VIVIANA
I’ve never really thought much about my future because I’m too busy trying to survive the present. I suppose that’s why I really don’t give a damn about anything. I mean, what’s the point in caring or trying when you only end up hurt or deeply disappointed. This truth has been proven to me time and again. So, I choose to live day by day and deal with the trash life throws at me. That’s what living is all about anyway, right? One screwed-up dilemma after another and no one really caring about it unless it impacts their world in some way. That’s what I’ve learned, and for the most part, that’s the way I see my life. No one really gives me much thought, until they have to deal with me.
My mother has a weakness for bad boys. Not the would-be kind of thug who only pretends to be hard core, but the real deal. The men she dates have to have a rap sheet at least a page long. They also need to have a thousand chicken heads after them, be as dumb as Flavor Flav is ugly, and have countless tattoos. A short temper is a must, along with no desire to live what most of society would call a productive lifestyle. I don’t know why she’s fascinated with men like that. She just is. If I had to guess, though, I think she believes that if she loves them hard enough, she’ll be able to change them into someone more worthwhile than who they are, and perhaps just as loving as her. So far, her love hasn’t transformed any of them, but it hasn’t stopped her from trying.
My mother, Salena, and I don’t get along very well for a bunch of reasons, all of which are complicated and difficult to explain. We’ve never lived in one place for very long and we’ve always had to move for one reason or another. Sometimes she’d drop me off at my grandmother’s house for weeks at a time until she was able to find a new apartment, get out of jail or find a new boyfriend who was willing to take us both in. I’ve never liked any of her male friends because all of them made my skin crawl. One guy she dated would lustfully ogle me as if I were the prize he really wanted and not my mother. It was gross to have that creep thirsty for me. When I mentioned it to my mother, she was more interested in saving her relationship than protecting me, so off to my grandmother Esmeralda’s house I went.
I’d come to the conclusion that my mother only loved me when she was between men. That’s when we’re able to get along the best. I don’t have to compete for her attention and she doesn’t have to bend over backward to accommodate some jerk’s every wish.
When I was thirteen, my mom and I lived in a small apartment in the Humboldt Park neighborhood of Chicago. We were able to get the place because she’d landed a job as a cook for a nursing home. It was the one time after the death of my father that she was able to find work making enough money to support us. At the time we didn’t have much in the way of furnishings, just a few secondhand items that had been picked up for practically nothing from Goodwill. The apartment was drafty and needed to be repainted. The stained tan carpeting needed to be pulled up and the kitchen needed to be remodeled. In spite of everything wrong with the place, I was happy to be with her and have a place of my own to call home.
One Friday evening when I was thirteen, I walked into her bedroom just as she’d finished squeezing her oversize barrel-shaped body into an extratight, black, spaghetti-strap dress she’d recently purchased. It looked horrible on her. Her breasts looked like flapjacks, her stomach was so bloated it looked as if she’d swallowed the moon and her rear end reminded me of a sack of mashed potatoes. Even though she looked awful, I smiled and cheerfully said, “You look beautiful,” as I focused on her pretty, round face, which was still pleasant to look at because she hadn’t started getting deep wrinkle lines.
“Of course I do. Age hasn’t caught up with me at all. I look like I’m about twenty-one years old, don’t I?” she asked, fully convinced that every word she’d just spoken was an undeniable truth. My mother had just turned thirty-eight and wasn’t very happy about the reality that in two years she’d be forty.
“Nineteen,” I lied with a straight face—a skill that I’d already mastered.
“Ooo, that’s even better. All the men at the club will be begging me for a dance tonight,” she chimed gleefully, forcing her feet into a pair of worn-out high-heeled shoes.
“Can I ask you a question?” I spoke softly as I tucked my hair behind my ear.
“Not if your question is going to lead to a bunch of drama, Viviana. I don’t feel like hearing your made-up stories about hearing strange sounds, or being too afraid to stay in here for a few hours by yourself. When I was your age I used to—” I interrupted her.
“It’s nothing like that. I was just wondering—” I paused. “I mean…I want you to have a good time and everything, but don’t pick up a new boyfriend. I mean, you of course can have a new boyfriend but can you wait for a little while?”
“Wait for a while? Your father has been dead for two years. I have a right to seek romance and happiness free of guilt,” she said defensively.
