So Gone

A Bottle, A Blunt, And My Thoughts


Blunt

“Check it, Baby Girl, I’m just callin’ to let you kno’ that I’m not comin’ through tonight so don’t wait up for me,” I said to Mika.

“Oh, why not? Did you and Mo’ make up already?” she asked soundin’ a li’l disappointed, but somewhat understandin’ as always.

“Nah, I’m just gonna get a room and do some thinkin’ ‘cause all this bouncin’ from female to female got me off my square,” I admitted.

Mika wasn't the type of female who needed to be lied to. She could accept the truth and roll wit’ it. That’s why I f*cked wit’ her the long way.

“Do whatever you feel you have to do. I’m here for you if you need me, Daddy,” she said wit’ sincerity.

“That’s real, Li’l Mama, and that’s why I’ll never shit on you,” I promised.

I stopped at the liquor store and grabbed a half a gallon of Hen Dog and some brown stickies to roll the Kush up that I had on deck. I checked into a room at the Motel 6 out on Fulton Industrial and tossed Hen back like water. When my head started to spin, I sparked a blunt and mellowed my high. Then I started thinkin’ about my boo.

Dayum, why the f*ck couldn’t I be faithful to Mo’? She was beautiful, fine, devoted and intelligent. I shouldn't have needed anyone else. Maybe I'm like Tiger Woods. I might need to go to a sex rehab center for help wit’ my sexual addiction, I thought to myself.

That was some funny shit.

I started laughing my ass off, because that was the lamest shit I had ever heard. Tiger prob’ly had been in rehab dicking therapists and nurses. Fa real tho, I needed to check myself before I lost a good woman. My li’l head was gonna get me in some shit that I couldn’t get out of one day. A nigga was droppin’ seeds like crazy.

I hit the blunt and held the smoke in my lungs until I started coughing. It was some fiyah I was blazin’! That shit must’ve been laced wit’ some common sense 'cause I swear every time I inhaled I could clearly see my mistakes.

I grabbed my cell phone and speed dialed my boo. I got sent to voicemail five straight times. On the sixth attempt Mo’ answered the phone. “Blunt, stop calling my damn phone.”

I said real softly, “Boo, all I ask is that you allow me a few minutes to say what’s in my heart. You don’t have to say anything in response, just listen to me.” I raised my foot up and planted it on the small nightstand on the side of the bed.

I was posted up in only a wife beater and black boxers. I tightly clutched the bottle of Henny in my hand and took a gulp. I was gettin' good and gon’ off that fiyah water.

“No, Blunt. You don’t deserve another minute of my time. I’ve wasted three years on you, and I’m not wasting another second. This is where I get off the rollercoaster, Sir,” Mo' stated without a hint of regret in her voice.

My heart dropped at the thought that she may have meant it this time. I spoke fast before she could hang up. "Mo’, you kno’ I love you. You can’t even dispute that. Am I perfect? Nah, not by a long shot, but my love for you is one hunnid, and that’s a foundation that you just don’t toss away. I told you when we first hooked up that sometimes I might make some pretty big mistakes, but you will always be able to count on my heart. Anything you ask me for, I give it to you, and I give it wit’ a smile ‘cause you’re my baby.”

“No, Blunt, I’m not your baby. Your babies are by Chunuchi, some broad named Mika, another trick named Luscious, and God knows how many other baby mamas you have.”

I got quiet. I wondered how she knew about Mika and Luscious.

“What now? Cat got your tongue? See, when you lay wit’ rats they go back and tell it. Lose my number, Dog Ass Negro.” The call abruptly ended.

I didn’t even call back. I just got high and kicked myself for f*ckin’ up. My eyes slowly shut as I told myself that I had to get my baby back somehow, someway.





No Mask


Blunt

The next day I was out in the streets parlaying with my hood niggas. Mo’ was still on my mind, but I had on my game face around the homies.

“I heard you got them thangs on deck,” a nigga named Millionaire said to me as I walked up to where he was posted up on the hood of his metallic gray Dodge Charger, chopping it up wit’ some homies at Grant Park. We dapped fists.

“Yeah, I’m f*ckin’ wit’ a li’l somethin’,” I said and steered him away from the others. My li’l homie, Deuce, who was sitting on the hood of his black '64 Chevy Impala a few feet away, winked at me.

When me and Millionaire got away from the others I asked, “So, how many of them thangs you tryna f*ck wit’?”

“Depends on the ticket you got on 'em,” he replied.

“Since it’s you, I’ma let ‘em go for sixteen a piece.” I quoted a price that he couldn’t refuse.

Millionaire smiled, showin’ eight gold teeth across the top of his grill. “In that case, let me get three of them thangs,” he said like he was ordering a hunnid.

"That's what's up." I nodded.

