Flyy Girl

  “Yo, man, you know some dude named Timmy?” asked a lemon-skinned boy on Timmy’s block of row-houses. He was eighteen, wearing a plain blue baseball cap.

  “Naw, why?” a tall, dark brown neighbor asked.

  “I mean, if you don’t know him, what you worried about it for?”

  “Yeah, I know him. So what’s the problem?” another resident said from the patio. He walked down to the pavement and stared. He was thick built, and nineteen.

  Lemon-skin said, “Well, I heard that this is his block, and I wanna speak to ’im about somethin’.”

  “About what?”

  More neighbors gathered as Lemon-skin backed up and pulled out a gun. They all wanted to scatter but remained calm, scared of becoming a statistic in the Daily News.

  “Y’all tell that pussy that I’m gon’ kill his ass,” the boy responded. He jammed his gun back inside of his jacket and dashed around the corner. A few of the neighbors ran into their houses to get their guns. They all ran around the corner after him, but the quick-footed boy was long gone.

  Only two minutes after the incident, Timmy walked around the opposite corner with Tracy. All eyes were glued to them.

  “Yo, man, come here for a minute,” the thick-built neighbor said privately. He didn’t want to alarm Tracy.

  “What’s up?” Timmy asked him.

  “Some dude just came around here and pulled a gun out, looking for you.”

  “A light-skinned dude?”

  “Yeah, why? You stole some shit from ’im?”

  “Aw, man, that was Doug. He a nut. He probably didn’t have bullets in the gun,” Timmy responded with a chuckle.

  Tracy waited for him at his door.

  “Ay Tim, man, you better watch yourself, boy,” Thick-built warned.

  Timmy had just turned sixteen, and he was headed for jail or the morgue.

  He entered his house with Tracy.

  Tracy asked, “What was that about?”

  “Oh, don’t worry about that, girl. Everything is taken care of.” Timmy hugged her and snatched her firmly by the backside. Tracy threw her arms around him. They kissed, and Timmy hastily led her to his room, where they undressed, going at it again.

  Tracy walked to the avenue to get some morning cereal for Jason. Wayne Avenue was empty. Tracy looked around, feeling peculiar and decided to walk ahead to the supermarket. Summer had just begun; all the public schools had let out two days earlier. It was hot and sunny, and Tracy figured that there should have been a crowd of people out on the avenue.

  Tracy came out from the store and noticed a lanky boy wearing a red hat with a C on it. She paid him no mind. The boy then glanced at her and turned his head quickly away. Tracy thought about it, wanting to take another look. She turned in his direction just as the boy ran past and grabbed the chains from around her neck, pulling a few of them off. It happened too fast for her to even let out a cry for help.

  Tracy cursed him, feeling helpless. He had dropped the two smaller chains, but he had gotten away with the larger, more expensive ones, a Gucci link that Timmy had bought for her and the herringbone that she had saved to buy only a year ago.

  • • •

  “Mom, I just got my chains snatched,” Tracy mumbled, walking into her mother’s room with tears in her eyes.

  Patti jumped up from her bed. “Oh no, girl. Look at these scratches on your neck.” She took her daughter to the bathroom and poured some rubbing alcohol into her hands to apply to Tracy’s neck.

  “OOOWWW!” Tracy squealed, tensing from the sting.

  “Did you see what he looked like?”

  Tracy sucked in air to take in the pain. “Yeah, he had on this red Cincinnati baseball hat. He was about my height, and skinny.” Tears streamed down her face.

  “Which chains did he get? He didn’t get all of them, did he?”

  “No, but he got my herringbone and the Gucci link that Timmy bought for me,” Tracy whined, showing her mother the smaller chains in her hand.

  “Hmm,” Patti grunted. “How much did that Gucci thing cost?”

  “Like three hundred,” Tracy admitted.

  “Three hundred dollars?” Patti responded, expecting as much. “He didn’t have any business buying you no three-hundred-dollar chain anyway,” she commented protectively. She figured that any young man would act like a fool about losing something that he had bought for his girlfriend. But it wasn’t Tracy’s fault. “So you’re gonna tell Timmy about this?” she asked, knowing that he would worry her about it.

