Wifey: Part 2

“So you good?” Jasmine asked her cousin.

“More than good!” He continued to watch the sexy Knicks City Dancers perform their halftime routine.

“OH, MY GOD!” Jasmine said in a slow cadence to herself but loud enough for her cousin to hear.

“What’s the matter?” Corey asked.

“Oh, nothing,” Jasmine replied, not wanting to tell Corey what she was thinking. She pulled out her BlackBerry and looked at Homicide’s picture again. I can’t believe this, she thought to herself before the full name Aziz Zahir came to her mind.

Jasmine was certain that Homicide was the same person she’d had a secret childhood crush on since she was in the fourth grade. Her palms started to get sweaty, and she started to get both excited and nervous at the same time. Immediately she deleted his picture from her phone.

Jasmine and Aziz had been in the same class at Public School 22 on St. Mark’s Avenue in Brooklyn before she moved to Queens. She wondered if she should say anything to him when he got back to his seat, or if she should just play things cool and see where they led.

The second half of the game started, and a lot of people including Homicide had not yet made it back to their seats from the halftime intermission. As Corey watched the NBA action, Jasmine combed her mind and thought back to her years in elementary school. She remembered how all of the kids laughed at Aziz’s name when their teacher introduced him to the class. She also remembered how the kids teased him because he was two years older than all of the kids in his class. Aziz was a smart kid. He was two years older than everybody because he had started school late in Egypt, where he was born, and when he’d moved to the United States at the age of eleven, he was considered a fourth grader by United States standards.

Jasmine could not believe that the former teacher’s pet, who was very religious, and a borderline nerd, had grown up to be the feared drug hustler and murderous stickup kid from Brooklyn known as Homicide. After graduating from Public School 22, Jasmine soon moved to Queens, and she had not seen or heard from him since.

By the middle of the third quarter of the game, Homicide and his homeboy came back to their seats, both carrying a box of chicken fingers, French fries, and beer.

“Excuse me, sexy,” Homicide said to Jasmine.

Jasmine smiled as she stood up so he could get by her. As weird as it was, she had waited more than a decade to hear him call her sexy—since she was a skinny fourth-grader with pigtails.

Homicide and his friend were six seats from her and Corey. Jasmine didn’t know what to say or do, but she figured she had to say something. She thought about taking things back to fourth grade, scribbling something on a piece of paper and then passing the note down to Homicide, but she changed her mind about that and just waited.

Before long the third quarter had ended, and Jasmine took off her shades so her face was fully visible. Some people in her section were milling around, standing and stretching their legs, and others stayed put in their seats. Jasmine looked down her row and saw Homicide on his phone. He looked as if he was texting somebody.

Jasmine’s heart started racing. She wa

s about to make a move and was hoping that Aziz would remember her. She was able to get the attention of Homicide’s homie, and she signaled for him to tap Homicide for her. When Homicide looked in Jasmine’s direction, she smiled and motioned with her index finger for him to come to her, and he got up and made his way toward her.

“What’s good, ma?” Homicide asked with a slight smile.

Jasmine looked at him, a huge smile on her face. “I know you.”

Homicide looked at her as the two of them stood in the aisle so people could freely walk in and out of their row. “From where?” Homicide loved the scent of Jasmine’s Burberry Brit perfume.

“Is your last name Zahir?”

Homicide squinted his eyes as he looked intently at Jasmine. He slowly nodded his head. “How you know my government name?”

“I been sitting here since halftime, and I was bugging, trying my hardest to remember where I know you from. And you are not going to believe this.”

“What?” Homicide was a man of few words, so he wanted Jasmine to hurry up and get to the point.

“Remember Mrs. Freeman? P.S. twenty-two?” Jasmine continued to smile.

Homicide thought back for a minute. “Ohhhh, shit! Get the fuck outta here!” he yelled. “Little skinny Jasmine with the pigtails. Ohhhh, shit! What the fuck!”

Homicide laughed, and then he extended his hand to Jasmine’s. Jasmine took hold of his hand, and he pulled her toward him and gave her a firm hug.

When the fourth quarter of the game started, people were rushing back to their seats. Jasmine thought quickly and formally introduced her cousin to Homicide, explaining that she knew him from back in the days. She asked Corey if he would switch seats with Homicide, and he agreed.

“This is crazy, right?” Jasmine said, leaning in to Homicide. The crowd was cheering real loud, so it was hard for them to hear each other.

“Word up. So what’s good wit’chu?”

Jasmine yelled into his ear, “It’s so much to tell you and catch up on.”