“I would get more, but I already got a half mil tied up in another move,” he popped, frontin’ like a motha. He had gotten the nickname 'Millionaire' by talkin’ a million dollars worth of shit and exaggeratin’ nine hunnid grand of it.

“I feel you, my nigga, it’s all good. I f*cks wit’ you hard. Now that I’m plugged in, I hope we can do business on a regular basis. You feel me?” I said.

“As long as there’s no shit in the game, we can make that happen. You kno’ me, I’m not wit’ the violence. I ain’t never did no business wit’ you. Maddafact, I didn’t even kno’ you made power moves, but on the strength of Deuce's word, I’m gon’ f*ck wit’ you.”

I eyed him down. He was rocking Gucci er'thing. I said, “If it wasn’t for Deuce, I wouldn’t f*ck wit’ you either. Why do you think you didn’t kno’ I pump weight? I don’t be puttin’ myself out there like that cause the game is too grimey and niggaz can’t be trusted. I’ma give you my number, and if you hit me up by nine tonight, we can make it happen.”

Millionaire locked me in to his Smartphone and promised to get at me by nine. I leaned over and hollered at Deuce before bouncin’.

For the next five hours, I periodically checked the prepaid phone that I copped specifically for dudes such as Millionaire to get at me. A li’l after eight, he called and told me he was ready to see me.

“Give me an hour and meet me at Ms. Winners on Jonesboro Road. Come solo or else it’s not goin’ down. I don’t do the entourage thing. Our business ain’t no one else’s,” I cautioned.

“That’s what’s up,” agreed Millionaire. “I'll be in my old school whip.” I knew the ride he was referring to.

“Say no more.”

I hung up the phone, dashed right off to the meeting spot, and cased it out until I saw Millionaire pull up in his ’64 orange-juice colored Impala on 24 inch chromed shoes. I remained parked across the street until I was confident that he was alone, and then I hit him on the hip.

“Yeah,” he answered on the first ring.

“I just saw you roll up. Drive across the street. I'm over here waiting.”



When he pulled next to me, I rolled down my window. “Sup, Homie? Let’s do this real quick. You got forty-eight bands wit’ you?”

“Yeah, down to the penny,” he assured me.

“Aight, I got the work.” I hopped out of my whip carryin’ a large shoe bag. I went up to the driver’s window and asked him to show me the bread.

He reached in the back seat and grabbed a paper shopping bag. He opened it so I could look inside, and stacks winked at me.

“Game over,” I announced unmercifully as my Glock came up barkin’ irreversible larceny.

The whole side of Millionaire’s face tore away from his head. The scene reminded me of that old newsreel of JFK being assassinated. Homie's head snapped back violently. Boc! Boc! Two more shots splattered what remained of his head all over the seats. I reached my arm inside the car and grabbed the paper shoppin’ bag. Then I was out.

As I pulled off and hit the gas pedal, my ringtone on my personal jack sang Mo’s personal tune. “Sup, Boo?” I answered calmly, as if I hadn’t just pushed a nigga's scalp back.

“Missing you,” she said in a voice as sweet as candied yams.

“I’m missing you too, Baby,” I sang in her ear as I bent a corner on two wheels. “Can I come back home?”

The line grew quiet.

“Hello? Sup, Shawdy, you still there?”

I looked down at the screen and realized that the call had disconnected. I didn’t kno’ if the call had dropped, or Mo’ had hung up. Whatever the case, I would get back at her later. Right now, I was gettin' the f*ck out of Dodge.





What You Don’t Want Somebody Else Does


Molaysia

“Dammit,” I hissed.

My phone’s signal had dropped as soon as Blunt asked to come home. As bad as I wanted to call him back, I didn’t. I took the dropped call as a sign from above that I shouldn’t have called him in the first place.

My moment of weaknesses had passed. Now, I was okay. Anger replaced the longing for Blunt that had led to me calling him. I became more determined than before to let him go on about his business. Those children that he had fathered behind my back were the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back.

I strolled back and forth from the kitchen to my bedroom in deep thought. I had to find a way to get over Blunt and move on to bigger and better. Like my cousin kept drilling in my head, it was time for me to wise up and stop letting him walk all over me like I was a dusty rug.

I deserved to be treated so much better. Suddenly, I recalled something that I had heard my college roommate say years ago. She said that the easiest way to get over someone is to converse with someone new. That was exactly what I intended to do.

I marched into the library and flicked on the light switch behind the door. I went over to the bookshelf where I kept my little black book. It was dusty from lack of use. I flipped it open and searched the pages until I came across my old high school sweetheart, Fabian's, phone number.

Three months ago, I had gone back home to Memphis, Tennessee to attend my ten- year class reunion. Fabian had been there, looking as fine as ever. It was a surprise to see him because last I heard he was locked up for assault with attempt to murder. That was no surprise at all because underneath the scholar student that Fabian had been in school, there had always lived a real bad boy.

