Smoke Break

So I left Lady for good then got off the bus. It felt right, leaving Lady Prananda. Plus I thought no way sadness is not not not going to happen to this girl right here so I dropped her for good, my supposed best friend, paid fifty cents and jumped off at fucking Freeport.

I didn’t think about her when I got off at the stop and I didn’t look back to see if her nose was pushed hard against the glass, if she were looking for me. I passed the bus stop sign, and the air felt ice-hot, if you know what I’m saying, just spikes of stinging that just slice thinly through you, and that slicing feeling spreads over your skin and you feel nasty and you’re like ugh. The fucking ’Burgh, man. Anyway.

            I just went straight over through those cold doors to Giant Eagle, raised my hand to say hey to Damon the manager and I went back to the office next to pharmacy and started writing my stupid little puns for the Market District newsletter, which was properly my job. Punny right? (Hands off! This nacho cheese.)

            She was a douchebag. She was, right? I don’t know. Maybe? I can’t tell anymore. I really can’t tell.

            She was this short little Indonesian girl, shorter than me!, who delivered newspapers every day at 4am to pay for grad school at Point Park and she had this really beautiful hair that she could do herself and not go to the salon every week like me. It fell over the front part of her face like a wave of black ocean, but she was just playing mind games with me after her parents found out I wasn’t Indonesian because APPARENTLY she LIED and told them my parents were from Jakarta when they were actually Black people from Pittsburgh, just like me. We were yinzers through and through. Sorry, Adrienne, she told them. I just wanted them to think I wasn’t in this country without my people. And they have their ways about Black girls.

            At this point I should have just given up on her but she was my fucking friend, you know? Tight pal. Hip-to-hip. I braided her hair, she styled mine, we went to concerts at Mr. Smalls and saw Viper/Sweet together. She was my best fucking friend. So I let that shit go.

            Then we moved into this two story place together with this weird ass stoner named Jake Yee. I was just sandwiched between these two people from different countries than mine, who were heavy weed smokers and I had never had sex or done anything cool in my life outside of that time I caped for Mr. Copper after he got busted with all those edibles on campus. Anyway, Jake cooked up zong zi so fine it’d make your teeth water so I was cool with him.

Back to leaving her, though. I definitely started trying to imagine a bunch of nasty puns I could shoot at Lady.

Lady: Do you think I’m pretty?

Me: Of course. Pretty/ugly.

            Or maybe something else. Something more cutting. I wanted to be straight up like Kendrick to Drake with my puns. She had been my fucking BEST FRIEND. And now, and now. No longer punny.

            So here’s what led to the drop off. We’re in the back of the bus chatting about something useless and then she’s on the phone with her dad and he’s trying to get her to come back to Jakarta and she’s like hell no I’m staying here, with HENRIETTA, and then he just says something in Indonesian and then she hangs up the phone. I ask her what he said, why she’s so mad and she said, “it’s not a good word,” and I say, “what’s the word, Lady,” and I kind of already know and she says, it’s a bad Indonesian word for…” So I just say forget about it, Lady, and I get up and she’s like I was defending you, I want to be your friend and I’m just done with all this shit with her so I just start walking to the front of the bus and I just get off. It’s all so stupid.

            I can feel her in the office as I work, her spirit encircling me as I write. I don’t know how to love her right, this friend I’ve known for so long who so easily dressed me in a skin fitting for her, but she still loved me, right? I didn’t know. It was all so tiresome.

            When I got back home to our place in Oakland, her bike, a lavender Huffy, was gone. I felt its shadow in her absence and I also wondered why the fuck she was riding it in 10 degree weather and I worried for her. I imagined her, frozen like Lot’s wife, somewhere near Aspinwall, she wouldn’t know where the hell she was going. I could imagine that flopping winter jacket, too big and too forest-colored for her, falling off her frame as she flew. She walked past a chair that had been set out to save a parking spot and right on the porch, smoking weed was Jake Yee, looking high as hell.

            “Yo,” he said, red-eyed.

