A Body

by Adeola Adeniyi

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​    This morning, Juan came to class late and drunk. The trailer started smelling like beer and champagne ’cause he’d been partying with the older kids at the beach last night to celebrate tonight’s upcoming football victory. Everyone laughed (except for me and the students sleeping) when Juan fell and Skinny Boy Tony asked him if he wanted another round. Now Juan’s been my homeboy since first grade, so I said, “At least he ain’t drunk every day like your ugly ass mother gets when she dances at the titty club for food stamps.” Everyone oohed at my burn, but they used their phones to record Juan crawling to his desk. Skinny Boy Tony helped Juan stand and sat him beside me. Juan looked out the window and then fell asleep.

    “Drinks are on Juan,” Tony said. “All two hundred of them.”

    “Can you make him go to the nurse, Mr. Randell?” Fatima Jones said. “It stinks in here and you love throwing people out.”

    “Mr. Brown is quiet and you’ll have detention if you keep talking, Ms. Jones.” Mr. Randell opened a newspaper. “You guys all know I don’t ever want to hear any talking out of anyone.”

    “God this place is insane,” Fatima said. “You people are crazy.”

    “You got chased outta New York ’cause your breath smells worse than a landfill,” Skinny Boy Tony said. “Quit dissing Wallywater ’cause you better be happy we let you stay here.”

    “Detention will be coming for those who keep talking,” Mr. Randell said.

    Fatima returned to her worksheet ’cause I guess she didn’t want detention.

    “Why you talking about landfills like you don’t shop for all your clothes there, Tony,” I said.

    I only burnt him ’cause of Fatima. She was the prettiest girl ever with her brown skin, blond locs, and big ol titties. I loved her. Fatima was from New York and I heard New York girls loved to get down. I just hoped she wanted me; word around school was she told her friends I had the best waves in our grade. When Mr. Randell started reading his newspaper, she threw an eraser at Skinny Boy Tony’s head. His bitch ass must have been in love with her too since he never threw the eraser back.

    Skinny Boy Tony said, “Why you acting crazy, Tristan?”

    “Don’t be dissing Fatima!” I said. “You gonna have your sister fight for you now.”

    “Goddam, you’re a retard,” Skinny Boy Tony told me. “You know I don’t even
have a sister.”

    “I know, and the skank is so ugly a pit bull’s asshole won first place over her in a beauty contest.”

    That burn got loud laughs and even Tony joined in. The air conditioning was at full strength but still couldn’t keep our black asses from sweating in this oven, and Juan’s smell made the room worse.

    He woke up. “Can everyone please shut the fuck up?”

    “You now have detention for talking and using hip-hop language, Juan, and so do Tristan, Anthony, and Fatima,” Mr. Randell said. “Anyone else start talking and we’ll be looking at a week-long suspension.”


    “What crazy shit are you talking about, Juan?”

    I heard Fatima ask him this when I went to homeroom at three. I’m surprised Mr. Randell hadn’t shown up yet because he never missed detention. Skinny Boy Tony had ditched school after lunch. Juan seemed better after Mr. Cole our gym teacher let him shower and sleep in his office all day. I’m sure he just came here to sniff Fatima’s ass. He didn’t even care that I loved her and called first dibs. I smelled the soap on the T-shirt Mr. Cole gave him and the mint shampoo in his hair.

    Juan opened an orange soda. “I’m the reason for the football team’s good luck these last four weeks. It’s all magic and I’ll show y’all everything if y’all ain’t scared.”

    Fatima waved him away. “You still must be drunk, fool.”

    “I’m fine now.” He had a drink. “What I’m talking about is magic, and I’ll show you the source. I thought you New York people were hard?”​

    “Why you listening to this crap, girl?” I said.

    “It’s just kinda funny.”

    “I’m the reason we’ll win our fifth game in a row tonight.” Juan flung the
finished bottle into the garbage. “I’ll show y’all, but y’all can’t be scared.”

