14

Cartier opened her front door to see a smiling Head. “Can I get a key?”

“Nigga, please. You’re lucky you even get to step foot into my home,” Cartier replied.

Head laughed. He was happy to be there, and it showed in the way he seemed to glow. Cartier stepped to the side and Head walked into her apartment. For the past two weeks he’d been sleeping at Cartier’s place. He had gradually come back into her life and was working on her heart. Cartier had decided to give Head a second chance. She believed that he and Pebbles were no longer together and that maybe the two of them could make it work again.

Their relationship had become amicable. They would talk and laugh; still, they hadn’t had sex yet. Cartier didn’t want to give him the pussy so easily. Head would have to earn it again, and she made that clear as day to him. He could come by and stay, and they could chill together, but she wasn’t fucking him—not yet anyway. Head understood.

“So you’re definitely done with Pebbles, right? I’m not your side bitch, Head,” she had asked him.

“I don’t fuck with her anymore. You see she don’t call me anymore.” He held up his cell phone like it would confirm his story.

“How I know who calls and who don’t? I have to take your word—that’s why I’m asking.”

“Look, you don’t have nothing to worry about. She was a mistake. Period.”

Cartier decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Head felt like he was right at home with Cartier. The vibe with her was completely different than when he was with Pebbles. When the two of them were in the same room there was no telling what was going to happen. Their conversations were intelligent and mind-blowing—from politics, beliefs and religion, history, and the streets. There was a spark between them. There was history between them. And Cartier always challenged Head. She wasn’t any pushover.

What Head respected most about Cartier after staying with her for two weeks was that she was on her grind. She had multiple irons in the fire, although he didn’t agree with her drug distribution ring. She knew how to multi-task, and the respect she had on the streets turned Head on. She didn’t need social media to represent her—to define her. She wasn’t some shallow bitch looking for attention from complete strangers and pressing them for likes on her pages. She had no page.

“This is where I want to be, Cartier,” he wholeheartedly expressed to her.

She didn’t mind having him there either. They had their differences over the years, but Head had always been good company.

A few nights later Head was taking a shower and the bathroom door opened. Cartier pulled back the shower curtain to reveal her naked body and joined him. It was unexpected, but he welcomed her. The two became passionately entwined under the cascading water, and their sexual act went from the shower to the bedroom, where Head exploded inside of her like fireworks. It felt like love, and it had been a long time.

After their sexual tryst, the two lay snuggled in her bed having pillow talk. The 60” TV was playing the evening news. Something the anchor said caught Head’s attention. Another young and unarmed teen was shot and killed by the police in Brownsville. The news angered him.

“The black community is raging out of control, especially with these police shootings,” Cartier said.

Head looked at her and replied, “Black community? So you believe Brownsville, and every black neighborhood, is truly a black community?”

“Yes.”

“Open your eyes, Cartier. There is no such thing as a black community, especially in America.”

“What you mean?” she replied, intrigued by his remark.

“If it was accurately a black community then we would own things in the community. We would make our own laws and police our own people. We would run the schools, and we would have black businesses that stretched from block to block. So how can it be a black community when we don’t own or control anything in that community?”

“So you learned all that in prison? You got your GED in black supremacy?” she joked with him.

“It’s not a laughing matter out here, Cartier. This is serious.”

“I never said that it wasn’t. So what else they teach you inside there?” she asked.

“Don’t mock me, Cartier.”

“Who said I was mocking you?”

“I know you . . .”

“And?”

It didn’t take long for them to get into a debate about society issues and politics. Head hated the white man. He felt that they were pushing global supremacy and they believed the black man was inferior. He believed that the white man was without a doubt the devil.

Cartier made the mistake of saying, “Not all white people are alike. And not all of them can be the devil.”

“They got you brainwashed, Cartier,” he barked.

“Nigga, you the one brainwashed with that foolishness you trying to preach to me,” she countered. “Since when did you become a racist?”

“Black people cannot be racist,” he returned.

“Says who?”

“Do you know the definition of a racist?” he responded. “A black man can be prejudiced, but he can’t be a racist. Racism is systemic—it’s institutional. Racism is prejudice plus power, and a black man can become prejudiced because of racism,” he explained.

They continued to argue in bed over a variety of things, including a woman’s right to choose.

“They should abolish abortion. These women flush babies down the drain like they flush the toilet. It’s outta hand. Someone needs to speak up for these unborn kids.”

“I know you ain’t talking. How many bitches you ushered to the clinic? Y’all muthafuckas hardly spend any time raising these babies y’all wanna save. And don’t get me started on the men who feel like they should get a medal for paying child support.”

“That ain’t all men.” Some of the bass in his voice had disappeared.

Cartier continued with, “Those same politicians voting pro-life would send their mistresses to the abortion clinic if their careers, wealth, or home lives were threatened. Forty-five paid hush money, but what you think he would have done if she was pregnant? Abortion would be the first, last, and only option. It’s always the perverts who vote conservative.”

Head was silent.

“I thought so, nigga!”

“Come on, ma. Chill with the nigga talk.”

“Negro, please!”