Jordan Belcher - Status

I was almost to the door when I saw a man that resembled Ladykiller’s profile picture coming in the building. I stopped so fast I stumbled forward a little.

“Tyesha Fenty,” he called with a big smile.

He used my real name, not my Site name. I figured he knew it because most of my relatives on my page had the last name Fenty. He was wearing a black sweat suit with neon green resistance bands slung over his shoulder.

When he opened his arms for a hug, I slightly turned my shoulder toward him so he couldn’t get a full embrace.

“How you doing?” he asked, as if we were old buddies.

“I’m good,” I said with a nervous smile. “Just got through workin’ out. Funny we should meet up here.”

“It is, ain’t it? I was already on my way here when I saw yo status. I didn’t know if you was at this one or the one in Overland Park. You stay near here?”

“No, I stay far, far out. Clear across town.” Actually, I stayed right down the street. About six blocks from here. I took a step toward the door, hoping he would get the hint.

“How’s yo little girl doing? Kylie, right?”

“She’s fine. I have to go pick her up.”

“I know. Yo momma’s watching her until you find another daycare. Is she getting any better with that hoarding? I remember you posted a status about her problem of not being able to throw anything away.”

It felt super weird hearing him mention personal stuff about my family. And I know he could see the uncomfortable look on my face.

“I really have to go,” I said. I didn’t want to just walk off because that would have been rude.

“I won’t hold you up.”

I smiled and headed out the door. By the time I got my bag in my trunk and my butt in the driver’s seat and checked my phone, Ladykiller had already posted a message on my Site wall.

Ladykiller > Tyesha816:It was good seeing you!

Crazy motherfucker , I thought. I tapped the “settings” icon and quickly clicked on the “block” feature. Now he’d never be able to see my status updates again.

Tyesha816:Hey yall! Be careful what yall put on here. These people is crazy and will stalk you. I’m talking from experience!

August 14th, 5:09 p.m.

I couldn’t believe it. Yesterday when I was here at my mother’s house, I at least had a pathway to the kitchen. Now, standing in the threshold of the front door, I saw in order to get through the house I’d have to crawl over a bunch of cardboard boxes. She must have gone out and bought more crap.

Most of the boxes were open, with long handles and sharp ends of appliances sticking up out of some of them, which made it that much harder navigating to the kitchen. I bumped my knee on the edge of the end table—the one thing that was supposed to be in the living room—and dropped my phone in a box. When I bent down to pick it up, I saw a chain and a heart-shaped locket stuck between some taxes paperwork.

I pulled it out and held it up. At first I thought it was one of my mother’s old charms, until I opened it. I let out a laugh. It was a tiny throwback picture of me and Rodrick inside. Our prom picture. In it, my sideburns were horridly gelled down and Rodrick had a full set of gold teeth.

“Can I give this to Kylie, momma?”

Velma Fenty was in the kitchen chopping up an onion insanely fast into little pieces. She paused mid-chop to look. “And you wonder why I hold on to all this stuff,” she said. “There’s a lot of memories in some of those boxes.”

“I never said you should get rid of all of it. Just go through it and get rid of the stuff you don’t need.”

“I will.”

“You’ve been saying that for at least twenty years. I remember building club houses in the attic out of your packed boxes. I bet it’s a picture of one of my club houses in here somewhere.”

I dug in the box and found another picture. It was taken at one of my birthday parties, I don’t know which year. The little girl with the glitter all over her face in the bottom corner was me; my face was blurred from running past the camera. The shot of my dad though, holding one of the kids at the party, had good sharpness and contrast. He was captured eternally smiling at my blurry head.

I showed the flick to my mom. “Who is this little boy Daddy is holding? Is that Aunt Jene’s son?”

Velma snatched the picture, crumpled it and tossed it in the waste basket.

“Momma!” I whined.

“You want me to start getting rid of stuff. There you go.”

“How can you still hate him? He’s dead! And I don’t have that many pictures of him.” I got the photo out the trash and uncrumpled it on the counter.

“Am I supposed to forgive him because he’s dead?” she asked.

“Yes!”

“I can’t do it, Tyesha. I forgave him too many times and he kept cheating. And I see you making the same mistakes I made. When are you gonna let that no-good boy Rodrick go? Every time I check your profile page, I pray to God your relationship status has changed. I’m disappointed every time.”

Sometimes I wished I hadn’t added my mother as a friend. I introduced her to the Site about three years ago, not too long after my father, a Rollin 60s Crip who migrated from Los Angeles, died. He burned to death in a pool hall fire. His body was discovered, black and charred, with his arms protectively wrapped around his girlfriend—and that infuriated my mother even more. I got her to create a profile in hopes that she would find a male friend from her high school days, but it seemed like she paid more attention to my stats than her peers’.

“I don’t want you to think I’m ‘stalking’ your page,” she went on. “I don’t comment on your statuses like I used to. I’m just worried about you, Tyesha.”

I realized what she was getting at. “Momma, my status today wasn’t about you.”

She started chopping again.

“I’m serious. It was about somebody else.”

“Okay, whatever. Your daughter’s upstairs.”

In the mail bin beside the microwave, I caught sight of an opened bill with Wells Fargo printed on the return address. I didn’t have to read the whole letter to know what it was. Two words at the top said it all: “mortgage” and “foreclosure.” In the past, I had tried to give my mother money because I knew she was struggling to make it after my father passed. She refused because she thought it was going to come from Rodrick’s drug money. Not that she was against drug money—my father sold drugs from time to time. She was just against Rodrick’s money. She hated him because we had a child out of wedlock and because, in her eyes, he should be treating me way better.

I gave my mother a warm hug from behind and went up and found Kylie playing with some of my old dolls. I started to ask her where she found them, but it was obvious she’d got them out of one of the many boxes cluttering this room. She loved coming over here because she never knew what she’d find.

After giving her the wettest kisses and hugging her until she grunted for air, I pushed some old clothes off the twin bed and had a seat. Crossing my legs as I loaded up The Site on my phone, a childish grin spread across my face. I couldn’t wait to see the comments about my stalker stat and respond.

Cara Unbroken Fisher:My ex-boyfriend’s cousin keep telling me how sexy I am on all the photos I post. Ugh! He is ugly as shit.

Christina MsFineGirl:That’s why I’m extra careful who I accept as my friend on here. If u don’t know me, DON’T SEND ME A FRIEND REQUEST !

Melissa Nelson:I feel you, Tyesha. My next door neighbor always tells me “good morning” and “good night” on my wall. It wouldn’t feel so weird if he wasn’t a 54-year-old white man! That’s why I keep all my curtains closed.