Passion for the Heist, page 10
“I saw your body in your seat, but you were clearly mentally checked out. Is everything okay?” Professor Higgins asked.
Passion considered the question. She and Professor Higgins had the kind of relationship where Passion could tell her anything and never worry about it being repeated, but this was different. For as cool as Professor Higgins was, there was no doubt in Passion’s mind what she would do if she found out what was going on with the girls in Uncle Joe’s house. She’d burn the whole thing down with Uncle Joe in it. She didn’t want to lie, so she opted for a half-truth.
“I got robbed earlier,” Passion told her, reluctantly.
“Oh, my God! Are you okay? Where did it happen? Did they hurt you?” Professor Higgins rattled off questions while checking Passion for injuries.
“I’m fine. They just roughed me up a little and snatched my necklace,” Passion told her.
“Thank God. The important thing is that you’re unharmed. The piece of jewelry they snatched can be easily replaced,” Professor Higgins told her.
“This wasn’t just some piece of jewelry. It was the lockets with my parents’ ashes in it. It was the only piece of them that I had left.” Passion tried to hold them back, but she couldn’t stop the tears from falling.
“I’m so sorry that this happened to you.” Professor Higgins embraced her. “This city gets crazier and crazier every year. Ain’t safe for decent folks to ride the subways anymore. Tell you what, I’ve got some friends in the police department. I can reach out to them and maybe someone can get a lead on your necklace.”
“Don’t bother. The police don’t give a shit about what happens to people in the hood. It’d be a waste of your time because they probably won’t even look, let alone find it. Fuck the police!”
“Passion, I hear you. Lord knows I had my fair share of issues with the law when I was coming up, but all cops ain’t bad,” Professor Higgins said as a matter of fact. She retrieved a box of tissues from her desk and handed it to Passion.
“Thanks.” Passion plucked three sheets from the box and wiped her eyes and nose.
“Does your uncle know what happened to you?” Professor Higgins asked.
“Joe? God, no! That fool would likely go ballistic.”
“Yeah, Joe always has been extra as hell,” Professor Higgins laughed. “Now, you stop that crying. You don’t wanna get crow’s feet at the corners of your eyes and start looking like a washed-up old hag like me,” she joked.
“Knock it off, Professor. You look better than girls I know who are half your age,” Passion said honestly.
“I guess I’ve held up okay over the years. You should’ve seen me when I was your age. I didn’t quite have all this,” she pinched Passion’s hip, “but I was nice to look at. I swear, I don’t know what they’re putting in the food you kids are eating these days that has you developing so quickly. Uncle Joe had better keep his eyes open and his pistol ready to protect you from them young boys, who I’m sure are sniffing around you.”
It ain’t the boys I’m worried about. It’s the old men, Passion wanted to say, but kept it to herself.
“Did you hear what I asked?” Professor Higgins questioned.
“Huh?” Passion had checked out momentarily so she hadn’t realized the professor was still talking.
“I asked how the job is working out for you?” Professor Higgins said. One day it had come up in conversation that Passion was looking for a way to make a little extra money. Professor Higgins called in a favor and got her a job waiting tables at a diner downtown. One of the managers had been a student of the professor’s two semesters prior. The job didn’t pay a lot, but it would keep Passion from having to depend solely on the mercies of Joe. It would also make for good life experience, and would get her in the habit of earning her way through life.
“It’s okay, I guess,” Passion shrugged. “I just wish I could get in more hours.”
“If you did, you’d probably be even less focused on school than you are now. And speaking of which, when are you going to come by so we can finish going over those college applications?”
“I’ll get around to it, I guess,” Passion said unenthusiastically.
“You guess?” Professor Higgins gave her a quizzical look. “Passion, only last week you couldn’t stop talking about the list of schools you want to apply to, and now it’s you guess? Come better than that, little girl.”
