Love and a Gangsta (14 page)

I peered out the window and my eyes became glossy. I had so many thoughts running through my head that I became overly emotional. Omar was still sleep.

He’s been home a month now, and wasn’t really doing anything for himself. He was looking for a job but I had my doubts. When I asked him what places he applied at, it was always Best Buy, Target, and Sears. I couldn’t check behind him. It was his responsibility.

My period was a week late and I suspected that I was pregnant. We were fucking like rabbits everyday without protection and not once did he pull out of me. I felt that our situation just got crucial. I was happy but also a little worried.

Having a baby was a huge responsibility that required support emotionally and financially from us both. Omar needed to step up and bring in an income to this marriage. I’ve been supporting him for a month now, and there was only so much that I could do. I knew that it was hard on him, being a convicted criminal and having no education to fall back on.

He didn’t even have a high school diploma or a GED. Omar wasn’t doing much with his talents that he was blessed with. At nights he would write a few rhymes and poems and recite them to me. He hasn’t lost his touch with his word skills. I felt happy for that.

I didn’t want to pressure him, nagging him about getting a job. My biggest fear was that if I started doing that, it would pressure him to get back into the drug game again with Omega and Greasy. I pushed him but didn’t try to make him feel less of a man. If a baby was on the way, I couldn’t afford to have him locked up again. It would definitely destroy me.

I went into the bathroom, turned on the shower, immediately
undressed and got in. While in the shower, I prayed to God, asking him for help. I needed guidance and for my husband to understand that there were other ways to get paid beside hustling drugs. Omar needed a positive start somewhere.

I was in his corner, letting him know I had his back. But I needed help I couldn’t handle this one alone. If something didn’t come through for him soon, it would only be a matter of time before he started slipping back to his old ways. I was scared. I would love for Omar to come with me to church, but I knew I was pushing it. I got out of the tub and stared at my reflection.

“Life’s going to be okay, America,” I told myself.

The doctor’s appointment was scheduled for tomorrow morning. I needed to find out how far along I was pregnant. I wrapped a towel around me and walked back into the bedroom. Omar was still sleep. I began getting ready for church without trying to disturb him. When I was almost dressed, my husband opened his eyes and stared at me.

“Where you going, baby?” he asked, stretching and yawning.

“Church,” I said.

“Oh word…?” he asked, awakening from his sleep. “What time will you be back?”

“Around two or three.”

“Have a good time then,” he said. He then got out of bed, scratching his ass, and went inside the bathroom.

I sighed, walked to the bathroom door, knocked lightly and said, “Omar, come with me.”

“Huh?” he shouted.

“I said come with me to church this Sunday. I want you to meet Pastor Moore and a few others. Maybe they can help with you with finding a job. Just come, it could do you some good.”

He opened the bathroom door, looked at me and said, “Nah, baby, that’s you. I ain’t been to church since I was six. I ain’t tryin’ to hear about God and shit like that.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t start getting religious up in here today, baby. It’s too damn early,” he said closing the bathroom door.

I couldn’t force my husband. So I let it be and went into the kitchen to fix myself a light breakfast. I made scrambled eggs and tea. I was drinking my tea, when I felt my husband’s gentle embrace from behind as he slid his hand under my skirt.

“Omar, please stop… Not today,” I firmly said.

“Why not, baby? Let’s do a quickie,” he persisted.

“I said no. I’m on my way to church and I’m not going smelling like sex,” I said pulling myself away from him.

“Ahight whatever,” he mumbled, walking back into the bedroom.

I watched him for a moment and then collected my things and walked out the door.

“Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen… Hebrews 11.1,” Pastor Moore preached to the crowded congregation.

“Faith is the substance of things, but hope is a necessity. Sometimes people say that you will not get anything just by hoping, and that’s true to a certain extent, for there is no substance to hope…can I get an Amen church…”

“Amen,” the congregation shouted.

“Hope is a imperative companion to faith. Hope is the goal-setter. Faith is the substance of things hoped for. What things? We hope for the things God has given. Without faith it is impossible to please Him. The Lord is not pleased when we don’t enter into provisions that He has made for us… Do you hear me church?”

“We hear you Pastor Moore,” a lady shouted.

“Some things we will never come into except through faith. We must know what God has given, or we can’t have faith in the promise,” he preached, arousing the entire congregation. “Train your spirit.”

I was moved by his words. I really wished Omar was here to hear him preach. He needed to hear this instead of staying home.

After the service, I wanted to talk to Pastor Moore. He was talking to Mr. Jenkins, a well-known and respected man in the church and in my community of South Jamaica, Queens. Mr. Jenkins was my high school teacher in the tenth and eleventh grade at August Martin high school. The students loved him and he did so much for the kids and students.

“Sister Stallings, or should I say, Sister Stanfield,” Pastor Moore greeted me by shaking my hand and kissing my cheek.

“Hello Pastor, and hello Mr. Jenkins,” I greeted them both, smiling.

“How’s marriage?” Pastor Moore asked.

“It’s cool, I tried to get my husband to come to church,” I said.

“Well, it’s hard on a marriage when one spouse is saved and the other isn’t. But you keep on your husband, and you let him know continuously that he has a good woman by his side. You pray for him, and be patient… Sometimes it takes time for someone to see the light. Remember, it took me a long time before I accepted the Lord into my life. You don’t give up on him, because you know God will never give up on you.”

“Thanks Pastor,” I said.

“How’re things going with him getting a job?” Mr. Jenkins asked.

“That’s another problem,” I admitted. “He says he’s looking for work, but I don’t know if I should believe him or not.”

“Sister Stanfield, I have to run into my office, but talk to Mr. Jenkins and call me later and we’ll talk,” Pastor Moore said and then walked off.

