Push Comes to Shove (3 page)

The other man thrust the envelope toward Kitchie. “Your Rent-A-Center bill is overdue. You’ve been ducking us for over a month now. We’re here to collect or repossess.” He turned to his coworker. “Set that down and go around the corner and get the van.”

“Don’t you people have an ounce of feelings?” GP stepped between Kitchie and the envelope.

“Sometimes it’s an ugly job, but it pays my bills. If you would tighten up on your payments, I wouldn’t even be here.” He slid the envelope under GP’s armpit. “Straighten out this five-hundred twenty-three dollar bill and I’m out of here.”

GP sighed. “I don’t have it right now.” He heard Mr. Reynolds’s antagonizing voice in his head loud and clear.
You’re a bum, Greg. That’s all you’ll ever be
.

“Then I’ll start with the kitchen set and work my way through here.” He pointed to the furnishings.

The Patterson family watched through a window as the two men loaded the last of their furniture into the van. Kitchie fought to hold back the tears.

The bigger man came back inside with sweat beads on his temples.
“Mrs., I’m sorry. Would you please sign here?” He passed her the clipboard and put his finger on the spot where he wanted her signature. “Would it be possible for me to trouble you for a glass of water?”

GP stared at the man as if he had asked for blood.

“Junior, get the man something to drink.” She scribbled her name on the form.

Moments later, Junior returned with a tall glass of water.

The man drained the glass. “Ahh, now that was good and cold.” He turned and left.

Kitchie surveyed their bare living room. Secret was sitting on the radiator, finishing her meal. So much for having a decent meal like a normal family. She went and stood beside GP at the window. “Publishers
fucking
Clearing House. They cleared us out all right.” She and GP watched the Rent-A-Center van drive away. “Papi, this ain’t an April Fool’s joke. You need to do something. This is only a prelude to what’s next.”

GP dropped his head and heard Mr. Reynolds shouting at him for what had to be the millionth time.
You’re a worthless piece of shit. Your mother should have swallowed you
.

Kitchie walked away. “Maybe a glass of cold water will calm my nerves.” She turned on the faucet to fill her glass. The water was lukewarm. She checked the refrigerator. No water jug. No ice. “Junior!” She put her hands on her round hips. “Where did you get the cold water from?”

He looked at Secret and they laughed. “Promise you won’t get mad, Ma.”

She returned to the empty living room, hands still on her hips. “Boy, what did you do?”

“Everybody knows the coldest water in the house is in the toilet.”

T
he morning sun cast its strong rays through the living room. Secret sat in the middle of the floor with her lip poked out and arms crossed. “Why can’t I stay home and go to work with you and Ma?”

GP tied his worn-down boots. “Because school is important. You don’t take days off just because.” He yelled upstairs. “Kitchie, you and Junior get it together. If we’re not out this door in the next five minutes, the kids will miss the school bus, and we’ll miss our bus, too.” He went and sat down beside Secret on the floor. “The only time you don’t want to go to school is when you have to ride the bus. Is someone bullying you?”

“Yeah, right! You should be asking if I’m bullying somebody. How soon before you get the car fixed this time?”

“I’m not sure if it can stand another fixing.” He straightened her collar. “Secret, when did you start keeping secrets from me? If you don’t talk to me, I can’t help you.”

She sighed. “It’s these two girls—sisters—Tameka and Kesha Stevens. Everything is about money with them. They be bragging and showing off because they was in Bow Wow’s video. I only see them at the bus stop and that’s when they shine on me. They think they’re so special because their father is a bank president. National City this, National City Bank that. They be having the hottest stuff, and I gotta go to school in this.” She ran a hand over her skirt. “I got this last year, and I got this shirt on my seventh birthday. They don’t forget nothing; they make sure
everybody else remembers, too.” She sucked her teeth and lowered her head. “When you drop us off at school, I never see them because our grades are different.”

“Secret, some people are blessed more than others.”

“Does that mean they have to be mean and embarrass me because they are?”

“No. Some people are ignorant and don’t know it.” He put his arm around her neck. “What do you be doing while they’re…broadcasting their ignorance?”

“Shoot, I be getting smart right back.”

“But you’re the one with bruised feelings in the end.”

She looked down at the floor. “Seems that way.”

“Being made to feel small or embarrassed isn’t fun. People shine on me, too, when they can. I don’t like it at all, but I learned something.”

She looked at him with wonder.

“I found out that people will keep running their mouths as long as you fuel them with a response. Your mother and I are raising you to be tough, right?”

“What does tough have to do with it? I can beat them both, if they don’t jump me.”