“I know, but…” I paused, making sure to choose my words carefully. “It seems like whenever you get a new boyfriend, you never seem to have time for me.” I looked into her eyes and immediately saw sparks of anger.
“How selfish of you, Viviana, I can’t believe you just said that to me!” she barked, and I flinched. “Don’t you want me to be happy? Don’t you want me to fall in love again? I have to work three times as hard to get a guy to notice me because of young girls like you!” She spoke as if some guy had already chosen me over her.
“I’m only thirteen and I don’t even like boys,” I gently reminded her.
She inhaled deeply and then released a short, quick huff of air. “You may be thirteen but your body has blossomed and looks just as old as mine.” I immediately felt self-conscious. I hugged myself as I leaned my back against the wall near the light switch.
“The only things you’re missing are my stretch marks and belly fat. You’re prettier than me and if I were to meet a guy, I plan to do everything I can to make sure he stays focused on my sexy body and not yours.” My mother stared at me as if I were a direct threat to winning over the man she’d hoped to catch. She moved toward the dresser, grabbed a pack of Pall Mall 100’s and tapped out one of the cigarettes. She reached for her lighter, spun the wheel and lit her smoke. She inhaled deeply before expelling a long plume of smoke.
“You’re the one who took my sexy body from me. Before I had you I could walk down the street and stop traffic without even trying. These days, that’s not so freaking easy.” She placed her cigarette in an ashtray and began tugging at the fabric of the dress.
I took a hard swallow and boldly said, “You sound like you hate me.”
She chuckled condescendingly. “Hate and envy are closely related, remember that.” Salena stepped out of her bedroom and walked across the hall to the bathroom. Before I could ask another question she slammed the door shut, leaving me completely confused as to what I’d done wrong or what she meant. That happened three years ago. A lot has changed since then, most of which has not been for the better.
I was scratching a mosquito bite on my forearm as I stood in front of Our Lady of Guadalupe Church on Chicago’s Southeast side. I noticed my skin had turned as red as a strawberry as I waited on my girlfriend Toya Taylor to arrive. An ugly boy, about fifteen with zits galore, walked past, puckered his lips and blew me a kiss. I gave him a repulsive glare as I noticed his ill-fitting black slacks, and the fact that he didn’t have on any socks with his white dress shoes.
“Ugh,” I mumbled.
The last thing I wanted was an ugly and broke boyfriend. Hell, I had expensive tastes and needed a man who was getting paid. Admittedly, I wasn’t dressed in anything spectacular, just my blue jean shorts, a green T-shirt and a pair of worn-out but comfortable pink flip-flops. My black hair was braided into a long ponytail that cascaded down the center of my back, stopping between my shoulder blades. I am tall, slender and have been told countless times that my lips are shaped like Angelina Jolie’s. Some days, I actually wished that I was her so I could live her fairy-tale life. I would have looked more fly if I’d had a pair of sexy sunglasses and the designer handbag I’d seen at a store in the mall a few days before. I hated being broke and struggling for everything. If my father were still around he would’ve made sure I had everything my heart desired, no matter what it cost. He was the best father a girl could ask for. He had his problems and did stuff he wasn’t proud of in order to survive, but he did what he had to do out of love, and that counted for a lot in my book. At that moment, while lost in my thoughts, an elderly woman with aged, wrinkled skin, a white head scarf and an advanced case of osteoporosis begged for my attention.
“I have fruit and bottled water. Would you like to buy something?” The frail woman held up a raggedy brown wicker basket. Her cheerless eyes looked as if they’d only seen depression and disappointment and not a single moment of joy.
“I don’t have any money,” I answered. She gave me a sorrowful frown before shuffling on to some other person. I lost sight of the old woman in the crowd of people who’d come from all around the city to watch the Mexican Independence Day Parade. I heard someone in the crowd shout out above a wailing police siren, “Viva Mexico!” followed by an equally enthusiastic chant of “Viva Chicago!” The sound of car horns, cheers and ringing bells filled the air and signaled the start of the parade. I moved closer to the street, watching as participants walked down the center of the boulevard, swaying the Mexican flag in one hand and waving to strangers with the other. A float went by with women and men dressed in traditional Mexican clothing danced around to folk music that was blaring out of stereo speakers. I watched with little interest. I only had a vague idea of what the parade symbolized. I knew it had something to do about a war for independence from Spain.
