S1Ep3: Fish Fry

Onyx

No hiding.

Easy for my brother to say. He’s literally confined to our house. Well, I think it’s more like the city, but he’s acting like he can’t leave the house right now.

So it was on me to bring two fish platters from Ms. Shirley's house down the block, so that we could enjoy them on this fine Friday.

Every first Friday–now every Friday, since she’s retired from her city job, Ms. Shirley has a fish fry, which brings out everyone in a three block radius. What better way to announce that the prodigal daughter has returned?

I’m reeling.

But at least I look damn good.

The yellow sundress I picked out makes my skin mesmerizing. Makeup flawless. Not a hair on my head out of place.

I snap a couple mirror pictures, but I can’t bring myself to post them. I’ve already made my IG private, and cleansed anyone and everyone who I met through Alton, but still…

Part of me feels like posting would be trying to show that I’m okay. Being strong in the face of adversity, blah blah.

It’s a lose-lose situation either way. Whether I’m okay or not, whether I post or don’t, the general consensus will always be that nigga played the fuck out of me.

And damn it, he sure did.

“I’m hungry, Nicki! Damn!” my brother bellows from the living room. He only calls me that to get on my nerves, but they’re too frazzled for me to do anything but halfway roll my eyes.

I leave the safety of my room. He pauses the game to scowl at me. “You need some leggings with that dress.”

I wave him off and walk out into the afternoon. I waited too late, and now people are getting off work and coming back from school and making their way to Ms. Shirley's house, just like I am.

The O’Jays filters from her house, and like everyone else, I go through the side gate. Elders from the block recognize me immediately, and I spend a few minutes hugging and assuring them that I’m back for good and Obi hasn’t been sentenced yet, since apparently my being back here is a bad omen.

At least they aren’t asking me about the other thing.

Ms. Shirley has tears in her eyes when I finally come up to her, and she hugs me tight, rocking from side to side. She’s been feeding my family for generations, and was one of the only people on the block that supported me going away to school. I know she has my college graduation picture on her fridge in her house, next to my high school one.

“I missed you, Onyx,” she says in my ear.

“I missed you, too, Ms. Shirley.”

“Don’t be cooped up in that house with Obi. You among family here.”

I nod as she puts two styrofoam plates in my hand. When I try to hand her the money, she refuses it. “A welcome home plate,” she says, blotting her ruined eye liner with a piece of napkin from where the fish is resting.

Someone behind me catches her eye, and she brightens immediately.

“Sachi, look who’s here!”

My eyes stretch. My hands flex, nearly dropping the food.

But I can’t just stand there. And unfortunately, I can’t disappear and teleport back home.

So I slowly turn around to my old bestie. The last person I left behind.

Versace Johnson is all grown up with a grown up job, judging by the white collared shirt and black pencil skirt that accentuates her slim thick build. Her face is screwed up, lips scrunched and only holding remnants of whatever lipstick she put on this morning.

Her hands–and long ass acrylics, showing me she’s still South Kenton Sachi from The Bend–squeeze around a boy who’s nearly her height, and who looks just like his daddy.

Sachi narrows her eyes at me. “Franco, get our food. I’ll be in the car.” She curls her lip at me before stomping off in her Gucci loafers.

I glance at Ms. Shirley, but her messy old ass is back fiddling with the fish. Franco passes me by, and I wish I had time to really get a good look at Sachi’s son, but my feet begin to move me out of the semi-crowded backyard that seems to stop and look at the drama unfold.

“Sachi. Sachi!” I call as she switches toward a newer corolla.

“Better get Black his food ‘cause I shole will make you drop that shit, Nicki.”

Curse her knowing me since before I was potty trained.

She turns before she can get in the street, her eyes in slits. I stumble to a halt, squeezing the styrofoam in my hands for purchase.

“I shoulda known your bougie fake ass would turn up sooner or later. And I shoulda known you still on that good ol’ bullshit,” she spat, chewing her gum with her whole mouth, like she always has.

But I wasn’t on that good ol’ bullshit. Not with her. Not with my only friend, and realest bitch on my team.

Years ago, I told her she wasn’t shit. That she wasn’t a real one, but that was before I met real snake oil salesmen. Before I experienced firsthand how ain’t shit people could be.