When I asked about the trouble that he had gotten himself into, he explained it away as being a whole lot to do about nothing. I accepted his explanation along with his number, but I had told him that I was involved in a serious relationship.

"I understand, Molaysia, and I would never trespass on that. Just take my number and if things don't work out, give me a call," he'd said.

That night at the reunion, we had talked for hours, reminiscing and laughing about days gone by. Fabian told me that he owned two well-known nightclubs in Atlanta. He also made it a point to mention that he was single with no children.

"That's wonderful," I remarked.

"Not really," he disagreed. "I want a wife and children." He had looked at me with a look that I knew well.

I cleared my throat to hide my nervousness. I could never forget him because I had given him my virginity. We had dated for four years, but we eventually went in opposite directions after college. The strain of attending two different colleges and hardly seeing one another had contributed to our break up. It was quite a surprise that we both had relocated to Atlanta.

"Do you ever miss me, Mo'?" he asked that night.

I didn't respond to the question because it would have been inappropriate. Now, it was okay to give him an honest answer.

I went to bed that night trying to conjure up the nerve to give Fabian a call. By mid afternoon the next day, I had gathered up the courage to follow through on my thoughts. I went in the living room and dialed his number from my cell while my heart began racing faster than a military airplane. I was so nervous it was pathetic. The second that I heard his voice, I lost my nerve and hung up.

A few seconds later my phone rang, and Fabian's number came up on the screen. "Hello," I answered, sounding like the shy school girl that I had been when we first met.

"I'm sorry, but did someone just call me from this number?" he asked.

“Yes, this is Molaysia. How are you?”

“What’s been up with you, Girl?” He chuckled a bit. I could tell from the surprise in his tone that he had a smile as wide as the sky.

I plopped down on my leather recliner and twirled a strand of hair around my finger. “Not much. Same ole’ things just a different day."

"That doesn't sound very exciting. A woman like you deserves to smile every day."

"Life isn't quite like that," I said ruefully.

"Well, maybe you should think about making some changes in your life?" he suggested. "What is it that blocks your happiness?"

That began an hour long conversation. By the time it began winding down, my frown had been wiped away. We laughed and reminisced on a lot that happened in high school, and I enjoyed every minute.

“What do you have planned for later on tonight?” he asked.

“My cousin and I are going to the Keith Sweat concert. This is my birthday weekend.”

“When is your birthday? I’m sorry, you know I’m terrible at remembering those.” I could tell by the questions he asked that he was trying to hook up and chill.

“My birthday is tomorrow.”

“Well, do you have any plans?”

“No, I’m free. My cousin is here from Memphis, and she’s leaving Sunday morning heading back.”

He laughed. “You talking about Leesha?”

“Yes.”

“Is that girl still crazy? Man, I remember her from when we dated. She was a straight fool.”

“And nothing has changed about her.” I laughed.

"Has much changed about you?" he probed a little deeper.

"Some things," I hesitantly admitted because I didn't want to sound sour. There was a time before Blunt came into my life when I had a much more positive disposition.

"Mo', don't give up on love. Don't ever allow anyone to rob you of that," Fabian advised.

"I'll try not to." That was the best that I could promise because Blunt had done so much to destroy my fantasies.

Changing the topic of the conversation Fabian asked, “Can I take you out for drinks and dinner for your birthday?”

"I would love that," I eagerly accepted his invitation. I wasn't looking for anything more than a nice night out. I needed it.

We agreed to meet up tomorrow and ended the call.



Leesha and I started getting ready for the concert about two hours ahead of time so that we wouldn’t run late.

I showered, and then began styling my hair and getting dressed. An hour later, I was ready to go. I checked myself out in the high glossed, white, full lengthened Cheval floor mirror. I was fly in a snow-white Christopher Kane dress and a pair of satin Fendi color block sandals. My hair was pulled up to my crown and pinned to my head in an elegant bun. I reached over on the dresser and sprayed on Candy by Prada. The sensual, caramel, and vanilla scent smelled sexy. Hands down, I was going to be one of the best dressed chicks of the night.

I pranced downstairs into the living room feeling sexy and alive for a change. Leesha came down ten minutes later. She was dressed to the nine in a jaw dropping, leg baring, body-hugging, red Armani dress which proved that she had her body and style together.

“Ooh, girl we are both looking like some number one stunners,” she proclaimed, twirling around in a circle to show off her outfit.

I laughed. “Don’t hurt ‘em, Cuz. ‘Cause, girlfriend, you’re killing that fit.”

When I was around Leesha, the properness that I usually spoke with went out the window.

The twins came into the room and were checking us out. “Y’all look good, Mama,” Akeela said.

“Thanks, Boo boo.” Leesha planted a kiss on her forehead.

