Juicy

  Troy sat heavily on the black fur couch while Juicy picked up the remote and turned on the TV.

  "Here's the remote. Watch some cable...and I'm going to change out of these clothes. If you want anything from the kitchen, help yourself." Juicy left the room calling after her. "Don't leave. I might be a minute."

  She wanted a long hot bath but was afraid that Troy might sneak out before she made sure that he had money and a full stomach. Because he had taken such good care of her she found that she now felt protective of him. She would have to settle for a quick shower.

  Juicy stripped out of the ill fitting clothes. She liked Troy but she did lock the bathroom door first. She then stepped in front of her mirror with her breath held. She didn't remember to breathe again until black spots flashed before her eyes.

  Dear...Lord...She was covered from head to toe in purple and black bruises. Her face, that normally showed full and vibrant was swollen and cut in places. Her eyes were...

  Juicy inhaled then and blinked rapidly. Purposefully she lifted her eyes to the ceiling and she ran her hands down her stomach and to the mound of short curls between her legs.

  She held her breath again and tentatively began an exploration of her most intimate spots for any signs of force.

  She ached so bad all over...but not there!

  With a sigh of relief Juicy allowed her eyes to fall back to the reflection of herself in the mirror. She was holding her breath again as she tentatively touched the bandages covering her head. Slowly she unwrapped them. She knew exactly where they had drilled into her skull because it was one of the two places on her head that still throbbed dully; that and in back where she’d been struck.

  As the bandages unwound, the sight of blood staining them made her feel weak in the knees. She decided to just get it done as quickly as possible. When the bandages were removed she was left with two huge cottons swabs stuck to her scalp. One was in back where she couldn't see, the other was just above her ear.

  Juicy carefully removed the cotton from the drill hole in her head expecting a sharp pain. They had shaved away some of her beautiful dreds. Damn.

  She couldn't see any drill hole...just a big blood clot. Juicy thought about pouring peroxide on the wound but the idea of it invading her brain was just too much so she settled for grabbing a fistful of clean cotton balls, which she pressed against her head. She didn't have bandages but she did have a clean doo rag. The cotton on the back of her scalp got replaced too, and then she secured the doo rag and covered the entire thing with a shower cap.

  Juicy showered quickly then slipped into her bedroom with a towel wrapped around her body. She dressed quickly in a t-shirt and sweat pants. She put on her comfy fur slippers and went out to the living room, lips prepared to apologize for how long she had taken.

  But Troy was in a deep sleep. He had curled up into a fetal position with his feet hanging off the end of the couch. He was even cradling one of the fur couch pillows...

  Oh. He was so cute.

  That thought made Juicy take a step back and walk out of the room. She had not just thought that, had she?

  She walked into the kitchen and robotically began preparing a meal. Juicy had never thought any white man was cute. Ever. A man, to her, was black and hard...although white men sometimes paid more attention to her then black men did. Black men were so busy trying to get with the high yella girls that they couldn't always appreciate full lips, thick hips and thighs...She wondered if Troy was a white man that appreciated full hips and th-

  What in the world was she thinking?! Juicy had never hated people over their color...she didn't really care one way or the other. But after hearing it all of her life she had a tendency to gravitate away from whites.

  She glanced over into the living room to see if the clanging of the pan had awakened Troy. It hadn't. He was out cold. Troy...she wasn't going to think of him as Mr. Cracker ever again.

  Juicy had some frozen turkey burger patties so she tossed four of them onto her grill pan and sliced up some onions, tomatoes and lettuce. Then she opened a can of baked beans, which she doctored up with a bit of brown sugar, cinnamon, and bacon fat.

  When the meal was prepared Juicy ate hungrily then carefully prepared Troy's plate and set it on the cocktail table besides the couch along with a soda pop. She retrieved the blanket from the bag of looted hospital supplies and put it at Troy's feet. Although the idea was in the back of her mind, she refused to linger and watch him sleep. Tomorrow he'd be gone...and that was that.

  It was late when Juicy, fully clothed, climbed into her bed. This entire nightmare was beginning to seem like a distant memory. She was suddenly so tired. She was asleep before she could complete that thought.

  CHAPTER 4

  Juicy's eyes popped open. Something was wrong. Troy was kneeling beside her bed bare inches from her face. Juicy jerked up to a sitting position and yelled. Troy's face had lost its color and a second later he reflexively yelled too.

  "What the--? Troy what are you doing?" She had pulled her covers up to her neck and her eyes were wide as she stared at him.

  "I—you were so quiet. I just wanted to make sure you were alright." She noticed that he was holding the little mirror from the bathroom in his hand.

  She stared at it for a few moments. "You were holding a mirror up to my mouth?"

  Troy blushed. "I—yeah..." Juicy couldn't help it, she laughed. She couldn't stop and before long her eyes were streaming tears.