  “I wish I didn’t have to, ’cause he gon’ get all out of shape about it. Watch. I know he is.”

  “Well, maybe you should stay away from him for a while,” Patti suggested.

  Only hours later, Tracy ended up on the avenue explaining to Timmy a blow by blow of what happened.

  Timmy grimaced. “So where was he standing at?”

  “I told you, right here,” Tracy said, pointing to the spot.

  Timmy shook his head, frowning. He was nagging the hell out of her. “You gon’ tell me that nobody was out here?”

  Tracy sighed. “Jantel said that it was a fight that everybody went to see, down the hill.”

  “Get the fuck out of here, girl! What I look like? You tellin’ me that the whole avenue went to see a fight?”

  “Yeah, Timmy. DAG!”

  He angrily grabbed Tracy by the neck and pushed her toward the corner.

  “Won’t you stop, Timmy?” she pleaded.

  “What you gon’ do if I don’t?”

  Tracy’s voice cracked. “It’s not my fault.”

  “Why was you down here wearing your chains in the first place? You probably just wanted to see some nigga.”

  Timmy dragged her off of the avenue by her arm.

  “GET OFF OF ME!” Tracy screamed, as he pulled her along.

  “Shet up, before I punch you in your fuckin’ mouth!”

  A silver Mercedes Benz pulled up to the curb. The door swung open, and Victor Hinson jumped out from the passenger side. “YO! What the fuck is your problem, man?” he yelled at Timmy.

  Tracy was stunned.

  “What?” Timmy responded hesitantly.

  Victor approached him as if he was ready to fight. “You got a problem with her, man?” he asked.

  Timmy backed away, still holding on to Tracy’s arm. “This ain’t got nothin’ to do with you,” he told him.

  Victor clenched his hands together and said, “Cuz’, I’m gon’ tell you one time to let her fuckin’ go. And after that, you gon’ wish you never heard of me.”

  Timmy gave Victor an evil eye and let go of Tracy’s arm. He then trotted down the street away from them, ready to kill. He had been embarrassed beyond belief. She gon’ pay for this shit! he told himself. Fuck that nigga, and his brother!

  “You want a ride home?” Victor asked Tracy.

  She looked toward the car and shook her head as she began to walk away. Victor had only made her situation worse.

  “Yo, you need to pick a new friend,” he told her as he climbed back into the car. “That’s the young-girl that I was telling you about, Todd,” he said to his brother.

  Todd shifted his Mercedes back into drive and said, “She got a lot of growing up to do.”

  Victor nodded. “Yeah, I know. But she gon’ be aw’ight.”

  Todd looked at his younger brother and smirked. “Sounds like she got your nose open.”

  Victor smiled and shook his head. “Naw, never that. I’m just lookin’ out for her, that’s all.”

  Even though Tracy felt much admiration and respect for Victor’s actions, she was still dedicated to Timmy, but he did not speak to her for three days. Each event made her feel strangely closer to him, yet further apart. She was learning him, his pain and his loneliness. She understood that violence and crime were Timmy’s means of letting out his frustrations.

  Tracy remained loyal and at his command at the ball games, the parties, the movies and every other place he took her to
be showcased. Timmy no longer allowed her to hang out with girlfriends like Carmen, who had a reputation for being loose, nor with Raheema, whom he hated simply for acting snotty and spreading gossip about him. And as far as Victor was concerned, He’s too busy for me anyway, Tracy thought. I’m not gonna be one of his girls, she told herself. She preferred to be with Timmy, despite his attitudes. At least he was consistent.

  “Damn, cuz’! Who is that?” Timmy’s tall, dark brown friend asked. Jay watched Raheema walk up to her house.

  “Go ahead and find out, Jay,” Timmy told him, knowing better.

  “Hi,” Jay said to Raheema. Jay was a basketball addict, morning, afternoon and night.

  “Hi,” Raheema responded, opening up her door to go in.

  Jay asked, “Can I talk to you real quick?”

  “That’s all right.”

  Timmy giggled as Raheema went in and closed the door back. “See, man, I told you. That bitch a nut. Nobody gets along with her, cuz’.”

