Cairo - Kitty-Kitty, Bang-Bang

I blink, blink again. This muthafucka don’t know shit ’bout a bitch like me . I slam my hand up on my hip, point a finga at ’im, stabbin’ it in the air. “Nigga, you don’t know me; you don’t know shit ’bout what I been runnin’ from, so save that psychoanalytical bullshit.”

“Check this out, this ain’t no playground and I’m not here to game you. I know what I want. And I know what I don’t want. You, I want. Them other broads were strictly bitches I wanted pussy from.”

I glance ova at the clock. “Aiight, times up. You gotta go.”

“No, not until you listen to me.” What da fuck?! This nigga must want anotha round of bullets in ’im. “If you wanna run up ’n get ya gun, do you. I already been shot up, so it ain’t nuthin’ else you can to do ’xcept kill a muhufa.”

“Alex, save all that Alley Cat and Daddy Long Stroke bullshit for them dizzy-ass hoes out there. I ain’t interested in nuthin’ you sellin’.”

He lets out a frustrated sigh. “I’m here, not as Alley Cat, or Daddy Long Stroke, or any other stage name bitches have given me. I’m here as Alexander, baby. A man flawed…and yes, fucked up. But underneath all my scars and faults, I’ma man wit’ a big heart, but it’s been empty. And I’ve spent my whole life tryna fill up this big-ass hole wit’ a buncha pussy. Yeah, a buncha bitches done tossed me the pussy, done let me bust my nuts down in their throats and all ova their faces, and they let me run all through their wallets. But, after e’ery fuck; after e’ery nut, the only thing it did was make me feel more fucked up, had me feelin’ lonelier than before, and still empty. What are you so afraid of?”

“I ain’t afraid of shit, nigga.”

Bitch, stop lyin’. You say you a real bitch, then keep da shit a hunnid wit’ da nigga.

“Yo, if you wanna keep livin’ ya life in fear, then do you. But, you gonna miss out on some good shit.”

I huff. “Like what, you? ”

“Nah, like freedom.”

I frown. “Nigga, what are you talkin’ ’bout? I am free.”

He shakes his head. “Baby, as long as you keep livin’ in fear, you’ll never be free.”

“I’m neva gone be da kinda bitch you gonna try ’n run game on. I’m not da kinda bitch you think you gonna hurt and it be all gravy. No, nigga, I’m da kinda bitch who’ll put a bullet in ya shit. And unlike that bitch, Ramona, I pop niggas and drop niggas, in one shot.” He bucks his eyes. I can tell I done shocked ’im. I walk ova to the door, swingin’ it open. “It’s time for you to bounce.”

“So you really ain’t fuckin’ wit’ me?” I can tell he’s tryna keep it together. I can hear his voice crackin’.

I shake my head, openin’ the door. “I can’t.”

“Oh, aiight. Then I guess it’s goodbye.”

“I guess so.” We’re standin’ in front of each otha. He’s lookin’ into my eyes. And I’m lookin’ into his. I’ve neva seen this nigga look so broken. “I don’t want you to think I hate you, ’cause I don’t. Keepin’ shit real, I care ’bout you. And I’m sure you have da potential to be a good man, but I can’t chance you draggin’ me into no dumb shit. I have a baby to think ’bout now. And I don’t want drama in my life.”

“So you gotta ’nother nigga in ya life?”

“Alex, da only nigga in my life is that lil’ boy upstairs. That’s da only man I have da energy for right now.” He asks me ’bout the sign outside. Wants to know where I plan on movin’. I tell ’im I don’t know. Even if I did know, I wouldn’t tell ’im anyway. He wants to know if I’m gonna stay in Jersey, or move back to Brooklyn. I shrug. “I seriously doubt it.”

“I feel you. Yo, I thought you said I get three strikes? I should have two left.”

“Gettin’ ya tires slashed in my driveway was strike one. Actin’ funny ’n shit and gettin’ ghost on a bitch was strike two. And not keepin’ shit real wit’ me ’bout that bitch was strike three.”

I walk up on ’im, and do sumthin’ I know I probably shouldn’t. I pull him by his shirt down to me, standin’ up on my tippy-toes. I kiss ’im on the lips. Let the nigga slip his tongue in my mouth. My pussy starts to pop as his hands start roamin’ all ova my body.

“I’ve missed you so much. Don’t do this to us, baby. Give me anotha chance.”

Fuck da nigga one more time, ho.

I can’t do this shit wit’ him.

Bitch, puhleeze. You know you wanna ride da nigga’s dick .

I pull away. “I can’t.”

He hangs his head, lookin’ defeated as he walks out. I watch ’im walk to his car, get in, then back out. He’s lookin’ at me, and I’m lookin’ at ’im. I wave to ’im. And he blows the horn. I don’t shut the door ’til I can no longer see his car, then I press my back up against the door, closin’ my eyes and bangin’ my head up against it. Bitch, you know you care ’bout his ass. You should gave da nigga anotha chance.

I can’t take that kinda chance. I can’t let da nigga get all up in my head, then fuck up my heart.

Ho, get ova ya’self. You know da nigga cares ’bout you. You saw da shit in his eyes.

Call da nigga and tell ’im to come back.

Hell no! I can’t fuck wit’ ’im.

I take a deep breath, walkin’ up the stairs to get showered and dressed. For some reason, a bitch is feelin’ kinda down. I know, think, in my head, I’m doin’ the right thing, but my heart is tellin’ me sumthin’ different. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

Six months later

“Oooooh, bitch, I don’t think I can eva forgive you for packin’ up and movin’ waaaaay out there, and takin’ Zaire from me,” Chanel says, lookin’ at me through the monitor on my laptop. We’re up on Skype talkin’, which is our new thing. We talk e’eryday, two, three times a day. It’s almost like we’re right in the same room togetha. I miss this bitch. She presses ’er face up to the screen. Zaire tries to grab the monitor. “Ain’t that right, Boo? That mean old-ugly witch done took you from ya Aunt Chanel.” He laughs, touchin’ the screen. “Ohhhmiiigod, Kat, and he has two teeth already.”

“Girl, them things just popped up outta know where. Now all he wanna do is bite up e’erything. This lil’ muh…boy, is a piece of damn work.”

“Wit’ his fine self,” she says, wavin’ and blowin’ kisses at ’im. He waves back at ’er, then gets down on the floor and starts crawlin’ ova to the otha side of the room to get his Spiderman toy. I have toys and shit e’erywhere. This boy is has e’ery kinda toy made for lil’ boys, then some. He’s spoiled rotten. Chanel rolls er eyes, suckin’ ’er teeth.

“Why you doin’ all that?”

“Kat, why’d you have to move so damn far from me?”

I laugh. She asks me the same shit e’ery time we talk. And I tell ’er the same shit. “’Cause change is good.”

Three weeks after I put my house up on the market, I was able to sell it. I dropped ten gees off’a the price but it’s all good. A bitch was ready to roll out, so I didn’t give a fuck ’bout nickel and dimin’ ova a few thousand dollas. I even paid for the closin’ costs. I just wanted to be done. It sold and that’s all I cared ’bout. The next month, I shipped what I wanted out here and sold e’erything else, then I changed my numbers. It’s definitely a different vibe here, and I’ma always be a East Coast bitch at heart. But bein’ here is the best thing I coulda did—for me.

“Change my ass. You coulda kept it real cute and found a cute lil’ place in Connecticut, or Philly. You woulda been far enough, but still close enough at da same time. But nooooooo, you gotta be all dramatic and shit, movin’ way out there.”