Skeletons in my closet

The silent running dialogue that I often have with myself.

Tuesday, March 14, 2006

My Life Part V

Wig splittin time!

Yeah, I was on that kinda mission. My friends were unaware, some had passed off in drunken stupors, and others had gone on their own puzzy salvage missions. But I was mad, hurt, and unable to express my feelings in a mature and logical manner. I was still a teenager, what did you expect!

My knuckles gnarled and tense, held the steering wheel in a passionate grip. I wasn’t driving, I was being driven. I was filled with a macho vibrato that was akin to running through hell with gasoline draws, from bad beginnings come bad endings.

Second thoughts momentarily arrested control of my truck. What was I doing, or what was I going to do. This wasn’t me, this wasn’t feeling right. This shyte was defiantly not my style. Man, just let it go, turn around sleep off this high.

Man you crazy, dis bitch phucked ya boy, claiming to be having your baby, you need to get her straight, sorry we cant let this ride! (Tell the boys downstairs to amp up the testosterone)

I am not sure if I am driving slowly out of fear, a sense of loathing, or a drunken high. I had no plans once I got there I guess I was going to have to play this one by ear. I goto keep my two tenants in mind.
Don’t get hurt!
Don’t go to jail!
As I pulled into the driveway my last bastion of common sense failed me and allowed me to proceed further. I began to get angrier as I walked up stairs, I was mad as hell and I wasn’t going to take it anymore.

BAM BAM BAM! I knocked before I realized.

The door opens slowly, its her sister, she closes the door quickly and loudly announces my presence.

I beat on the door again. It opens slowly this time, with the latch chain attached. From the cracked door pursed lips suggest I leave because Ms. 29 has company.
“I aint leaving I want to talk to her and clear some shyte up” I controlled drunken slur, as I tried to sound commanding.

“I told you she got company, why don’t you just leave…call her tommarrow” Her sisters advice fell on deaf ears. Ears deafened by rage and righteous indignation.

“I aint leaving, whoever that nigga is he got to leave, I aint leaving”
Background time…well, let me tell you more about me and less about the story. Even as a teenager I professed to be cool. I have always been a “lay in the cut kinda nigga”. But I do handle my business. TO that end, let me suggest that I am not a big dude. Even at my ripe old age I am still slightly less than imposing. Now, don’t get it twisted I never lost a fight, and I been in a few, I am able to handle my own. I don’t back down, don’t run, and usually the willingness to fight gets you out of positions of fighting. Now imagine me as a teenager. I was full or vinegar but very light in the azz. The bellows of my tenorish baritone weren’t scarring shyte.

But here is the scene:
12:20 am, A light weight azz nigga beating on an apartment door in a drunken rage. Anger for being showed up by a chic. Angry cause he lost face with his boys. Confused by his feelings of hurt and distrust, added with testosterone-laced pride. Yeah it sounds like an episode of COPs and but for the grace of god it would have been.

“I promise I aint leaving, she phucked up and she know it. I thought she was pregnant and she phucking my boyz. Whateva nigga you got in their need to leave cause “shoogh got some splaining to do.”

The door busted open as a huge back to Africa, former Mandingo Slave, knuckle dragging, ex-convict, construction working black man stepped out. I tensed up and surely let out a groan. I braced up, unafraid but scared nonetheless. He paused as he passed me. I refused to move as all alpha male style as he walked by. He laughed as he passed me, “You live in TallTimbers, in them first set of apartments?”

AWH Shyte, if I survided this night this mutherphucker is prepared to stalk me.

“YEAH! And?”

“You don’t remember me…me and my podnuhs were at your crib bout two months ago. The party where yall broke into the swimming pool. That shyte was off the chain” He laughed as he recounted the story. “Yeah for sure, handle yo business little man”

Let me add at this time with the violent nature of nigga today, Somebody would have been dead from that conversation. But the hood used to be good, and I believe in my heart that god protects babies and fools, and I wasn’t a baby!

Feeling dumber than ever, I a turned back to my mission. “Open the door, now!”

Again the chained door opened. “CO go home, I am serious, we have nothing to say to each other” Her eyes were cold to me, dead, no more love, no more sex, no more relationship. Was she having my baby?!?!?

“Why would you phuck my boy…damn…why would you run that shyte on me! You are so phucked up, bitch…damn” I couldn’t help but let my pain out. I was hurt more than anything. I wasn’t cool, wasn’t smooth, I was a little boy who couldn’t express feelings and who had had his feeling hurt. I didn’t want her, but I didn’t want anybody to have her?” WHAT IS THAT ABOUT!!!

My anger again gained control. I beat widly on the door! “I cant believe you bitch!”

The door closed again and I was left with my furry and my hurt, and silence.

The door opened again, I pushed forward full throttle.

Ms. 29 stood defiantly in the door way. I stopped to gauge her as I planned my next move. Should I hit her, should I…..

She handed me the phone!“Its your Mom!”

8 Comments:

  • At 11:37 AM, Blogger Dee said…

    DAYUM!!!!!! She got you!!!!! She got MOMMA on the phone!!!!!! WOWSERS!!!!!

    There have been sooooo many times when anger has guided me..........Now that i'm over 35 I have sooo learned to check the anger........

    I'm sure you have learned 2 check your anger as well....haven't you?????

    Let me go catch up!!!!!

     
  • At 11:37 AM, Blogger Dee said…

    ohh shit I didn't even realize I was 1st!!!!!

     
  • At 12:21 PM, Blogger Honest said…

    Yikes your mom!! Dude how many parts is this story..lol!

     
  • At 2:03 PM, Blogger That Girl Tam said…

    DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANG...she called yo mama?? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! She's off the hook in more ways than one! HAHAHAHAHHAHA

     
  • At 6:41 PM, Blogger African girl, American world said…

    Whoa Nelly...yo Mama! Now I didn't immeadiately think she called yo Mama...since you used to live there, I'm thinking its co-in-ki-denk that she called at this very moment.


    And why you got to clown my peoples with this?
    The door busted open as a huge back to Africa, former Mandingo Slave, knuckle dragging, ex-convict, construction working black man stepped out

     
  • At 11:54 AM, Blogger SunShyn said…

    she called your mom???...that's what your knuckleheaded butt deserved...LOL

     
  • At 8:01 PM, Blogger onecoolhoney said…

    Daaaaaaaamn!! She called yo mama! OH SNAP!! *smh* Ooh weeeee!!!

     
  • At 8:22 PM, Blogger The Princess Herself said…

    This story reminds me of R. Kelly trapped in the closet!! LOL~

    Damn. My sons father used to do that shit to me. He about to get cut, and he calls my mother.

    Damn.

     

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