“There you are! Girl, I’ve been walking all over the place looking for you.” Toya seemed to appear out of nowhere. She tugged at my arm to get my attention.
“I’ve been standing in the same spot. I haven’t moved,” I said as I took one last look at a parade float.
“What? You want to go out there and be part of the parade now?” Toya asked mockingly as she folded up a newspaper she was carrying.
“No way.” I quickly cleared up her preconceived notion.
“What does all of this mean, anyway?” Toya asked. She adjusted the backpack that hung on her right shoulder.
“Hell if I know.” I shrugged.
“Well, this is the parade for your people. Don’t you know anything about it?” Toya pressed the issue.
Becoming irritated, I said, “It’s about some war. That’s all I know.” The cheers from the crowd grew louder and the streets seemed to swell with an even larger number of people.
“Oh, hell no. Hold up, girl,” Toya said, glaring down at my feet. “What’s up with the flip-flops?”
Glancing down at my feet, I asked, “What’s wrong with them?”
“If we need to make a quick move, you can’t run in those,” Toya pointed out, and then she mocked me by flapping her feet on the ground like a duck.
“I thought you were just going to show me how to do it. I didn’t think we were going to actually do something today,” I said.
“I knew I should’ve called you back to find out what you were wearing,” Toya griped.
“Well, if it’s a problem maybe we should wait until another time,” I said sharply.
“Nah, it is what it is now. At least I know you won’t pull a Keysha on me,” she said.
“Pull a Keysha?” I asked, lowering my eyebrows and slightly frowning.
“Keysha is this girl who used to be my friend. You remind me of her.” Toya smirked.
“I remind you of her how?”
“In a lot of ways. Just like you, I took her under my wing and showed her the ropes on how to get paid by jacking people for their stuff. But then she snaked out on me by disappearing when the police caught me.”
“Hold up, when all of that go down?”
“Girl, that’s a chapter in my past. I didn’t stay locked up for long, but when I saw Keysha again, I cut her like this.” Toya made a quick jerking motion at my face to show me what she’d done.
“Was she messed up afterward?”
“She was hurt bad enough,” Toya proudly boasted.
“What happened to her?” I asked.
“She moved away into a big house with her rich daddy,” Toya said as we began walking along the sidewalk. “She has a brother named Mike I used to kick it with.”
“Oh, yeah, what happened with that?”
“He was so lame. I tricked him into giving me about three hundred dollars and I stole his car. I sold it to a chop shop for a few thousand dollars.”
“See, that’s what I’m talking about. I need to get paid like that,” I said, longing for money to fulfill my every need.
“Keep hanging with me and I’ll show you how to do it,” Toya said confidently. “Now you can hang with me all day, right?”
“Yeah, my mother is off somewhere with her boyfriend at a barbecue. She doesn’t care about where I am or what I’m doing. Sometimes I wish I had my own apartment so I wouldn’t have to deal with her at all. I could make it on my own in a place that doesn’t charge much for rent. All I’d need is a crappy job and I’d be all set.”
“A job?” Toya laughed. “Girl, me and my baby daddy had our own place for a minute and neither one of us had a job. The only reason we moved was because some stuff went down. That’s why I’m back at my grandmother’s house.”
“How were you paying for rent?” I asked.
“See, that’s why you need to hang with me. I can teach you everything. I can show you how to get over on the system to get everything you want. First, you need to get pregnant so you can get money for your baby. Then all you have to do is keep signing up for assistance programs that help teen mothers pay their rent and buy food for you and the baby. With rent and food taken care of, you’re on easy street.”
“Really?” I asked, enticed by the possibility of having my own place.
“Yeah, then you can make quick cash on the side doing all kinds of stuff.” Toya spoke as if she had it all completely mapped out.
“Wait a minute,” I said, rethinking what she’d just said. “Isn’t the man supposed to take care of his woman and children?”
“Viviana, that only happens in fairy tales. Come on, now, don’t be so naive. Every girl knows that guys are not going to step up when the baby arrives. The quickest way for a girl to lose her man is to start sounding like a nagging wife. You see, that’s why I get along so well with my boyfriend. I don’t make him do anything that he doesn’t want to do. It’s sort of like reverse psychology. If I don’t cause any drama, he does stuff willingly. If I’m in his face all of the time, then he’s going to snap. Get it?”