    Our Golden Bulldozers had been balling since October. In last week’s game, Troy Hart hit Cody Ray, the quarterback from George High School, so hard that the fool collapsed after standing back up. Now the only thing Troy’s big ass had ever hit hard were those dollar Chinese buffets and Cody ranked as the #1 quarterback in Wallywater. The video of him crying inside the ambulance has already reached 998,348 YouTube views. I hated Goerge so much that I didn’t care about the comments saying Florida produced bitch quarterbacks. We’d been winning three or four games a year since they hammered Jesus to the cross, but these last four weeks had me wearing my Bulldozers shirt and cap with pride.

    “I’m not scared of anything,” Fatima said, slapping my thigh. “Are you scared, Tristan?”

    I said, “Never, girl.”

   “Then y’all can see the dead body with me and I’ll explain everything there,” Juan said. “Don’t be scared, girl.”

    This fool mentioning a dead body didn’t faze me whatsoever ’cause Wallywater had them everywhere in the woods if you knew where to look, but I wanted to know more about this magic bullshit.

    “An actual dead body?” Fatima said. “You fools are lunatics!”

    Juan wagged his finger at her. “You’re just scared. You making Biggie look bad.”

    “Whatever, nigga!” she said.

    Our fat science teacher, Mr. Cobb, knocked on the door and told us we could
leave because Mr. Randell’s wife just went into labor and he had to leave.

    “Thank you, Jesus,” Juan said after Mr. Cobb left. “We can go to the arcade
since Fatima is scared.”

    Fatima put her VIBE magazine in her bag. “I’m from Brooklyn and I’m not
scared of shit. Let’s go see this stupid body.”


    Juan’s two-story crib was close to the Dead End area and we went there first since he needed to get facemasks and his mother’s .22. His street (like mines) had a one or two abandoned houses among the decent ones, but then he led us to an empty block with nothing but zombie homes, rotting lawns, and scrawny trees. I thanked Jesus the sky was still light when we walked through the woods. Fatima looked nervous staring at all these skeletal trees but still pushed my arm off her shoulder.

    “Don’t ever defend me again.”

    “I’m trying to protect you. Fine shorties need protecting.”

    “I’m from Brooklyn.” Fatima showed me her switchblade. The handle was dark
blue and the blade was gold. “We cool, but I can defend myself.”

    We stopped at a shack and Juan handed us the masks. They didn’t help any when we went inside and smelled shit and rotten meat. The body was face down near the cracked window and Fatima stood at the door as Juan and I went to see it. Juan waved away the bees by its head. His black arms were covered with worms and faded blood stained the dirty yellow shirt and denim jeans. Fatima looked at the body, then hid behind Juan. I pushed him aside to have her behind me.​

    “Did the Klan get him?” she said.

    “Ain’t no Klan around here,” Juan said, laughing. “You crazy, girl.”

    “My cousin said the Klan is everywhere in Florida.”

    “They’d piss their robes if they ever stepped into Wallywater,” Juan said. “They dumb, but they ain’t stupid.”

    “What’d you think this poor man did?” Fatima asked.

    “This is Wallywater.” Juan put on a second mask. “God could spend all day
trying to figure that shit out and never know.”

    “He probably ain’t pay his man what he owed him,” I said. “Or he got cute with the profits.”

    “I gotta get back home,” Fatima said. “My aunt said I could live with her in Harlem and I’m calling her tonight. You people are crazy.”​

    “This is your home now and you’ll be fine,” I said. She didn’t stop me from
holding her hand.

    Fatima turned to Juan. “What does this have to do with football?”

    “Read, shorty.” He showed us a website on his phone:
http://www.realmagicfordumbasses. It had so many pages that I told him just to tell us.

    “We’ll have great luck from now until March if you take any possession
belonging to a dead body and carry it with you for three full days. The magic has something to do with the way the stars are aligned around this time of year.”​

    “That sounds beyond retarded,” Fatima said.

    “Your mother sounds beyond retarded when she begs to lick my nuts every
night.” Juan slapped away the worms off the dead hand to take a ring for himself and offered us the watch and car keys.

    Fatima gave him the finger. “I don’t want that shit.”

    “I knew New York was soft!” he said.

    “Shut up.” She snatched the keys, put them inside her bag, and slammed the door open to leave.

    Juan held out the watch. “Take it niggah. I know you ain’t soft like New York.”