“I didn’t mean it like it sounded, Professor Higgins. It’s just that I got a lot on my plate right now,” Passion told her.
“Tough shit, we all have a lot on our plates in this thing called life. And I have a news flash for you: The more successful we become, the more that will be dumped on our plates. You’re hitting your stride, Passion. Don’t start slacking on your education now.”
“I’m not slacking, Professor Higgins. You see me in class every day applying myself,” Passion said.
“You’re right. You come in here every day and do the work. I can’t take that from you. But now it’s time to move onto something more challenging than a few courses a week at the local community college. This isn’t to say that there’s anything wrong with attending a community college. Hell, I clap for kids who stick with it long enough to bother graduating high school, so you know I’m singing from the rooftops for anyone continuing their education on the collegiate level. What I’m saying is, you”—she pointed at Passion—“are capable of so much more.”
“These days, I’m not so sure anymore.” Passion said in a defeated tone.
“Hey … hey, you know I don’t even play all that self-pity business so knock it off,” Professor Higgins said sternly. “Now, I get it. Your life has been a bit more complicated than the average girl your age, with what happened with your parents and you having to be raised up by Joe’s ass; that ain’t no excuse to quit. I’ve seen your high school transcripts and for the first three years your grades were more than good enough to get into USC or any other university of your choice. But for whatever your reasons, you damn near flushed your entire senior year down the toilet and took yourself out of the running. That had to have been a tough pill to swallow, but you didn’t let it stop you. You came down here on your own and enrolled in school, so I know the want is still there, but want isn’t always good enough. Our lives are fueled by passion, no pun intended. I’m passionate about what I do, which is why I get up and do my job every day whether I feel like it or not. Some mornings I find it hard to get out of bed, but I do. You wanna know why? Because I’m passionate about helping kids like you become something more than what society tells you that you can be. You’ve got to use that same passion to push yourself over the hump so you can get into USC.”
“But what if I do all that you say and realize it was for nothing?” Passion questioned. “What if I come in here, bust my ass to try and get back on track, and still can’t get into USC?”
“Then you pick another university. Or another, or another, until you can pull yourself up to the next level. You have to program yourself to believe that failure is not an option. I see you in class when we’re doing our hypothetical case studies and you deep-dive into some of these people’s heads. I also see you in our program, uplifting some of these other girls when they sink to places where I can’t reach them. You have a natural gift for making people believe when they’re in doubt. Now, I just need you to transfer that same energy into yourself. Stop with all this self-doubt foolishness and recognize your greatness. I tell you girls all the time that you are queens, and queens don’t settle, we rule!”
“You’re absolutely right.” Passion said with conviction. Whenever Passion heard Professor Higgins speak, it always spoke to more than just her ears. She felt the words in her soul. Since she left the house that morning, Passion had felt like there had been a dark cloud hanging over her head, but all it took was a conversation with Professor Higgins to bring the sun back out.
“I know I am, which is why you’re going to come see me tomorrow so we can finally finish going over this stuff for your next round of college applications,” Professor Higgins said in a matter-of-fact tone.
“I got you, Professor Higgins.”
“Don’t have me, have you! I’m serious, Passion.”
“And so am I. I’m gonna come see you,” Passion assured her.
“Then let’s seal the deal.” Professor Higgins extended her hand. When Passion shook her hand the professor noticed two Band-Aids on the inside of Passion’s forearm. “What’s this?” She raised Passion’s arm to get a better look.
“Nothing.” Passion snatched her arm back and pulled her sleeve back down.
“Are we really going to do this again?” Professor Higgins folded her arms and glared at Passion. The girl dipped her head, but she wasn’t getting off that easy. Using her finger, she tipped Passion’s chin up so that she had to meet her gaze. She found the corners of Passion’s eyes moist. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing, just some stuff I’m dealing with right now. It’s not that deep.” Passion tried to downplay it.
“But it’s deep enough for you to start cutting yourself again?”