“Yeah, that makes sense,” I agreed.
“See, that’s why I love that show called Sixteen and Pregnant. Every girl on there does nothing but complain and nearly all of them end up without their boyfriend. If I were on an episode, I’d show them how to be a good mother, keep the baby’s father and live on their own.”
“It would be so cool if that happened, Toya. I can see you now, just being real with it and telling young girls how to do things the right way,” I said excitedly.
“Yeah, then I’d become famous and hang out with celebrities,” Toya said, fantasizing about the possibilities.
“Ooo, you know what would happen next, girl?” I stopped walking then turned to face her.
“No. What?” she asked.
“The people from Dancing with the Stars would call you,” I said, starting to truly believe in the ultimate lifestyle we were fabricating.
“They probably would, girl. I could be like the black version of Bristol Palin. Lord knows that I can dance better than her. Girl, I’d get up there and do the booty clap dance and drive America wild like Beyoncé, Shakira or this old-school chick named Josephine Baker.”
“Josephine Baker? Who is that?” I asked, because I’d never heard of her.
“Girl, she was some actress and dancer from like the 1920s or something,” Toya explained.
“The 1920s!” I blurted out, surprised she’d mentioned someone who lived so long ago.
“The only reason I know about her is because I was sitting up one night dealing with Junior’s cranky behind. Anyway, by the time he went to bed I couldn’t sleep so I started watching television. I got caught up watching either the Discovery or History Channel, I can’t remember which. Anyway, they showed some old video of this chick Josephine doing the booty clap and I was like, what the hell!”
“Are you serious?” I asked.
“Yeah, and Josephine was killing it! She was like a beast with it,” Toya tried to imitate what she’d seen and I cracked up laughing.
“Oh, no you didn’t just move like that out here in front of all these people.” I continued to laugh in an effort to make her feel self-conscious.
“Whatever!” Toya fired back, waving off my snide remark.
“So look here, Miss Flip-flop-clippity-clop,” Toya said, making a joke about my shoes. “I’m going to teach you how you can spot someone whose pocket you can easily pick. Are you ready for your lesson?”
“Yeah,” I answered, feeling a rush of adrenaline race through me.
“Okay, there are several ways this works. For beginners like you, crowded areas like this parade are better because people will not be suspicious if you get very close to them. If you were to walk up behind them, and ask if they could move over a little so you can see, it’s not a big deal. That’s when you use that opportunity to bump them and find out where their wallet, sunglasses, car keys or cell phone is located. Once you’ve located what you want, you have to time the next bump against them and move quickly. You need to have quick hands but they need be gentle at the same time.”
“But won’t they feel me taking their stuff?” I asked, thinking that I’d notice if someone had ripped me off.
“No, most times people have no clue. Plus, you have to find the right target,” Toya said, looking around. “See that guy over there with his sunglasses in his shirt pocket?” Toya pointed the guy out.
“Yeah, I see him,” I answered.
“I’m going to go get those sunglasses. Stay here and just watch,” she said. I watched Toya snake her way through the crowded sidewalk, moving purposefully toward the man with the sunglasses. When she got close enough she pretended to stumble into him. She braced herself against his chest as he tried to keep her from falling over. Once Toya gathered herself she said thank-you and moved on. I watched as Toya disappeared and then turned my attention back to the man, noticing his sunglasses were gone.
“Damn, she’s good,” I mumbled to myself. I stood there for about ten minutes wondering where Toya had gone. Before long, she came up behind me and when I was looking in the other direction she said, “Boo!” The sound of her voice startled me.
“Toya, what’s wrong with you?” I said, turning my full attention to her.
“I just wanted to show you just how close I can get to you without you knowing it. Come on, let’s walk this way.” Toya and I maneuvered away from the crowd and down a side street where there were less people. Once she felt safe she opened up the newspaper she’d been carrying.
“See, I have his sunglasses and a twenty-dollar bill that he had tucked in that pocket.” I was so excited that I wanted to scream but I held myself in check. I was ready to try it because I’d hoped to get some money, as well.
“Where did you learn how to do this?” I asked.
“Does it really matter?” Toya answered my question with one of her own.
“Well, I suppose not,” I responded, feeling silly for asking.