    I put the watch in my back pocket and we went through the door. Fatima was
kicking leaves over her puke and wiping the white stuff off her mouth.

    “Why don’t you just take everything now so you don’t have to keep coming back here?” I said.​

    “The rules say only one item can be taken from the dead and used at a time,
fool,” Juan said. “Let’s go watch some football.”


    Everybody and their great, great granny had filled the stadium and we sat far up in the bleachers when we arrived ten minutes before kickoff. Our high school had only lost one game this year and I hoped the ring or the watch would change everything tonight. Fatima hadn’t talked since leaving the woods, but she started cheering after our boys won the coin toss and scored a pick-six on the first play. I clapped so hard that my hand started hurting and Fatima recorded this glory with her phone. Juan’s juju had to be real because we were 37-3 by halftime, drinking glasses of champagne in the third, and won 57-6. Wayne’s quarterback Jerry Spencer hurt his back in the fourth thanks to our Troy Hart sacking him for the seventh time and the fool crying already netted 9,000 views on You Tube. WPD also took away this drunk dickhead rooting for Wanye with a busted mouth and swollen eye in the fourth because our safety Jackson Conor had a sixty-yard pick-six that helped us win and the fool fought with Jackson’s daddy over the words they exchanged. Jackson’s daddy duffed that niggah and everyone clapped for him. The drunk fool puked, gave everyone in the bleachers the finger, yelled about losing his rent and electric bill money, and passed out. The lady cops didn’t even arrest Jackson’s daddy since he knew them. Juan went to celebrate with the players and I walked Fatima to the bus stop where she hugged me.

    “I think this magic shit is real, Tristan,” she said. “It’s gotta be real.”

    “Hell yeah,” I said. “We made history tonight. We never blew out anyone before. We’re winners, baby.”

    After walking her home, I found a Benny while waiting for a bus. It was real and I pocketed it fast thankful that the bum under the bench was sleeping.


    At home, I got some paper, put the dead man’s watch on it, and sat at my desk to write my love note to Fatima.​


    Hey Fatima

    You’re the finest shorty in 8th grade and can have any of the dudes who stay sweating you but I hope you forget them and go with me. I’m the best for you ’cause nobody makes you laugh like I can and I’ve wanted you to be my lady since the first day Mr. Randell introduced you to the class. I hope you feel the same way.
​
                                Tristan

            Please check one

           
            Will you be my girlfriend?


            Yes No Maybe
             ▢  ▢   ▢


    I folded the paper up and slid it inside her locker Monday morning. Fatima didn’t come to school that day, but she hit up my phone in the afternoon.

    Hey can you come to my parents store
    I wanna show you something and talk with u

                                   How come u ain’t come to school today. u ok.

    Im fine I had to do something with my folks.
    They needed my help today. Can u come​

                                   Yeah I’ll be there

    Cool see u then


    The Five-Dollar World Fatima’s parents owned at the strip mall was empty when I went there and I saw her talking to them at the cash register. She ran to hug me and I waved at her folks; only Mrs. Jones waved back. Fatima pulled me outside when Mr. Jones removed his reading glasses and asked me to talk in the stockroom.

    “We gotta go back there, Tristan,” she said. “Will you come with me tomorrow?”

    “Where?”

    “To get more shit from that dead man. People haven’t shopped in the store for over a month since that dollar junk store up the road opened and we sold everything today.” Fatima shook the dead man’s keys in my face. “It’s all thanks to this luck.”

    “You shouldn’t go in there alone.”

    “That’s why I want you to come with me.” She kissed me on the cheek and her
breath smelled like grape candy. “It’s crazy creepy in there.”

    “Maybe.”

    “No maybe. Say you’ll come with me, fool.”

    Mama asked Fatima if she wanted to stay for dinner the following night and she laughed when I told her we planned to study at the library for an upcoming science project because I must swear she had two brain cells. The bus ride from my place to the woods took almost an hour since I lived in Orange Mountain. Fatima read my note on the way, but she didn’t have the words yet to explain her feelings. I refused to sweat her ’cause I never sweated girls but I not gonna lie and say I didn’t want to be her man. Anyway, we got to the shack, and the lemon air freshener she sprayed now had it smelling like lemon pine and shit. She took one gross sneaker from the dead man, sprayed it, and put that thing in a shopping bag. I just took the laces from the other sneaker.

