Authors: Wahida Clark
Tags: #Urban, #African American, #General, #Fiction
“Okay, we are here.” Rick interrupted my thinking as he pulled into the driveway.
“Oh, no. We are here already?” I heard the panic in my own voice.
“Kyra, you’re going to be fine.” He turned off the engine.
I could feel my palms getting sweaty, but when he jumped out of the car, my ass felt as if it was glued to the seat. Just as more panic started to set in, the front door came open, and my daughter yelled out, “Mommy!” She jumped off the porch, and that’s when my body took over. I pushed the car door open, my legs swung around, and I jumped out of the car. “Mommy!” she screamed.
“Aisha!” I ran to meet her, and we hugged, falling onto the lawn. I was kissing my baby all over her cheeks and face. “Look at you! You are beautiful.” We hugged some more, and I was living in the moment.
My daughter said, “I’m sorry I left you, Mommy.”
“You didn’t leave me, baby. Don’t think like that.”
“Yes, I did. I left you, Mommy. I’m sorry.” She began to cry.
“Baby . . .” I couldn’t hold back the tears.
She really thinks that she left me
. How long had she been carrying that burden on her little shoulders? What if I was dead and gone? “Aisha, Mommy is fine. I love you, I missed you, and we won’t be separated again. I won’t leave you, and you won’t leave me. Do we have a deal?”
“What about Daddy?”
I didn’t know what to say, but I knew I wasn’t going to be lying to my daughter. And for real, at that very moment, I didn’t give a damn if I ever saw his bitch ass again. He’d better hope that I didn’t see him. “I don’t know about your father. We’ve gotta find out what’s up with him. I haven’t heard from him. But for now, you’ve gotta give Mommy some more love. Can I get some more love, girl? Mommy missed you so much!”
Some lady was standing over us with tears streaming down her cheeks. The next thing I knew, she was down on the grass, hugging and squeezing Aisha and me. “Kyra, don’t you ever pull no mess like this again. Do you hear me?” She threatened, even though she was all choked up.
Her voice. “Tasha?”
She leaned back and looked at me. “Yes, it’s me, Tasha. Your bff. Oh my god. You don’t remember me? It’s me, Tasha. I’m the one who stopped you from drowning. Remember we were at—”
“Seaside Heights!” I cut her off. “Tasha!” And then like a movie
on fast forward, events with me and her raced through my mind. It was . . . awesome. Then some kids came running out of the house. The boys obviously thought we were playing and dived on top of us.
“There’s my husband, Trae. And Aunt Marva.” Tasha said. With a glance I remembered them as well. I felt like I was back. My prayers had been answered.
“Ma, I’m good. Just get everybody out of my house, and I promise you I’ll be doing much better. Y’all are acting as if I’m a cripple.”
“Your damn mouth is!” smart-ass Kendra, my first cousin had the nerve to say as she chuckled. “Look at you, you can barely talk, sounding like Whispers from the movie
. You know your mouth is where all your strength lies.” She plopped down in a chair across from me just so she could talk shit.
I gave her a look that said,
You better get the fuck out of my face and fast.
She obviously read my expression, because she got up and went into the kitchen.
My mother touched my shoulder. “Kyron, go lie down and get some rest. I will get rid of everyone.”
“Ma, what do you think I’ve been doing for the last few
months? Laying up resting. Trust me, I’m good. I just need to clear my head in my own house all by myself. I’ll be fine, Ma.” I grabbed her hand and kissed it.
She sat down next to me. “Watch your tone, boy. You didn’t try to get rid of me when I was cleaning your behind.” She shot daggers at me, and I had to grin at the thought.
“My bad, Ma. I know you just want the best for your son.” She smiled as I leaned over, kissed her forehead, put my arms around her, and squeezed her tight.
“That’s your problem. You think you are the baby, but you’re not. You are my eldest, and I want you to start acting like it. Now, turn me loose so that I can get you settled.”
I couldn’t do anything but surrender. Between the nurse’s visits, Mari, and family crowding my space, I was feeling suffocated. I was thankful when my moms eventually went to kicking everyone out of my apartment before finally putting on her jacket and snatching up her big-ass purse off the sofa. I stood up, and she stood right in front of me with her hands on her hips. I leaned over and kissed her cheek one last time. Mama was my heart.
