“You ain’t say it, but I can tell this whole black girl/Korean guy thing still bothers you. You barely even look at me in public or around your friends.” He masks his face with cupped hands.
“That’s ridiculous, you know I don’t discriminate.” She runs her onyx fingers along his temple, “I’ve dated Asians before, Jews, Italians, Irish, you know this has nothing to do with your insecurities.”
“Yeah, dat shit was high school. Randy was da only nigga you been wit’ as an adult and you fought to keep him.”
She pauses, closing her eyes and inhaling before refocusing her gaze on him, “I didn’t fight for Randy because he was black. I fought for Randy because he was worth it to me.”
He raises his head from his palms.
“And he lied to you—”
“He loved me.”
“He cheated on you—”
“I loved him.”
“You cheated on him—”
“We loved each other.”
“We cheated on him together.”
“I was young, hurt, betrayed, foolish.”
“He left you pregnant with a baby—”
“You say it like we gave him a choice in the matter.”
“He chose where he wanted to put his dick—”
She withdraws her embrace and rises, staring at his seated body, “That’s my daughta’s fatha you talkin’ ‘bout… in his house. I can’t wait til the cab comes fa ya dumb ass.”
His expression stiffens, he returns her glare, “Just cuz Randi might have his DNA doesn’t make him her father!”
Her eyelids spring open revealing the cocoa borders of her irises beyond the green contacts as her face sways side to side, “What?”
Rising, his cheeks redden as he recounts: “Yo, I been here for you since before you were four months pregnant, didn’t ask no questions. I just picked up cravings, carried groceries, went baby shopping with you, shiiiiit, I even checked out day care centers.” Five olive fingers remain erect, a visual tally of his deeds. “You never even got the DNA testing done to see if it was really his, yet you still named her after that nigga—”
“That’s the third time ya fixed ya face to say nigga tonight, ya know I don’t—”
He looks toward the kitchen light, his expression stiff, “Now you changin’ the subject cuz I’m confrontin’ you, it’s a good thing I aint gotta worry about offending you no more—”
“Oh, but you gonna respect me in my house.” Her gaze is cold, green eyes steady and unmoving.
His Adam’s apple swells as he swallows. His face becomes flushed and his stance softens. His eyes gradually rise to meet hers, before falling to the beige floor tiles under their scrutiny, “… I’m sorry baby… but I’ve done so much to let you know I love you. I just need closure.”
“I told you why already.”
“But we both know that’s not why, is there somebody else?” His stare lingers on her masked irises.
“Of course not—” she shuts her eyes, turning her face toward the kitchen light.
“Is it because you’re not attracted to me—” he stares at her dark temples and high cheekbones.
She turns her face to meet his, “I wouldn’t have slept with you if you weren’t attractive.”
“Was it the sex?”
“Sex with you was usually good.”
“Usually?”
“Yeah, unless you came home drunk on some minute man shit, or when you get too drunk and get all limp noodle on me.”
“Honesty dully noted. So, it’s really because I get home late?” His black eyes shake in the wake of his question.
“And you lie to me all the time.” A smirk slants her lips, creasing her dark cheek.
His cheeks redden, “But I don’t lie though, you always used to complain that this nigga Randy kept lying to you. Or did you just forget—”
She presses her thumb and forefinger into her dark eyelids as her eyebrows push down toward her nose and her lips press up to meet it, scrunching her face, “You’re right, you just withhold information.”
“Like what?”
Easing her fingers’ pressure from her eyelids, she relaxes her face. Her eyes sweep the floor, fingers fan as her thin arms linger in the space between his watery eyes and her dark body, “I don’t give a fuck anymore; I just know I ain’t got the energy to go through this with you any longer.”
“What? So because you gave your love to the wrong guy, you’re not willing to put in the work with me?” His cheeks redden, “I didn’t even complain when you refused to let Randi call me daddy. I’m all—”
“Now, fall the fuck back. I appreciate everything you’ve done to help me through this and I appreciate everything you’ve done for Randi. But don’t pretend to know what its like to grow up with a dead father. Whether you or me like it, that’s part of her. We can’t erase Randy from her genes—” She saunters, tapered waist swaying her heart shaped hips en route to the living room.
