One look at the neon signs in the same store front window, reading “BRAIDS,” and “FISH BURGER SPECIAL,” and I knew I was in the hood. Another block of storefronts with still more braiding salons, and questionable eateries, and it occurred to me that these are the kinds of places that the hood needs. Just the bare necessities without anything fancy about them. It’s straight-forward, no frills.
I had made the mistake of telling Cedric I was hungry, so when his friends pulled up to a bunk philly cheese steak place I had to claim that I was fine. There was no way I was going to consume anything from that place. Chris, the hyperactive, funny man, asked, “I thought you were hungry. What is this, some sort of miracle or something?” Laughing, he bounced outta the car and went into the store to fulfill his munchies craving.
When Cedric picked me up, with “Hood Nigga,” blaring, I had a feeling we were just going to a house. We went to his friend’s house in Hayward, on the border of East Oakland. “No, it’s West Oakland that’s really, really bad. You don’t want to go there,” Cedric clarified, after I said I’d heard bad things about East Oakland. Well, too bad I’ve already been there. “You scared of the hood?” I smiled because I was nervous, not about the hood, but about what he thought he was going to get out of me. Though I’ve never been to the “hood-hood,” I’m still too hood-literate to not know what you’re trying to do when you bring me to your boy’s house. True, I’ve made some bad decisions in the past, but I don’t get down like that. I’m not the average hoodrat that you’re probably used to. At the time, I wasn’t annoyed by Cedric; it’s the end of the evening that left me feeling frustrated about everything.
In all honesty, I was relishing in the fact that I was in the hood, sitting on a stoop with three Cameroonians, toking a blunt, while the car in the driveway blared Lil Wayne, Jeezy, T.I., and Gucci Mane. I stood out even more because of the interview clothes I was wearing, having just come from North Berkeley. Across the street people were doing the same thing, except with flasks of Remy in hand, and their music was coming from inside the house. Inside the house I sat on the stoop of, there wasn’t much. It was getting re-furnished. Only Cedric’s friend with the name I can’t pronounce lives there. Cedric told me they are moving into this house, but later I heard his nameless friend on the phone asking, “How long is this house off the market?”
Once his friends came back with the Swishers and we smoked, Chris started staring at the sky. “There’s something out there, girl. Look. Keep looking. There’s something more, you know what I’m saying? See the bat?” He was right. I could see clouds shaped like bats, flying into the evening sun. I thought of Mr. Paul and how he gets spiritual with me too. Maybe it’s because they come from such unfortunate backgrounds that they’re convinced to believe in something higher, to get them through this life, I thought to myself, high as the moon (Chris’ saying).
“Wanna kill this blunt?” Cedric put me in charge of unrolling it. That was a bad idea, and only after I unrolled it to a shitty, ragged-edged piece of paper, did I realize, “I’ve never unrolled a Swisher before. I’m used to Backwoods.” I’m constantly talking about Backwoods with anyone I smoke blunts with. I can’t help myself. We all had a good laugh over that, then Chris said he could still use it to roll with. He broke it in half so we smoked a mini blunt. When I passed him the roach he suddenly held it with a piece of tall grass that he picked from the yard. He had it pinched around the blunt like a makeshift roach clip. That wasn’t his only trick.
Before we even smoked I had given him a cigarette. He took it to his mouth and bit around the edge of the filter. With one whack against his leg, the filter came out. “What are you doing?” I asked. He peeled off the outside of the filter, then stuck it into the cigarette backwards. “That’s where the nicotine is. Here, try it.” I smoked it, not noticing much of a difference besides that the filter was very squishable. Once we were on the 2nd blunt he started to do the same thing to another cigarette. He started to explain how he learned it from watching the old men outside the cafes in Cameroon. When he got tired of talking he said, “Now, let’s take a break, like BET!”
Cedric fed me all this bullshit. It didn’t help that we were in his friend’s bedroom. “I wanna roll with you, girl, for real. How you feel about me? Cuz for real, you’re like the full package.” Ah, yes, nothing says “I wanna fuck you,” more than “You’re the full package.” He needs to calm his shit. Hanging out at a club once means you still don’t know me, and if you think you do, you’re wrong. Leading me into bedrooms isn’t going to work either: 1.) Oh, you think you’re that smooth or something and that I can’t wait to jump on you? Nuh uh! 2.) Way to make me feel cheap and uncomfortable. Part of me thinks it’s my Asian face. I refuse to make your Asian porn fantasy come true. Cedric’s last offense was repeatedly asking me when he can see me again. What does he want? An Excel spreadsheet of my social plans for the coming year? On top of that, he claimed I’m hard to get a hold of when he’s only called me twice. He was being really needy by the end of the evening, especially for a Virgo.
And so, my new guy requirement is that we’ve got to be on the same intellectual playing field, if we want to get anything accomplished. I should’ve realized this a long time ago, but until recently I was searching for something completely outside of myself. Looking at the hills from the front stoop, I was high. I was wondering how I get myself into these situations and why. I concluded that I must be scared to get close to anyone. Am I really one of those people?, I wondered. I’ve never been close to anyone, but I’m wondering if there’s something in my subconscious that won’t let me get close to anyone. Why else would I end up seeing guys that are from a different world than me, guys that will never figure me out? I might be too defensive, or I know that they’re not worth it from the get-go. I’ve never wanted to meet a nice, white boy more than right now.
