Page 42 of Deeper

He ran his hand down my leg and squeezed briefly in a show of gratitude.

Zander had my full support. It was almost funny when I thought about the idea of the me-nowgoing back in time talking to the me-thenwho had a sworn dislike of Zander.

“What was the other reason you left So What?” I wondered next.

“It just wasn’t me. The music and image never spoke to me. I was growing up, but I wasn’t allowed to put that in our music. We had to be clean. We were grown men, but the label and management acted like our fans weren’t growing.” Zander snorted, shaking his head. “Fast forward to today—Teddy can do a podcast and declare he’s the ‘king of beer,’ and how he likes a little ecstasy, butIsmoke weed and I get crucified.”

Amongst the guys of So What, Zander still had a somewhat torn image. Some fans still bashed him for leaving, and were loyal to the remaining four. It did seem as though Teddy could do no wrong in the public eye.

“When we were recording, I wasn’t allowed to use my full voice. I’ve naturally got a soulful tone. I wasn’t allowed to do runs. I had to bury my soul. It didn’t fit what they were trying to sell. After a while, singing became a tedious thing because I couldn’tbemyself,” Zander went on.

“There was one So What song you guys had on your second album I heard and it was a little R&B, and that’s when I first peeped that you had a little more to offer vocally. God, what was that song called? Oh yeah, ‘Us or Not,’ I used to low-key get down when Tori would play it in her car,” I confessed with a shameful laugh.

“That’s one of my favorites from our discography. Teddy Riley produced it. R&B is who I am, it’s in my blood. I grew up on Usher, Ginuwine, Prince, Avant, Carl Thomas—like all the good shit. My vibe is based off what my parents would play. If I wasn’t in the band, there’s no way I’d be listening to fuckin’ So What. So I left. And when I was finally ready to speak about it when I put outExposed, I told my truth.”

“And that’s when all the bad blood started?” There was no missing all the shady tweets or comments thanks to Victoria.

“They think I’m a traitor for saying I didn’t enjoy my time in So What, but I was the only person of color in the group. I had people attacking me from every direction. Of course, my experience differs from theirs. Take the lack of creative freedom and couple it with dealing with racism and islamophobia, I wasn’t having a good time. Bad blood or not, those are my mates—my brothers for life. But to have them dismiss my feelings cut me deep. The only person who’s never spoken against me, or spoken up for me is Oliver, but even we don’t have a relationship now.”

It sounded about White. Holliston was my only White associate, and while she got it, or tried to understand, there were many White people in the world who just didn’t. Social media was the hub for dismissive White people who acted like speaking up against racism or injustice was a big inconvenience.

In a way, I sorta got it now. All the guys from So What were dealing with a sense of betrayal. The remaining four felt abandoned when Zander left, and Zander felt cast out when they didn’t try to see things his way. What they really needed, was a sense of understanding and a good long talk. But something told me egos had gotten in the way a long time ago and it would be a while before the world got a So What reunion.

“You said ‘when’ you were Muslim, does that mean you’re not anymore?” I asked.

“I gave up my faith years ago. It wasn’t so much from all the hate. It was just a me thing. The religious aspect of it, I mean; some things will always be a part of me. I guess I just traveled the world, experienced different cultures for the little bit of time I was in other regions, and I just sorta grew out of it. The things I was taught or believed in as a child, I don’t believe in anymore.”

His words hit home. “I get it,” I said softly.

“How so?” Zander wondered.

“My mom.” I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling a wave of emotion I’d pushed back for way too long. “She was a cop. When I was a little girl, she taught me about defending myself, about being capable of fending for myself. She was a hero to me, this strong, beautiful force of a human, and I was in awe of her. As a kid, her being a cop was a simple thing, but then I grew up. I saw what thebadcops were like, how they severed families and lied irrevocably without punishment. I saw all that and I couldn’t look at my mother the same. I couldn’t understand how she could align herself with these people so willingly.

“She insisted that her purpose was different, her drive was different, but I just wasn’t convinced. No matter the intention, I thought she was like this huge sell-out. She used to stress her goals to clean up and help our community in Lindenwood. It’s a nice place where you can find roses in concrete, but when you get close to the gutter, it can eat you alive.”

“I understand. Where I’m from in Slough it’s like that. A lot of people are stuck in their ways, and some don’t want to see you advance or go further than where they are.”

“Exactly. There’s a lot of crabs in the bucket in Lindenwood, but my mom was determined to help. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my mom, but I didn’t agree with her occupation anymore. We were still close, as mother and daughter, but when her job came up we’d argue.

“One day on the job, she was just getting a cup of coffee at a gas station in our hometown, and she walked in on an attempted robbery and they shot her.” The pieces of the puzzle of my brokenness became clear and I hated it. “She died. Seeing my mom, a good woman, a good cop, who believed in the advancement and betterment of the world, of my city, get gunned down, it did something to me, Zander. I lost my faith in humanity that day she died. Because if a good person like my mom could get cheated, what good could there still be in this world?”

“Bianka.” Zander sighed, peering back at me with wounded eyes. “Don’t be pessimistic. Sometimes the only thing we can do is be strong in our greatest moments of turmoil. What about the family you’ve got left?”

“?’Til this day, my dad hates me because I hurt his wife because she was proud of me and I stopped being proud of her. My brother hates me because even though my mom and I didn’t always see eye to eye, she still loved me and complimented me because I was a good girl, I moved out, I got a job, I got a car, and I never caused any trouble. I got it right and Pryor did it all wrong.”

“Pryor?” Zander repeated, curious.

“My older brother. We had a good upbringing, but Pryor was susceptible to peer pressure and often hung around a bad crowd. He got in trouble and got kicked out at eighteen. My mother didn’t praise me or love me more, but she’d speak of me highly. Pryor acts like she loved me more, and because of it he hates me. He and my father get along still because I don’t come around often. I’m not such a burden to them that way, which is why I’m in Hemingway Park.”

“I’m sure they don’t hate you,” Zander tried to say. “Sometimes anger gets the best of people at the wrong times.”

“No,” I disagreed. “My father barely looks me in the eye, and I haven’t spoken to Pryor in three years. Once a month, or every other week, I go to see my dad and we color in coloring books like we used to do when I was a kid. It’s like we’re desperately trying to get that old thing back, even though we can never reclaim it. My father asks generic questions about my day or work, nothing deep, nothing below the surface. He won’t forgive me, and I’ve come to accept that.”

Empathy was etched on Zander’s face. “Do you think if you were in trouble and reached out, Pryor would come around?”

I shook my head. “I tried to call him the other day and he blew me off. Told me he was blocking me and he wanted nothing to do with me. It’s not surprising, I guess. When we were kids and whenever someone would pick on me, he’d never step in to help. He used to even make fun of me for being bullied.”

“Fucking bastard,” Zander muttered, his body going stiff between my thighs.

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