In my bedroom with my mother snoring just on the next side of the wall, I tell Yolanda that I don’t eat pussy but she only laugh as she guide my head.
I don’t deal in front of Yolanda because I know she won’t like that. If we in traffic and some guy come up to me with his hand open I look at him hard and say, “Partner, you don’t see my woman with me?” I never bring Yolanda to the park and she know she better not show up there looking for me. If she in downtown and she want to find me she only need to text me and I’ll leave my post by the kiddie swings long as I ain in the middle of nothing.
But once I left Yolanda in the car for almost two hours while I went into Fish house to get a gun put in my mouth. That was his punk ass way of asking why I ain make no profit. And though I could have just told him that I smoke it up myself, so send me to rehab already, there was a gun in my mouth and all I could think about was Yolanda outside in my four-runner, reading her book. I done this before. Gone inside to some nigger’s house and stayed longer than I should. Told her I’d be back in a few minutes but then I gone for a hour. This though was the worse. What Yolanda thinking out there all that time? That I’s a real waste? Or maybe she ain thinking of me at all.
When I get back she in the seat reclining way back with her feet all up on my dash like she just here in the island vacationing. The thing is Yolanda never complains when I make her wait, but if I’m sweating she look at me all suspicious like she think I been screwing or something … but she know I ain been doing that. She does wear me out. She younger than me, so it’s no big deal. I’m the one who should be worried really. I mean she not even with me half the year but it seem like she want to do it all the time. I have to keep asking her: “Do you love dick or just my dick?” and she laugh with that mampie laugh and tell me “Just yours, Anton, just yours.”
Yolanda is a good girl. And I done decide that a street man like me need a good sweet thing like her. It’s a balance. She’s not about “keeping it real” and all that fake shit. She’s not going hold my gun for me. And I don’t want her to. I is the thug in this. I don’t want no chick I have to worry might sell me out or turn me in because she know too much. Yolanda know I work for the Sun Shack and that I’s a hard worker even when I been smoking a lot. She the kind of girl don’t want to know everything that goes on in my life.
That summer she had a job teaching computers. And sometimes I used to bring her lunch. The other girls would look all cut eye at me. Once I see a big bush of roses on the front desk and only for a second do I wonder if they for her. But then I get my stuff together. The next day I bring she flowers. The next day a stuffed bear. Why not? I smoke a little less, add more fronter to my spliff. I save some money because one day I going buy this girl a ring. She start wearing my hand chain around she wrist and it so thick and bulky that everybody must know that it’s a man own. That she mine.
At the club I buy her friends drinks and they smile at me and tell she I is the cutest guy she ever been with, loud, so I could hear. On the dance floor when she there tongue-kissing me, like the white tourist girls do the Rastitutes, I make sure our hips don’t press cause I know she hate to feel my gun in her waist.
Some of the guys in the park probably think I is a punk. That I sprung over this girl that’s cheating on me when she off island. That she too young for me. Too educated. Fuck them. She ain cheating cause I’m digging up in her every single night—enough to keep it in her dreams when she away. And yeah she young, but so what. I still hustling and I almost thirty. Plus, she ain had no pops in her life for a long time. She need a older man. I did two years at FAMU but then my pops disappeared and I had to go home to take care of my moms. I can still
I don’t deal in front of Yolanda because I know she won’t like that. If we in traffic and some guy come up to me with his hand open I look at him hard and say, “Partner, you don’t see my woman with me?” I never bring Yolanda to the park and she know she better not show up there looking for me. If she in downtown and she want to find me she only need to text me and I’ll leave my post by the kiddie swings long as I ain in the middle of nothing.
But once I left Yolanda in the car for almost two hours while I went into Fish house to get a gun put in my mouth. That was his punk ass way of asking why I ain make no profit. And though I could have just told him that I smoke it up myself, so send me to rehab already, there was a gun in my mouth and all I could think about was Yolanda outside in my four-runner, reading her book. I done this before. Gone inside to some nigger’s house and stayed longer than I should. Told her I’d be back in a few minutes but then I gone for a hour. This though was the worse. What Yolanda thinking out there all that time? That I’s a real waste? Or maybe she ain thinking of me at all.
When I get back she in the seat reclining way back with her feet all up on my dash like she just here in the island vacationing. The thing is Yolanda never complains when I make her wait, but if I’m sweating she look at me all suspicious like she think I been screwing or something … but she know I ain been doing that. She does wear me out. She younger than me, so it’s no big deal. I’m the one who should be worried really. I mean she not even with me half the year but it seem like she want to do it all the time. I have to keep asking her: “Do you love dick or just my dick?” and she laugh with that mampie laugh and tell me “Just yours, Anton, just yours.”
Yolanda is a good girl. And I done decide that a street man like me need a good sweet thing like her. It’s a balance. She’s not about “keeping it real” and all that fake shit. She’s not going hold my gun for me. And I don’t want her to. I is the thug in this. I don’t want no chick I have to worry might sell me out or turn me in because she know too much. Yolanda know I work for the Sun Shack and that I’s a hard worker even when I been smoking a lot. She the kind of girl don’t want to know everything that goes on in my life.
That summer she had a job teaching computers. And sometimes I used to bring her lunch. The other girls would look all cut eye at me. Once I see a big bush of roses on the front desk and only for a second do I wonder if they for her. But then I get my stuff together. The next day I bring she flowers. The next day a stuffed bear. Why not? I smoke a little less, add more fronter to my spliff. I save some money because one day I going buy this girl a ring. She start wearing my hand chain around she wrist and it so thick and bulky that everybody must know that it’s a man own. That she mine.
At the club I buy her friends drinks and they smile at me and tell she I is the cutest guy she ever been with, loud, so I could hear. On the dance floor when she there tongue-kissing me, like the white tourist girls do the Rastitutes, I make sure our hips don’t press cause I know she hate to feel my gun in her waist.
Some of the guys in the park probably think I is a punk. That I sprung over this girl that’s cheating on me when she off island. That she too young for me. Too educated. Fuck them. She ain cheating cause I’m digging up in her every single night—enough to keep it in her dreams when she away. And yeah she young, but so what. I still hustling and I almost thirty. Plus, she ain had no pops in her life for a long time. She need a older man. I did two years at FAMU but then my pops disappeared and I had to go home to take care of my moms. I can still
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