  Troy stood up. "I thought you'd be mad because I was in your bedroom."

  Juicy tried her best to straighten up. "I'm glad that you cared enough to check on me."

  He put the mirror on her neat dresser. "You weren't waking up on your own."

  She glanced at the clock. It was just after two. She couldn't seem to get her bearings. Was it am? pm?

  Reading her thoughts Troy answered. "It's the afternoon."

  "What?!" She scrambled out of bed. "Why'd you let me sleep so late?"

  "You probably needed it."

  Juicy slipped on her house shoes. "How long have you been awake?"

  "Since about seven-"

  Juicy straightened her doo rag. Her hand froze in mid tug. "Oh my goodness. I didn't mean to leave you alone for so long."

  "It's okay." He shrugged.

  "Did you find the food I left for you?"

  Troy smiled. "Oh yeah. I ate that. Thank you. I hope you don't mind but I showered and made breakfast."

  "No, of course not." Her bedroom was beginning to feel a bit too closed so she went out into the living room where Troy was happy to follow.

  "How do you feel this morning?"

  She shrugged. "It's hard to say. I woke up so fast that I feel a little jittery."

  "Ohhh." Was his response. "Well come on and sit down. I made enough breakfast for you. I put it in the microwave."

  "You made me breakfast?"

  "Yeah. Sit down." He walked past her to the neat galley kitchen. Juicy watched him moving around comfortably. His longish hair was still a bit damp from his shower and he was barefoot. She liked how at home he looked.

  "I hope you like pancakes. I saw that you had syrup." He pressed some buttons on the microwave and then opened the fridge. "Your milk was still good." He glanced at her. "You do drink milk don't you?"

  She was so preoccupied by the way his legs looked in his jeans that she missed his question. With a blush she replayed his last words.

  "Milk...yes, I love it."

  He poured two glasses and placed them on the table in front of her. Then he went back to the microwave. Juicy didn't stop her eyes from admiring his butt. He had enough...

  He returned with a plate piled high with pancakes and bacon. Wow! They were picture perfect.

  "You made these? From scratch?" Because she knew that she didn't have any pancake mix in the house.

  Troy grabbed two plates and some silverware and the syrup while trying to hide his pleased smile. "Well I know a thing or two about a thing or two." r />
  He sat down opposite her and before she could serve herself he placed pancakes and bacon on her plate.

  No man had ever served her like that before. After smothering them with extra syrup, she took a big bite of the pancakes...and WOW! They were the best she'd ever had! And that was saying a lot because Juicy liked to eat!

  "What is in this...? Banana?" But she didn't have any bananas.

  Troy was nodding. "You had a box of instant banana pudding in your pantry. That's the secret ingredient--not so secret anymore, I guess."

  "Pudding?" She savored another bite of pancake. "I would have never thought..."

  There wasn't one raw spot on the bacon, nor was it burnt; it was just right. Juicy peeked at him.

  "Can I ask you a question?"

  Troy looked suddenly grim. "Why am I living on the streets?"

  Juicy nodded. Troy was crazy in some ways...but really, no more than anybody else that she knew.

  "It's like a process, Juice. Not one thing puts you out on the streets." Troy slid a forkful of pancakes slowly through the syrup pooled on his plate. "For me it began when I lived in my parent's house. To make a long story short, I was diagnosed as bipolar. But even before that I already had plenty of problems. I have seizures. I also have very bad migraines and tics.” He peeked at her. “I guess I’m a mess. The medicine didn’t help; made me into a zombie with migraines and tics."

  Troy dropped his fork and nibbled on bacon. Juicy watched him curiously.

  "Honestly, Juice, I'd rather have all my other problems then be a drooling zombie. So I stopped taking them; cold turkey—which is a big no no in the mental health world. Afterwards, my symptoms became worse than ever. It's like being on those heavy narcotics for all those months messed up something inside of me. I started having seizures more often and the headaches were worse than ever before." Troy's lower lip twitched and he self-consciously covered his chin with his hand.

  "My p-p-parents insisted that I get back on the m-m-medication. But you can't understand how horrible it is to be someone else...to know that your f-f-eelings, and your thoughts are all being filtered through drugs. And guess what?! The entire world is okay with that, Juice! Your p-parents are happy that you are someone else!" He looked into her eyes as if he were pleading for her to understand.

  Juicy nodded. "I do understand. It has to suck to be something other then what you are."

  Satisfied with her response Troy continued. "So I left home. Don't get me wrong. My parents are good people. They really are. I'm not schizophrenic, though. I don't hear voices. I do NOT need to be on hardcore narcotics like lithium. But those doctors' had them convinced that I was a danger to myself...and just all kinds of crap! I had to leave home."

  Troy's left eye twitched along with his lip and Juicy nervously looked elsewhere. It was time to change the subject, but he continued to talk.

