Cairo - The Kat Trap

When she came back to the table, we started grabbin’ our bags to leave. She looked back over at the two dudes, and said, “Ya’ll gentlemen enjoy the rest of ya meal.”

They smiled, watchin’ as she switched her ass out the door. I couldn’t do shit but laugh. That bitch is crazy, I thought, followin’ behind her.

The whole summer was one big-ass blur to me. I couldn’t believe the shit had just ’bout come and gone and, in another three weeks, Labor Day was gonna be here. Chanel and I were already talkin’ ’bout maybe goin’ to either Puerto Rico or St. Lucia to chill that weekend. Of course she wanted to invite Tamia’s rotten ass, but I shut that shit down real quick. I told that ho I didn’t want that dirty bitch nowhere in my space.

“Kat, that’s fucked up,” she said. “We ’posed to be girls ’n shit.”

“Wrong answer,” I replied. “You my girl. That ho was a bitch I chilled with on the strength of you. Yeah, okay, at first I thought we were cool ’n shit. And I ain’t gonna front, I did try ’n embrace her and Iris…you know, show ’em mad love. But on some real shit, them bitches was always hatin’ on us from gate. And you know it. You and I both know them sluts were ridin’ on our styles to fit in. The only reason niggas was really fuckin’ with ’em is ’cause they some greedy, dick-lovin’, cum-guzzlin’ hoes. But I ain’t never judge they asses. I still fucked with ’em. But that was then, and this is now. And now, I’ma grown-ass woman tryna do grown-ass things. I ain’t beat for none of that dirty shit she’s into. That bitch can’t even be real with hers, so hell no, that bitch can’t roll no-muhfuckin’-where with me again!”

And there you have it. That was the end of that. And just like Iris’s dumb ass got got, I knew Tamia’s crusty ass was next. You don’t go ’round fuckin’ muhfukas when you know ya pussy is jacked, spreadin’ shit. I don’t give a fuck if a nigga ain’t tryna use a condom or not. Yeah, the nigga gets what he gets, but fuck that. Bitch, be real with yours; that’s all I’m sayin’. That shit is gonna eventually get ya ass beat, or a hole in ya skull. Whatever!

Anyway, so here it was a Friday night, and I was downstairs in the media room sittin’ Indian-style in the middle of the floor in my panties, with my titties dancin’ freely about, drinkin’ Henny and blazin’ trees in my own zone, mindin’ my own damn business, when somebody started pressin’ down on my doorbell like they had lost their f-in’ mind. I started to ignore the shit, but when they started bangin’ on my damn door, that did it. I got up and stomped up the stairs, then peeked outta the peephole. A bitch almost passed out. It was Juanita standin’ on the other side of the door, with one hand on her hip and the other bangin’ on my door. “Who the fuck is it?” I yelled, actin’ like I had no clue she was out there.

“Kat, open this damn door,” she slurred loudly. I could tell her mouth was still wired the way she sounded. It sounded like she had a dick stuck in her throat, or was talkin’ with a mouthful of marbles. “It’s your mother. You know. The one you don’t seem to remember havin’.”

I walked to the window to see who else was out there with her before I decided whether or not to let her ass in. I wasn’t in the mood for gettin’ jumped by her and my crazy-ass aunts. But I’d fight her ass one-on-one if I had to. I couldn’t see anyone else, but that didn’t mean they weren’t hidin’ in the bushes or still out in her car. I knew enough to know that it was unlikely for her ass to drive way out there solo.

“Hold on,” I said, goin’ to the hall closet to find somethin’ to put on. I pulled a navy-blue silk robe off one of the wooden hangers, then put it on. I tied the belt ’round my waist, then started toward the door. Unh-uh, this chick is a nut, I thought. Ain’t no tellin’ what she’s gonna do. I stopped in my tracks and turned back around and went into the kitchen. I dumped open my bag and grabbed what I needed along with my cordless phone, just in case. I walked back to the door and opened it. I kept the storm door locked and spoke to her through the glass. “Why you here?” I asked, frownin.’ I leaned up against the doorframe, with one hand on my hip and the other behind my back.

“Are you gonna let me in or not?” she asked, slammin’ her hands on both her hips. The right side of her face was still swollen, and her left eye had a patch over it. She was still tore-up so I knew she didn’t come to put work in.

“For what?”

“What do you mean ‘for what?’”

“Duh, just what I mean.”

“Kat, don’t be a bitch. Open ya damn door and let me in so we can talk.”

I stood there in the doorway and looked at the woman who gave birth to me, the woman who practically abandoned me for the men in her life, and I felt nothin’ for her. Not one damn thing. Not happiness. Not pity. Not sadness. Not contempt. Not a goddamn thing. I was empty toward her. And I realized that that emptiness was always there ’cause she never connected with me; she never embraced me long enough to fill my emotional cup. And it was fuckin’ empty. And I was left to fill it up on my own.

I shook my head. “No. You wanna talk, then you talk outside ’cause you not welcome in my home. Besides, as far as I’m concerned, we have nothin’ to talk about. I said all I’m gonna say to you the last time we spoke, and ain’t nothin’ changed.”

She frowned. “I thought it was real fucked up that you didn’t come to the hospital to see me. I’m still ya mother.”

“Umm, and that surprised you, because…?” I said, openin’ my hand and holdin’ my arm out, pausin’ for her to fill in the blanks. When she didn’t, I continued, “I told you I was done with you. And I meant that.”

Then outta nowhere, like I suspected, here comes Rosa talkin’ shit. She musta been sittin’ in the car, or squattin’ on the side of the house. She came rushin’ up to the door in a pair of faded blue jeans and a blue oversized 2006 Essence Festival shirt with a pair of crisp white Nikes. And the chick had her hair pulled back real tight into a ponty tail with it stuffed under her fitted baseball cap like she was prepared to put some work in.

“Fuck all this back ’n forth shit, Juanita. Tell her ass we need to talk and to open up this motherfuckin’ door,” she said, talkin’ with her hands, pointin’ at me through the door. She stared at me. “Kat, open up this fuckin’ door, or bring ya fresh ass outside so we can air it out. All that slick shit on the phone ain’t forgotten, sweetie. I told you, I’ma put my foot in ya ass.”

I laughed. “Oh, really? Well, I tell you what. Try it if you want. But what the both of you had better do is get the fuck up off my property.”

“You fresh-ass bitch,” Rosa screamed, slammin’ her hand against the glass. “We ain’t goin’ no fuckin’ where until I beat ya ass for disrespectin’ ya mother, and me.”

“What the fuck you think I look like, lettin’ the two of you up in my spot? You think I’ma let ya’ll up in here so you can try ’n toss my spot up. I don’t think so.” Then it hit me that maybe I should let ’em in. I mean, that way, when they got at me and I had to put a bullet in one of ’em, I could say they attacked me in my home and I was protectin’ myself. Nah, fuck that! Them crazy bitches wasn’t gettin’ in.

Rosa kicked the bottom of the door. “Bring ya ass outside, then. ’Cause I’ma fuck you up, Kat. You came for the wrong bitch, sweetie.”

“Rosa,” my moms said through her clenched teeth. “Don’t make a scene out here. I didn’t drive all the way over here to get arrested. This ain’t the projects.”