“Do you remember how to change those bandages?”
“Yes, ma’am. I do.”
“Good, and don’t get fresh with me, Kyron. I thought your brother was going to be the death of me, but now I see that it’s you. You shouldn’t have gotten yourself into this mess in the first place.”
“I’ll call you each time I change the bandages. How’s that?” I needed to get rid of my mother as soon as possible.
“You are the oldest, Kyron. You are supposed to lead by example. A good example.”
“I know, Ma. We all make mistakes.”
“Why don’t you want somebody over here with you?” My mother continued to question me as I led her to the front door.
“Ma, I need some time to myself. Time to think and strategize.”
“Strategize for what? Kyron, at the rate you’re going, I’ll be burying you instead of you burying me. Don’t take me through that. I’m not supposed to bury my son.” She touched my face as tears began welling up in her eyes.
“Ma, I’m going to be fine. I promise.” I opened the door to let her out.
“That’s what your mouth says, but I’m not totally convinced.” She rolled her eyes and shook her head as she walked out of the apartment.
I closed and locked the door and hurried into the bathroom to splash cold water onto my face. All of a sudden, I was having hot flashes. I wasn’t sure if it was from the pain medication or the rush I was having from finally being out of that hospital and alone in my own space. To be sure, I opened up the pain-medication bottle and dumped the pills down the drain. I looked at myself in the mirror. I rubbed the stubble on my chin, while wishing that I didn’t have to look at the gauze wrapped around my neck. The plastic surgeon hooked a brotha up, but the deep scar left behind would be a constant reminder that I almost lost my life over some good pussy. Pussy that didn’t belong to me.
Trae’s bitch ass had the perfect opportunity, but he fucked it up. It must have been meant for me to be here. He thought I was gone. But I was about to be his worst fucking nightmare. Now it was my turn.
I went and sat down on my sofa and stared at the blank television screen. I needed the silence. But what I needed more was to hear what this bitch Tasha had to say. I didn’t even know that she had written me back until I was packing to leave the hospital. I wanted to read the letter in peace and quiet, one of the reasons I wanted everybody out. I was anxious, mainly because when I sent her my letter, I wasn’t sure if she would receive it. But she did.
I ripped the letter open.
Kyron, Kyron, Kyron.
First of all, nigga, you bitch made. Here it is, you over there recovering from a life-threatening injury, and the first bitch you holla at is me? You talking all that shit about Jags and money and connections—who the fuck you tryna convince that you the shit, me or yourself? Talking about you love me and you hate me. What kinda fag shit is that? You wish you hated me. You don’t know who you fucking with, so you better check my résumé. I will bet anything that your dick is hard right now as you read and anticipate my next line.
My nigga, why can’t you just accept it? You were just something to do for me . . . simply a revenge fuck. I gave you some payback pussy on my terms, and you got pussy-whipped and fell in love. That’s why you laying over there crying and shit. And you have the audacity to call me a ho? Fuck outta here with that bullshit. You don’t even know how you mustered up the energy to call me a ho. No, nigga, I ain’t your ho; you’re my bitch. Sheeeit . . . gonna call me a walking billboard? If I am that, you best believe it reads, “Kyron’s a fuckin’ sucka!”
I recall you saying three important things: 1. You went out. 2. You made my money. 3. You kept me fly, then gave me the dick if and when I decided I wanted it. But then I fucked you so good you thought I was going to take you to the top of the world and had you begging: Marry me, Tasha! Be mine, Tasha! I had your punk ass pulling out rings and shit. So that sounds like you the ho. Nigga, I pimped your ass real good, had you trained well, and even after you got that ass whipped, you still brought Momma her money. Yeah, I rode your dick . . . good enough to make you lick where another nigga slides his dick. How does Trae’s cum taste? Is it as good to you as it is to me? And then you brag about a bitch serving her purpose. No nigga, you served your purpose. I wasn’t even fucking you, and you were coming up off stacks and scheming on ways to steal me from Trae. And you are boasting about a Jag? You a low-budget-ass nigga if you think a Jag gets you a come-up. Them fake-ass, so-called loyal niggas you got on your team are laughing in your face because they got a bitch for a boss, or should I say a broke-ass coworker? Bitch ass sitting here whining about a car, page after page. Nigga, please! I bought Trae a fuckin’ Maybach. And you obviously forgot that I told you I have a Spyder C8 Aileron sitting in the garage that I don’t even drive! That Jag was like a punch buggy compared to my shit. That’s why Trae busted the shit up. You think your money is long? Get the fuck outta here; your money is as long as your dick . . . and that ain’t long enough.
