I lean against the big body Mercedes in the employee parking lot of the hospital. He has a fake interview scheduled courtesy of myself, so I know he’ll be leaving out soon. The nerve of this senior citizen, thinking he can sweat me then ghost me when I actually need him. That nigga was crying when I was tryna keep shit casual. Now he thinks he’s finna skip out on his responsibilities as a man? Tuh!
Nah, I’m playing. I don’t need no bitch nigga who’s probably finna croak anyway around my baby. He told me he was in his forties, but that nigga is like, no bullshit, seventy. SEVENTY! Nigga older than my mama. I’m finna throw up just thinking about it.
But shit, that pole between his legs gotta be only in his thirties. I was bamboozled!
Finally, I see Dan walking toward me on his phone. He stops in his tracks when he notices me. And those eyes balloon behind his glasses when he notices what I got in my hand.
“I told you months ago this ain’t what you want. But you were soooo persistent. And I get it. I was a challenge for you.”
“What–”
“Let me finish!” I screech. I see his ass looking around so I lift my arm and aim my shit right at him as I start walking toward him. “See, you thought I ain’t wanna fuck witchu because I like playing hard to get. No, I ain’t wanna fuck witchu because I don’t have time to be doing all this. Now look at us. I’m having a baby, and you finna get hurt.” I poke my lip out, lower my arm, and get one off in his leg.
Ladies, shooting below the waist is assault. Above the waist is attempted murder.
Dan cries out and drops beautifully onto the ground. I walk up on him and grin. “I don’t think this is working out, Dan. We should go our separate ways.”
“You’re crazy!” he grits through his teeth as he holds onto his bleeding leg.
“Oh, I’m fucking insane. I told you that, and you laughed me off. Now, every time it’s cold outside you’ll remember how you chased me while you were married, and you got a kid out there somewhere being raised by the bitch who shot you.”
I glance up and see hospital security coming my way.Damn.My little villain monologue fucked up my escape plan.
I look back down at Dan. “If you press charges against me, my uncle is gonna fuck yo old ass up.”
The security snatch me up and start leading me to an approaching police cruiser. When we walk by Dan’s car, I jump up and kick his side mirror off, cackling like a hyena.
Fuck. I love a good plot.
Unfortunately the adrenaline wears off, and after Dal curses me clean out for shooting someone at the hospital, I’m in a mood like I always am when I think about how stagnant my life is. I wish I could say it’s because my brother’s dead and I miss him, or because before that he was in jail for life, or before that I didn't know my daddy because he died when I was a baby, but something tells me even if my daddy was alive, and Mo was, too, and never got hit with that charge, I’d still be floundering.
I’m not made for the twenty-first century.
I’m made to be sitting somewhere, making pretty lyrics and painting the countryside. Or maybe an artisan, collecting gold Mansa Musa gave to my village while he made his pilgrimage to Mecca.
I’m not made to work a real job, or pay bills, or even date. And I think that’s why I have such a hard time with all of that.
I certainly don’t think I’m made to be a mother. It was almost a relief when my doctor told me my PCOS basically killed my chances of having kids. I mean, I was sad, what woman wouldn’t be? But it’s not like I ever really wanted one to begin with. When it came to these niggas, my motto comes from the great Wiz Khalifa:Ion love ‘em, Ion chase ‘em, I duck ‘em. These niggas can’t handle a real bitch like me. I learned that in fifth gradewhen little Markus Jackson pushed me down after I told him I thought his brother Markeis was the finer twin. So yeah, I’ve had boyfriends. I prolly even loved one of them, but once it stops being fun, I’m gone.
Dal says it’s because I’m a sag with raging commitment issues.
I say it’s because no nigga is worth my sanity.
I don’t have time for a nigga to go crazy behind me. And I damn sure don’t have time to go all crazy behind him.
I mean, I didn’t even love Dan. Just the simple fact he chased me, then lied to me, and left me high, dry, and hormonal, I shot his ass in the leg. Now imagine if I actually let my guard down and he did that.
I prolly would have smoked him right then and there.
And shit, the jury’s still out about that. Because I’m still debating on if I should call Uncle Junior and tell him that old geezer fucked with his favorite goddaughter.
Then, being pregnant is opening all these possibilities I shut off. If I didn’t have PCOS, I would have been calling the clinic for my one phone call. But shit, will I ever get this chance again? I don’t need Dan. I have a support system, money, and I can find a stepdaddy no problem. But his old ass sperm could fuck up my DNA.
Could I really get rid of it knowing I may not get another chance?
Shit, do I even wanna be someone’s mom?
I still don’t be remembering to feed myself sometimes. Denver usually takes care of me when I babysit him.