  Tracy came out and overheard him talking about her neighbor. “Stop talkin’ about her then,” she interjected.

  “So you goin’ to that concert tonight, hunh, Jay?” Timmy asked, changing the subject.

  “Yeah, man. You should take her. It’s gon’ be Run DMC, Whodini, LL Cool J, The Fat Boys, them white Beastie Boys. Cuz’, it’s gon’ be live!”

  Timmy contested, “Naw, you never take your girl to no shit like that. It’s always some muthafuckas acting crazy, tryin’ to talk to her. And them niggas be a hundred thick from South Philly.”

  Tracy said with an attitude, “Oh, it’s gon’ be thousands of other girls there, and they just gon’ pick me, hunh?”

  “Ay, you gettin’ a little bold, talkin’ that shit, girl. You better shet the fuck up,” Timmy responded to her.

  Tracy went in the house and took a seat on the couch, disappointed. Timmy followed her, leaving his friend outside.

  “Now you wasn’t even thinking about that concert until he said somethin’,” he commented.

  Tracy crossed her legs, and pouted, “You the one who brought it up. You just wanted to tease me about it.”

  Timmy chuckled.

  “Now why you laughin’?” Tracy asked, standing back up and in his face.

  Timmy sat her back down. “Come on now, stop playin’ wit’ me, before I have to hurt you. Now you know me better than that, girl.”

  Tracy looked away. “That’s all you know how to do is hurt me.”

  Timmy sat down beside her and kissed her ear. “Well, we gon’ go out to eat tonight or somethin’. Okay?”

  “I don’t want to,” Tracy told him with a long face.

  “What ’chew wanna do then? ’Cause I’m not goin’ to that concert. I’m tellin’ you that shit right now.”

  “Let’s go to the movies,” Tracy suggested.

  Timmy nodded his head. “Aw’ight. We can do that.”

  Going to the movies with Timmy became less exciting for Tracy. Their relationship was slowly falling apart. They always ended up in bed, no matter what they did. Timmy was “whipped.” Tracy knew it. There was no longer any foreplay to stimulate her, and they were always in danger from someone chasing after Timmy. It was more than Tracy could handle. They could not go out in peace. Timmy was constantly watching his back.

  I never felt scared all the time when I was with Victor, Tracy thought to herself. But he never really took me anywhere.

  “I’m tired of this,” she complained. She and Timmy ended up naked again, inside of a hotel bedroom that one of Timmy’s older friends had gotten for him.

  Timmy asked, while stretched out in the bed, “What are you talkin’ about? Look, we went to the movies, right?”

  “I’m talkin’ about how we always do this routine stuff.”

  Timmy laughed. “I thought you said that I was full of surprises.”

  “Well, I was wrong. And the only surprise that you have is doing things without warning.”

  Timmy looked puzzled. “So, that’s still a surprise.”

  Tracy yelled, putting on her clothes, “Well, it ain’t shit new!”

  Timmy gripped her arm. “Where’re you goin’?”

  Tracy snapped, “Oh, wow, I’m not even fifteen yet, and you think I’m your fuckin’ wife.”

  Timmy thought about it. Yeah, we are kind of young for this, but that’s what makes it cool. “Well, you act and look old enough,” he told her, pulling her back in bed.

  Tracy sighed. “Come on now, Timmy, this is boring. I wanna go home.”

  Timmy frowned at her. “So what ’chew sayin’?”

  Tracy thought for a moment. “Did you treat your other girls like this?”

  “What does it matter?”

  “Because, I didn’t think you was this possessive.”

  “Well, you’re my girl, right?”

  “But I still need room and freedom.”

  “What?” Timmy snapped. “Okay, you want freedom. Get the fuck out then!”

  Timmy led her to the door and pushed her out.

  Tracy pleaded, “See, why you gettin’ mad like this.”

  “ ’Cause I feel like it!”

  Tracy yelled through the door, “You a pussy anyway!”

  Timmy rushed out in a fury, wearing his drawers. He chased Tracy down the hall, caught up to her and punched her in her mouth. He then banged her head on the wall and threw her to the carpeted floor.

  “NOW! Call me a pussy again. BITCH!”

