“Yeah,Jada.”
He cleared his throat and tightened up like I told him to. He dragged his boney, ashy hands down over his frail face. His jaundiced eyes bounced around the room before they landed on me.
“Exodus. What up, nigga?” He spoke, staggering a bit.
“Jada,” I said, standing in front of him as he began to nod off. I went across his face again and adjusted the stretched-out collar to his dingy shirt. I stepped back, giving him a once over. When he started to nod off again, I shook my head and again, went across his face.
“Ay nigga!” I yelled.
He flinched and dragged his hand over his mouth. “Alright, alright.”
Shaking my head, I eyed him up and down, as he tugged at the waistband of jeans that were two, three sizes too big, and just as dingy as the shirt he wore. I wanted to do something to make the nigga look a little more presentable before she seen him but there was nothing I could do. Johnny was done for. His long locs were matted, up in a bun that was barely hanging on by rubberbands I was sure he’d put in years ago. He smelled bad. So got damn bad that I couldn’t put a finger on the stench. The nigga smelled like ass. His teeth were just as yellow as his eyes, caked up with built up plaque that needed to be scraped off years ago.
Seeing him like this, as if it were any different than the time before, was going to fuck her up even more. I didn’t have time for that. Any time she left from seeing Johnny, she was down, and at the same time, hopeful. Instead of really accepting what the fuck was going on, she’d cry, looking up ways to get her father admitted into rehab without his consent. She’d come at me with outlandish ass requests and shit. I didn’t feel like dealing with Jada’s shit. At the same time, I didn’t want her to keep hurting behind this nigga neither. She really needed to let the nigga go.
“Ay,” I smacked him again. Through gritted teeth, I gripped the top of his shirt, hemming him up. “Tighten the fuck up. Your daughter on the porch. Act like yo give a fuck.”
He drew back with wide eyes. “I do give a fuck.” I released him and he ran his hands down his pants, trying to smooth the wrinkles over. “I give a fuck,” he mumbled.
I took a deep breath and watched as he continued to stagger. Looking towards the door, I had half a mind to tell her he wasn’t here. How would seeing him like this help at all? I shook my head, gritted my teeth and flicked the tip of my nose, turning around to head out.
He followed. Staggered and walked slower than I liked, but he followed. Before we could get to the door, he tripped over oneof the crackhead bitches sprawled out on the floor. I gripped his shirt and snatched him up, telling him to watch where he was going. He didn’t say shit. He might’ve been following behind me, but the nigga was on cloud ninety.
When we made it to the door, I looked over my shoulder at him, nodding off behind me, and shook my head. She wanted to see him—she’d see him. Fuck it. I turned the doorknob, opening the door. As soon as I did, I stepped out and Jada looked past me, looking for him. Noticing him, the corners of her mouth turned up in disappointment.
“Hey daddy,” she spoke, eyeing him up and down before she dug into her Chanel. A second later, she pulled her phone out, tapped around it and started to record dawg like she was out of her mind.
“Fuck is you doin?” I asked with dipped brows, frowning at her.
She walked around him, steady recording. Briefly, she glanced up at me. “Getting content. Move if you don’t want to be?—
“Content? Man what?” I stepped forward and snatched the phone from her hand. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
She reached for her phone, but I held it up, over my head. I was 6’3. Jada, around 5’2. She couldn’t reach shit.
“Give me my phone, X!” She yelled.
Johnny nodded again, bending over, bumping into her. She sucked her teeth and pushed him. “X! Give me my fucking phone.”
I frowned at her, squinting. “This the type of shit you be on when you come out here?”
“No! I haven’t… mind your business! Give me?—”
“Man, I ain’t givin you shit,” I interrupted, glancing over at Johnny who was bent over, nodding, so far that his head damnnear touched the porch. I looked at her in disbelief. She was steady trying to reach for the phone.
“Out here on bird brain shit. Fuck is wrong with you?”
“Bird brain shit? Exodus… You don’t know what the fuck you talkin’ about!”
With that, I walked away. You think she stayed on the porch, helping her pops? Hell naw. She ran after me, steady trying to justify recording her father at his lowest. How would this benefit her at all? Oh yeah… the views. Jada wasn’t just into social media—she made money off of it. Is that what that social media shit was about? Recording fucked up shit for views?
“It’s not like that,” she continued, power walking behind me, her short legs having a hard time keeping up. “I—Exodus! Wait! Damn! British found my TikTok a couple months ago. She was in the comments talking about how I didn’t give a fuck about my daddy. Said it was crazy how I was gettin’ so much money while he was a crack head, suckin’ dick and begging for money, living in the hood. She was talking so much shit about me, X. I had to do something. You think I want to put my daddy on social media like this? The people asking to see him! So, I decided to finally give in. They want me to—can you please wait? You just don’t understand because you’re not on social media. You don’t get it.”
I didn’t say anything. I didn’t have an interest in arguing with her over an excuse that didn’t make any sense. Nothing she said could justify that lame ass shit. Nothing. I said Jada was on bird brain bitch shit but see… she’d always been a bird brain broad. She wasn’t the smartest. She was a crack baby. Grew up poor, barely went to school. Because she didn’t get love from her parents, she was constantly seeking validation. Which was why she begged me to pay for surgery she didn’t need. Which was why she didn’t leave the house unless she had on a face full of makeup and her hair done up right.
Jada spent many years as the dirty girl on the block. So now that she was with me, she stayed on her shit. Not because she wanted to feel good about herself or none of that shit but because she’d always wanted to… as my momma used to say… keep up with the Joneses. She was superficial as fuck. Of course she was recording her pops for muthafuckas on the internet. What she did had me questioning everything about her. Were the tears fake? Was this why she didn’t want me to bring her goofy ass out here? Why in the fuck hadn’t Rocc told me what the fuck she be on when she come out here?
I didn’t fuck with Johnny—looked at him and anyone else using as worthless ass souls—but that didn’t mean that exploiting shit would ever be cool with me. Jada was tweakin’. She gave too much of a fuck about appearances, bro. Sometimes I found myself questioning why I even put up with her ass for this long. As soon as the thought came to mind, I was reminded of the jail visits, late night calls, and her opening her doors for me when I needed somewhere to run to after a lick. Loyalty. That was why I put up with her. Loyalty and sometimes, pity. Jada would be lost as hell out here without me. I was all she had.
