Maya's Choice Read online

  “Daddy, you’re twisting it around!” I raised my voice.

  “How am I twisting it around? That is the truth as you told it to your mother and I. Am I correct?” I could feel my father’s judgmental glare heating up the side of my face. I turned to meet his gaze once again.

  “Yes. But it wasn’t like that. Misalo…”

  My father cut me off. “Misalo was more interested in saving himself than he was with protecting you. Once all of the pushing started, he knew that if he tripped over you everyone would step on his back and crush not only you but him, as well.” By the tone of Dad’s voice I knew that he’d gotten irritated.

  “But—” My father tossed the palm of his hand up, which made me go silent.

  “He went into survival mode, Maya, just like you did. You wanted to get up. Did you care about what was happening to other people around you?”

  “No,” I answered. “I just wanted them to allow me to get up.”

  “A man, or boy for that matter, who cares for his woman or girl doesn’t drag her to violent dogfights. That’s like me dragging your mother to the front lines when I served in the Gulf War. Just to take a look at the horror and brutality of it all. If he’s interested in that type of cruelty, his thirst for violence may end up turning on you. Do you understand what I’m getting at?” he asked.

  “No!” I snapped because I wasn’t able to change his perception of Misalo. “He was just curious, Dad.”

  “And his curiosity led to you having a broken leg,” he quickly fired back.

  “I’m not hungry anymore,” I said tearfully.

  “All the tears in the world aren’t going to change my mind about him.”

  “I just want to go lay down,” I said glumly. My father rose to his feet and then helped me to mine. I made my way to the staircase and walked up with the support of the rail. I entered my bedroom and closed the door. I went to my bed, got comfortable and glared at the ceiling. All I could see were images of Misalo desperately trying to free my leg from being completely crushed.

  I can’t remember when I drifted off to sleep, but I awoke to the sound of my cell phone ringing. I’d set up a special ringtone for my best friend, Keysha, so I knew right away that it was her calling.

  “Hey, girl. How are you doing?” she asked, sounding more jovial than I was feeling.

  “Fine,” I answered.

  “Ooo. You don’t sound fine. What happened?” Keysha asked.

  “Life,” I continued with the one-word answers.

  “Okay.” Keysha paused. “Is this going to be like pulling teeth or are you going to talk to me?” she asked.

  “I don’t want to talk about my problems right now. What are you doing?” I asked.

  “I’m just leaving work. The pool was supercrowded today. I had to kick out two seventh-grade boys who were trying to drown each other.”

  “Who was at the pool today? Anyone I know?” I asked.

  “Yes. Misalo was there and I have a message for you from him.” I immediately perked up.

  “He said that he misses you and he can’t wait to see you. So, being the good friend that I am to both of you guys, I have taken it upon myself to help you see each other.”

  “I can’t. My parents won’t allow him to come anywhere near me.” I reminded her of my dilemma.

  “That’s why you have me. I came up with a brilliant idea that should work,” Keysha said enthusiastically.

  “What have you been plotting?” I asked, pressing the phone closer to my ear.

  “Okay. On my next day off, tell your parents that you want to come over to my house and hang out with me for the day. You can have them drop you off on their way to work. Then when my parents leave for their jobs, we can invite Misalo over. You guys could be together all day.”

  “And where will you be?” I asked.

  “Minding my own business.” Keysha laughed.

  I popped my fingers. “I have an even better idea.”

  “What?” Keysha asked.

  “I’ll invite Misalo over to my house while my parents are at work,” I said, not knowing why I hadn’t thought of it before.

  “But what if one of them comes home early or something?” Keysha asked.

  “Please, both of my parents call me all day long to make sure I’m doing fine. They always call home when they’re on their way. Besides, I’ll have Misalo out of here long before they get back.”

  “Well, okay. If you’re cool with that I’m cool with it.”

  “Can you give Misalo the message for me?” I asked.

  “Why don’t you just call him yourself?”

  “Because I don’t want my dad, or anyone else for that matter, to overhear me talking to him. You know how thin the walls are in my house, and for some reason the heating ducts have the ability to carry conversations through the walls,” I explained.

  “Okay. I’ll do it now,” Keysha assured me.

  “You’re such a good friend.” I smiled as I turned over on my bed.

  “Hey, you were there for me when I went through all of that drama with my ex-boyfriend Wesley, so the least I can do is be here for you.”

  “Since we’re speaking of ex-boyfriends, have you heard from Jerry or Wesley?” I asked.

  “Girl, I’ll have to tell you about those tragedies later. I’m walking in the front door right now. I’ll call you back in a few minutes once I’ve talked with Misalo,” Keysha said before she hung up the phone. I wondered what kind of crazy drama was going on with Keysha, but even more exciting than that was the thought of finally seeing Misalo. My heart raced at the thought of just seeing his face.

  two

  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 ac
commodate 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?”