Since we keeping score, let me ho-check your ass real quick. You called me a ho, but I’m the
same bitch who had you turn your back on your family. It was me, Tasha, the same bitch who had you eating pussy, and it ain’t about you making me cum, nigga. I’m married to Trae Macklin. My pussy is well trained. And yes, I’m the same bitch who turned you into a marked fucking man. So watch your back, bitch-ass nigga. You do the math. Calculate that shit. Tasha, a ten . . . Kyron, a zero.
You asked yourself, are you insane? Hell, no! You in love, and I can’t fault a nigga for that. You just like every other nigga that gets the pleasure of Tasha. You sprung the fuck out. The proof is in that long-ass letter going on and on and on about what you lost and what you wish you still had. Gonna write me a punk-ass letter. I can’t get over this shit. What? You ain’t got shit else to do? By the way, where your bitch at? You had a so-called bad bitch who held you down the whole time you was doing your bid, but as soon as you fell into this boss pussy, you forgot all about that bitch. I had your ass moaning and groaning my name. Tasha. While thinking, Mari who?
Oh, and I didn’t kill your seed. The little muthafucka committed suicide when it realized it wasn’t the child of a real boss. So fuck you and die, muthafucka!
The Boss Bitch,
Tasha Macklin Forever
P.S. Don’t contact me no more. Bitch!
With each paragraph I read, I pictured myself killing this bitch. She really had no clue who she was flappin’ off at the gums to. By the time I finished the letter, I couldn’t help but laugh.
I’ma make this bitch eat all of these words.
We’ll see who the fag is when my dick is all up in her guts. Did this bitch really say I
was a revenge fuck? She don’t know I will destroy everything and everyone around her until I get her. Including them bastard ass kids. Yeah, I’m crazy bitch and I plan on showing you just how crazy.
I called Kendrick and told him that I was getting ready to call Trina and that I might need him.
“Nigga, it’s too soon for you to be hittin’ the streets,” he told me.
“Just be on stand-by.” I hung up on him.
I called Trina.
“Who is this?” she snapped.
“Why are you whisper—oh, snap! Kyron. I forgot all about that.”
“It’s all good. I want you to set it up so that I can see Shorty.” I got straight to the point.
“Oh, no no no no no, Kyron! My sister is barely speaking to me as it is. Her man hates me, her best friends call me all kinds of conniving bitches, and your own brother won’t even give me the time of day. So no, no, no. I am not getting involved. No, Kyron. And listen to you, are you even well? You can barely talk, and you almost lost your life because of fucking with her. I would think that you learned some sort of a lesson from all of this and wouldn’t even think about fuckin’ with her.”
“Yeah, I’m done.” Trina popped off.
“Good. ’Cause I ain’t trying to hear all that psychobabble
bullshit. Set it up. And do it within the next couple of days. Forty-eight hours, to be exact.” I ended the call, and she called right back. “Trina, this is not a game. You got forty-eight hours.”
“Or what, nigga?” she challenged me.
“Oh, you’ll know.” I didn’t have time to be playing games with this ho. I turned my phone off and dialed Kendrick from the house phone. I needed this bitch to take me seriously.
“Yo, whaddup?” he answered.
“You got that address for me, right?”
“I put someone on it. Let me check and hit you back.”
I needed to talk to somebody but had no clue who. That last phone call had me convinced that Kyron was a certified lunatic. Here this nigga was fresh out of the hospital, recovering from a life-threatening situation, and now he was running right back to the same trap that got him caught up in the first place. Insane! And he thought that I was going to get involved? I don’t think so. I learned my lesson. As a matter of fact, fuck Kyron! As far as I was concerned, he and everything that looked like him was dead to me. And the conversation we had never happened. And as I thought over it some more, I figured that now was just as good a time to let him know. I called him, and it went straight to voicemail.