All I Want Is Everything. Daaimah S. Poole
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Название: All I Want Is Everything
Автор: Daaimah S. Poole
Издательство: Ingram
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
isbn: 9780758242327
isbn:
“Yes, you are.”
“No, I didn’t! Get your stuff,” She said as she looked to me to see if I believe she was talking about me too!
They went back and forth among each other as I walked away to the other end of the bar. I could still hear them talking their voices were traveling across the bar.
“Tell your girl to shut up,” Inez told the tired one. “Carry your girlfriend out. She always ruining shit.”
“I told you to leave her home.” Inez helped pull the tall drunk girl out the bar door. As soon as they left I went and removed their glasses.
They tipped me twenty dollars. Any other night I would have been glad someone was being generous, but tonight it felt like they pitied me and thought I needed the extra cash. Fuck them, I thought. I was called away again by There’s-Not-Enough-Liquor-in-My-Daiquiri. She had found some old granddaddy to sponsor her and her friend’s drinks. The old man peeled money out of his wallet, one twenty at a time, and they began ordering.
The rest of the evening was okay. Finally the last customer walked out of the restaurant. I locked the door and counted my register, then my tips. I had made one-fifty for the night—that wasn’t bad. I wiped down the counter and turned off the television. I mopped the floor and put each stool on top of the counter. I said goodbye to Julius and the other waitresses. The entire way home I kept thinking about the comment from that girl from high school at every red light. It kept echoing in my head. I don’t even remember her name and probably won’t see her again, but she just don’t know she fucked up my whole night. I thought I had my life together, but not like theirs. Damn, they the same age as me. They only twenty-five. How do they have their shit together already? How are they so on point? God damn. Especially Ms. Two-Kids-Great-Husband-and-Big-House. I bet that other one can get any man she wants, and she is a nurse. I bet she has a big house or condo and just is living the life too! How did my life get so fucked up? How did I end up in this dead-end-ass job? And how did she remember my dreams when I’d forgotten them? I’ve always wanted to sing. I’ve been singing since I could remember, and now I don’t sing at all.
November 1997
“Sing it, girl, sing it! Like you have some feeling!” I heard my friend Chantel’s squeaky voice shout from the first row of the empty school auditorium.
“I believe I can fly, I believe I can touch the sky. Think about it every night and day, spread my wings and fly away. I believe I can soar, I see me running through that open door. I believe I can fly, I believe I can fly, I believe I can fly.” I tried to sing, even though I was hoarse from practicing every day. Everyone was listening intently, until a tall, lanky, pimple-faced boy named Terrance walked up to the stage and I heard him say something smart like, “Next.”
I stopped singing and said, “What did you say, Terrance?”
“I said ‘next.’ Get your non-singing ass off the stage.”
“Make me get the fuck off the stage,” I said as I looked around to see if Mrs. Drake, the music teacher, was anywhere in sight.
“Yo, don’t be mad at me ’cause you can’t sing and your chest is flat.”
“Your mom, bitch,” I snapped back.
“You calling my mom a bitch?” He jumped on the stage and acted like he was going to fight me. A few other students intervened and separated us. I was not scared at all. I wish he would have hit me. Other boys were coming up to him saying, “You don’t fight girls, man.” He was still saying stuff and trying to get to me like a little girl.
“Let ’em go, because the minute he touches me I’m going to bring my brother up here to knock him out.”
“Yeah, whatever Dracula. You just need to get that fang fixed and shut up,” he said.
“Make me shut up.” I jumped in front of everyone and put my finger up to his temple.
“You lucky you a girl,” he said, backing away from me. “No, you lucky,” I said as I walked away from his dumb ass. “That’s why I hate immature-ass high school boys.” I stomped down the stage steps. Chantel met me at the bottom of the steps and said, “Don’t worry about him.” She was a petite girl with big uncombed curls in her hair and dark chocolate skin. She was very stylish and coordinated, and everything she wore was a designer name.
“Trust me, I’m not,” I said calming myself down. I had shut him right up. He was just trying to get me offstage so him and his friends could do a stupid dance routine.
“Girl, you know you can sing. Last year at the talent show when you hit that high note, people were crying. I saw it with my own eyes. One day you are going to be rich and famous and he’s going to be trying to get an autograph.”
“You think so?” I laughed as I grabbed my bag off the chair and walked toward the door.
“Definitely. And when you make it big, just don’t forget about me.”
“I won’t forget about you. I’ll let you be my backup singer.” I laughed.
We walked down the hall to our lockers. I was so excited that our school talent show was coming up—and ours was not an ordinary talent show. It was a big deal. Everybody from all these other schools and people who already graduated would come to see it. People would always come up to me and say, “What you going to sing for the talent show?” or “Let me hear you sing.” I had been practicing every single day. I was a senior so it was my last year, and I had to go out with a bang. I was singing R. Kelly’s song “I Believe” because it was powerful and I knew I could do it justice. I wanted to sing a song that was in my range. That’s how people mess up, singing songs that are too strong for their voices. My music teacher said you always have to make a song your own, and I planned to do just that.
“Walk me to the bathroom,” I said to Chantel.
We walked into the bathroom to check my hair. It was black with a part in the middle. My skin was cocoa-brown, I was 5?7?, and super slim. My black hair stopped at my jawline. I really think I’m way too skinny. People think being skinny is the best thing. Being skinny is not cool. I don’t have any breasts and I’ve been called everything from Itty-bitty Committee to Piper, but I know I look good, so it doesn’t even matter.
“Well, I have to get to work. I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said as I gathered my belongings and walked out of the bathroom.
“You need a ride?” Chantel asked as we walked through the steel-green double doors and out of the building.
“You driving?” I asked, surprised.
“Yeah, my mom bought me a car,” she said, smiling.
“That is so nice. I’m getting a car too!”
“When?” she asked like she didn’t believe me.
“Probably in like two months. I have been saving my money and my brother is going to take me to get my license.”
“How much you have saved?”
“A couple hundred,” I said.
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