AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Two days later, I’m steppin’ outta my truck on my way into Dickalina’s buildin’ when I hear someone say, “Yo, ma, what’s good?”
I hate the projects. I lived over in buildin’ four for almost sixteen years until I moved out almost two years ago. And, before then, I didn’t think I’d ever leave here, or hate comin’ back. I really thought that this was my life. That this was all I’d ever wanna know. Then somethin’ changed. I woke up one day ready to get the fuck out. I’m not sure if it was because I wanted the twins to be able to play outside and not have to worry about them gettin’ shot by a fuckin’ stray bullet that had me ready to box my shit up and bounce. If it was because the elevator had broken and I had to climb up twelve flights of pissy-ass stairs, again, for the fourth day in a row that made me say I was done with this shit. Or if it was the night I caught Day’Asia’s hot ass in the stairwell at two o’clock in the mornin’ suckin’ some fifteen-year-old niggah’s dick that I said I had enough. All I know is I knew it was time to go. Four months later, I found me a five-bedroom house with a finished basement across town that took my section-8 voucher and was out. And I don’t miss this shithole one bit.
I glance over my shoulder. “Do I know you?”
“Nah, but I’m tryna change that. Let me holla at you for a minute.”
I stop and turn to face him as he’s walkin’ up on me. He’s a tall—like six-six or some shit—brown-skinned niggah with a big nose and thick lips. I don’t recognize him from any of the buildin’s here. And it’s obvious he doesn’t know me either, comin’ outta his face like this. Everyone in these projects knows me and my kids so he’s definitely new to this part of the hood if he’s steppin’ up to me like he’s King Ding Dong.
I place a hand on my hip.
He grins.
“Damn, ma. You got a bangin’ body.”
I blink. “How old are you?”
He squares his shoulders, pops out his chest, then deepens his voice. “Seventeen, why, wassup?”
“Ain’t shit up. Not with you bein’ seventeen. So, no, you can’t holla at me. I’m old enough to be your momma, niggah.”
He grins, lickin’ his lips. “That’s wassup. I’m grown, ma. I’ll be eighteen in two weeks. I don’t fuck wit’ broads my age, anyway, so it’s all good. I like ’em older. What, you like twenty-five, twenty-six?”
Okay, the lil’ niggah’s cute. But, uh . . . I glance down at his feet. Mmmph. He has on a pair of dusty-ass Timbs. I decide to not tell him that a niggah wearin’ rundown footwear will never, ever, have a chance with me, no matter what his age. Besides, talkin’ all sideways to this young niggah isn’t smart, especially since I don’t know who he is, or who he’s related to. “No, lil’ niggah. I’m old enough to be ya mammy. So why you ain’t got ya black ass in school?” He tells me school isn’t his thing. That he has all the education he needs, right here on the streets. That he’s about makin’ his paper. “Oh, so you one of them lil’ high-school dropout niggahs who wanna hug the block instead of gettin’ an education, huh?”
“Yeah, sumthin’ like that. I’m doin’ me; that’s all.”
“Well, you keep doin’ you, boo-boo. But, you won’t be doin’ me.”
He laughs. “It’s all good. You still sexy as fuck. So if you ever change ya mind, holla at ya boy.”
“Boy, puhleeze.”
“I’m sayin’, ma.”
“Whatever, lil’ niggah. And I ain’t ya ma. You live over here?”
“Nah, my peoples do.” I ask him who they are and what buildin’ they’re in. I almost faint when he tells me he’s related to Knutz’s ass. That he’s his nephew.
“Say no more. You’ll never sniff this pussy. If you related to that crazy niggah, then you must be three screws this side of retarded, too.”
He laughs. “Oh, daaaayum; that’s foul. But, nah, I’m not as bad as him.”
“Mmmhmm. And who are you?”
“Killah,” he says, smirkin’.
Yeah, okay. This lil’ niggah crazy, too. “Well, listen, Killer . . . ”
“Nah, not Killer. It’s Killah.”
“Okay, Killah. It was nice chattin’ with you, boo. But I’m on my way up to see the woman your uncle beats up on. You know Dickalina, right?”
He frowns. “Yeah, she’s cool peoples. But I ain’t know my Unc beats on her.”
I shrug. “Well, now you do. But if he ever puts his hands on her around me, I’ma have his hands chopped off; make sure you let him know that. Look. Do me a favor and keep an eye on my truck until I get back. Do you think you can do that?”
“Yeah, I got you, ma.” He says this as another young boy—well, he looks young—walks up to him and gives him a fist pound. “Yo, what’s good, Eli?”