  "You'd be surprised at how distrustful employers are just because someone has a hand tremor or a facial tic, not to mention just blacking out for no reason. It's hard to get a job even at a fast food joint. I tried telemarketing but there were times that I'd start stuttering then out the door I'd be."

  "I haven't heard you stutter." Juicy replied, trying to think of something positive to say. Troy picked up his plate and scraped the uneaten portion into the trash.

  "A lot of-a lot of the-the-" He blew out a frustrated breath and stared at the trash. He took a deep breath. "A lot of the symptoms that I used to exhibit have faded over the years."

  A lot, but not all, Juicy thought.

  He returned to his seat at the table. "I stutter, but only when I’m stressed, same with the tics." Troy's lip curled up in a slight smile. "The seizures aren’t that bad, really. I just get a little confused after, and then I start saying strange things."

  Juicy didn't know what to say. Her pancakes had grown cold and she didn't have much of an appetite anymore.

  "So that's why you're on the streets?" Juicy rose to dump her food into the trash.

  "Not really." She turned to look at him curiously.

  "Well, I get a social security check once a month and I can stay in a residential care home. It's paid for by the state. They give you your own place and a home health care aid comes by to check on you at regular intervals." Troy frowned and began drumming his fingers on the table. "But they'll make me take medication...I'd rather be on the streets." Troy shrugged.

  Juicy was still holding her plate as she watched him. "Social Security isn't enough to pay for an apartment-?"

  "It's enough." Even if he didn’t want the residential care he knew that he could get low cost housing, he knew this because he had already fallen into that trap once before.

  Juicy's mouth hung open. "Ooookay. Then why are you on the streets?"

  Troy stood up. "Because, THIS," and he spread his arms to indicate her room, her home, her environment. "...makes me nervous. I can't live with all of these...CHAINS!"

  A white lather had collected at the corner of Troy's mouth. His normally grey eyes were dark and intense.

  Juicy nervously dumped the entire plate, including the silverware, into the garbage.

  "Hey, Troy...you should calm down."

  Troy inhaled and his shoulders slumped. "You don't have to worry about me, Juice. I would never hurt you."

  She chuckled nervously. "I wasn't worried about that." Although that's exactly what she had been worried about. Troy made a humming noise then turned and walked into the living room.

  "I gotta go."

  He sat down on the couch and began pulling on filthy tube socks. Juicy's guilt flared. He didn't even have clean socks. She had a bag of tube socks. Tube socks were her preference when she had to stand on her feet for hours on end doing hair.

  She sat down on the couch next to Troy.

  "Throw those filthy socks away. I got a bag of tube socks—never worn. As a matter of fact, I'll wash your clothes. It won't take long. I promise."

  Juicy got up with Troy staring after her. She went into her room and rummaged through one of her drawers for the unopened bag of socks. When she turned around Troy was standing behind her.

  "Ahhh!" She screamed and almost dropped the socks.

  Troy jumped too.

  "You know," he finally said. "We make each other kinda nervous. I think I just want to go."

  "Well take these socks." He nodded and took the socks. Then he went back out to the living room to put them on.

  Juicy rummaged through another drawer until she came up with a bundle of bills. She needed to have spare cash around for when her clients came in needing change. She counted up fifty dollars. 'Is that all your life is worth, Juicy?' she asked herself. She added to that another fifty.

  Troy was tossing the old socks into the trash. She thrust the folded bills at him and hoped that he wouldn't count them.

  Troy almost took it before he realized that the folded bills were fairly large.

  "Man, Juice. Are you crazy? I just thought that you'd give me two or three bucks because of the bus fare. I'm not going to take all of that."

  "Troy, please take this money. It's the only way that I know where I can show my appreciation."

  Troy shoved his hands into his pocket and looked around uncomfortably. "Juicy. I have to ask you a question."

  His sudden nervousness made her apprehensive.

  "What's wrong?"

  "Are you...a prostitute?"

  She gasped, and then she half laughed. "What?!"

  "Well, are you?" Troy didn't find any humor in the question.

  "No!" She crossed her arms protectively in front of her. She felt like she owed him...but not that!

  "Are you a drug dealer then?"

  Now she was getting offended. "Of course not. Do you think all black people are drug dealers and prostitutes?"

  He shook his head. "But I think people that don't have a job and who have wads of money to give away might."

  "What? I have a job."

  "Well...you've been in a coma f
or three days. I understand that you don't have any people. But you didn't make any calls to anybody not even a boss-"

  "Oh..." She released a tense breath. She wasn't mad anymore understanding where he was coming from. "Sweetheart, I am my own boss. I do hair for a living here in my backroom. I make a good living at it, too. So you need to take this money. Troy, I can make close to a thousand dollars in a day doing hair." If she put her mind to it she could do that or more. But in actuality she just didn't have enough regular clients to count on for steady money in that amount.