His stance stiffens as he beats back tears, face decreasing in redness while staring at her thick hair, “That was my boy, you know I loved him. You should know I don’t want him erased. But for all you know, her real father is someone else, you choose not to find out if he is and still refuse to acknowledge my contributions; You can’t have it both ways.”
Her gaze lingers in the air before her, “I do acknowledge what you do, but it’s hard… him leaving like he did… caught up in a fucked up love quadrangle… the numbers we called… for a long time, I let my anger over his betrayal overpower my mourning. No one deserves—” her eyes shutter as she sighs, shaking her head.
He approaches her, stopping at her back, “So you martyr him and blame me instead of dealing with your feelings?”
“I didn’t martyr him,” she begins, fingers gliding along her bare biceps, “but he is a part of my daughter and by extension me—”
Orbiting to face her, his gaze washes over her visage before resting on her eyes, “Is he?”
“I know he’s her father.”
“How? You never tested.”
“A mother just knows, everyday she looks more like him, makes his expressions—”
“They always say that on Maury too, until the test results—”
“Don’t get fucked up.”
“I’m sorry… But what if… What does that make me then?”
“I can’t call it; you’re the guy that I talked to all those nights that Randy was doing me dirty, shared his strength with Randi and me when we needed it,” lifting her head, their gazes to meet, “but it’s been two and a half years and we keep having the same argument. We need to admit this ain’t workin’.”
“So you were using me—” he recoils from her vision, reversing beyond the couch and stopping near the sandalwood table.
Her eyes widen, as she shrugs her shoulders, “Use you? For what? I ain’t settling for someone who’ll lie to me again.”
“You think you’re settling with me?” His face reddens.
“I ain’t mean it like that—” she approaches him.
“Don’t try to spare—” his stare halts her advance at the far arm of the couch.
Staring at him from across the couch spanning the distance between them, she begins, “Look, we know this ain’t gonna work. Your moms slammed the door in my face the first time you brought me over—” her face becomes increasingly animated as she nears the end of her statement.
His face becomes flushed, “You know how my mom gets; you can’t be dumping me because of her.” Brow furrows and cheeks redden as he begins, “Besides, your brothers look at me funny when I backspin, n’ freestyle n’ shit, you don’t even let me say—”
Pausing, she closes her eyelids and releases a long sigh. Her green contacts roll about her corneas before refocusing on his face; “It’s okay for your mom to say to me that black people steal. Well, except for me, since I’m ‘not like those black people.’ But how can you expect Randi to grow up with a grandmother that hates her people?”
The redness again departing his cheeks, his eyes widen in desperation, “Baby, you see how guys look at me when we’re together. Even out here—”
“But I always stand up for you! You never stand up for me! Ever!” She says, stiffening her back, as she rises from the floor. Her gaze tremors as her eyes sweep his face.
“How dare you,” he begins, his body rising in synch with his volume, “My family hasn’t spoken to me in a year because I chose you—”
“I was just your excuse to run from ‘em again,” she begins, fingers pressed into her dark temples as she closes her eyes, “First it was Randy and the niggas, then it was me. You ain’t never like ‘em anyway.”
“My mom, my sisters—”
“Bitch ass.”
“My friends, brothers—”
“Pussy!”
“My dad—”
“Fuck ya bitch ass pops.”
“Don’t say shit about my pops. I never disrespect anyone in your family.” He launches toward her, his olive fingertips sinking into her raven flesh.
Her eyelids shutter her contacts as her body trembles. “Get your fucking hands off me Daniel. Don’t make the hood come up outta me.” Her gaze is steely. He loosens his grip, receding from her. His wide, black eyes twinkle in the light, mouth agape.
“I… I… I’m sorry…” he eases his hold, eyes narrow as his cheeks become flushed, “but you don’t know what it feels like to have people staring at you when you have Randi in public; like when did he adopt her? The fucked up stares I get from the old Chinese mothers on the ferry, the uncomfortable looks we get from your family, the way the Japanese business men look at me with shame, like I let you trap me—”
Her expression softens, “That’s why you don’t hold my hand in public anymore?”