Professor Higgins was one of the few people who knew one of Passion’s darkest secrets. She was a cutter. It was something that she did when she was stressed. It had started not too long before her parents died. It was part of the reason she had ended up in therapy, and a direct result of the trauma she had suffered. Back then it was bad, and a few times Passion had cut herself deep enough to require stitches. Her parents had thought that she was trying to commit suicide, but she had just accidentally gone too deep with the razor. As she got older she got more skilled with the cutting, and even better at hiding the marks it left behind. It wasn’t something she did often, only when she was under extreme stress. The bloodletting was one of the only things that seemed to even her out when she felt like she was dancing too close to the edge of her sanity. Pain was good. Pain was what helped her determine what was real and what was in her head. It was her way of keeping herself grounded. It had been a while since she had last cut herself, and then the business with Birdie happened. Before Passion knew it, she was sitting in the corner in the back of the bus gently dragging a thin razor across her skin.
“Passion, are you still taking the medication that the doctor prescribed you?” Professor Higgins asked.
“No, I told you that they were making me fat and sleepy. I can’t be running around like no overweight zombie.” Passion rolled her eyes.
“Then maybe they could’ve looked into lowering your dosage. I thought the medicine was doing good with keeping you balanced?”
“I don’t need no pills to keep me balanced. I got this,” Passion told her.
“You know how many times I’ve heard people say that before something bad happened? Passion, I know you’re not big on talking to a therapist, but maybe speaking with someone will help you work through all this.”
“No … fucking … shrinks!” She gritted each word out. The professor had hit a sore spot, which is what triggered Passion to respond so harshly. She hadn’t meant to, but that’s how it came out. “Sorry, but you know…”
“No need to apologize, Passion. That one was on me.” Professor Higgins knew how Passion felt about therapists. “I’m just saying that sometimes it helps to talk about it versus holding it in.”
“I hear you, Professor Higgins, and thank you for always worrying over me, but I promise I’ve got things under control,” Passion said with more confidence than she actually felt.
“Okay, I’m going to take your word for it. I know you’re a strong young woman, but even the mightiest of us have our moments of weakness. As someone who cares about you very much, I want to do everything I can to help you work through whatever is going on with you, even if it means sometimes turning a blind eye. On the flip side of that, as a mental health professional, I’d be breaking my oath if I felt that someone was a danger to themselves or others and didn’t say anything. That being said, should I be worried about you, Passion?”
The weight of the question sat on Passion’s shoulders like two acrobatic midgets using her like a circus prop. “No,” she responded before her spirit had a chance to convince her to be honest about the fact that her life was in shambles.
CHAPTER 8
By the time Passion emerged from the train station on 125th Street, she felt like she had just worked all night slinging boxes in a warehouse. She was tired, not just physically, but mentally as well. Professor Higgins always knew which knobs to turn when it came to Passion. She had a gift for drawing raw emotions from her no matter how deep Passion buried them. Passion sometimes wondered if the psychologist kept a profile on her, or did her pain just speak so loudly that everyone could hear it, too? For as tired as she was, there would be no time to rest. She still hadn’t heard from Birdie.
She found her attention turned by the loud thud of music bumping from a car speaker. It was so thunderous that it rattled the windows of several parked cars. The speakers, and the noise, was courtesy of a lime green Audi that was double-parked outside of Popeyes. It might’ve been cute had it not been for the thick gold rims it was fitted with. The license plate might’ve said New York, but the car screamed “Country Nigga.”
Standing near the car was her best friend Juju’s older brother, Jay. Juju was a hustler, but Jay was a gangster and everybody in the neighborhood knew it. The quiet Asian boy wasn’t to be fucked with. Passion usually tried to avoid him when she could. It wasn’t that Jay had ever done anything to her outright. It was just subtle things that he did and said that always made Passion think he felt some type of way about his sister being best friends with a Black girl.
