Kenya
I’m watching an infomercial on television for P90X. Rock-hard abs, lean muscle and the best body imaginable in just ninety days. I don’t believe it, but I keep watching. This is pretty much all I can stomach watching. Used to be able to watch the judge shows: Judy, Joe Brown, Mathis. But I can’t anymore. Too many of their cases involve auto-accident damages. I used to watch CSI on the low, though I’d never admit it to Lark. Not anymore. Too much of a risk of a car chase that ends badly. Can’t do Maury. Too many broken relationships that are beyond repair.
So P90X.
“Bet that don’t even work.”
I’ve learned that life is full of surprises.
Nothing catches me off guard anymore.
But her appearance by my door is beyond anything I could’ve ever anticipated. I blink my eyes a few times to make sure they’re focusing correctly. I open my eyes. She’s still here. Standing in the doorway. She looks unsure. A first.
“You can come in,” I say.
Don’t ask why I do.
She steps into the room.
Skintight blue jeans, a cutoff T-shirt with Nasty Girl stenciled on the front, fake Steve Madden boots.
This girl is a one-trick pony.
“How are you, Kenya?”
“Oh, you do know my name?”
She nods.
“How did you get in here?” I ask.
She looks back over her shoulder, then returns her gaze to me, a sheepish smile on her face. “Wasn’t nobody at the nurse’s station. I kinda just walked on in.”
“How did you know my room number?”
She shrugs, pops a bubble with her gum. “I’ve got some fam up in here. Work down in the kitchen.”
I roll my eyes.
“I ain’t come to give you no drama, Kenya.”
“What did you come for?”
“Talk.”
“Pull up a seat. Let’s get to it.”
I don’t mean that literally.
But she moves to the corner of the room, grabs hold of the chair Hollywood usually sits in when he and Mama visit, slides the chair across the floor, parks it right next to my bed. She fingers the petals on some flowers in a colorful bouquet I have on my side table.
“Nice flowers,” she says.
I swallow. “From a friend.”
“They all that.”
“What did you want, Melyssa?”
I don’t have the patience to deal with her. But I’m curious.
“Female to female?”
“Sure. Whatever.”
She went through the trouble of moving that chair by my bedside, but she doesn’t sit in it. She hovers over me in a position that forces me to look her in the face. So many other things I’d rather do.
“I saw Donnell the other day,” she says.
“And?” If they check my vitals anytime soon, my blood pressure will be off the charts, I’m sure.
“I said hi,” she says. “And he answered back.”
“What would you expect? You two were intimate.”
Melyssa chuckles. “Gotta love how you talk, Kenya. But, nah, me and him just did it. You two were intimate.”
“Why are you here?”
She looks away from me. “He spoke but wasn’t any feeling in his voice. Donnell’s a good dude, so he wasn’t ’bout to straight diss me. But it ain’t been a month since I laid down with him, and he don’t feel nothing toward me.”
I swallow. “You care about him?”
She looks at me. Hazel eyes. I’d never noticed that before. “Probably more than I put on. Yeah.”
For some reason, that hurts.
“He’s a free agent,” I say. “Go for yours.”
“You know that ain’t possible, Kenya.”
“And why not?”
“Donnell caught up already. And not with me.”
I feel a lump in my throat, the rush of my quickening pulse in my ears. “Caught up?” I whisper. “With who?”
Melyssa snickers. “You serious?”
“With who?” I repeat.
“You, Kenya. Don’t be stupid.”
Me.
For a second, I feared the worse. Feared that he’d moved on and the whole world knew about it except for me.
“Me?” I say.
“You’ve got a real problem if you don’t know how much Donnell loves you. Everybody knows it around the way.”
“Loved,” I say. “Past tense.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“You came here to stir up bad memories?” I ask.
“Nah. Just wanted to talk to you. I had a dream about you. No homo. I just wanted to let you know something. Had to come tell you.”
“I’m listening.”
“You asked me…” She pauses. “That day.”
Day of my accident.
“Yes?”
“You asked me that day if I wanted better for myself?”
“I remember.”
“I ain’t gonna get into all that,” Melyssa says. “But I had that dream.”
“So you came to tell me you weren’t gonna answer a question you already didn’t answer once?”
Melyssa laughs. “Hear me out.”
“Go ahead.”
She eyes me. Hazel eyes. “In my dream, I asked you the same thing you asked me.”
“Did you?”
“We ain’t ever gonna be friends, Kenya.”
“That’s a newsflash.”
“But what you asked me was…was something a friend would ask.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“And I feel bad you got hurt.”
“That makes two of us,” I say.
“So I had to return the favor. Had to come ask you that question.”
“To ask me if I want better for myself?”
“Exactly.”
“Injuries aside, I’m aiight, Melyssa.”
“You think so, huh?”
I don’t have an answer for the judgment in her voice.