As scared as I was, making this trek back home, I know deep down I need her. I need my best friend in this storm. And that shit that went down when we were kids didn’t matter nearly as much as I thought it did.

“Sachi, please. Don’t make me say it.”

But Sachi just crosses her arms and pokes her hip out. Her lips are pursed, even when her gaze shifts behind me.

“Go to your uncle Black’s house. Take them plates with you.”

Franco gently takes the plates from me. “It’s easier if you just say it,” he stage whispers, before walking past us to my house.

My shoulders drop as I try to give her the best puppy dog face I could muster, but it’s no use.

Whenever someone does Sachi wrong, there’s only one thing that makes things even Steven, which is why I’ve been biding my time. But the time is now.

“I can stand out here all day, Miss Thang. And if I gotta heat up my fish, I know something.”

I don’t wanna heat mine up either.

So I suck it up.

Licking my lips, I hold Sachi’s gaze. “I’m a dumbass, Sachi. I wronged the realest muthafucka in the South East. No–the world. And I’m sincerely sorry for hurting your feelings. Will I do it again? Probably, because I’m a dumbass. But you, Versace Johnson, are a queen.”

This drama queen raises her hands over her head like she’s holding a crown as I say queen.

“And as queen of The Bend,” I continue, putting extras on the speech everyone in her life knows by heart, “I know you’ll forgive me then, just as I’m begging for forgiveness now.”

I fold my fingers together and plead for her. And only then, does she crack the facade, and rush toward me.

“Took you long enough,” she sniffles, holding me to her.

“Now, Franco can take the bus to school, and I got PTO. We can fly out and break that nigga’s kneecaps tomorrow! My homegirl is a flight attendant and we can get on her buddy pass–”

“Can we just… take a moment to catch up, first?” I ask, squeezing her tighter.

I needed this.

Sachi leans back, her face soft. “Whatever you want, Onnie.”

“Now, ain’t this sweet.”

Sachi’s lips curl something fierce as she cuts her eyes to the sidewalk.

I don’t have to look. I know Lex’s voice anywhere.

“Franco’s at my crib chilling with Miri. I’m coming to get him dinner. Glad y’all–”

“Yeah, aight, L. Come on, girl.” Sachi pulls me toward my house, away from a chuckling Lex.

But I know it’s more for my benefit than anything. Their children are close in age. And Sachi knows his baby’s mother.

They’re definitely more friendly than she’s letting on, but after the speech, Sachi’s back in bestie mode.

It’s me over anyone.

“Fuck him, Onnie. You back on the block, single as a runaway lash, and Black is on house arrest, so Franco is good. We going out tonight.”

“Do we have to–”

“Yes.” Sachi squeezes my arm as we cross my lawn. “And we getting fucked up. My other homegirl is a bartender at Hollywood Hookah, and she’s heavyhanded.”

“All these homegirls,” I bristle, causing her to stop us just short of the steps.

She looks deep into my eyes, and again, there’s a softness there that only comes out sporadically, too sporadic for twice in one hour.

“None of these hoes hold a candle to my bestie. You bet not ever let a grimy bitch or nigga come in between us again. I got tired of telling Franco about his teetee only through pictures.”

My eyes begin to sting. “He knows me?”

Sachi, always one for dramatics, gasps and slaps her chest with her hand. “You thought ‘cause you was mad you wasn’t a godmuva?! Benjamin Franklin Johnson was always gon’ know about his auntie Onnie, because we was set to act a muthafuckin’ fool at that wedding. Yeah, Ms. Shirley showed me the invitation, heffa.”

She winks at me, before dragging me up the stairs. “But that’s ova wit’, and good riddance, ‘cause Onyx Marie don’t need to be with no square ass nigga. We finding a baller ass nigga tonight! Them Foe Dub niggas fine as fuck; hopefully that nigga KO is there. He be tricking.”

Obi’s face screws up as he regards us. Our fish plates are on the coffee table, and Sachi grabs them both.

“Why you gotta involve my sister in yo hoe-nanigans?”

Sachi freezes, before turning to him. “I thought a convict said something. Don’t drop the soap, black ass!”

She scurries into the kitchen with me following her, us both giggling. She and Obi have been at each other’s necks since we were kids, and it’s nice to see that hasn’t changed.

And as I watch her drench her fish in hot sauce, talking a mile a minute about her job and how her day was shit before she saw me, I know I definitely am right where I belong.