RIPPED & READY (PART 83)

RIPPED & READY (PART LXXXIII) 

          Upon receipt of Peewee’s response, the urge in me to meet up with him forced a knot to lodge up in the back of my throat; hopefully I wasn’t biting off more than I could chomp down on.  Nothing from nothing has to leave something because I was walking into this encounter with no answers to important questions and I knew, before it was all said and done, there was sure to be blood-shed.  Peewee asked me to meet him at 6:00PM and to come alone, so I had to shake these two niggas that were latched on to me like Mississippi Ticks.

          I told them I had to hit the cleaners up to pick up some laundry.

          They rode along.

          I told them that I needed to talk with my boss at Stanford.

          They said they’d sit in the car.

          I told them that I needed to take Joseph some money.

          They said they wanted to see him too.

          Okay, after these three attempts to nicely get some alone time, I had had it.

          “Hey, it’s not like I don’t love this company, but I need some me time and you two niggas don’t seem to be getting the hint,” I told them sternly. 

          “Well, we know when we’re not wanted, right Todd,” Collin said jokingly.

          “Yea, Collin, we know,” Todd agreed.

          I hated to hurt their feelings but, this was my fight, and I really didn’t want my two friends taking the fall.  At Todd’s suggestion, I dropped them off in San Jose at Todd’s aunt Beatrice’s house.  When we pulled into the driveway, she appeared at the door with her hands on her hips, cigarette hanging out of her mouth, with those infamous pink house-slippers on.  I hadn’t seen them or her since the Tootchie/Denise slugfest a few years prior. 

          I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself remembering that one.  Tootchie cracked Denise upside her jaw with the accuracy of a Tyson punch.  Now that was a found memory if ever there was one. 

          “Nigga,” Collin said, standing outside the car, sticking his head back into the opened window, “don’t do anything stupid,” he warned. 

          “I ain’t, bro,” I lied. 

          With all that running around we did along with that last trip to Santa Cruz to take my baby some money, the clock’s hands were now on 4:30pm –exact.  It was one and a half hours to D-Time (Dick-Time).

          A text message had no personality.

          It didn’t have a tone or look.

          There wasn’t anything that you could judge just by gazing at some letters and words, so I had no idea what I was about to walk into.  I could be making the best move possible under the circumstances, but I could also be making the worst mistake of my life; however, I didn’t have a choice in the matter, the appointment time had been set and I had to add some weight to the set of balls I was carrying. 

          My pop’s use to always tell me that I wasn’t a man because I couldn’t play sports, nor was I aggressive enough in the company of heterosexual men.  When I was called sissy and the “F” word repeatedly, something inside of me had broken over the years and I no longer considered him anything other than a sperm ride into this life.  He was the absolute opposite to me of what a real father should be.  He was a disgusting, pathetic; tacky-ass dressing-fool without a clue about what it took to be a man.

          Slanging dick between her pussy and the next pussy are the actions of an insecure ass motherfucker trying to hide his fears behind the fur of a vagina. 

          Hit it

          Quit it

          Uh, huh, all that insecurity is still sitting right there staring you in the face after each busted nut.  

          At least I was making an effort to live my life without sexual secrets and deceit; he on the other hand was trapped in a polyester era long gone – he and D’Andre were identical motherfuckers in that Down-Low department and, as much as I loved Collin, he was in that low-down-down-low category as well.  So now, here I am, Fruity as Fruity-Pebbles, stepping out of my own fear and standing up for those whom I love as well as for myself. 

          Am I playing with fire?

          Of course I am.

          How do I feel about tackling with a real Gangster?

          I feel like a rabbit in a hole about to tangle with a snake.

          Everything I have lived for up to this point in my life was in jeopardy. 

          If I had to be a fish out of water I wanted to be the one with that fin on its back, because I would need that killer-instinct to tear my way through the flesh of this hostile situation.  When I pulled up into a free parking spot at the Motel, every inch of me was riddled with fear but I was determined not to run away. 

          The time was now a quarter to 6:00pm.

          I counted each and every minute from that point on…

          Fourteen…

          Thirteen…

          Twelve…

          By the time I reached one….

          Peewee had pulled into the park next to mine…

          I grabbed my dick for courage (you're a man, nigga), and looked over into his car…

          He smiled, nodding his head in approval…

          It was about to go down…