all, the rope that tethered her. Coulda been the situation that happened in high school with the silver fox–lined coat or Carlton and Carlotta still in the house or the memories popping up outta the blue. Coulda been. Or maybe it was that she started to sense the smallness of her life, knew lines had been drawn but didn’t know how to cross them.
Far Rock.
The Rock.
Lost Town, Ghost Town.
Niki had told her once, Far Rock was built on top of an old graveyard. Bones buried all the way from Bayswater to Bannister. She wondered if it was true.
There was no map.
She had no
AnnMarie said, Dang, Wallace. You got a ill flow. I didn’t know you was rappin’ now.
Wallace smiled. Trying my hand and whatnot.
Word, Darius said, thoughtfully. Sound like a hit.
Wallace glanced at him, then ducked his head. Give it to Big Mike? I owes you.
Darius said, Yeah, I show it around. I give it to him.
But soon as he left, Darius tossed the CD in the trash.
AnnMarie looked at him, surprised. Why you do that? You didn’t like it?
Competition, baby. Competition.
One Sunday before the party on Gipson Street, Darius had been out with his homies. AnnMarie wanted to jump out her skin, her mind on him 24/7, skin atingle, the memory of his touch, his lips on hers, locking her in a daze of love ache. No way she could stay inside with Blessed all day, so she wandered over to Niki’s.
Niki’s brother Bodie opened the door. He said, They in there.
She climbed the stairs, heard a soft rustling and pushed open the bedroom door.
At first AnnMarie didn’t know what they doing, why Niki was pressed up against the plump girl like that. Then she saw Niki’s hands draw away, her lips pulling out of a kiss and AnnMarie took a step back, startled.
What you want, AnnMarie? Niki said sharply.
Oh. Sorry, I was just looking for y’alls.
Niki snapped the pick from her back pocket and started working it through her cinnamon curls. Sorry, AnnMarie said again. She crossed the room and sat on Niki’s bed. No one said anything for a minute, then AnnMarie pulled out a pack of Kools and said, You want one? Sure, I have one, the girl said and plucked a smoke from the pack.
She said, I’m Latania, who you? AnnMarie told the girl her name, then they lit up, blowing streams out the open window. Latania said, Turn on the radio, Niki, so Niki put on the radio and they listened to Hot 97 for a while, DJ Drastic playing a string of songs, and by the time “Waterfalls” came on, Niki seemed to’ve relaxed and they all started in about the hottest girl groups—TLC, En Vogue, SWV, Destiny’s Child …
Later, Latania caught a dollar van back to Jamaica where her mother lived and Niki walked AnnMarie home.
They walked a ways in silence. Niki’s shoulder brushing hers, cigarette smell still on her breath.
Don’t say nothing to Nadette.
Nadette? Why would I.
Jus’ don’t say nothing to nobody.
AnnMarie said, I won’t.
And she didn’t. But she thought about all the times Niki had slipped off with Nadette, all the things she hadn’t known, and it crystallized right then, how sometimes you grow up without nobody having to explain.
In the walk-in, Darius had said, Come lay with me a small little minute.
And when he eased himself into her slow, he whispered, You okay, you okay, baby …? His lips by her ear, hands running down her body. Stroking. Licking, making her wet.
She’d said, Don’t stop. Don’t stop.
holdin’ it down
10
If you asked her now, years later, she’d tell you it wasn’t one thing in particular—a certain beef or comment dropped, the need for retaliation or an unspoken urge that made her life spin off the way it did. There’d been the studio room and the walk-in closet and the fact they was fucking like bunnies, AnnMarie thinking Darius was It—the be-all, end-all, the rope that tethered her. Coulda been the situation that happened in high school with the silver fox–lined coat or Carlton and Carlotta still in the house or the memories popping up outta the blue. Coulda been. Or maybe it was that she started to sense the smallness of her life, knew lines had been drawn but didn’t know how to cross them.
Far Rock.
The Rock.
Lost Town, Ghost Town.
Niki had told her once, Far Rock was built on top of an old graveyard. Bones buried all the way from Bayswater to Bannister. She wondered if it was true.
There was no map.
She had no
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