            “I’m moving,” I said immediately. “Done with this shit with Lady.”

            “She yellowwashing you again?”

            “I’m really tired of it. She needs to stand up for herself and own our friendship. Now her parents are dropping the Indonesian n-word and she’s gonna probably roll with it.”

            “Just let it go.”

            “I’m not going to let it go.”

            “Let’s just fucking smoke, preacher girl. Let’s stop thinking about anything complicated tonight.”

            “I’m so damn tired.”

            “I know.”

            Jake Yee led me inside by the hand and I was inside of his long apartment on the first floor. It was always comforting, the ground adorned with violent-red plush rugs and paintings of Sun-Ra and Marley. The place smelled of crushed paper, Lysol-clean floors and hot kush. He, like Lady, both worked at the newspaper, they were grad students who had been on work visas that had expired so they were delivering Gazettes off the grid until they could get their documents approved. They had befriended each other, finding out they shared the same situation. I who was Lady’s friend just moved in with both. But we were all together.

            Jake rolled up his sweater to scratch his elbow, revealing a sleeve of Toots and the Maytals halfway mid-song. He waved me over to the table and he started chopping leeks for his fried dumplings. I took over the leek cutting while he rolled out the dough.

            “You ladies can fix this.”

            “No,” I said, getting pissed off. I cut the leek a little harder. “We plainly can’t. Sometimes it’s good to just cut certain people out of the fuck of your life. Abracadabra badaboom. What do you call a dog musician? A labracadabror!”

            “How the hell are you going to cut her out of your life? You can’t afford to live in this place without her and I’m definitely not going to let that one go because I can’t afford to live here myself. Oakland is ridiculous now because of the students.”

            “Okay, then I’ll move out then,” I said.

            Jake Yee rolled his eyes and said gently, “Then I’d miss you. And that would be bad for me.”

            I was almost caught off guard by the hint of softness in his voice but I ignored it. “I think I’m going to move.” I was done with the leeks. He had finished rolling the dumplings.

            “’MmKay. In protest I’m not going to help you with not one box. You’re on your own, sister.”

            He said some other shit but I just ignored it. We went over his table and started plopping dumplings in our mouth. He started to light a joint while I ate.

             “Anyway, I have an idea.”

            “Yeah?” I said, preoccupied with the savory meat in the dumpling.

            “What if you and me just pretend-date to piss Lady off? You know she likes me.”

            I sniffed. “Boy, she does not like you.”

            “Maybe she does. I think she might. It will piss her off.”

            “Isn’t this the plot to some C-drama we watched last week?”

            “Probably,” he said. “But it’ll be fun. Come on.”

            “Let me guess,” I said reaching over to take a hit. “The first step is to sleep with you. That’s not happening.”

            Jake Yee winked. “Hey, not against it. My family so deeply doesn’t give a shit about me in general, so you don’t have to worry about Afro-Asian relationship tensions or whatever they fucking call them with me. So what were you saying about sleeping with me?”

            “That I’m not doing it.”

            “Welp.”

            “So much for your plan.” I handed him the joint back.

            “No, I’m serious,” he said, leaning forward. “About pretend-dating. I think it would get you the results you’re looking for.”

            I smacked my lips. “Okay.”

            “Really, girl?”

            “Sure,” I said, leaning back and heaving air from my nose. “Whatever.”

            He laughed and took a hit. “Let’s make it fun then.”

            Me and my pal Stills used to hang out in East Lib and get the best, girl, I mean the BEST BBQ in the city outside of another Giant Eagle (I’m talking about the one that used to be on Shakespeare Street before the gentrifiers came in and fucked up East Liberty. Gosh: white people.). This negro named Alexander would be just sitting outside on his scarlet Jeep clunker handing out spare ribs and mac and cheese to whomever wanted that shit. And it was always me. He also gave out these 99 cents bootlegged movies and he convinced me to buy “12 Years of Slavery” (unintentionally mislabeled). So Stills and I enjoyed the bad cinematography of this nigga focusing in and out of Fassbender’s face while he was sitting in on the movie and licking the BBQ off those sturdy Pittsburgh ribbones.