The other twin smiled at me. “Auntie, you’re so pretty. You and Mama are the bomb dot com.”

Leesha and I burst out laughing. We both hugged the girls before heading out the door for our Ladies Night Out.

Leesha turned toward them on her way outside. “Y’all keep these doors closed and don’t touch or break shit up in here ‘cause I’m gon’ have to pay for it. Don’t be in here playing loud music either and popping y’all asses. Act like I taught y’all some manners --- y'all are not half-raised.”

“Ugh,” Akeela grunted, looked her mother up and down and folded her arms like Leesha was getting on her nerves.

Leesha batted her long eyelashes and frowned at her. “You’re starting to smell yourself. You better stop talking back to me before I have you wondering what train just hit that ass.”

She looked at me and snapped her finger. “I knew there was something I needed to ask you. Do you think Blunt is coming back here tonight? ‘Cause I don’t need him barging in here where my kids are with his crazy ass.”

“No, I took my door key off his key ring about a week ago, after he came tip-toeing in the house at the crack of dawn. Don’t worry about that; he’s not coming back over here, especially not since you’re around.”

I turned the alarm system on to further dispel Leesha's worries. We told the kids we loved them and were out.

On the way to the concert, while listening to the smooth blend of R&B love songs, Leesha reached over in her bra and upped half a blunt. I waved my hand from side to side in objection.

“Un uh, Girl, you can’t smoke that mess up in here. We may get stopped by the police. Furthermore, I don't want the smell of it in my clothes.”

“Hush. I got this.” She waved me off, reached in her leather black Gucci handbag, pulled out a lighter, and fired it up. “Crack your window. That will help so that the smell won’t absorb in our clothes.”

I reached over and pushed the button, and the window slowly glided downward. She took a few puffs and fumbled around in her handbag. I looked away, taking in the scenery as I drove down I-85.

Atlanta was my favorite city and living here had been an absolute dream. The city was obviously doing something right because it was growing at a rapid pace. I could be so happy here if I had the right person to share it with, I thought.

Leesha sprayed something up in the air. I sniffed in its gritty scent. “That smells good,” I told her as I zoomed past a SUV.

"You like it?"

“Yes, what is that? The new Black Friday perfume by Nicki Minaj?”

She looked at me sideways and twisted her upper lip. “Hell nawl, this is that new Apple Mango Tango by Febreze. I stole it out of your bathroom. I ain’t gon’ be squirting my expensive shit out to cover up the weed scent. No, ma’am. I save my good shit for my body.”

I thought to myself, Well, damn, that’s where I recognized that scent from.

I pushed into the parking lot of The Atlanta Civic Center. It was packed from one end to the other with ticket holders. Females were getting out of their vehicles with the fresh dos and banging outfits. A few couples walked towards the building holding hands. Parking lot attendants directed traffic.

A black BMW rolled along in front of us at a snail's pace. The driver of the Beemer was instructed by one of the attendants to park next to a red truck. I rolled my window down, and we were directed to park in a vacant space not far from the BMW in front of me.

We stepped out of the car and walked up to the entrance, where Leesha spotted Fabian in front of us walking with some skinny brown-skinned woman who looked to be in her mid thirties. She was wearing a dark blue halter dress. Fabian turned his head and our eyes briefly met. He jerked his head back around so fast it's a miracle that it didn't go flying off his neck.

I shook my head, wondering why he was acting like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He could have mentioned when we talked earlier that he was attending the concert with a friend I would have understood. It wasn't like he was my man.

Leesha whispered, “Chile, that’s the best he can do? And no that bitch didn’t leave the house looking like a stank ass hoe. That trick skinnier than an ant’s dick.”

I shook my head and tried my best not to laugh at the nutcase. Skinny Minnie was obviously doing something right because at least she had a man.

We made it to the auditorium and showed our tickets at the door. The inside of the place was huge. Fluorescent lights hung down from the ceiling, casting a festive glow over the concertgoers. Nearly all of the four thousand seats were already occupied, although forty-five minutes remained before show time. We found our front row seats and settled in.

Forty-five minutes later the curtains opened and Keith Sweat swaggered out on the stage with the microphone in his hand singing his throw back song, ‘Nobody.’

I could hardly breathe while watching him sing. He glanced down at Leesha and smiled.

“Yo’ smile is so pretty you can make the sun shine at night,” Leesha yelled out to him, embarrassing the hell out of me.

After the third song, I was breathless from his voice. The ladies were mesmerized and a bunch of them were standing at the stage reaching out for him to touch their hands looking like some straight groupies, and my cousin was one of them.

I covered my face with my hand when she eased her black thong down, whirled it around like a hula-hoop, and tossed it on stage. Her undies landed on the tip of Keith’s shoe. I was so embarrassed I could have died, but I laughed it off and enjoyed the show. It was exactly what I needed to forget about my problems with Blunt.