So Gone

So Gone - By Jennifer Luckett



From The Beginning


Molaysia

Sometimes men simply amaze me. The more we try to be their all, the more determined they are to replace us with a much lesser woman. That’s exactly what my man did, and it was so humiliating. I would’ve felt better if he would’ve crept with classy women who had something going for themselves. But noooo, Blunt always seemed to attract downright nasty, gutter snipe hoes that looked like they had just climbed off the stage in a strip club.

Blunt and I had been together for over three years, and our relationship had been an emotional rollercoaster ride for at least the last six months. No, make that the last year because his black ass was on his best behavior the first two and a half.

Little did I know that those blissful years during which he spoiled me and made every day all about Molaysia Alexander was nothing but a mirage. Oh, the nigga was smooth as butter with his game. He had me running around smiling like my face was stuck, but after that it was pure pain.

The problem was other chicks. As soon as I got rid of one broad, another one took her place. I really couldn’t blame the chickens for wanting him. Blunt had a mean swag that was definitely intoxicating, and his appearance was very satisfying to the eye. He was a twenty-eight year old, thugged out, street dude who stood about 6’1". He was medium built, but well-toned, darker than blackberry molasses, and as sexy as sin.

More so than his appearance, I guess I was attracted to his bad boy swagger. Yeah, I was bubble gum stupid, but I wasn’t a hood rat. My Aunt Sara, who raised me after my mother died of a brain aneurysm when I was only a child, taught me to carry myself with respect. I loved that woman so much. She was kind, loving, and treated me like her own.

Her daughter, Leesha, who was one year younger than myself, also welcomed me into their home with open arms. Being that Leesha and I grew up in the same household, we were more like sisters than cousins. Aunt Sara taught us to have each other’s backs and never allow a man to come between us.

Speaking of men, my aunt’s husband had passed a year before I went to stay with her. The many framed pictures of them that hung on the walls told the story of the beautiful love that they had shared. I admired Auntie's strength to go on without the love of her life. She was fond of saying that her soulmate wasn’t dead because he lived forever in her heart.

My dear aunt was very resourceful. She had a way of making a dollar out of fifteen cents. Which was a good thing to have back in those days in Memphis, Tennessee when money was scarce, and you were a single mother.

Aunt Sara was from the old school; she had been raised to be a housewife not an independent woman. "When your uncle died I had to learn how to fend for myself," she explained.

It hadn't been easy. Auntie often preached to us that getting an education was much more important than getting a man.

What Auntie instilled in me was the desire to become much more than some nigga's baby's mama. "Get that degree first, and then you can find yourself a husband. That way, no matter what happens, you'll have something that no man can ever take away from you," she preached.

I listened, yet I still wanted the same things that most girls dream about. I wanted to get married to a handsome man, own a nice home with the white picket fence around it and have a dog running around in the backyard. I wanted to have handsome sons that looked like their daddy and a cute daughter with deep dimples in her cheeks and pigtails in her hair.

Even while pursuing my college degree, I fantasized about having an extravagant wedding. I would walk down the aisle in a beautiful wedding dress with a long train trailing behind me. At the altar, my husband-to-be would stare into my eyes with love and longing that was insurmountable. My heart would flutter like the wings of a butterfly as I stared back into his pretty browns. That was my fantasy.

Hmph! All it was so far was a dang fantasy because Blunt was a trip for real. He was the total opposite of the type of man I had expected to fall in love with. He wasn’t the white collar type with a respectable job and a legitimate income. Nope, he was a boss in the streets who loved to splurge, club hop, and make his paper flow like water.

Of course, with the fast money came a multitude of problems, and every one of them had breasts attached to them.

In spite of it all, Blunt was my everything, but when you love a man too hard, you often lose yourself in the process. I think that’s what happened to me. I was so busy trying to please Blunt that I forgot who I was and what I stood for.

After a year of nonstop drama and being let down over and over again, I was fed up and looking to move on if he didn’t change for the better. “Blunt if you don’t appreciate me, the next man surely will,” I had recently reminded him.

I knew I was a good catch. I was twenty-nine years old, 5’5", fair skinned, thick in the hips, and small in the waist. My attractiveness was not all that I brought to the table. I was the principal of Harper High School in Atlanta, Georgia. I earned a nice income and was fortunate to own my own four bedroom, three car garaged home. I wheeled a cherry red 2012 Lexus Coupe, and I was not behind on the car note. I considered myself kind and understanding. If that wasn't enough for Blunt, oh well.

Whenever the relationship blues had me feeling down and out, I counted my blessings. I was young, educated, and I was in the profession of my choice.

“My life would be even better if I put my foot down and refuse to deal with anymore of Blunt's bs,” I told myself early that August morning as I got dressed and left for work.

The day was going quite well as I re-entered my office after going out for a sandwich on my lunch break. I could feel that my knee length midnight blue Calvin Klein dress had gotten a tad bit snug the moment that I sat down at my desk. At a perfect size six with a curvy shape, I wasn’t the least bit worried about it.

I was good.

As long as my boobies sat up, tummy in, and ass out… I was so not trippin’ it. I never had to sweat the body issue.

As I stood up from my desk, my lengthy jet-black hair with blonde highlights flowed down my back. I glanced out of the window and watched the cars roll down the street. I was a few seconds into a daydream when I heard my secretary’s voice come over the intercom.