    “What’d you gonna do with that, girl?”

    “My brother Chris will win crazy money if the garbage Stingers win by fifteen points.” She put my arm around her shoulder. “Let’s go see the game.”

    We rode the bus to the Tech House campus to meet with Chris who gave us
tickets. They whipped City College 143-85. I’d never seen the Stingers ball outta control before. Folks around us complained once about the stinky sneaker, but we told them about its good luck, and they chilled. Chris bought us ice cream sundaes afterward. Her oldest brother Andre showed up at the parlor, cracked his knuckles, and asked Fatima who I was.

    “This is Tristan Lee and he’s my boyfriend, Dre,” she said, “Don’t start.”


    I visited Five Dollar World the following afternoon at the strip mall and saw my girlfriend Fatima sitting outside beside the dollar Chinese joint next door texting and letting this heat boil her. She kissed me and I loved how her breath always stayed minty for me. Two women left Five Dollar World carrying big bags and only two baby dresses were left in the window now. She showed me her phone and I watched Juan in a video titled Fine Florida Boy Drunk in Class which had 998,394 views.

    “You went back for some luck?” I asked.
​
    She showed me an empty wallet smelling like peach perfume. “I went at dawn
and today my folks sold everything.”

    “Those woods aren’t safe for a woman alone and I don’t want you in there
alone.”

    My girlfriend Fatima pulled a pink pistol from her book bag. “I’m fine.”

    “But you’re my girlfriend.”

    “I know, fool.” She opened a Coke. “I was gonna go live with my aunt in
Harlem, but I like you enough to stay. Don’t make me regret what I did, fool.”

    Juan texted me and I met him at his crib. His grown cousin Jake was with him and Juan showed me the dead man’s shirt in his bookbag for tonight’s basketball game at school. Mad cute girls wanted selfies with Juan and his autograph and they had no beef about him smelling like shit, orange air freshener, and rotting flesh thanks to the shirt. It helped the Bulldozers kill Green Mountain 121-55 and the blowout made school history. Real money also went into Jake’s pocket and he split it with us.

    I had to be the big baller, triple shot caller with my girlfriend Fatima so we ditched school on Wednesday and I took her by cab to a seafood restaurant in the fancy area with a bar, tablecloths, folks in business clothes, and air-conditioning strong enough to create another Ice Age. She hugged me after seeing this. The school fucked with Mr. Randell so much that he quit after Juan’s drunk video reached 1,973,997 YouTube views and we loved our new homeroom teacher since she only played science DVDs for us before falling asleep. My selfies beside the fish tanks and piano with my girlfriend Fatima went right to insta ’cause she looked drink her daddy’s bathwater fine in her silver dress. I only smelled like my older brother’s cologne thanks to just taking the dead man’s chain this morning. A tall white dude ran to us after we finished our lobster spaghetti to rip up the check and shake my hand. He wouldn’t quit smiling.

    “You and anyone with you can eat here for free anytime,” he said. “It’s an honor to have your presence in my humble business. Can we take a picture together?”

    “Why you want a picture?” I asked him.

    “Because you’re you,” he replied. “I love my Dolphins, but you're still Mike freaking Evans, man. I’m just surprised to see you out here.”

    I went to State House Stadium later praying after taking Tabatha home in another cab praying for Bey tickets to still be available for December since I saved money at the restaurant and got two in the ninth row all for forty bucks thanks to a special promotion.​