            Stills was a pretty-faced, hulking African dude, and I’m talking like 7 feet and we never hooked up because he reminded me too much of my dad in the face. When he realized I wasn’t interested he started just chilling with me as a friend and we’d hang out in my apartment and talk shit about nothing much and Jake Yee and Lady would join in and we’d have an old time. But after Jake Yee and I decided to fake date the first person I told to keep this shit on the low was Stills.

            I stopped by his apartment, which was down the street from where Lady, Jake and I lived and he was halfway in bed, nose pressed to pillow. I kicked him in the shin and said, “Yo, Stills. I need to tell you something.”

            He grumbled and reached for another pillow and pressed it over his head.

            “I’m cold. You’re loud. Shut up.”

            “I need you to fake-ify something for me,” I said.

            “Fake-ify? Girl?”

            “Jake Yee and I are going to start dating.”

            At this he shot straight up. “Fuck. Jake? That skinny Yee. Jesus.”

            “It’s not real. I just want to get back at Lady for constantly hiding her family from me or making up stories about me being Indonesian when I’m clearly Black.”

            “Ma, have you ever thought that bitch is racist? And you’re just not giving up on her because you’re kind of crumbly in the heart?”

           “Naw,” I said defensively. “Listen, I just need you to fake support our relationship, OK?”

            He smacked his lips. “God, you’re messy. I’m down.”

            “Okay, great.” He reached over and tried to pull me over to him playfully but I shoved him off.

            “Sleep well, tiger,” I said.

            “You’re about to get fucked up.”

            “Of course,” I said and shut the door behind me.

            Lady finally came home late at night and she went to her room and I just ignored her. I didn’t know what to say. At midnight, I’d come to her door and listen to her pant-sleep and I’d feel guilty for something I didn’t even know was bothering me. Then I’d go lay down and I’d hear her get up, come to my room, wait outside. I’d get up, thinking I was going to talk to her, soothe her, but I was done with that shit. So I went back to sleep, angrily, and I dreamed about rage.

            Early in the morning, Lady was gone early for work with Jake and I wondered if Jake would tell her then. I could barely sleep, wondering, wondering. When a creak sounded through the place at 10 am in the morning, I hoped to see Lady but instead I only saw Jake. He saw me on the third floor peering down and he raised a hand.

            “You’re not looking for me, I gather?” he said, near haggardly.

            “Long shift?”

            “Hell. And I have a test on Tuesday. Little American girls don’t have to worry about shit like that.”

            “Try being Black for a day in America.”

            “Oooh, let’s do this another time. Aren’t we dating?”

            “Lady wasn’t with you?”

            “No.”

            “Okay,” I said and jumped down the two next flights of steps to see Jake at the bottom. “Yes, we’re dating.”

            He reached into his pocket and produced a cigarette lighter. “Smoke break?” He grabbed our coffees and went outside.

            I followed him outside and we plopped down on the punched-in plastic chairs facing a snow packed street. Jake shivered in his oversized coat and scanned the street in front of him. I could hear the Steelers seeping from a half opened window. He raised his skinny legs to his chest and he kept puffing away.

            “If we’re dating, what’s the first thing I need to know about you?”

            “I don’t know man,” I said. “That I’m confusing.”

            “Obviously. Why do you think I thought you’d be down for this?”

            “Trapped, then.”

            “Preacher girls are rarely innocent.”

            “You’re right about that,” I said and reached over to take a puff out of his cigarette. and coughed on the smoke. He laughed and gently took the cigarette back from me.

            “She’ll be back in a few. Let’s just sit in this horrible cold and reflect on our horrible lives.”

            “Speak for yourself,” I said, pulling my shawl closer to me. “My parents are terrific.”

            “Who says shit like that? ‘My parents are terrific.’ No they fucking aren’t. They TRAINED you to say they were terrific to placate you. Your parents are the patriarchy.”

            “Jesus Christ, you’re going too far.”

