Don’t get it twisted, there are a few women I called when I wanted to be bothered, but it’s nothing more than that, and the best part is we both understood that.
“Plans still set, nothing has changed.” I confirmed.
“Coo’. You want me to swoop you up?”
“You know it. I don’t feel like bringing the bike out, and my car is at my ma’s.”
“Make sure you ready before I have to leave you. You know I hate that late shit man. I just knew when your white ass started kickin’ it with us, time wouldn’t be an issue for you, but sometimes you’re worse than Jordan and Ju,” he said, walking away.
Unraveling the paper tucked under my arm, I canvassed my assigned neighborhood for today. I mentally prepared myself for the attitudes and hardened my own. I’d been spit on and almost stabbed because people made their irresponsibility my problem. Most days were chill, but on the ones that got hectic, I remembered I had bills to pay, and until I received the call about my graphics, this was it. Plus, I’d never had a problem defending myself, so I didn’t give too much attention to the danger of the job. Growing up in California half Irish and some sort of Latino I wasn’t familiar with, in a diverse neighborhood, I’d learned the mentality “kill or be killed” at a young age.
It only took five minutes to make it to my first destination. Turning onto the street, my palms started to sweat. Eighth Street had become a part of my Monday mornings a month ago, and I was never disappointed seeing the area designated for me to patrol. A beautiful woman, with skin one shade lighter than dark chocolate, lived in one of the apartment buildings on the block. It had become the highlight of my week to see her running outside trying to avoid a ticket before I made it to her Camaro. One that was nearly identical to the one I owned in addition to my Harley Davidson.
Sparx.
That’s what I started calling her before I knew her name. The first time I laid eyes on her, her smooth skin caught my attention, and from that day forth, I’d been looking forward to witnessing that shine. The feeling may not have been reciprocated, especially once I recognized she was the same chick that went off on us few weeks earlier at the Marriott.
Feeling my phone chime, I looked down at the screen fast enough to read the message from my mother before it went away,
Ma Dukes: “Good morning, Landy. There’s mail here from United Health addressed to you. I thought you had all your mail routed to your place? Want me to open it? It’s red on the outside, so get over here when you have a minute. I love you, and before you start flipping out, just remember we will get through this together. We always do.”
I didn’t respond, just shoved the phone back into my pocket with enough strength to unstitch the material holding the khakis together.
Not even eight in the morning, and I had already gotten two notices about my medical coverage.
That had to be bad juju.
I was sick of molding myself to fit around epilepsy versus adding the condition into my life. Dealing with it was getting old, and it was honestly aging my spirit faster than my body. My ginger hair had streaks of white that proved that notion.
Not too long after I’d arrived, I cleared one side of the street then allowed my focus to linger on the all black Camaro with tint so dark I knew it was illegal. The fact that we drove the same type of car always made me smile. She had to be a bad ass to drive such a powerful car, especially since it was the ZL1 class.
Since pulling up to the route, I had inconspicuously waited for its owner to make an appearance. I usually gave her some leeway before writing her up. I knew it was dangerous for us to cross paths, but I wanted to see her. Selfishly, I just wanted to look at her, didn’t really feel like talking.
Then again, her smile had been contagious, and I could use a little of her sunshine to brighten up my Monday morning.
Billie
“Yes. Now use only the tip,” I instructed, rolling my eyes, and not because I was having an eye rolling orgasm.
This.
Having to give instructions ruined the act of receiving head more than ditching school, and if his dick wasn’t the width of a well-grown cucumber, I’d stop allowing him to waste my time.
My legs were spread like two fingers hitting the peace sign with Brandon’s face in between as if he were feasting on my palm. We had been sleeping together for over two months, and he still couldn’t eat my pussy without being given directions.
I’m not fucking MapQuest.
“Ummm, yes. Not too much pressure on the pearl. Think of her like a gentle flower.” Reaching down, I snatched his head up and forced him to stare into my eyes. “Treat her as such!”