“Yeah… well that… and—” his eyes ricochet about the room.
“Finish!” her eyes narrow into slits as she locks onto him.
His eyes settle on her, “No,” he says before collapsing into the couch.
She hovers over him, green eyes unmoving, “You done started already; might as well finish sayin’ it.”
“What’s the point?” he sighs, “You just want closure but you won’t tell me why you’re breaking up with me.”
Her long, smooth legs begin to fold as she stoops before him, rakish fingers stroking his bare cheek. “I told you already: you lie to me and I won’t let your racist family make my daughter uncomfortable in her skin.”
“But, I don’t lie to you,” his voice quakes while he lifts his moist eyes to meet her touch, “I even moved away from my family.”
“See, as much as you empathize, you don’t know what it’s like to be the skinny, dark-skinned girl with nappy hair; the last to develop in your school.” Her eyes stare at the shinny black cushions on the couch, “The kids would call me Tar Baby… tell me I spit Yoo-hoo… just a lot of cruel shit… I used to be ashamed of where I came from for so long… I hated Senegal and every other country in Africa for making me so dark.”
“That’s your problem, you worry about how people who hate see you,” his olive finger gently nudges her chin upward “I love your dark skin, I think it’s sexy. But dealin’ with those assholes made you the strong—”
Rebuffing his touch, she shakes her chin free, gripping his fingers in her clutch, “Only cuz my fam made sure they let me know how beautiful I was. See, this is what you don’t understand about my family: We laugh during rough times cuz cryin’ is easy; We tease and torment to prepare you for the nasty shit the rest of the world has to say. But, once we accept you, you in for life; we loyal to ours.” Tears tumble down her cheek before colliding with the wood panels. “As much as I love you Deniel, you and your family ain’t gonna hold Randi down like that.”
He leaves the comfort of the soft, warm couch and walks toward the front window. Through muddy tears, he stares beyond his dark reflection at the comforter of white snow blanketing the streets.
“You know, I never thought about it that way—”
Her back faces the long hallway as she stands. Reddened eyes stare at the gap between his sagging jeans and long t-shirt, occupied by stripped boxers, “I tried to deal with it for so long but—”
“I don’t think you give me enough credit.” His fingers repel from the cold window sill.
“What do you mean?” She approaches him, “I said I appreciate what you do—”
“Not for what I do for you and Randi. I mean for what me and my family have lived through.”
“What, the struggles of growing up on the mean streets of Forrest Hills?” She smiles playfully, resting her palm on his shoulder. Their gazes linger as he reflects her mirthful expression and they intertwine fingers.
“No, I mean going to school with my fellow poor Black, White and Spanish kids in Harlem before we moved to Queens.” He stares at wood panels beneath them, “I went to school with these cats for the first thirteen years of my life: We listened to Black Star, Organized Konfusion, Reasonable Doubt together, we skated together, robbed bodegas together. But I was always Bruce Lee with my friends.”
“Sounds like love, my people use to call me Bean Pole.”
His eyes travel up her slender legs, beyond her stomach, before resting on the transparent edges of her contacts, “Yeah, they toughened me up, which is why I can appreciate your family despite the way they treat me.”
“So why you always actin’ tight around ‘em?” Her brow furrows.
“Because I always had to restrain myself.” His head shakes, cheeks reddening, “God forbid I would have called one of them a porch monkey—”
Her eyes narrow as she leans away, loosening her grip on his fingers, “You crossing the line again.”
He releases her from his grip, “Nah, I just mean that my boys, even Randy, allowed me to joke back with them however I wanted.” Staring into the whiteness outside, he continues, “You think it’s alright for your cousins to call me Chinky, Oriental, Bruce Leroy—”
She stares at his profile, glowing yellow in the light from the street lamps, “What’s your point?”
“We both know you guys are too sensitive about your culture to be so fucked about everyone else’s.”
“You don’t know what it’s like to grow up black in New York Shawn.”
“I think I know better than you.”
“The fuck you mean?” She quizzes, brow furrowing as her arms cross beneath her breasts.
“That’s ridiculous, you know I don’t discriminate.” She runs her onyx fingers along his temple, “I’ve dated Asians before, Jews, Italians, Irish, you know this has nothing to do with your insecurities.”