            “I like you. That’s why we’re dating,” he said and I realized most of the time I spent with Jake Yee was watching him destroy his lungs and diss my or his parents. I put my legs on the rail in front of us and crossed my ankles. I breathed on my coffee to cool it down and watched the road.

            “She’ll come any moment,” he said. “She was behind me but she seemed really down. I think she really cares about you.”

            “If she cared about me,” I said, sipping on my drink. “She wouldn’t let her racist parents get to her.”

            “So you’re saying that your parents will have ZERO problem with you fake-dating me? They won’t be like oh girl got yellow fever or some shit?”

            “No. My parents are classy. They love everyone.” 

            “It doesn’t mean they don’t have their attitudes on the inside. You can lie with your face. I’m sure they do sometimes even though they’re ‘terrific.’” He drank his coffee.

            “Absolutely. But you don’t believe in anyone do you?”

            “No,” he laughed and pointed his chin at a couple trying to climb over a snow hump.  “I don’t.”

            I slid my eyes at him and winked. “What about your fake girlfriend? Unless we’re ‘no labels.’”

            “I told you I like you,” he said, near seriously. I blinked and focused my eyes back on the road. “You’re kind of like a guy, you know,” he said. “Never letting anyone in. Walls up. No labels. All that shit.”

            “You’re fake-dating me aren’t you? Let’s just do that.”

            “Sounds good,” he said tartly and puffed on his cigarette.

            “Oscar Wilde’s last words were: ‘this wallpaper goes or so do I.’ ”

            “Are you serious, Adrienne?”

            I didn’t have time to worry about Jake Yee and his bullshit because Lady waltzed by just then with a sex-stained smile on her face. And I mean a Smile. She was fucking beaming and I knew she’d just been with someone and she was staring at her little green phone and it made me so blazingly rabiosa. I felt like my feet were set from toe to top afire. She almost missed the house she was so joyous and I wanted to get up and yank her back on to the road and tell her COME UPSTAIRS. So she finally realized where we fucking lived and that I was livid and she toddled back up with this little backpack jumping on her shoulders. I wanted to stand up and scream at her but just as I was getting up Jake Yee said, “Hey, let’s do it now,” and I said, “What?” But as I was half-agreeing with him his face was surging at me and I kissed him back, surprisingly hard, and the shock of it confused me and he kept kissing me back harder and there we were just fake making out in front of my best friend. I pushed him off, hot and dry-mouthed, and she was just on the stairs, her mouth hanging open.

            I definitely didn’t want to even look Jake Yee’s way and I forced my face at her and said, “Yeah.”

            She looked like her face was shattering and I felt horrible but then glorious in my win. She opened her mouth to say something but then she just ran off like a little bitch and I looked over at Jake Yee and his face was red like he was angry at ME. Like ME?

           “This was a bad idea,” I spit.

           ‘You feel better?” he spit back.

           “What the fuck is your problem?”

           “You like me too. I felt that pretty fucking clearly. Especially just now.” 

            “I have shit to do right now,” I said. “I owe you nothing.”

           “We’re horrible people,” he said. “Including Lady. Including you.”

            “Give me your cigarette.” I grabbed it, tried to smoke and choked.

            In my room, alone, I nearly fell asleep when I heard a creaking sound coming from Lady’s room. It got louder and louder and then suddenly I heard a shout rip from the room next to us and I instantly knew it was my friend Stills screwing Lady because he’s a stupid idiot too. Jake was right: nobody was to be trusted. I shot up, ran out of my room and slammed on the door and yelled Lady’s name and then she started yelling “Stills!” and riding him harder and I just kicked that door and called her a racist motherfucker until Jake Yee came bounding up the stairs and grabbed me and whisked me right back into my own room.

            “How is getting angry and getting back at her going to make your feel any better?” Jake Yee spoke into my clavicle. The sheets below us were soft and loving.

           “This was your idea to begin with!” I fumed.

           “She’s getting back at us for getting back at her for her parents being racist.”

           “What the hell are you talking about?”