He peered at up, grinning at me all dreamy-like, and I quickly conceal my frown. I made a mental note to mention it when we weren’t in such a compromising position.
We met months ago while he was visiting his deceased girlfriend, Iris, at The Park. No, meeting a fuck buddy in a cemetery wasn’t an ideal location, but shit, what can I say? I was mowing the West Lawn, and he came over telling me how beautiful I was and how what I was doing was man’s work—mind you he’s a cook at a local junior high school. Guess the stereotypes regarding gender roles only apply to women.
Anyway, he let me know the first night after we went to Cabo Cantina that he wasn’t over his last relationship but would love to be friends and “kick it”, which is code for “I don’t want any titles, but I want to fuck you”. I knew, because again, I felt the same way.
Considering, Brandon had only lost his girl eight months prior, I respected the fact that he wasn’t past their relationship yet.
The last thing I wanted was for him to pay more attention to my personality rather than my pussy. That shit was for the birds. And thankfully, I’d long disconnected myself from sex long ago. Just like men, it was trivial for me, and that’s why I could fuck Brandon and not get caught up in the fact that he was willing to give me his dick but not his heart because he was “mourning”.
Over him licking on me like a wild giraffe, I shoved his head deeper between my legs and grind against his face.
“Don’t you fucking move,” I moaned, massaging my pierced nipples that had spilled from over my bra.
Latching his arms around my thighs and digging his nails into my legs, I rotated my hips until I came in his mouth.
“Get that fucking nut.” He directed as if necessary.
In labored breaths, I declared, “Now that was good. Next time, maybe you can get the job done without me having to force feed you.”
“You know I like the forceful shit. I like when you force me to eat that pussy. Tastes like a pink Starburst,” he said, stroking his damp goatee.
Giving him a soft grin, I turned over to rest on my stomach.
My Marley twists were up in a bun on the top of my head, so I was completely bare.
Nothing but soft cocoa exposed. Reaching over, I thumped his semi-hard dick.
“Ouch! Damnit, Billie. You know my shit’s sensitive after fucking.” He sat up and shook his head while rubbing his chin. “I already know why you doing the most. If you ready for a nigga to bounce, just say that.”
“I’m ready for a nigga to bounce,” I blurted out while smiling shyly, though I was anything but.
Brandon stood from the bed and started to dress. I didn’t typically have to show him the door, but today, he was acting out of character. Helping a bit, I trashed the condom before wrapping the sheet around my body before taking a seat in my oversized reading chair.
Like Celie did Mister in the movie The Color Purple when she knew he’d fucked up the food he cooked for Shug Avery, I quietly watched this idiot look for air. He stalled, acting like he didn’t have all he came with, which was only keys and the clothes on his back. The liquor he’d brought was gone.
I had work in the morning, and though it was Monday, it was my Friday. Clearing my throat, I chimed, “Got everything you need?”
Brandon looked over his shoulder with a scowl. “I’m leaving, Billi
e. Don’t rush me. You didn’t rush that nut.”
But you did, I thought but didn’t say aloud.
Unlocking the door, Brandon faced me. “When am I going to see you again?”
He rubbed his fingers through my Marley twists. I knew I looked like a straight Jamaican since my real hair had started to grow out of the style, and if I could get him out the door, I could start taking these suckers down. We’d normally just texted one another when we wanted company, and if available, we’d link up. He was about to start with the clingy bullshit, I could smell it, and it was foul.
“I’ll call you.”
“You better,” he said, leaning in kissing my cheek and checking out.
Making sure my doors were locked, I headed to the guest room to get it back in order. I lifted and pushed the old school bed into the wall, I picked up the wine bottle and other miscellaneous trash we’d left around.
A satisfied grin skated on my face realizing Brandon had so forgetfully left his watch.
Yeah right, I wasn’t buying it.
