Читать книгу If I Was Your Girl - Ni-Ni Simone - Страница 11

I’d called Quamir a million times this morning and he hadn’t answered not even once. Every time I heard his voicemail, I got sick to my stomach. I kept wondering what he’s doing, who’s he’s with, and why he’s treating me like this. And then I’d get pissed that no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to let this relationship go. It was sooooo obvious that this was a dead end street, yet I kept going around and around, ignoring all the signs that told me I needed to break out.

And it’s not like I loved Quamir the same way I did when things were good. He was perfect then. He gave me money and bought me clothes—and not no regular department store shit, either. Classy shit, shit that chicks around here couldn’t even pronounce, let alone afford. I was that girl every ho wanted to be and now look at me. My all-star-hood-hustlin’ boyfriend had turned into a no-good baby daddy; I was on welfare; and my mother was on my back about everything. If it wasn’t for Tay, I’d be catching the bus everywhere, and yeah, I’m still cute—don’t get it twisted—but I couldn’t afford a thing that Qua used to buy me, so I’m limited to places like The Gap.

“Toi,” my mother knocked on my bedroom door and opened it at the same time. “Why haven’t you gone and applied for that childcare program like I told you?”

I rolled my eyes to the ceiling. “I forgot.”

“I swear.” She shook her head. “Well, you need to get up and go down to the welfare office right now. Today is the last day.”

I sucked my teeth. Can someone please tell her that I hate the word welfare? “But I have to go to work.”

“Oh, you’re going.” She placed her hand on her hip. “But you’re going to the welfare office to apply for this child care program first. Like I told you to last week. This way Noah can be in daycare in September and you don’t have to worry about a babysitter.”

“Alright ma, I get the point.”

“I hope so. Now, I’ll take him with me this morning. I’m going to visit your Aunt Gerri.”

“You’re off today?”

“Yes I am.” She took the baby out of his crib and walked out of my room.

I swear I’d hit rock bottom. This whole deal was something I’d never imagined. I always thought you had to be poor, down and out with little to nothing, or just plain lazy to get welfare benefits.

I shook my head. I couldn’t get sad about this shit. I had to choke it up. Quamir had caused me to be sad enough and I didn’t need to bring anything more on myself.

I got out of my bed, showered, and threw on a pink BeBe sweat suit, matching kicks, pulled my hair in a single ponytail, slid on my D&G round-eyed shades and went on my way.

When I entered the welfare office, I was pissed at all the people waiting in line. I knew my manager was gon’ flip; there was no way I would be on time today.

I signed my name underneath the fifty million other people waiting to see a caseworker and I sat down. There were crying children and complaining adults everywhere. For a moment I felt like I was going crazy. People were being paged over and over again on the loudspeaker and the security guard was arguing with a new client every five minutes. There were a thousand different safe sex posters, AIDS, suicide, depression hotline numbers, and information about welfare fraud.

And if that wasn’t enough, there were about a zillion different songs floating through the air from the radio on the security guard’s desk, to the elevator music in the lobby, to the clients’ mundane songs: “I can’t believe they cut my benefits…I wish these people would come on. They trynasay my kids don’t even live with me. I need my money. Where my food stamps? I lost my card. I found my card. I ain’t goin’ to no damn Work-First program…” And on and on it went until I felt like my head was spinning.

I got up and walked from one end of the lobby to the next. By the time I came back, someone had taken my seat. I decided it wasn’t worth the drama of asking this person to move, so I just leaned against the wall until my name was called.

“Ms. McKnight.” A caseworker I’d never seen before called my name. She held the door open for me to come in and introduced herself. “I’m Mrs. Smith and I’ve just been assigned your case.”

“Oh, what happened to Ms. Roberts?”

“She quit.”

“Oh, well I was coming to apply for the new daycare program for teenage mothers.”

“You have to be in school.”

“I am.”

She looked at me funny. “I don’t mean a G.E.D. program.”

“Excuse me? Did I say I was in a G.E.D. program?”

“I’m just letting you know.” She opened my folder. “Are you aware that you have to update your benefits?”

“Why?”

“All your information is not completed and if you don’t complete it then we will cut off your Medicaid and the money you get every month.”

I looked at her like she was crazy. “I don’t get money every month.”

She looked surprised. “You have a job?”

“Yes.” I snapped.

“Through the Work First program?”

“No.”

“Oh…Well, if you make more than three hundred dollars a month, then we’ll be cutting your food stamps.”

“I didn’t apply for food stamps.” She was pissing me off.

“So what do you need? Housing? The only place we can offer you is the homeless hotel. Otherwise, I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Are you listening to me?” I snapped. “I said the new childcare program.”

“Fine, then I need some updated information on your child’s father because we don’t have any. Do you know his name?”

“What?”

“His real name, not Pooky, Saboo, Supreme, Dream, or whatever else they are calling themselves these days. I mean his birth name or government name as you all call it.”

I wanted to slap her. “It’s Quamir Lewis.”

“His mother’s name?”

“Huh?”

“Your child’s grandmother’s name.”