  Tracy ran to the elevator and rode it down to the lobby level with a busted lip and a headache. She wept and sucked her lip as she walked to catch a bus back home. It was ten o’clock, and Timmy had humiliated her for the last time. She was tired of him.

  Tracy got home and snuck into her bedroom, not wanting her mother to see her. She wiped the tears from her eyes and iced her lips.

  It was the first time she had ever been beaten on. She felt that she had experienced everything that makes a woman, as if she was in a bad marriage. I’m too young for this, she told herself. He don’t own me.

  “How you get that bruise on your lip?” Raheema asked Tracy on the steps that next day.

  Tracy stared out at the street. “Timmy did it.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I told him I didn’t want to be around him no more.”

  “And he just punched you in your lip?”

  “He kicked me out and chased me first,” Tracy answered. She didn’t want to tell Raheema that they had been inside of a hotel room.

  “So you’re going to quit him now?”

  “I don’t know,” Tracy mumbled. She wanted to hear what Timmy had to say first.

  “Mmm,” Raheema grunted. “I would quit him if I were you.”

  Raheema went inside the house and left Tracy alone with a busted lip and damaged pride in ninety-degree weather, while she watched her brother all day. Tracy figured she had been through enough emotionally to last for the rest of the summer.

  Timmy and his friends prepared for a major theft inside of a department store. They drove to a suburban mall and waited inside until it was almost ready to close. With limited cameras and theft detectors, the only thing that concerned them were the aged security guards.

  Timmy unfolded a trash bag and started throwing in jeans and shirts as his friends followed his lead. Once it was half full, Timmy dropped the bag and pushed it under a clothing rack. He watched all sides for walkers-by. He then kicked the bag closer to the door. It was an easy nighttime job. Timmy and his friends made it out undiscovered and tossed the stolen merchandise in the trunk.

  Timmy grinned. “I told y’all it would be an easy-ass hit.”

  Mat, the chubby brown driver, shook his head. “Damn, man, I don’t believe that security.”

  Basketball Jay said, “Yup, but we got to keep things low, ’cause we took so much that they might put a word out on the streets for a snitch.”

  Mat contested, “They can’t touch us anyway. We’re not in their distr
ict.”

  Timmy retorted, “Y’all can talk all that shit if y’all want, but I’m gettin’ paid.”

  • • •

  Timmy had an increasing hunger for stealing since Tracy was no longer around him. He started romancing a new girl and had moved out of his mother’s home. No one knew where he was staying.

  He continued to steal, deviously, sticking up stores and everyday citizens around the city. His friends feared his destructive path. Timmy was developing into an all-out criminal at the tender age of sixteen.

  “Y’all wanna stick up that spot up on Seventeenth Street?” Timmy asked his friends. He was visiting on his mother’s Germantown block. “They be gettin’ paid in that bitch, y’all. I just peeped that shit,” he said.

  Thick-built responded, “Naw, man, and you crazy to even be up here.”

  “Did the cops come to my house?”

  “Fuckin’ right they did. I mean, they huntin’ for your ass, cuz’. You better start wearin’ shades,” Thick-built joked.

  Timmy did not look as well groomed as he usually did. He had been drinking and doing drugs, and his rusty-brown hair was growing wild under a blood-red Phillies cap.

  “Aw, man, as long as they don’t know where I’m at, fuck the cops.”

  Thick-built said, “You crazy as shit, man. I don’t see how you be doin’ that dumb shit.”

  Timmy persisted. “Look, cuz’, is you down or what?”

  Basketball Jay stepped up. “Fuck it. I’m wit’ it.”

  “Dig, cuz’, I’m down,” Chubby Mat agreed.

  Timmy directed. “Bet. Let’s go steal a lemon and roll.”

  Thick-built shook his head. “Y’all niggas is crazy to be listening to him. That muthafucka out his mind.”

  They went with Timmy anyway.

  Timmy left it up to Mat, the car specialist, to hot-wire a car. They drove with the lights off until they were out of Dodge. Timmy then showed Mat where the place was. They got there in a hurry, filled with nervous energy. Timmy pulled out two small-caliber guns, giving one to Jay.

  “Where you get these from?” Jay asked him apprehensively.