Biker Chick by Dakota Knight

envelope. And then I got pissed.
    I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. I ripped open the envelope and yanked out the sheet of paper inside. My eyes were telling the truth. There, in bold black letters, was the word:
    Â 
    BITCH
    Â 
    My stomach turned as I stared at each letter because my mind wasn’t exactly comprehending the written word. “B-I-T-C-H,” I said each letter out loud. Yeah, girl, you see it right , my mind told me.
    I felt my anger rise as I stomped through the kitchen to the dining room. I picked up my cell phone and called Ray. He might have been trying to be funny, but I didn’t play no Bitch games. So what if I was snooping a bit? He had some major explaining to do. Of course, his voice mail picked up. His phone didn’t even ring. That meant his phone was off.
    â€œYour ass better be on the way home!” I yelled into the phone after that annoying computerized voice told me to leave a message.
    I slammed the phone down on the table and then huffed my way into the den. I sat on the loveseat facing the garage door, waiting. Here I was trying to be a good woman to my man and some bitch is sending me letters? As I waited, I continued to stare at the letter. Each time I took in the curve of the B and the C, the straightness of the I, the T, and the H, I got angrier.
    And I continued to wait.
    And wait.
    My anger simmered as the hours passed. The candles flickered. The food grew cold. After two hours, I turned on the TV to try and pass time. Not even BET’s Comic View could lighten my mood. I dialed Ray’s number a couple more times, but his voicemail immediately clicked on. I didn’t leave another message.
    After three hours, I began to worry. But my intuition told me that Ray hadn’t been in an accident. I was being stood up in my own boyfriend’s house. That had to be a new one. Best believe, I wasn’t one to stick around where I wasn’t wanted. I went to the bedroom, took off the Prada, and put on my skinny jeans and a T-shirt. I put up my leather “Silver Fox” jacket, laced up my boots, and got ready to hit the road. I left the “bitch” letter on the bed. Ray would get the message.
    My eyes didn’t start tearing up until I ran out of the garage after pressing the button inside to close the door. I left the house key Ray gave me on the dining room table. Even if I wanted to get back into the house, I wouldn’t be able to. I wiped my eyes before I put my helmet on. I refused to let a man break me down . . . at least, not until I didn’t have my ride.
    The noise from Foxy Baby’s engine couldn’t drown out my thoughts. Even the air felt different that night. I didn’t feel like a bird, flying free as I navigated the road. Instead, I felt like road kill, heavy and unappealing.
    I exited 670 East and headed toward Allegheny Avenue. I was headed toward the Meadows. Toward my friends. Even though it was almost midnight, I knew Dymond would still be up. I just hoped Shadow wasn’t with her. Chances were, Lala was with her. Greenland Meadows was a bustle of activity, even at that late hour. I could smell smoke from a barbecue. Hip-hop music was blaring from every building. I breathed in the familiarity of my former residence. It was like air, different scents, but still clear . . . always the same.
    I parked in front of Dymond’s building. I looked up to the third floor and noticed that the light to Dymond’s bedroom was on. Great . I parked my steel. I didn’t have to worry about any fools in the Meadows trying to steal it.
    Everyone knew where my steel came from, and no one would risk his life trying to make it his own.
    I climbed up the three flights of stairs. I felt the tears coming on again, but I pushed them back. I didn’t want my girls to see me crying like a baby, especially over some man. In fact, I didn’t want to give up too many details about why I was over at Dymond’s