“He needs to find something soon, Mr. Jenkins. I don’t want him falling back into his old ways,” I said.

“I may have something for him at the community center on Merrick Blvd,” he said.

I smiled. “Are you serious?”

“It’s part-time for now, but if he’s a good worker and can handle a broom, a mop, and be around over three dozen kids, then he’s the man for the job,” Mr. Jenkins stated.

“I will definitely let him know, Mr. Jenkins,” I said, and gave him a deep and loving hug.

“Tell your husband to come down Monday afternoon around four, and we’ll talk then.”

“He will, believe me, Mr. Jenkins, he will,” I confirmed.

I was ecstatic. I couldn’t wait to tell Omar the good news. When I walked into my apartment I was disgusted to see Greasy and my husband lounging in the living room with a few 40oz malt liquor bottles on the glass coffee table. The television was loud as they gawked at some big butt ho’ shaking her ass on the screen. Greasy was smoking a blunt with his feet up on my furniture like he had no home training and stinking up my home with that foul weed smell.

“Oh hell no!” I shouted, glaring at the two of them. “I just came home from church and y’all got me cursing.”

“Hey baby, Greasy just stopped by to say what’s up,” Omar said, getting out of his chair.

I gave Omar a sickening stare.

“How was church?” He had some nerve.

“Can I talk to you in the bedroom?” I said heatedly.

“Yeah, we can talk. Yo Greasy, I be right back.”

“Ahight cuz,” Greasy replied, with his eyes still glued to the TV. He then took a long pull.

I quickly snatched the smoldering cigar out of his hand and said, “Don’t disrespect my home like this, Greasy, you can’t smoke in here and pour that beer down the sink.”

Greasy looked up at Omar and asked, “Yo cuz is she serious? What’s good? How she gonna snatch Greasy shit like that?”

“This is my house. I pay the bills up in here,” I said.

“Damn, and you just came from church and acting like you got the devil in ya. Y’all need to go talk that out fo’ real. Go handle that, Soul.” Greasy sounded like a damn idiot.

I glared at him and shouted, “Greasy, you shut up and leave my damn crib! I’m sick and tired of you! Get out!”

He sucked his teeth and replied, “Whatever, America. You actin’ real unfamiliar, you got the Holy Ghost in you and now you wanna act like you ain’t ever burned and drank before, you need to step off that fuckin’ high horse you’re on and…”

Before I could react, Omar stepped up and said to him, “Yo Greasy
chill, this is my wife you’re talking to.”

“I know, Soul, but I’m sayin’.”

“Chill, my nigga, it’s my business and you respect her, ahight,” Omar said.

“Ahight, Soul. I’m out anyway,” Greasy said.

“Thank God,” I said.

Greasy looked at me angrily and turned his attention to Omar and said, “Yo cuz, we definitely gonna link up later and talk.”

He left the apartment without saying another word. I loved and respected Omar for that. Since we’ve been together, he’s never let anyone disrespect me. But he still wasn’t off the hook for treating my place like some ghetto fabulous pad.

“What you need to talk to him about, Omar?” I asked with serious attitude.

“Nothing too serious,” he explained.

“What you mean nothing serious? You know what your cousin is into, Omar. He ain’t any good, and he will never be shit. He’s a drug dealer, a thug and probably a murderer too,” I was sounding hysterical.

“Whateva, America. That nigga is family, and I ain’t tryin’ to turn my back on family,” he angrily replied.

“I’m your family, Omar. We just might be a family,” I hinted, giving him a clue that I might be pregnant.

“What? What you gettin’ at, America?” he asked, calming down his tone to me now.

“What you think I’m saying,” I replied back to him in a sarcastic way.

“You pregnant?” he asked incredulously.

“I might be. I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow morning to find out for sure.”

“Oh shit, say word, boo? We gonna have a baby,” he exclaimed, looking like a different person now. He smiled and embraced me.

I pulled back, my arm outstretched and said, “Maybe, but I want to know, what you and Greasy got going on?”

“He just came by to chill and talk about old times, America. I’m not
into nothing, I swear, America. We were just chilling.”

“I don’t want him in this apartment anymore, Omar. Please don’t have him in here anymore,” I pleaded.

“Ahight, I promise you that, boo. What time is your doctor’s appointment tomorrow morning?”

“Ten O’clock.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Yes I do. I’m not trying to have you roll up there by yourself. We’re going together so we can both find out for sure if you’re pregnant.”

He made me smile. I love him. This time I didn’t pull back from him when he wanted to embrace me. He held me in his arms and said, “I’m gonna have a son.”

“How you know it’s going to be a boy?”

“Because I know. I’m probably gonna have a knucklehead boy to raise.”

I laughed.

“I love you so much, America,” he said holding me tightly.

“I love you too, boo. And if I’m pregnant, you know what this means?” I asked.

“I definitely gotta step up my game and do me.”

“Do it right, Omar, for us and the baby. I don’t want our child visiting you in some cell.”

I felt so secure in his arms. I remembered the job that Mr. Jenkins wanted to offer him and I said, “Omar, I may have a job for you.”

“Fo’ real, where?”

“I know a good friend at the church, he’s someone that I’ve known for a very long time and he informed me about a part-time position as a janitor at a community center on Merrick Blvd. It’s not too far from us and he’s really great, and I trust him. Are you interested?”

“Yeah, no doubt. I’ll check it out.”

“He told me to tell you to come down tomorrow afternoon at four and he’ll talk to you. It may be part-time, but it’s a start, Omar. And Mr. Jenkins have so many connections, that there’s no telling where you might
end up once you start working for him.”