At the moment Jay had his back to Passion. He was speaking with a young kid, who was leaning against the loud Audi. He was short and dressed in baggy jeans that hung off his ass and a plain black sweatshirt with a gold chain. A black bandanna was pulled tightly around his braided hair. He reminded Passion of “Tha Carter II” Lil Wayne. Shorty must’ve felt Passion staring, because the next thing she knew, both he and Jay were looking in her direction. Passion lowered her eyes and tried to keep walking, but shorty was on her heels.
“Sup, lil ma? Where you off to?” Shorty fell in step with her.
“For you to find somebody else’s parents to play with, young man,” Passion said dismissively and kept it pushing. She was still technically a teen herself, but he looked like a high school freshman. She thought her response was cute and tasteful, but he didn’t.
“Damn, it’s like that? Well, fuck you too, bitch!” Shorty called after her.
Being called out of her name gave Passion pause. Passion could’ve kept walking. She should’ve kept walking, but after the day she’d had, it wouldn’t sit right with her spirit to go to sleep that night letting that little boy disrespect her. She’d been stepped on enough in the last twelve hours, and she’d be damned if she let him add to the footprints on her back.
“Fuck me?” Passion turned abruptly. “Fuck ya mama! That’s the problem with you young boys, instead of accepting rejection, your natural instinct is to resort to disrespect. You don’t know who I am or who I might know around here that might come see you about that disrespect.” It wasn’t a threat. More of a fact.
This amused shorty. “I’m Lil Sorrow, shorty. Ain’t shit I fear but God,” he boasted.
“At the rate you’re out here going, you’ll probably meet him sooner than later,” Passion capped.
“Be cool, that’s one of my sister’s lil friends,” Jay finally stepped in. He looked at Passion like she had been the one who started it.
“A’ight, you get a pass since you fam and all,” Lil Sorrow said playfully.
“Bye bye!” Passion flipped him off and kept on about her evening. She didn’t have to turn around to know the little boy’s eyes were still on her. He was cute, but far too young and abrasive as shit. Passion was attracted to bad boys, but that kid had a prison number written across his forehead and she didn’t have time. Passion had too much going on in her life to be putting money on some young nigga’s books.
* * *
Her building was only a five-minute walk from the train station, but Passion did it in about three and a half. For the entire walk she kept getting this weird feeling in the pit of her gut. It wasn’t like the ball of ice that impregnated her when she was about to slip into the dark place. This felt more like eating food that had been left sitting out all night. Something wasn’t right.
When she reached the building, she found the Unusual Suspects loitering in front of the store connected to her building. She called them this because they were the most unusual bunch of halfway hustlers that she had ever met. There were three of them that day. With them, the rotation could change depending on what day of the week it was, but the core trio were rarely absent in part or whole. In these three poor souls, Passion saw a cautionary tale every time she passed them.
“What up, Passion?” Ed, who was the oldest of the bunch, greeted her. He was a chubby brown-skinned dude who always came outside looking like he had just rolled out of bed. You could catch Ed at four in the afternoon and he still might have cole in his eyes like he just woke up. For the most part Ed was harmless, but he had a con game that most people would never see coming. That’s how he made his bread, trimming suckers. Even the ones he saw every day.
“I’m good, Ed. How you?” Passion replied.
“G-mackin,” Ed capped back. He was one of those old heads who still tried to carry himself like he was young, but usually butchered any slang that had been invented after 2005.
“Y’all seen Birdie out here today?” Passion asked.
“I’m just coming out,” Ed told her.
“What about you two?” she addressed his boys. “Either of you seen Birdie today?”
“Not since last night. She slid through and copped some smoke from Mud,” a short, brown-skinned man named Paul told her. Paul was probably the coolest of the three. He was the neighborhood hustle man. One of those dudes who could get you just about anything, from jumbo cases of toilet paper to weave bundles. If you needed it, he could get it for you at below-average costs.