“Tough goes beyond being physical, Secret. If you’re tough enough to ignore them, they’ll leave you alone and find someone else to bother. Someone they can get a response from.”

Kitchie sauntered into the room with calculated grace, holding Junior’s hand. “Let’s go.”

GP helped Secret up. “Would you ignore them for me today?”

“I guess.” She threw her backpack over a shoulder. “Try and get the car fixed fast.”

“I’ll try. Promise that you’ll be tough until I do.”

“I promise.”

“Daddy, there they go right there.” Secret rolled her hazel eyes. “The two with the Cartier shades and Gucci sneakers.”

GP did a quick examination of the two little girls across the street. He had to admit that the sisters looked like a million bucks. He kissed Secret’s forehead. “Don’t sweat it. Remember what I told you.” He gave Junior a high-five and whispered in his ear. “Hold your sister down.”

The children kissed their mother, then headed across the street.

“Secret, hold your brother’s hand.” Kitchie thought about how much things had changed from the time her children were toddlers.

The folding hydraulic door hissed open as the Rapid Transit Authority bus halted in front of GP and Kitchie. They gathered their belongings and climbed onto the bus.

“Good morning.” Kitchie flashed a bus pass and gasped. “Did you see that?” She pointed a manicured finger toward something outside the window.

The driver followed the direction of her index finger. With a sleight of hand, she slipped GP the bus pass.

“See what, lady?” The driver turned back.

“That man over there almost got hit by a car.” She went and took a seat.

GP climbed the last step, flashed the pass, then sat beside Kitchie.

By noon the hustle and bustle of downtown Cleveland was in full swing. Vendors of all varieties had their booths lining the sidewalk between East Fourth and East Eleventh Street off Euclid Avenue.

Kitchie’s part of the hustle was powered by two sources: undue beauty and charm. She was a people magnet. No man could resist the urge to regard her almond hue stretched with precision over a five-foot, four-inch frame accessorized with a tiny waistline, firm breasts, and a thirty-four-inch curve that stuffed the backside of her jeans. Whenever she tossed her nut-brown hair and smiled, Kitchie would reel them in every time.

“Do you have this for a toddler?” Suzette Sanders held up a Street Prophet sweatshirt.

“We don’t stock that particular item in children’s sizes. But my husband can custom-make you one.” Kitchie noticed a man standing near the costume shop’s display window, and his blue eyes were undressing her. “If you give me your child’s size and a way to reach you, I’ll have it ready for you in a week.”

“That’ll be fine.” Suzette dug a business card and pen from her purse. “The choice is yours. I’m a volunteer at the mission two blocks over.”

“I know the place.”

“I’m there every day until around this time.” She finished writing on the back of the card. “You can stop by there or call me, and I’ll come by and pick it up.”

Kitchie took in the information on the card. “Real estate.”

“In my spare time. The majority of my time is spent trying to leave the world better than I found it.”

“I’ll give you a call. I can remember this number by heart, prefix all fives.” Kitchie shoved the card in her back pocket as Suzette strolled away.

Blue Eyes was still watching.

Kitchie rested both hands on her hips. “You can’t get a proper look from over there.” She flashed her admirer a smile. “Come closer so you can really see what I’m working with.”

Blue Eyes stepped away from the costume shop positioned in front of her booth. “If I knew it was that easy, I would’ve come over here twenty minutes ago.”

“Well, now that you realize it wasn’t as difficult as you thought, let me help you make up your mind on what you should buy from me.” She tossed her hair away from her face. “Now you wanna be the first to get this, because when the Street Prophet goes global, you wanna be able to say you were down with the Prophet from day one.” She held a T-shirt up to Blue Eyes and saw GP approaching with a struck-out look etched on his face. “You look like an extra large. T-shirts are ten a pop, but for you… I’ll give you two for fifteen.” She tossed her hair again and tucked a lock behind her ear. “And I’ll throw in some Street Prophet stickers for the kids.” She looked at GP in his Street Prophet shirt and air-brushed jeans. “There goes a loyal supporter of the Prophet.”

Blue Eyes glanced at GP with contempt, then focused on Kitchie again. “I’m not interested in any of your Street Prophet merchandise. What
does
interest me is your number and a dinner date to discuss my e-zine endeavor.”

“Forgive me, but it’s a rule of mine not to give out my number on the first purchase. So what’ll it be, two for fifteen?”

He laughed. “Sexiness and persistence. I like.” He peeled off a twenty-dollar bill. “Where is that adorable girl I’ve seen around here a few times?”