            I realized Jake Yee was on top of me, on my own blue bed after he had brought me back to my room. He realized it too and scanned my body quickly and I felt a surge of something but I shoved him off.

            He laid down next to me and propped up his hand on the side of his face. “Want to play spin the bottle?”

            “Get off of my bed!” I yelled and he slithered down to the ground. He stood up and brushed himself off.

            “So I guess we’re just hiding out waiting for them to stop screwing around so you can what? Attack her?”

            “No,” I said, exhausted. “We just need to bury the hatchet. No more games. I can’t believe I fell for yours to begin with.”

            “Sometimes you learn something from a game.”

            “Whatever,” I breathed. I got up and Jake Yee followed me cautiously as if I were a bomb ready to detonate. Lady burst from the room in Stills’ oversized Lakers’ jersey and she glared at me.

            “What,” she said. I raised my eyebrows. 

            “What?” she screamed.

            “I’m sick of you…what was the word Jake used?” I buckled my hips.

            “Yellowashing,” Jake said, popping in. “That was my term.”

            “Exactly!” I went on. “I’m not Indonesian. I’m just a regular brown-colored Black person. I hate that your parents said that n-word equivalent so much.”

            “I stopped the relationship! I was weak before when I…um “yellow-washed” you? but I got over it.”

            “I just hate it all, Lady,” I said, “You don’t know how much it’s wearing on me.” Lady looked to Jake Yee helplessly and he shrugged, not taking a side.

            She breathed in and out and slumped her shoulders. I felt tired too and I let mine loose as well. Jake Yee reached out and touched both of our shoulders. “Hey. Isn’t everyone kind of racist?”

            We shrugged him off. Lady looked over at Jake and her eyes flashed.

            “So you and Jake are together?”

            “You like him?” I challenged her. Jake Yee bounced up, near excited.

            “Fuck no,” she said. “I’ve BEEN with Stills. He’s my sayang. He just didn’t tell you.” 

            I wildly looked over at the room and started to sizzle with anger and near run in to confront Stills but Jake Yee popped out and gently placed his hands on my shoulders. He kept them there, a little too long and for a second I just let him because I was tired of stupid things like intercultural racism and friend betrayals and mind games and I suddenly just wanted to write my dumb little puns in my Giant Eagle office.

            I slipped out of Jake Yee’s grasp and went to the stairs and sat down. I leaned my head on my hands and I heard Lady sigh. She wrapped her body around mine too. I bristled, broiled, but then finally just let her hug my back. Jake Yee was in Lady’s room hollering at Stills to put his clothes on and then the guys were out too watching this lopsided hug. Jake Yee started to make a stupid joke but Stills pinched him and then we just were, being our strange ourselves, for some time not thinking about color or trauma or fear or parents or want.

            The trash trucks were rumbling along, collecting the chair that reserved the parking spot. I could hear all of these things through the brick walls and hear Lady’s soft breathing and Jake’s black-lunged cough.

            “Y’all want to smoke?” Jake asked.

            We followed him out to the porch. The Pitt students trudged unhappily through the snow and the porchlights blinked and we could hear the hum and screech and roar of cars going down Fifth Avenue. Stills and Lady snuggled together under a downy blanket Lady brought and I watched them, feeling weird. Jake Yee rested against the railing and smacked his lips. I burrowed into the sofachair someone had brought out. Jake Yee looked at me, I looked at him and he winked. I considered winking back but instead gave him a flash of teeth and looked the other way. One bird can’t make a pun. But toucan.

            The black city chattered, chattered all of its lies and jokes back to us and we released ours into its dark face.

---

Jennifer Maritza McCauley is the author of SCAR ON/SCAR OFF, When Trying to Return Home and Kinds of Grace. She has received fellowships from the National Endowment for the Arts, Kimbilio and CantoMundo and her work has been a New York Times Editors’ Choice, Best Fiction Book of the Year by Kirkus Reviews and a Must-Read by Elle, Latinx in Publishing, Ms. Magazine and Southern Review of Books. She is fiction editor at Pleiades and an assistant professor at the University of Missouri-Kansas City.