“Look. I’m taking the time to show you how to get paid, not to give you a history lesson on where I picked up this skill. Now that I have twenty dollars in my pocket, I’m hungry for some more cash and prizes. With a crowd of this size I can easily rack up two thousand dollars’ worth of money and merchandise that can be sold.”
“Are you serious?” I whispered.
“Totally. Question is, are you game? Do you want to make some money today?” she asked.
“You know I do.” I didn’t hesitate to answer.
“Okay, then here is what we’re going to do. Since you’re wearing those damn flip-flops and can’t move the way I need you to, you’re going to be my dump-off person. I’m going to walk through the crowd and find targets and get merchandise. Once I have something, I’m going to walk back past you and hand whatever I get to you. Do not look at it. Just drop it in the backpack quickly. Every time I drop something off to you, I want you to walk down one block and wait. I’ll find you. We’re going to work this side of the street and then cross over and work the other side. You got it?”
“Yeah, I can handle that,” I said confidently.
“If someone tries to rob you, all I know is you’d better fight.” Toya was very clear on that point.
“What about the police? What if they catch you?” I asked.
“Catch me with what? I’m dropping stuff back off to you. You’re the one holding the backpack of stolen merchandise, not me. Do you have a problem with that?”
“Hell no!” I wasn’t afraid of anything.
“Good. When I’m done we’ll head back to my place and see what I’ve pulled in.” Toya met my gaze, searching my eyes once more to see if I had the nerves for this.
“I got this,” I reassured her.
Nodding her head approvingly, Toya said, “Cool.” As she walked away I began to think about my mother, my current living arrangements and how I’d met Toya.
My mother and I had been staying with my grandmother Esmeralda for two weeks straight, because once again we were homeless. Then one day out of the clear blue my mother walked into the house in high spirits, talking about how she fell in love in one night. I felt my stomach turn when she made her grand announcement. A few days later all of our belongings were once again packed up and we moved to the Southside of Chicago to some apartment building on Martin Luther King Jr. Drive. Her new man, a dude named Martin, was heavily involved with some huge motorcycle club. Martin had a baritone voice, tattoos covering a good portion of his body, and a really quick temper. Once again, my mother had selected a loser she’d hoped to turn into her prince.
When I first met Martin I had a difficult time looking at him because his left eye kept drifting, which somehow made me feel as if I were going cross-eyed. Martin loved his motorcycle brothers and bragged continually about the brawls he’d been involved in. Personally, I thought he was a little too old to be getting into fights, but apparently for him it was not a big deal.
“I’ll lay my life on the line and take a bullet for any one of my brothers.” That was another thing about Martin. He sounded as if he didn’t have the sense that God gave a rock. He was from the South and mumbled when he spoke.
“I’ll take a bullet for your mom, too, because she is such a sweet woman.” He raked his fingers through his chin whiskers, which were long enough to be coiled into dreadlocks. My mother, who was sitting on his lap at the time, giggled like a sixth grader experiencing her first kiss behind the school building. Listening to him and watching her gush over his every word was truly disgusting.
Martin’s two-bedroom apartment was the ultimate sleazy bachelor pad. Every lamp was shaped like a motorcycle. He believed road signs from the highway made excellent wall art, and the room I had to sleep in was more than musty. It smelled like butt farts that didn’t have the good sense to evaporate.
“This is the room where any one of the boys can come and crash if they need to for any reason. You should consider yourself lucky to have such a room,” Martin said as he placed my belongings on an old mattress that squeaked from the slightest pressure.
“I know it doesn’t have the look or feel of a girl’s room, but hey, I’m sure you’ll make the best of it,” he said. Just as he was about to leave he spotted something on the floor behind the closet door. I glanced at a naked lady on the magazine cover that he went to pick up.
“Sorry about that. One of the boys must’ve been in a jam and…um…”
“It’s okay,” I said, moving away from him.
“I’ll go and get your mom for you,” he said as he exited the room.
“Oh, my God! I can’t wait to leave this place. I can’t believe my mother moved us in with this guy,” I mumbled. Standing in the center of the bedroom I began scratching my skin, which suddenly felt dirty. I grabbed my belongings off the bed and placed them in the closet. That’s when I spotted a fishing knife on the floor next to a pair of black motorcycle boots. I picked the knife up and pulled open the blade, which was about eight inches long.