    Fatima and I arrived holding hands at the game Friday that’ll send our boys in the playoffs for the first time in ten years. We kick the living shit outta George and celebrate later. It’s only six and our stadium was so packed that we had to watch the game on a screen with the home section in the pack parking lot. I didn’t see Juan anywhere. He went to retrieve an item from the body once school ended and it surprised me not to see him here already. I texted Juan asking if he’s aiight and the fool still didn’t answer after twenty minutes. I should have gone with him to make sure I got the luck, but I wanted to spend alone time with my girl at the arcade. She stayed mad quiet and kept daydreaming, but we still kissed, and I let her beat me in X-Men vs. Street Fighter. I hoped Juan was safe in those woods. He musta been ok ’cause he always carried his mama’s gun in there. Our boys needed that luck. We watched them on the field getting ready for victory by stretching, throwing balls, and reading plays with their coaches. I texted Juan again and he still ain’t respond. His black ass finally found us a half hour before kickoff and the dickhead smelled like burnt meat. This had people moving away from us and the cigarette a woman behind me lit still didn’t help kill the smell. Juan showed me and my girl the dead man’s jeans in his book bag and I wanted to puke. My girl had her hand over her mouth and more folks moved away. This dark-haired Puerto Rican beauty our age that recognized him asked if he’d take a selfie with her but then said she’d see him later and ran holding her nose. I liked seeing that.

    “Get rid of that shit, nigga,” my girl said.

    “I’ll get rid of your mama first,” he said. “This is for the playoffs.”

    I said, “Why you ain’t answer my text?”

    “My phone died on me, fool.” Juan looked at his watch. “This game better start soon ’cause I’m betting my entire allowance and I already know what I wanna buy.”


    At fifth period on Monday, I found a letter in my locker when I opened it. It was from my girlfriend and it had to be bad ’cause she didn’t want to chill Saturday night, took forever to respond to my texts on Sunday, and sat in the first row of our classes instead of beside me. I planned to read the disappointment later ’cause I couldn’t take any more misery. Every soul in this building talked very little today and those goddam Bulldozers caused it. I ain’t burn my Bulldozers shirt and cap, but those things needed to recollect dust in the closet where they belonged. Every player ditched today and they’d stay home forever if they had any knowledge. Nobody understood what happened Friday night. All weekend Juan and I asked each other the same questions everybody had: How come our mini bulldozer broke as our mascot rode it on the field before kickoff like he always did? It took folks forever to fix it and it delayed kickoff. That shit never happened before. How does your running back fumble the ball on the very first play? How does your quarterback throw three pick-sixes before halftime? How come the only points we scored were field goals? Why did our backup quarterback have three goddam fumbles? Why did our defense let George score throughout the entire game without a fight? How come the father of our best receiver get knocked the fuck out by a short drunk dude rooting for George during halftime? Maybe someone drugged our defense ’cause how did they not once hit George’s quarterback? Why did our receivers keep dropping the rock? Why did we let bitch ass George beat us 42-9? George always played like dogshit. Juan suggested the magic might have worn off, but I reminded him about how the bored​ waitress at the diner we visited after the game give him a twenty as his change instead of the five she owed. At home, I read the letter:

    Dear Tristan

    First off, this isn’t a break up letter. I don’t want us to break up since I like you and want us to keep getting to know each other better, but the real deal is I gotta leave this place. It isn’t normal here. You’re the only sane person in this town. I’m not a Florida girl and I’ll never be one. I tried dealing with living here for you but I can’t take it anymore. I hate the heat, you people are beyond weird and it’s too hot even when it’s warm. My parents want me to stay but they talked to my aunt after I begged them for days and she’s letting me live with her in Harlem. I’ll be moving next month. I belong back home. My aunt is mad cool and I’m looking forward to being home. Now again this isn’t a break up letter because I don’t want to break up. We can be a long distance couple and zoom text and Facebook insta and I’ll be back all the time to visit my folks on holidays so I’ll see you no doubt. Please don’t be mad and understand where I’m coming from.

                                  your lady

                                    Fatima


   I closed the letter, put that shit in my closet, and completed my stupid homework. I texted her before going to sleep and she hit me back saying we’d talk tomorrow at school. She kept her word and we did it in the yard during lunchtime as we ate our sandwiches and watched a game of three-on-three with our classmates; my girlfriend seemed sad, but I stayed chilled ’cause I remembered I still had luck. The cheering started working my nerves now, so I led her to the cafeteria, where we sat and enjoyed the air conditioning.

    “You sure you're ok, Tristan?”

    “I’m ok.”

    “You sure?”

    “Yeah.”

    “Maybe you can move to New York,” she said, laughing. “I can school you good on how to be a New York nigga.”

    “Biggie’s still cool, but I belong at home. I still want this to be your home too and I’m hoping you’ll change your mind. You can survive here.”