“Yeah, dat shit was high school. Randy was da only nigga you been wit’ as an adult and you fought to keep him.”
She pauses, closing her eyes and inhaling before refocusing her gaze on him, “I didn’t fight for Randy because he was black. I fought for Randy because he was worth it to me.”
He raises his head from his palms.
“And he lied to you—”
“He loved me.”
“He cheated on you—”
“I loved him.”
“You cheated on him—”
“We loved each other.”
“We cheated on him together.”
“I was young, hurt, betrayed, foolish.”
“He left you pregnant with a baby—”
“You say it like we gave him a choice in the matter.”
“He chose where he wanted to put his dick—”
She withdraws her embrace and rises, staring at his seated body, “That’s my daughta’s fatha you talkin’ ‘bout… in his house. I can’t wait til the cab comes fa ya dumb ass.”
His expression stiffens, he returns her glare, “Just cuz Randi might have his DNA doesn’t make him her father!”
Her eyelids spring open revealing the cocoa borders of her irises beyond the green contacts as her face sways side to side, “What?”
Rising, his cheeks redden as he recounts: “Yo, I been here for you since before you were four months pregnant, didn’t ask no questions. I just picked up cravings, carried groceries, went baby shopping with you, shiiiiit, I even checked out day care centers.” Five olive fingers remain erect, a visual tally of his deeds. “You never even got the DNA testing done to see if it was really his, yet you still named her after that nigga—”
“That’s the third time ya fixed ya face to say nigga tonight, ya know I don’t—”
He looks toward the kitchen light, his expression stiff, “Now you changin’ the subject cuz I’m confrontin’ you, it’s a good thing I aint gotta worry about offending you no more—”
“Oh, but you gonna respect me in my house.” Her gaze is cold, green eyes steady and unmoving.
His Adam’s apple swells as he swallows. His face becomes flushed and his stance softens. His eyes gradually rise to meet hers, before falling to the beige floor tiles under their scrutiny, “… I’m sorry baby… but I’ve done so much to let you know I love you. I just need closure.”
“I told you why already.”
“But we both know that’s not why, is there somebody else?” His stare lingers on her masked irises.
“Of course not—” she shuts her eyes, turning her face toward the kitchen light.
“Is it because you’re not attracted to me—” he stares at her dark temples and high cheekbones.
She turns her face to meet his, “I wouldn’t have slept with you if you weren’t attractive.”
“Was it the sex?”
“Sex with you was usually good.”
“Usually?”
“Yeah, unless you came home drunk on some minute man shit, or when you get too drunk and get all limp noodle on me.”
“Honesty dully noted. So, it’s really because I get home late?” His black eyes shake in the wake of his question.
“And you lie to me all the time.” A smirk slants her lips, creasing her dark cheek.
His cheeks redden, “But I don’t lie though, you always used to complain that this nigga Randy kept lying to you. Or did you just forget—”
She presses her thumb and forefinger into her dark eyelids as her eyebrows push down toward her nose and her lips press up to meet it, scrunching her face, “You’re right, you just withhold information.”
“Like what?”
Easing her fingers’ pressure from her eyelids, she relaxes her face. Her eyes sweep the floor, fingers fan as her thin arms linger in the space between his watery eyes and her dark body, “I don’t give a fuck anymore; I just know I ain’t got the energy to go through this with you any longer.”
“What? So because you gave your love to the wrong guy, you’re not willing to put in the work with me?” His cheeks redden, “I didn’t even complain when you refused to let Randi call me daddy. I’m all—”
“Now, fall the fuck back. I appreciate everything you’ve done to help me through this and I appreciate everything you’ve done for Randi. But don’t pretend to know what its like to grow up with a dead father. Whether you or me like it, that’s part of her. We can’t erase Randy from her genes—” She saunters, tapered waist swaying her heart shaped hips en route to the living room.
His stance stiffens as he beats back tears, face decreasing in redness while staring at her thick hair, “That was my boy, you know I loved him. You should know I don’t want him erased. But for all you know, her real father is someone else, you choose not to find out if he is and still refuse to acknowledge my contributions; You can’t have it both ways.”