“Perfect,” I whispered. “I’m going to sleep with this, just in case Martin gets confused as to which bed he’s supposed to be sleeping in.”
On the third evening of our stay with Martin, he came home screaming like a madman about some deal he and the brotherhood had made that fell through. I exited my bedroom and walked up behind Martin, who was standing by the kitchen table situated near the back door. He reeked of alcohol, cigar smoke and body funk. Then for no apparent reason whatsoever he turned his anger on my mom. He began screaming at her as she was scraping leftover Chinese food out of its white container onto a plate to warm up for him. I guess she figured the best way to calm him down was to feed him.
“I don’t want any damn Chinese food. I want some Southern cooking. Make me some neck bones, lima beans and corn bread,” he yelled at her.
Martin’s request for soul food presented two big problems. There was no food in the refrigerator and, second, my mom was a Mexican woman who didn’t grow up in the South on Southern soul food. He moved closer to her and appeared as if he wanted to beat her. I removed the fishing knife from my pocket and extended the blade to its full length. If Martin placed a hand on her I’d planned to stab him in the back and tell my mother that it was time to go.
“Viviana.” My mom got my attention. “Wait outside for a minute.”
“What? Are you serious? He looks like he wants to choke you to death and you want me to leave?”
“You heard your mama, little girl, now get on out of here.” Martin turned and looked at me. With boldness and confidence I held up the knife. The one thing my daddy taught me was how to protect myself.
“What are you going to do with that besides tick me off?” Martin’s voice was filled with threats.
“If you hit my mother or me you’ll find out,” I answered him.
“Viviana, go outside. It will be okay.” My mother once again tried to get me to leave. “Come on, it’s okay.” She approached me and walked me to the front door. “Just sit outside for a minute. It’s a nice day. Even better, go for a walk at the park. When you come back everything will be fine, and put that knife away.”
“But he’s…”
“Viviana, go!” My mother opened the door. I had no choice but to leave. I went outside and sat on the steps in front of the building. I was so irritated. I wanted to leave but I didn’t have a dime to my name. I would have called one of my girlfriends but my cell phone was out of minutes. My mother was supposed to get money from Martin to pay for it, but it didn’t look like that was going to happen anytime soon. Feeling miserable, I buried my face in my hands and closed my eyes. Not long after that, this girl appeared with a little boy who was just learning how to walk upstairs. I moved out of her way.
“What’s up?” she greeted me. I shrugged my shoulders.
“You’re the new girl from apartment 407, right?” she asked.
“Yeah, how did you know that?” I asked.
“I know everything that goes on in this building. My name is Toya. Toya Taylor.” She extended her hand.
“I’m Viviana Vargas.” I reached over and shook her hand.
“Are you okay? Because you look like you could use a friend,” Toya said.
“I’ve seen better days,” I admitted. Her son placed his tiny hand on my knee. “Your son is handsome.”
“He’s more like a handful, if you ask me.” Toya chuckled.
“What’s his name?”
“Junior,” she answered.
“Why are you just sitting out here on these dirty steps?” Toya asked the obvious question. I shook my head and just started venting about everything. Before I could stop myself I realized that I’d shared way too much with someone I didn’t know at all.
“You know what? I’ve seen days like that,” she said sympathetically.
“Really?” I asked, not fully believing her.
“Of course I have and I know what it feels like.” I didn’t say anything and Toya didn’t continue on her way. The silence between us became awkward.
“Listen, why don’t you come up to my apartment? You can sit around and watch videos on VH1 with me,” Toya offered.
“You don’t even know me and you’re willing to invite me into your house?” I glanced over at her to see if she’d lost her mind.
“You don’t look like the type who’d kill someone.” Toya smirked. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my knife. I wanted to prove to her that she really didn’t know me or understand what I’d do if I were backed into a corner.
Toya smiled, seemingly pleased with the fact that I was carrying a weapon.
“This is my protection against any fool who tries to hurt me or my mother. Especially that fool she’s upstairs with now.” I glanced up at Martin’s apartment window. I was still worried about my mother.
“My girl. I can tell that you and I are going to get along well. Come inside with me—I won’t bite, I promise.” I don’t know what made me go with her. Perhaps it was a combination of boredom and frustration but I was glad that I did.