RIPPED & READY (PART 51)

RIPPED & READY (PART LI) 

I spent several hours at the hospital with, Collin.  He had slept most of those hours, so I just sat beside his bed, in a chair, and held his hand. When Tootchie arrived with Flora-Mae (Collin's godmother) at around 11:30am, I decided it was time for me to return home and face the music (All I know is Romper Room had better not still be running his little dusty ass feet around on my fucking, white, carpets). I know he is just a kid but, he wasn't my "got-dayum" kid, he had his own damned mother so that's exactly whom he needed to be with. 

On my drive to San Jose, I thought about D'Andre and how fast he was becoming someone I thought I knew, but really didn't know.  I mean, there I was down there bobbing for apples on his yard-stick, and that fucker had the nerve to be asking me about Denise's pussy.  Talk about a real ball buster (I should've been busting him in his two lemon sacks).

When I pulled into my parking stall, I noticed that his cream colored, Chevy Malibu was parked in its spot.  Before exciting the car, I recited Psalms 30, and hoped that joy would be coming to me this morning, because if I walked into that apartment and things were still Jerry Springerish....

Humph!  That's all I gots to say about that. 

As I approached the door, I heard laughter coming from the inside.  The child's giggles assured me that, Joe-Joe Jr. was still there and, that man’s voice, well...Jack-in-the-crack's baritone chuckles were undeniable.  I felt the blood surge up from the tips of my toes, and it was rising swiftly (It was time to clean fucking house).

I put my key into the lock, turned it, and kicked the fucking door in.  "What in the fuck is going on in my "got-dayum" house?" I asked; I was enraged. 

"The Exorcist" had nothing on the possession taking place inside of me at that current time.  My head was about to do a complete 360 degree turn.  I had had enough of all this bullshit. 

Once I laid eyes on Lance's crusty ass feet on my glass coffee table, and Joe-Joe Jr. bouncing up in his lap, I threw politeness right out the door on its presumptuous   ass.  "Little boy, I know you don't have Crayolas scattered all over my white rug? Stop all that playing and get your ass down there with the quickness and pick that shit up and if there is one "got-dayum" stain on my carpet, I'm going to stain your little ass with a fucking belt," I yelled. 

Little man jumped down so fast and the way he moved, it looked like he had the rickets he was so nervous. 

“Hell yes, it’s cleaning time, ya’ll….blue light special, every motherfucking thing that doesn’t belong here has to go!” I yelled.

Lance had fear in his eyes, and I liked it being there. Today is the day that his number was up.  "Lance, I really do mean to be rude so, let me skip the formalities.  Get your fucking stankin' ass feet off of my "got-dayum" furniture, put your socks and shoes on, and beat the pavement motherfucker!  I know you have a home, but this ain't it!" 

Old boy quickly slid on his jeans, his shoes, his coat, and nervously grabbed his back pack.  By the time Joseph emerged, dripping wet from the shower, with a towel wrapped around his waist, Marcos’ Maid cleaning service was in full effect.  Today was the day that Mr. Joseph was going to come correct – if not, I was going to bounce his ass out of that apartment and out of my life.  I was sick of this shit.  I’m supposed to welcome a new dick and kid into my home with open arms? 

HELL-TO-THE-FUCK-NO!

"What the hell is going on in here? What is all of that damn shouting about?" He asked, puzzled by all of the quick moving actions of Joe-Joe Jr. and Lance.

Let me tell you, Marco wasn't any where close to being finished.  "Look at you, living it up in this place that I'm paying 3/4 of the rent on, cohabitating with your child and this nigga!  You have been testing me for the last few weeks, Joseph, and today, well, today is the day that I flunk that motherfucking exam."

"What the hell has gotten into you, Marco?  How dare you come in here like that and disrespect my child and my company," he says.

"That little motherfucking rug rat had crayons all of this white carpet, and that nigga you call your company, was beating on his "got-dayum" tally whacker all over my fucking leather couch!" I said agitated and swearing like a damn mad man. 

"Uh..Uh..I'm sorry about any inconvenience, fellas, I didn't mean to be a burden," Lance stuttered. 

I turned around and said, "No, nigga, you were trying to be a burden, but I stopped you before you ever got a chance to be one.  The only question I have for you right now, Mr Clean is...WHY IN THE FUCK HAVEN'T YOU FOUND YOUR WAY OUT THAT MOTHERFUCKING DOOR!". 

With that, he booked it out of there like Richard Pryor's ass did when he had lit himself on fire.  When Joseph attempted to speak, I held up my hand palm facing his face, "Before we even try to sort this shit out, you had better take Junior's ass home.  I am already feeling guilty about lifting the roof off of this motherfucker with him here," I suggested.

The little boy was clinging to his father for dear life, but you know something...

I DIDN'T GIVE A FUCK!

“I’m wearing the big drawz in this bee-atch, so are there any questions about what needs to take place right now,” I asked, looking at Joseph.

“Hell, naw, man, you made yourself perfectly clear,” he said, smugly. 

I just knew this son of a bitch didn’t use a curt tone with me.  I’ll slap them motherfucking glasses off his face. 

“Tread lightly, Joseph…Tread real lightly…when you get your ass back here we are going to sit down and re-evaluate this relationship because, I really cannot handle one more surprise from your “got-dayum” ass,” I told him. 

“Something is really wrong with you, Marco.  You have some real fucked up ways,” he said. 

I stopped my decent down the hall, turned around, and walked up to him and got right in his handsome face.  “Don’t you dare try to turn this shit around to make me feel like I’m the one with the problem?  Joseph, you think about it; how would you feel if I brought some unknown nigga up in this apartment, pranced around with him in my tiny-swim-trunks, and spent all that “quality” time with him…how would that make you feel?  Oh, and we ain’t gonna even get into what the stork delivered unexpectedly to me,” I said, practically touching his nose with mine.  

I clinched my teeth together.

“Get dressed, and get the kid back to his mama, and bring your punk ass right back,” I told him. 

He tried to mumble something under his breath.

I turned back around, put my hand to my ear and asked, “What the fuck did you say?  Did you have something else to add to my request, Joseph?” I had this look on my face that let him know he had better leave well enough alone. 

“Yea, that’s what I thought,” I said.

You see, I have really learned a valuable lesson here today.  Between D’Andre’s self-centered ass, and Joseph’s inconsiderate ass, I decided for myself that these pretty boys come with too much damn baggage.  If Joseph and I didn’t work things out, I was swearing off of the poster-niggas.  Fuck them and their “got-dayum” feelings. 

I had been in our bedroom for about fifteen minutes before I heard the front door close.  Yea, that’s right, and he had better bring his cute ass back to this apartment at a reasonable time, because if he didn’t, I was cutting the strings on this relationship.  I wasn’t going to be no 10-year-down-the-road-dealing-with-drama nigga. 

Hell-to-the-“got-dayum” no!