Her gaze lingers in the air before her, “I do acknowledge what you do, but it’s hard… him leaving like he did… caught up in a fucked up love quadrangle… the numbers we called… for a long time, I let my anger over his betrayal overpower my mourning. No one deserves—” her eyes shutter as she sighs, shaking her head.
He approaches her, stopping at her back, “So you martyr him and blame me instead of dealing with your feelings?”
“I didn’t martyr him,” she begins, fingers gliding along her bare biceps, “but he is a part of my daughter and by extension me—”
Orbiting to face her, his gaze washes over her visage before resting on her eyes, “Is he?”
“I know he’s her father.”
“How? You never tested.”
“A mother just knows, everyday she looks more like him, makes his expressions—”
“They always say that on Maury too, until the test results—”
“Don’t get fucked up.”
“I’m sorry… But what if… What does that make me then?”
“I can’t call it; you’re the guy that I talked to all those nights that Randy was doing me dirty, shared his strength with Randi and me when we needed it,” lifting her head, their gazes to meet, “but it’s been two and a half years and we keep having the same argument. We need to admit this ain’t workin’.”
“So you were using me—” he recoils from her vision, reversing beyond the couch and stopping near the sandalwood table.
Her eyes widen, as she shrugs her shoulders, “Use you? For what? I ain’t settling for someone who’ll lie to me again.”
“You think you’re settling with me?” His face reddens.
“I ain’t mean it like that—” she approaches him.
“Don’t try to spare—” his stare halts her advance at the far arm of the couch.
Staring at him from across the couch spanning the distance between them, she begins, “Look, we know this ain’t gonna work. Your moms slammed the door in my face the first time you brought me over—” her face becomes increasingly animated as she nears the end of her statement.
His face becomes flushed, “You know how my mom gets; you can’t be dumping me because of her.” Brow furrows and cheeks redden as he begins, “Besides, your brothers look at me funny when I backspin, n’ freestyle n’ shit, you don’t even let me say—”
Pausing, she closes her eyelids and releases a long sigh. Her green contacts roll about her corneas before refocusing on his face; “It’s okay for your mom to say to me that black people steal. Well, except for me, since I’m ‘not like those black people.’ But how can you expect Randi to grow up with a grandmother that hates her people?”
The redness again departing his cheeks, his eyes widen in desperation, “Baby, you see how guys look at me when we’re together. Even out here—”
“But I always stand up for you! You never stand up for me! Ever!” She says, stiffening her back, as she rises from the floor. Her gaze tremors as her eyes sweep his face.
“How dare you,” he begins, his body rising in synch with his volume, “My family hasn’t spoken to me in a year because I chose you—”
“I was just your excuse to run from ‘em again,” she begins, fingers pressed into her dark temples as she closes her eyes, “First it was Randy and the niggas, then it was me. You ain’t never like ‘em anyway.”
“My mom, my sisters—”
“Bitch ass.”
“My friends, brothers—”
“Pussy!”
“My dad—”
“Fuck ya bitch ass pops.”
“Don’t say shit about my pops. I never disrespect anyone in your family.” He launches toward her, his olive fingertips sinking into her raven flesh.
Her eyelids shutter her contacts as her body trembles. “Get your fucking hands off me Daniel. Don’t make the hood come up outta me.” Her gaze is steely. He loosens his grip, receding from her. His wide, black eyes twinkle in the light, mouth agape.
“I… I… I’m sorry…” he eases his hold, eyes narrow as his cheeks become flushed, “but you don’t know what it feels like to have people staring at you when you have Randi in public; like when did he adopt her? The fucked up stares I get from the old Chinese mothers on the ferry, the uncomfortable looks we get from your family, the way the Japanese business men look at me with shame, like I let you trap me—”
Her expression softens, “That’s why you don’t hold my hand in public anymore?”
“Yeah… well that… and—” his eyes ricochet about the room.
“Finish!” her eyes narrow into slits as she locks onto him.
His eyes settle on her, “No,” he says before collapsing into the couch.
She hovers over him, green eyes unmoving, “You done started already; might as well finish sayin’ it.”
