Rion Scott - Insurrections

Riverbaby?

Guess not. Were you born here? You from Cross River?

Oh, yeah, Riverbaby. Naw, but at Freedman’s University they say I’m an expert in Cross River history. Yeah, I come from D.C. Ricca’s from up north. New York. But she moved to Maryland — not Maryland like Cross River, Maryland, but Maryland like right-outside-of-D.C.-Maryland — when she was in high school. We met when I was in college in D.C. She was an undergraduate, I was in grad school. Well, she dropped out and I told her to go back and she did. We moved out here because I got a job teaching at the college. But look, Walter, shit’s one of those compromises where everyone loses. She wanted to move back to New York to be with her mother, I wanted to stay in D.C., so we moved to a neutral spot.

Marriage is compromise.

Compromising yourself. All your principles. Everything. Nobody wins.

Luce wins.

I guess Luce wins. He doesn’t even realize some kind of cold war is going on all around him. Man, I’m talking all this shit—

I get a feeling you never said it to anyone before.

Rashid became quiet. Took a long sip from his can.

Hey Walter, let me tell you about this party, one we had back when we was living in D.C. It was a surprise. I didn’t know. Ricca didn’t know. Man, no one knew. Sometimes I think the people who surprised me didn’t even know. Shit just happened. Like magic.

Walter settled into the couch and opened another beer, but he didn’t drink. He was feeling lightheaded already, and it had been years since he’d been drunk. Many more since he’d been regularly drunk, weekly and before that daily. He imagined that Rashid, with his light frame and weak spirit, was far more gone than he. Who knew how many beers he had self-medicated with before ginning up the spirit to come downstairs.

It was the day after my graduation, Rashid said. Now I’m a historian with a Ph.D and shit. Dr. Rashid, Ricca keeps calling me. She graduated the semester before. And we’re having a lazy Sunday, right? Just thinking about the future. Half happy I was done. Half anxious about getting a job and getting the fuck on with my life. Ricca’s father was in the hospital. Last time, but we ain’t know that. We had been talking about going to see him, but no firm plans. She says we did, but really we had no firm plans for nothing. I’m half sleep and Ricca is doing something, I don’t remember what. I hear the doorbell ringing and then some pounding at the door and then the door ringing again and I’m all like, what-the-fuck.

I lived in this neighborhood in the northwest part of town off this street called Georgia Avenue where you could look out the window and see crackheads hiding in a shed having sex and shit, so I’m kind of wary of people banging on my door and ringing the bell all crazy. I look out the damn window and it’s Floyd and Bradley and this white chick, Kyla. Ricca ain’t like that. They were all in class with me. We were like a clique. A little circle. So tight, like a family. Kept everybody out. Meeting them was like falling in love. Powerful group chemistry, Walter. Sometimes you either feel like that with people or you don’t. And it’s rare. There was one other chick in our group, but I don’t know where she was at that day. She was married even back then, so she didn’t always hang. Was in that I’m-married-and-marriage-is-the-greatest-shit-ever-and-you-should-be-married-too-so-you-can-be-as-happy-as-me! phase. I think that’s some face-saving desperation shit. Loved her, but I got tired of her telling me I need to marry Ricca or be alone for the rest of my life. Being alone is no crime. When they came in with their beers and chips and shit, that’s what we talked about, Sonya and her lame marriage. I didn’t like her husband. None of us did. And they didn’t seem to like Ricca. I knew that’s what they talked about when I wasn’t around. Floyd, he’s gay. We didn’t like none of the dudes he brought around. Anyone on the border of the group was like an enemy. Kyla and Brad were kind of a couple, almost. Never called themselves a couple, but always flirting and off alone together. But here’s the thing: Kyla wanted to have sex with me. She was on and off real aggressive about it, and when she fell back, I missed the attention and tried to get in her light again. I’m fucked up, Walter. We even made out once or twice and promised not to tell Brad. I see how you’re looking at me, Walter, with your lids all low in judgment. You remember being in your twenties?

I’m not looking at you any kind of way, Rashid. Go ahead.

When they show up with their beer, I’m all dazed, but I’m happy to see them. If I could, I’d see them three or four nights out of seven even now that I don’t see them at all. They pass out beers and we’re laughing and shit and they barely even acknowledge Ricca, outside of offering her a beer they know she’s not going to drink. I could tell she’s pissed, and part of me was sad about that, but another part of me was having a great time. Listening to music. Making jokes. Talking about things that happened in class. Our professors. History shit. They hadn’t graduated yet, so we were talking about the future too. Man, it’s like this was a dream or something. Kyla’s flirting with me, but trying to keep it discreet so Bradley and Ricca don’t notice. Making these eyes, you know. Making all these comments only she and I would get. Inside jokes. Double entendres. She’s really smart when it comes to wordplay. Brad’s clueless. Ricca leaves the fucking room. I excuse myself to go after her, and she doesn’t talk about Kyla, even though I know that’s what bothers her; she’s like, What the hell is this? We’re supposed to go and see my dad .

I tell her that wasn’t confirmed. We can go tomorrow, I say. She’s like, He’s sick. There might not be a tomorrow . Which makes me stop and think, but I decide she’s being dramatic. I say, I don’t want to be rude to my friends. She’s like, They’re being rude by showing up unannounced. I wish we weren’t here . Then I said, Come back to the party. Dad will be there tomorrow. Single most insensitive thing I ever said, and you know what, I never even apologized for it. She put on some going-out clothes and went out the door, and I went back to the party and had another beer. My friends didn’t even ask why Ricca left. They didn’t care. I imagine they were relieved.

You put your friends above your girl? Walter asked. That’s a classic young-boy mistake. Seems to me you were too old for that.

Probably.

Or were you just thinking about getting a piece of that white girl?

Maybe. I don’t know. As soon as I sat down, she was back at it. I kept looking at Brad like, open your eyes. Brad’s drunk and laughing with Floyd. As soon as Ricca left, though, I started feeling haunted. I heard Ricca’s dad in my ear. Dude was good to me. Almost like a father. Had a real gruff voice, and sometimes people thought he was mean, but really he was gentle and giving and shit. Then I thought about my own grandmother. Was supposed to spend the whole day with her in the rehabilitation center right before she passed. Stayed home and studied. Said she’d want me to do well. She had a stroke and died the next morning before I could see her. I was listening to my friends with one ear, but in the other ear Ricca’s father was talking to his daughter, saying some shit like, I’m glad you’re here, but where is Rashid? What a shame. Told you the boy ain’t shit .

Kyla touched my elbow and was like, You look all dazed. Let’s go downstairs. We can get some fresh air downstairs. Come, let’s go downstairs.

Maybe her ancestors made up codes for the Underground Railroad or something. Her offer to give me head was brilliant. Like poetry, Walter. The repetition of downstairs . The well-placed use of the word come . Man, Walter, I’m ashamed to say I was aroused, watching her mouth. She had on this shiny-ass lipstick. Looked moist. Ready.