    “Then you gotta fight for what you want.”

    My girlfriend kissed me and we started making out until the janitor walked
passed us mopping the floor and talked about discounted hotel rate as he laughed.


    “What’d you mean it’s gone?”

    “It’s gone,” Juan replied.

    “That’s bullshit.”

    “I don’t speak in tongues. Come on and I’ll show you.”

    This is what Juan and I said in the arcade later that afternoon when he ran in there to find me. I knew he wasn’t lying ’cause we saw yellow police tape on the leaves around the shack when we arrived there. Inside, we saw the body was gone.

    “We need the body,” Juan said. “Lake County’s playing George County tonight
and it’s insane easy money ’cause their star point guard Courtney Adams got locked up today over some bullshit.”​

    I said, “Fuck basketball. I need a body to keep my girl from going back to crazy ass New York. I know some luck will make her change her mind.”

    We left the cabin and Juan got on his phone.

    “We can find one.”

    “Where do we find a body, fool?” I asked.

    "Just google Dead Folks Everywhere,” Juan replied.

    I saw locations throughout Wallywater on the site he showed me but the folks that died today were in old folk homes, apartments, houses, car crashes, and a man shot at the Fredrick Douglass projects. It didn’t mention any in deserted locations.

    “What about this woman in the encampment? Folks claim she’s been dead in her tent for three days and the cops still ain’t get her body.”

    Juan opened a Coke. “I don’t go that deep in the Dead End.”

    “You a punk now?”

    “Whatever, niggah!” Juan replied. “I got an idea.”

    Juan led me to the railroad tracks and all we saw for an hour were freight cars and a passing Amtrak. Then we searched the entire woods and still didn’t find anything in it or inside the other three empty shacks. Thank Jesus Juan pulled out his mother’s new .38 ’cause the silence creeped me out and we could end up bodies people find and use for luck if we didn’t stay careful My feet hurt from walking for over two hours, that dog made me nauseous, and I was tired of sweating from the humidity and seeing these trees. The sky was also darkening. I asked Juan if maybe a pigeon could work ’cause I stepped
on a dead one and he ignored me. He didn’t want to give up yet and neither did I so we kept searching. We did find rows of camping tents and all the gold in Fort Knox couldn’t make us check for people. Juan walked ahead of me with the .38 pointed straight and I felt safer. This area had trash everywhere and we watched our steps to make sure our feet never touched any needles. Juan saw another cabin and we limped to it. We smelled shit after I kicked opened the door and birds flew past us. I threw up and Juan laughed until he did the same; he kicked the wall ’cause some puke landed on his jeans. I felt excited about the possibility of a dead body in here until I saw a dead pit bull and Juan reminded me how animals couldn’t be used for luck according to the rules. I’d have never touched the dog anyway ’cause its rotting body had too many flies surrounding it. Juan suggested we bail now because of the game starting soon and I agreed. I asked what he planned to do for luck and laughed when he said he’ll just pray for a victory until we found a new body. As we left the woods and walked to the bus stop on Saint Kitts Road, we passed one of them raggedy love motels and saw police cars, a crowd, cops everywhere, and yellow tape on the door of room 312. I asked a little girl recording everything for info and she heard a dude got blasted in the room. I realized I 100% loved Fatima because only a man in love would search through the woods and have a cop order him away for trying to open room 312’s door. I couldn’t believe I almost entered that room. Juan and I stayed until we got bored and we had to walk in the street for two blocks thanks to the bums with their tents hogging up the sidewalks; three dudes sitting beside a closed grocery store ignored us to keep playing cards. I’m sure the gun Juan bought out again kept them in check. A bus came and I stared at the woods that I’d be visiting again for Fatima to
stay. I remembered I had a month before she returned home and she wanted me to fight for her. New York girls always played game ’cause that’s what they do. I already felt lucky anyway ’cause no doubt we’d find a new body those woods by then, Shit, I reminded myself how this is Wallywater. We might find five bodies in them woods tomorrow.

​  
Adeola Adeniyi was born and raised in Brooklyn, New York, and he received his MFA from The Writer's Foundry at Saint Joseph's University.