“What’s the point?” he sighs, “You just want closure but you won’t tell me why you’re breaking up with me.”
Her long, smooth legs begin to fold as she stoops before him, rakish fingers stroking his bare cheek. “I told you already: you lie to me and I won’t let your racist family make my daughter uncomfortable in her skin.”
“But, I don’t lie to you,” his voice quakes while he lifts his moist eyes to meet her touch, “I even moved away from my family.”
“See, as much as you empathize, you don’t know what it’s like to be the skinny, dark-skinned girl with nappy hair; the last to develop in your school.” Her eyes stare at the shinny black cushions on the couch, “The kids would call me Tar Baby… tell me I spit Yoo-hoo… just a lot of cruel shit… I used to be ashamed of where I came from for so long… I hated Senegal and every other country in Africa for making me so dark.”
“That’s your problem, you worry about how people who hate see you,” his olive finger gently nudges her chin upward “I love your dark skin, I think it’s sexy. But dealin’ with those assholes made you the strong—”
Rebuffing his touch, she shakes her chin free, gripping his fingers in her clutch, “Only cuz my fam made sure they let me know how beautiful I was. See, this is what you don’t understand about my family: We laugh during rough times cuz cryin’ is easy; We tease and torment to prepare you for the nasty shit the rest of the world has to say. But, once we accept you, you in for life; we loyal to ours.” Tears tumble down her cheek before colliding with the wood panels. “As much as I love you Deniel, you and your family ain’t gonna hold Randi down like that.”
He leaves the comfort of the soft, warm couch and walks toward the front window. Through muddy tears, he stares beyond his dark reflection at the comforter of white snow blanketing the streets.
“You know, I never thought about it that way—”
Her back faces the long hallway as she stands. Reddened eyes stare at the gap between his sagging jeans and long t-shirt, occupied by stripped boxers, “I tried to deal with it for so long but—”
“I don’t think you give me enough credit.” His fingers repel from the cold window sill.
“What do you mean?” She approaches him, “I said I appreciate what you do—”
“Not for what I do for you and Randi. I mean for what me and my family have lived through.”
“What, the struggles of growing up on the mean streets of Forrest Hills?” She smiles playfully, resting her palm on his shoulder. Their gazes linger as he reflects her mirthful expression and they intertwine fingers.
“No, I mean going to school with my fellow poor Black, White and Spanish kids in Harlem before we moved to Queens.” He stares at wood panels beneath them, “I went to school with these cats for the first thirteen years of my life: We listened to Black Star, Organized Konfusion, Reasonable Doubt together, we skated together, robbed bodegas together. But I was always Bruce Lee with my friends.”
“Sounds like love, my people use to call me Bean Pole.”
His eyes travel up her slender legs, beyond her stomach, before resting on the transparent edges of her contacts, “Yeah, they toughened me up, which is why I can appreciate your family despite the way they treat me.”
“So why you always actin’ tight around ‘em?” Her brow furrows.
“Because I always had to restrain myself.” His head shakes, cheeks reddening, “God forbid I would have called one of them a porch monkey—”
Her eyes narrow as she leans away, loosening her grip on his fingers, “You crossing the line again.”
He releases her from his grip, “Nah, I just mean that my boys, even Randy, allowed me to joke back with them however I wanted.” Staring into the whiteness outside, he continues, “You think it’s alright for your cousins to call me Chinky, Oriental, Bruce Leroy—”
She stares at his profile, glowing yellow in the light from the street lamps, “What’s your point?”
“We both know you guys are too sensitive about your culture to be so fucked about everyone else’s.”
“You don’t know what it’s like to grow up black in New York Shawn.”
“I think I know better than you.”
“The fuck you mean?” She quizzes, brow furrowing as her arms cross beneath her breasts.
That's it for this entry, if you like what you read, you can purchase Listen... Volume 1: death at https://www.createspace.com/3366451 or on amazon.com. Featuring artwork along with the stories (Check out the trailers for a preview of the artwork).
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Use discount code: TG469U93 to save 15%.
Coming Tuesday, March 17:
3
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Coming Wednesday, March 18:
Book III: Undying Love (pt. 1)
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