“Miss Alexander, you have a call on line one and the caller says it’s important that she speaks with you,” Mrs. Jones informed me.

“Is it the parent of one of our students?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.

“No, Ma’am. She says it’s not pertaining to a student here at the school. She’s insisting to speak to you, and she’s being quite rude about it.”

“Okay, I’ll take the call. Thank you.” I picked the phone up. “This is Molaysia Alexander; how can I help you?”

“Mo’, this is Chunuchi. I’m not far from yo’ job. I need you to keep Devin’s badass for me. He showed off at school today and got suspended for three days. He won’t do shit that I tell him to do and I’m sick of his li’l black ass.”

“I called his daddy three times, and that mofo won’t even answer. I gotta go to work, and I cannot be late again, or I'll get fired. Can I leave Devin with you at the school until his sorry ass daddy can pick him up?”

Chunuchi was Blunt’s crazy baby mama. I can't believe she has the audacity to call my job with this. Like, really? I frowned while tapping a pencil against my desktop to control the exasperation that was rising up in my chest.

“Bring him on.” I sighed. "But you know I’m at work, and you can’t make this a habit.”

“Yeah, whatever. You need to tell yo’ man to start answering his phone when I call him; then we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” She smacked her lips and hung up the phone.

She's nothing but ghetto trash! I reminded myself. You can't do better if you don't know any better.

I rolled my eyes towards the ceiling and counted to ten. Breathe in . . . and out. Then, I heard hollering and screaming coming from outside my office window. I peered out of the window. Blunt’s four-year-old son, Devin, was throwing a temper tantrum right in front of the building. He had fallen to the ground and was spinning around in circles.

I stepped out of my office and exited the double doors that led out to the staff's parking lot. The oven-hot August heat rushed up on me the second I stepped outside. I squinted my eyes against the blazing sun and approached Chunuchi and Devin. My heels clacked with each stride.

How in the heck did they get here so fast? I wondered. She had to have been up the street from the school when she called. That was just like her inconsiderate behind. Ugh! I was so tired of people taking me for granted.

I frowned when I saw her grab Devin by one arm and pop him across the back. He hooped and hollered and continued scooting around in small circles, screaming at the top of his lungs like she was killing him.

“Shut yo’ ass up!” Chunuchi yelled before whacking him good.

I shook my head in disgust, not only at her for disciplining him in public, but also at her appearance. She was a cute young lady with a gorgeous dark brown-sugar complexion. Even after giving birth to four children, she maintained a body that was to die for.

I can give props where they are due, but the whore was wearing a pair of snow-white coochie shorts that showed the print of her split, and half of her bottom was hanging out. It didn't get any better when I looked up top either. She wore a soft pink spaghetti strapped top that was clinging to her boobs, showing way too much cleavage. She looked like hooker material.

It was no surprise that at twenty-four years old, she already had four children and each of them had a different daddy.

I walked right up to Chunuchi and placed my hand on my hip. “You really caught me off guard with this one. If you can’t do anything with him, neither can I,” I snapped.

Devin finally stopped screaming and got up off the ground. He slung his book bag over his shoulder and stood there with his face balled up looking like he would kill both of us if he had a gun.

"Chunuchi, maybe you should settle him down a bit before you go," I politely suggested.

“Call his daddy, and maybe his ass can come get him. I don’t kno’ what to tell you. I’ma let you and that nigga figure this shit out,” she shot back looking at me with her lip curled.

I put my hand up to stop her before she went somewhere extra. "Uh, this is not the day for your drama."

“Drama? I'm not no damn drama, okaayy! Drama is this boy right here." She pointed at Devin.

“A child imitates what they see.”

“Well, how come out of all four of my kids this is the baddest li’l mothaf*cka I got? Ain’t none of their daddy’s worth a damn, Blunt included.” She shoved her and Blunt's mistake in my direction.

I fixed my mouth to object, but she spun on her heels, climbed in her car, and drove off.

As I stood there with my arms folded across my chest, I wondered if she threw the rest of her kids off on people. She seemed to always throw Devin off on me when she couldn’t find his daddy.

I extended my hand out to him. “Come on, Devin, let’s go inside,” I offered.

“Nope. You can’t tell me what to do. You ain’t my mama!” He snatched his hand away.

I looked down at him and wanted to bop him on the head. Devin wasn't the least bit intimidated. He looked up at me in defiance, daring me. I took a deep breath and reminded myself that he was nothing but a child.

I softened my glare a wee bit.

Devin's dark fudge chocolate complexion glistened under the beaming sun. There was enough grease on his face to deep-fry a whole chicken, and his hair was cut into a mohawk. The scowl that he displayed made him look like a baby outlaw dressed in designer clothing.

“Listen closely, li’l grown boy. Now is not the time for this right here. C’mon!” I grabbed him by the arm and attempted to drag him inside.

“Let go of me!” He jerked his arm away and punched me in the stomach.

“Ouch!” I winced.

I was hotter than the concrete beneath my feet. I swept my hair out of my face and glared down at Devin with fury. It took every ounce of restraint in me not to knock him upside his head. This is what happens when men lay up with rats. They create baby mice.

I loved Blunt so I tolerated his disrespectful child, but Blunt would hear a mouthful from me concerning this ruthless li’l menace to society.