I sat there for a moment. “I don’t know.”

“Okay,” the worker said as if this was beyond familiar. “Mr. Lewis’s date of birth.”

“June 1, 19…85…” I said, more like a question than a statement. “I mean, 86.”

“His social security number?”

“I don’t know that.” I felt like a complete fool. “Listen, why do you need all of this just to apply for childcare? I gave all of this information before.”

“Perhaps, but the information here is not complete.”

I promise you I wanted to punch her in the face. “That’s all I know.”

“Do you have a current address and his job information?”

“No.”

“Well, Ms. McKnight, we need his information because he has to pay child support.”

“I don’t have it.”

“We need your cooperation.”

“I understand. When I find out something, I will let you know.”

“Thank you,” she shuffled the papers. “I appreciate that. Oh,” she handed me a stack of paperwork, “you need to fill these out for the childcare program. And we need copies of two paycheck stubs.”

“Uhm hmm,” I said. “Sure.”

She nodded her head and I got up and left. For some reason I felt like only an hour or so had gone by, but when I looked at the clock, I realized three hours had passed. I walked to the bus stop and leaned against the rail. I had to get out of this existence. Things had to change; somehow, some way, I needed my life to be different. I didn’t have a boyfriend, I didn’t have a life. I had nothing but menial work hours and embarrassing welfare benefits.

I caught the bus home, changed into my uniform and headed to work. As I stepped into IHOP, my cell phone rang. It was Quamir. “Hello?” I said, not knowing what to expect.

“Wassup?” he said as if nothing had ever happened between us, a sure sign that he wanted to work things out.

“Nothing, working,” I said, standing in the lobby before going into the back and checking on my station.

“Oh, ai’ight. Well, when you get off, come through.”

I blushed. “Why?”

“’Cause I wanna see you.”

“Sure?”

“I’m more than sure.”

That made my day and I knew my work hours would fly by. I made up my mind that this time I was going to get things right. Sure, Quamir had cheated and what he did wasn’t easy to accept, but I’d played my part in pushing him out there. I nagged too often, expected too much, and was always complaining about things. So this time, none of that would be going on. If I wanted peace and a relationship with my son’s father, then I had to be on my best behavior.

After completing my shift, I caught the bus to Quamir’s house. As the back doors of the bus opened, revealing Quamir’s stoop, I saw his ex-girlfriend, Desha, sitting there. Immediately, we locked eyes and she gave me a look that said we were thinking the same thing, What is she doing here?

Before I could collect my thoughts, Quamir walked so swiftly toward me that I practically fell backwards. “Yo’, wassup?” he said.

“What is she doing here?” I pointed behind him.

“You know how chicks is, always tryna come through without calling.”

I knew he was lying. I could just tell. “So tell her to go home.”

“Nah, I don’t wanna be rude. Her father just died.”

“And what does that have to do with you?”

“Look,” he said, flicking his nose, “let me hollah at you later. I’ll call you when she leaves and then you can come back through.”

I stood there for a moment. “Excuse me? You invited me here and now you want me to leave because she’s here…unexpectedly?”

“See, you don’t listen,” he snapped.

“What?”

“Just go home.”

“I can’t keep going through this! First Shanice and now this chick. How many others is it?”

“Yo’,” he smirked, “you can either play your position or change your position. I already told you she came by for a minute and I’ll hit you up when she’s gone. Ai’ight?”

Tears welled in my eyes but I couldn’t cry. At that moment I realized nothing was going to change. Nothing. And no matter what I did, Quamir would always be the same. “You know what, maybe you’re right,” I said.

“Finally, she gets it,” he said, sarcastically.

“Yeah, and maybe I need to fall back, fall all the way back.”

He rolled his eyes to the sky. “Here we go again.”

“Here we go again?” I said in disbelief. “I am so serious. We are really over.”

He yawned and stretched his arms. “Alright, Toi. Whatever you say.”

I was in complete awe. “Quamir…you really don’t care?”

“Look, what you want from me, a trophy, a ride or die prize or something? Every time I turn around, you always leaving, you always doing this, that and the third. And you ain’t gon’ do nothin’ but call me on the phone cryin’. Man, whatever. Like I told you when you were fighting Shanice, you not my girl, so if you wanna bounce, then do you. But don’t try and stunt and play me ’cause I got company. Yeah, I called you over here and now I’m telling you to go home. Dig? Now be out.”

And he left me standing there. I looked at his porch and Desha pleasantly watched the whole thing. I could tell she got the biggest kick out of him playing me. I wondered for a moment if I’d died and gone to hell. But then I realized that this was my life and that I couldn’t and wouldn’t do this anymore. A part of me wanted to run up on Quamir and beat him down or ask him why. Why was he doing this? But how many times was I going to ask the same thing? It was official. I was tired of the drama, at least this type of drama. I had to get out, I needed to get away, otherwise loving this dude was clearly going to make me crazy. There was a bus coming up the street, it wasn’t even the right bus that would take me home, but I didn’t care. I just had to get away from here. I stepped on the bus and figured I would go for a ride and when I decided to find my way home, I would.