Percival Everett - Erasure

“Move out the way, Tardreece!” Mama say.

“No, Mama! No, Mama!” Baby Girl be screamin.

“I’m outta here,” I say, knockin over a chair. “Eat all this shit and get big as a house and see if I give a fuck.” I slams the door as I leave.

I be standin outside in the night. A police chopper go by and shine some lights in some backyards and I think, shine that light on me muthafucka. Shine me some fuckin light so I can see where the fuck I be at. Then I thinks about my mama. I hate her. I loves her. And what bout my daddy, wherever the fuck he be. He might be in jail or running a string o’ hoes. Shit, I dunno. But I hate him wherever the fuck he be. I walk on down the street and I start to pretend I’m that Forrest Gump muthafucka. I ain’t seen the movie, but I seen all them TV ads and I feel like I seen the movie, the way he be running for that touchdown straight through everybody and the way he be sitting on that bench talkin bout them chocolates. I thinks, hey, I’m a chocolate. I be a chocolate in a box o’ chocolates. “Here I be, America!” I scream up at the chopper whats leavin. “Open me up! Never know whatcha gone get!” I hates my daddy.

I’m crossin the street over by the playground and I see that Jeep-nigger sittin at the light. I walks over and stand right in front of his headlights. The nigger look at me like what the fuck be goin on, then he recognize me and he smile. I smile back at him and don’t move. He rev his engine a coupla times.

“What you want, muthafucka?” he ax.

“I want chew, nigger,” I say.

“What, you wanna suck my log, muthafucka?” He look over at the nigger sitting beside him and they both laugh.

“Yeah, whip it out so I can see it,” I say.

“Get out the way, bitch,” he say.

“Step out,” I say.

“I ain’t got time to be fuckin wid you,” he say and rev his engine again.

I don’t move. “I said I wanna bite me off a piece o’ yo ass.”

He try to drive around me and I stay in front of him. “Move, nigger!”

“Move me, muthafucka.”

Another car come up behind the Jeep and blow his horn. Then Jeep-nigger blow his horn. The car behind him whips out and speeds by. Then he gets and out and his friend do too.

“What the fuck yo problem, nigger?” Jeep ax.

I walks up to him and stand all up in his face. “You my fuckin problem.”

He look over at his friend who be walkin round the back of the Jeep. The fellas what been playin ball on the playground come over to the fence and watch. Then I hit him in the stomach, quick and make him double up. His friend come runnin now and I kick that muthafucka in the nuts and he fall down on his knees and I leave him there cause he ain’t nuffin’ to me. I goes back to Jeep and I punch his face so hard he fall on his knees too. Bam! Bam! I hit twice mo’ and his nose just blow up. Red be all over his face. I look at them pretty eyes now and bam bam, I bruise ‘em up. Niggers over on the court be shoutin out sumpin’ I cain’t hear. I walk round that nigger now. He stretch out on the ground, gettin the street all bloody.

“How you like it, muthafucka,” I say. “You won’t be sniffin’ round my shit no mo’ now, will you? You gone leave Cleona alone?”

He don’t say nuffin’.

So I kicks him in the side and he spit blood. “I ax you a question, nigger. You gone leave the bitch alone?”

He say something through all the blood in his mouth, but I don’t know what. Then I hear the police chopper blades and I run.

I go home and I get in bed wif my clothes on and my knuckles be sore as shit. I look up at the peeling paint on the ceilin and think about my babies. I hate my babies. I loves my babies. I hates my babies. I loves my babies. I hates …

I dreams when I’m sleepin and it be on an island somewhere in them islands down there. There be all these beautiful, fine-ass bitches walkin round wearin nuffin but strings over they nipples and shit. I think, damn, these some fine bitches here and I know they gone give me some and I start countin the babies I’m gone make and I start thinkin up names for them babies. Their names gone be Avaricia, Baniqua, Clitoria, Dashone, Equisha, Fantasy, Galinique, Hobitcha, I’youme, Jamika, Klauss, Latishanique, Mystery, Niggerina, Oprah, Pastischa, Quiquisha, R’nee’nee, Suckina, Titfunny, Uniqua, Vaselino, Wuzziness, Yolandinique and Zookie. I gone hit that many of them bitches, I think. I’m just sittin in one of them beach chairs watchin ‘em go by. Big butts on all of ‘em. But then in the dream I looks down and I see that my dick ain’t nuffin but a bump. I yell, “Shit, my dick ain’t nuffin but a bump.” What I’m gone do with a little bump fo a dick? Then them bitches see it and they starts pointing at my bump and I’m there tryin to cover myself. One of them bitches say, “That nigger got a real lil’ dick, look like a baby dick.” And she and all the rest of them bitches starts laughin at me, pointin and laughin, and I go runnin off into the water. My hands coverin up my bump, what used to be my dick. And in the cold water, this ho come swimmin over to me and she reach between my legs and move my hand and she say, “I don’t care if you ain’t got no dick.” I look at her face and it start to melt and she get real ugly and she become my mama, so I stab her. I stab her over and over and over and over until the ocean be fulla blood.

Then I wakes up in a sweat.

Next mornin at breakfast, Mama done forgot bout our fight and she singin some damn gospel song. Baby Girl be hummin along and then she say, “Mama, what that song you singin?”

“It’s What a Friend We Have in Jesus,” she say. Then she look at me. “I heard bout a job you might want.” She put some bacon on my plate. “Over in West Hollywood.”

“Doin what?” I ax.

“This and that. I dunno,” she say. “I think drivin a car for a man.”

I think about drivin a car and I kinda like the idea of drivin. “A driver for some white man.”

“It a job,” she say.

“Well, I gots a job,” I say.

“You never go to it,” she say.

I eat the bacon. “What’s the address?” I ax.

She walk over to the counter then and dig round on it. “I wrote it down. Here it is.” She come back and hand it to me.

I shoves the paper in my pocket.

“So, you gone go over there?” she ax.

“Dunno yet,” I say. “And don’t be ridin me.”

“I ain’t ridin you,” she say.

“You is too,” I say.

“I is not,” she say.

“Is too.”

“Is not, you good-for-nuffin,” she say.

“That be me,” I say and laugh. “Just like my daddy.”

“Hush up, boy.”

“Who is my daddy, Mama?” I ax.

She turn her back and wash some damn dish in the sink.

“What his name, Mama? You know his name? I know Baby Girl’s daddy’s name. I seen him. He in jail now, right?”

“Hush up, nigger,” Mama say.

“Is my daddy in jail?” I ax. “Did you ever know his name?”

“Van,” Baby Girl complain.

“I’m gone,” I say and walk on out.

I goes over to the warehouse and old Freddie be sittin out on the dock smokin and he just start shakin his head when he see me comin. He look back into the buildin and then at me.

“What?” I ax.

“Don’t even bother,” he say.

“Don’t even bother what?” I ax.

“Don’t bother takin you ass on in there,” he say. “Reynolds say about an hour ago, ‘Where that good fo’ nuffin Jenkins?’ Then he say, ‘If you see ‘em, tell ‘em he can slap his ol’ lazy feet down the road.’ That’s what he say.”

“What? I be fired?”

“You quicker than they gives you credit fo’,” he say.