Cairo - Kitty-Kitty, Bang-Bang

I smile. “I can’t make you any promises.” I give ’er my cell number, and tell ’er to call me when he gets outta surgery. Then I reach into my bag and hand ’er his cell phone. I look ova at his pops. Tell ’im it was nice meetin’ ’im, then dip.

TWO DAYS LATER, I’M BACK UP AT THE HOSPITAL TO SEE ALLSTAR. His moms had called to tell me that he made it through surgery and was lucky to be alive. She said he was in and outta consciousness. I could tell she was cryin’. I felt ’er pain. The whole time she was talkin’, I kept thinkin’ that that coulda been me sprawled out on the ground, leakin’. I kept seein’ Zaire’s cute lil’ face and the shit fucked my nerves. If I didn’t know before, a bitch knows now. I’m muthafuckin’ done! I’m outta this muhfucka. As soon as my court hearin’ next week is ova wit’ and Zaire is finally able to come home, I’m sellin’ my house and gettin’ the fuck outta Jersey, and far the hell away from New York. I gotta.

I walk in Allstar’s room. He’s lyin’ up in bed wit’ tubes through his nose and there’s a heart monitor beepin’. I hate hospitals. His upper body is bandaged. And he has a bandage ’round his head. Apparently when the bitch dropped ’im, he had hit his head and suffered a concussion.

I walk up on ’im. His eyes are closed. I stare at ’im. He looks all fucked up. Damn, muhfucka, I really dig ya ass. And I dig da dick even better. But good dick attached to a muhfucka wit’ a buncha damn drama ain’t good for a bitch like me. And it damn sure ain’t good for a nigga like you.

Me poppin’ this nigga’s top flashes in my head. I blink. The last thing I should be thinkin’ ’bout is what if I was the bitch who got nutty for the dick. Unlike that Ramona bitch, when I drop a nigga, it’s final.

Speakin’ of that dumb-ass ho, they found ’er ass late last night in some project buildin’ down in Camden—a part’a south Jersey where e’ry day muhfuckas get it poppin’ wit’ the gun work like its Fourth of July. Stupid bitch got slapped wit’ a buncha charges. Violation of a restrainin’ order, attempted murder, possession of a weapon, and two othas I can’t remember. All I know is the bitch is lucky they got at ’er before I did.

I reach ova and stroke the side’a his face. He slowly opens his eyes, blinks a few times, then smiles. “Hey,” he whispers. “I’m so glad you’re okay.” He scrunches his face up in pain. “Aaah, this shit hurts.” I tell ’im to try not to talk. He bites down on his bottom lip. “She really tried to do me in. Did they find ’er ass, yet?”

I nod. “Yeah, last night.”

“Good. Uhh, shit.” He shakes his head. “I can’t believe this shit. That bitch really shot me.” Believe it, nigga . Ya stupid ass had no muthafuckin’ business entertainin’ ’er ass.

I lean in his ear. “Nigga, I feel like punchin’ you in ya muthafuckin’ chest for bein’ so damn stupid.”

“I know. I fucked up, baby.”

I sigh. “I’m not ya ‘baby’.”

“Uhh…whatever, yo. Can’t you see I’m in pain? I’m not tryna hear that right now.”

“Mmmph. Well, hear this then: If you’re head wasn’t wrapped, I would slap da fuckin’ shit outta you.”

He tries to laugh. “Aaah, oh fuck…Don’t make me laugh.”

“I ain’t laughin’.”

For some reason, this old-school joint starts playin’ in my head. I feel like hummin’ it. He musta read my mind when he says his moms used always tell ’im it’s a thin line between love and hate. I smile. “Why you smilin’?”

“I was standin’ here thinkin’ the same thing. Actually I was hummin’ da song in my head.”

He grins. “Damn, you so fuckin’ sexy.”

I shift my bag from one hand to the other. “Listen, you should rest,” I tell ’im, ignorin’ the comment.

