RIPPED & READY (PART 44)

RIPPED & READY (PART XLIV)

Thank God my VW Jetta knew the way home, because I couldn't seem to pull myself together. Over and over in my head I kept seeing M6 flashing on his naked pectoral, a midst all the chest tape for the heart monitor wires, as well as, the breathing apparatus that kept going up and down (making that strange echoing noise). That beeping from the pulse monitor along with his lifeless looking body -- Lord! -- Jesus! --  I kept waiting for him to call me thickness or nigga or something!!!!!  

I turned the key to the apartment door and as soon as I shut it behind me, I'm snapped out of my maze of bewilderment over Collin's circumstances, by the cutest little, sandy colored hair boy. I had to blink a few times to make sure that I was not losing it.  He stood there as if he were not a figment of my imagination.  Once Joseph appeared I quickly realized that he was not a figment at all; he was, in fact, a real, living, and bright-eyed boy. 

"Daddy, is this your friend, Marco?" He asked, standing between Joseph's legs, looking up at him precociously.  

I know he didn't just ....

He couldn't possible have said what he just...

Did I hear him correctly when he said ....

Is Ashton Kutcher's ass trying to ....

No this little bubbly, charming, freckled face little spark of joy did not just call my man, Joseph, his father.  I wanted to go pop some popcorn, kick off my loafers, lay back on the sofa, and watch this unfolding drama, but I couldn't because I had a starring role in it.  I wanted to pinch the hell out of my own arm just for re-clarification but, it wasn't needed -- this little man just asked his father if I were me. 

My mouth was wide open in shock as I looked at Joseph take the utmost care in lifting up his ... his... son! I almost turned around, opened up the front door, and bolted out of the apartment like a bee-atch who had just stumbled upon a burglar rummaging through the personals. 

As hard as I tried pushing him away with a glaring-leer, he continued to approach me with baby-boy in his arms, smiling like a doting father, looking at me like I was the ... the... wait just a "got-dayum" minute, who in the fuck was I?

Mama? 

Aww, hell-to-the-naw!

First, he springs Jack-Of-All-Strokes on me and now he's about to depress my emotional button again -- I wasn't feeling Joe-Joe or this little bundle of man child, smiling and reaching out for me.  The funny thing about doing the right thing; sometimes you just want to tell it to kiss your entire ass and bust it right in the fucking mouth, but when it's only four years old all you can do is... all you have to do is... well…fuck …there's no way around it so all you can do is reach out and pull it into your arms and be as kind as possible. 

The kid hadn’t done anything to me and I was not about to treat him any other way except, in a loving way. 

Who was his mother?

Where was she?

Why did he choose to put me in such an awkward position as this?

Did I look like Boo-Boo the fool?

Is he married to her?

Is he still dating her?

Does she know that he’s into men?

Does she know that he had taken her child to his and his male lovers’ home?

Was this kid going to spend the night?

Oh, even worse, was this kid going to be living here?

I know he isn’t expecting me to …

He had better not even fix his fucking lips up to ask me to…

I feel like slapping the fucking taste out of his lying ass mouth.

And just where in the fuck is Sir Lance-O-Not at?

The more questions that I asked myself, the more reasons I had to question every “got-dayum” thing about this nigga.

I wanted to douse his ass with gasoline and strike a fucking match.

Mister-say-to-me-all-the-right-things -while-keeping-the-most-shocking-things-secretive.

I may be young but I am not a fool and this trifling motherfucker had gotten on my last damned good nerve. 

Every time I turn around I’m getting hit with bullshit and drama.  

Look at him standing over there looking like a damn shame. 

This relationship couldn’t even go past two good years without transgressions.  

Okay, Marco, it’s time to take off the damned Pampers and put some fucking real “drawz” on. 

No more of this fucking crying shee-it!

It’s time to start kicking some motherfucking ass. 

Joseph, please check in between your toes because, brotha, something is truly stinking up in this damn bee-atch! 

Now, when the little joker rested his head on my shoulder, I felt my heart open up and pull him into my feelings (Kids do that you know).   

I know some people who would have raised holy-hell in similar situations, but I was not about to break a child's heart or burst his spirit; however, once little man was at a safe distance, I was going to throw Joseph's rear-end into a skillet with some hot grease and fry the hell out of him. 

"I love you, Marco," he says, in the cutest little voice. 

What the fuck could I say?

"Awwwww....."