This man brought a Rolex with a huge portion of his woman’s life insurance policy. Personally, I wouldn’t have let someone take out a policy on me that wasn't my husband. And I for damn sure wouldn't have told anyone that a watch is what I spent the cash on, but thankfully, we aren’t talking about me.
Simply another reason I couldn’t take him seriously—he was too obnoxious, and the bragging was pointless.
Placing his prized possession in my nightstand, I didn’t even bother to call or text him about finding it. He knew where he’d left it. And his ass had better speak up fast, or it would go toward the deposit on Crunch.
Knowing I needed to smoke before tackling this hair, I pulled out a cute, little metal lunchbox that I kept all my MJ materials inside. I wasn’t in the mood for the TV, so I turned on one of my favorite podcasts, Nic Naks led by Nicki V.
Six hours later…
I laid flat on my back, staring lazily up at the black ceiling fan rotating above my head.
Monday, I thought.
I hated them.
With over an hour to get ready for work, I had already decided to drive since I knew there wasn’t enough time to make it on time by train.
“Gotta do better, Billie,” I coached my own self.
Basking in a breeze that escaped the sun’s bullying, I went to get my coffee started. As soon as I pulled the cabinet door open, my chest puffed. There were fifty-one coffee mugs filling the rows, some my own original designs, and the others I’d purchased.
I’d been obsessed with coffee mugs for years. The smart, bad ass, romantic expressions plastered across the front made me feel as if I was drinking that affirmation for the day, so please believe ones with profanity were welcomed. Shit, they’re encouraged.
I reached up and grabbed the mug that read, Don’t become a monster in the process of fighting one… or loving one, by Poet Jasmine Manns.
Starting my coffee pot, I let it prepare itself while I started to get myself ready for the day.
The hot May weather accompanied by my hair’s thick texture settled the debate of what to do with it. I grabbed my Beats Pill from my bathroom drawer, and shuffled through the songs until, Bibi Bourelly’s “Ego” echoed through the speaker.
“`You won’t bring me down. You got me fucked up.” I belted along with more hostility than I truly felt. Raising the wide tooth comb up to my lips like a microphone, I kept at my howl.
“I will never ever, ever, ever give a fuck.”
Dead in the middle of my solo the music shut off abruptly. “What the hell?”
I grabbed my phone and pulled up the Spotify app to see if my Bluetooth connection was weak. An error message popped up when I pressed play for the music to continue, Your sign in information has been reset. Please use your new log in information to start your musical journey.
I couldn’t do anything but laugh. “This fool. And who said men weren’t just as petty as us.”
Scrolling through my messages, I found the text thread between Tyler and me.
Tyler’s a guy I had gone out with a couple of times and sexed more than I had shared a meal with. In my opinion, the food was just a formality. We both knew we wanted to fuck. We had sex on the first night we met for goodness sakes, and I made it clear before I went to the room that night, I didn’t need any more from him than what was between his legs.
Everything was going well until he saw me out with Braulio, this fine Spanish dude I’d met at the grocery store. We were having ice cream in Redondo Beach, and somehow, Tyler’s psycho ass found us and caused a scene.
You’re acting like a bitch. Did you really change your Spotify password on me? LOL! I texted him and waited for his reply. I knew it would kill him not to say something back.
Fuck you, go back to Sound Cloud and YouTube, hoe! Amused, I placed my phone back on the charger, refusing to entertain him, that’s exactly what he wanted me to do.
Parting my hair down the middle, I added a smidge of Narie Sade’s edge control to the palm of my hand smoothing the moisture around the crown of my head. Knowing I’d be braiding my ‘fro into two pretty French braids going to the back of my head, I prepped my arms for the task. I’d worry about washing and flat ironing it later before Jupiter’s slumber party.
Walking back to my kitchen, I spotted the envelope I had been avoiding to open but was hard to miss. There was a letter from my father inside and waiting for me fucking with me it would stay there.
His recklessness ruined our family, and his lack of compassion damaged the foundation for reconciliation.
The Aftermath (fourteen years ago)…
My head throbs.