He reaches for my hand. “I’m so sorry for bringin’ that shit to you, baby.”

I take a deep breath. “Listen, I’m just glad they got da bitch off da streets. And that you’re okay. Hopefully, it’ll be a lesson, a warnin’, to be very careful who you fuck wit’ and how you fuck wit’ ’em.”

He nods. “You’re right. This shit right here is definitely a wakeup call. I’m done. The first chance I get, I’m gettin’ da fuck outta Jersey.”

Muhfucka, whereva you go, you takin’ you wit’ you, so if ya mind ain’t right, nigga, you ain’t gonna be right. And all you gonna get is da same bullshit. I keep my thoughts to myself. Keepin’ shit real, I know the shit applies to me as well. I don’t tell ’im I’m bouncin’, too. Still don’t mention anythin’ ’bout the baby. Shit, it’s really none’a his business.

I glance at my watch, thinkin’ ’bout Zaire. I need to get up to da hospital. I don’t like ’im bein’ up there too long wit’out someone up there wit’ ’im at all times. Chanel is there for me when I’m not, like now. Still…that’s where I’m ’posed to be. Not standin’ here fuckin’ wit’ this nigga. “Look, I gotta go. You take care of ya’self. I’m glad you’re okay.”

He stares at me. “Damn, you say that like I’m not gonna see you again.”

I lean ova and kiss the nigga’s soft-ass lips, then look ’im in the eyes. “You’re not,” I say. He looks sad. When he tries to speak, I kiss ’im, again one last time, slippin’ my tongue in his mouth, then walkin’ out wit’ ’im callin’ for me to come back so we can talk. There ain’t shit else to say. A bitch gotta know when to keep it cute, and dip on a muhfucka.

WHEN I FINALLY GET TO BROOKLYN, PARK MY WHIP, THEN MAKE my way up to the nursery, it’s almost one o’clock. Chanel is holdin’ and feedin’ ’im. And I can’t front. A bitch is feelin’ some kinda way ’bout it. I’m da one who should be feedin’ ’im . Yes, a bitch’s jealous! It’s a feelin’ I ain’t used to. But I keep it real cute, and toss my lips up into a smile.

“Hey,” she says, smilin’ back at me. “He is sooooo cute, Kat. Ohmigod, he’s gonna be a real problem.”

I nod knowin’ly. “Yup.” I go wash my hands, then come back into the room. She hands ’im to me. “Heeeey, snookems,” I say, surprised at how much joy this lil’ boy brings. “I can’t wait for you to get da fu—” I catch myself before I let the fuck word slip outta my mouth—“heck outta here.”

Chanel is starin’ at me, smilin’. “Awww, look at you bein’ all fuzzy ’n pink, boo. I neva thought I see da day ya evil ass—”

I cut ’er off, suckin’ my teeth. “Ugh, watch ya mouth, ho.”

“Girrrl, this not cussin’ shi…uh, mess is gonna be a real struggle for me.”

“Puhleeze, tell me ’bout it.”

“How’s Allstar doin?” I tell ’er he’s aiight. “Did you tell ’im you wasn’t rockin’ wit’ ’im no more?”

I nod. “Not in so many words. But I think he knows.” She shakes ’er head. “What?”

She twists ’er lips. “Nuthin’. When’s he gonna get outta da hospital?” I tell ’er he’ll be there for at least anotha week or so from what his moms told me. “Oh, okay.” She pauses. Tells me she’s gonna come to Jersey tomorrow and stay the night.

I roll my eyes. “What Divine do now?”

She laughs. “He ain’t do nuthin’. He’s actin’ like he got some sense this week.”

“Whateva, trick. You da one wit’out any sense.”

She keeps laughin’. “Oh, and you should talk. There’s a muh—” I shoot ’er a look—“a man layin’ up in a hospital room who you know you diggin’ and who you know is diggin’ you. And you dump ’im. What kinda sense is that?”

“It’s common sense, ho. Sumthin’ you obviously don’t have.”