The tempo resembles a heartbeat.
Bump, Bump. Bump, Bump. I lift my eyebrows and feel my temples ache.
I can hear the noise surrounding me, and I can feel a hand on top of mine. It’s easy to tell from the conversation that the people in the room think I’m asleep.
“Look, I’m not letting them people come and take my grandbabies. Have them living with some strangers, makin’ ‘em eat pigs and dogs. Hell, I don’t know. Only God knows what could happen to ‘em. Nah, Nah. They can come to stay with me ‘til they turn eighteen or so, and we’ll go from dere. Just make sure dat that son of a bitch, Efron, knows he ain’t got away with nothin’, you hear me!” I don’t know who he’s speaking to, but I recognize my pappy’s voice.
I open my mouth to speak and feel a breeze of cool air fall into my lungs like a waterfall, I have an oxygen mask on. With my eyes wide, I look around the room and notice my sister’s head resting on the hospital bed. I know she isn’t asleep because I don’t hear any snoring, so I move my legs to gain her attention. Her head lifts quickly, “Billie, thank God you’re awake. You’ve been knocked out for hours, girl.” Her light skin is a pale-gray color and the rims of her eyes are red.
Lifting the mask from my face, I speak “Where’s Mommy?” She avoids eye contact, but I don’t.
“How are you feeling, Billie Grace?” Pappy asks, stroking my hair and wiping the tears that fall without my permission. I know the answer to my question, and he’s trying to distract me, that hurt. Didn’t I deserve to know?
“Where’s Mommy, Pappy? I can only remember parts of what happened. It’s all in like pieces or something?” I panic. I have never had a problem remembering anything, I’ve had an eidetic memory since I was a toddler, and now, I couldn’t remember what happened to my mother just hours before even though I can feel it.
The doctor said I may have some short-term memory loss but nothing permanent.
“She’s really gone? Like she’s never coming back! What are we supposed to do without her?”
Knock! Knock! Knock!
“Billie, you better move your car. They are outside giving tickets,” I heard my neighbor Rachel warn me.
“Shit! Thank you!”
Monday was the day the street sweeper came by, and the parking police were usually in full swing.
Running towards the kitchen, I snatched my keys from the rack almost forgetting I didn’t have on any clothes. That was very unusual for me.
“Damnit!”
I made an about-face, snatching my robe from the floor. I knew my breasts would swing like two dumbbells considering they were free of my slingshot, and my double-Ds weren’t set up for going out with their armor, but oh well.
“Fuck.”
Every time my baby toe collided with the end of that damn bookshelf, I swore I was throwing it out. Pain even your mom couldn’t take shot through my body, stumping me momentarily but not enough to leave my car parked on the wrong side of the street. Sliding on snow boots, I yanked my keys from the coffee table and jogged down the stairs.
“Hey!”
“Hey, wait! I’m moving it now.”
“It’s too late,” he responded kind of harshly. I could see he hadn’t finished filling out the paperwork, so I figured I had a little hope at getting him to give me a pass. It wouldn’t have been the first time.
“No, it’s not too late. I’m standing right here,” I said, positioning myself directly in front of the driver’s side door with my arms crossed over my chest. I knew I looked a hot mess. Outside wearing house clothes and Ugg boots with one side of my head resembling a damn bird’s nest. The silky, red robe I’d draped over my body did an awful job at hiding my intimate parts. I could feel the coldness on the back of my thighs as I leaned against the door which informed me that my ass was damn near out.
“Exactly. You’re here. Standing with me outside of the car which makes no difference. Could’ve saved yourself the cardio. Besides, once I put your license plate in the DFP, the ticket is yours to keep. We’ve been through this before, Ms. Brice.”
Wow, I had almost gotten used to the nickname, Sparx, but I saw we were being more formal today. I guess he was attempting to be professional, but the tattoos that peeked out shyly beneath his sleeves and collar screamed otherwise.
Loving You Through Our Differences Page 3