I stopped stalking her a year ago after she blocked every single fake account, I made on social media just to keep up with her. If I ran across my Pancake baby while in Vegas, she was mine. No doubt about that shit. I’d dropped down to my knees and beg like Jodeci to have her back.
I sparked my blunt and took a seat across from Iceman. I leaned forward, elbows on my knees letting the noise around me fade. There was something about being in Vegas that cracked something open in my chest. I thought I buried thoughts of Jatavia under fame, women, and distractions.
I still missed her in ways that would probably sound embarrassing. I missed feeling really seen. She had been the only one who ever really saw me. Jatavia wasn’t like the girls who threw themselves at me. She wasn’t loud or hungry for attention with musty ass titties. She was soft in her voice but sharp in her mind. Quiet until something touched a nerve then suddenly, she’d become bold.
She was from the Nickerson Projects but carried herself like she already belonged somewhere better. Not bougie just full of class that didn’t need validating. It’s what I saw in her, but she somehow didn’t see in herself most of the time. Jatavia talked about her dreams the way other women talked about having designer bags casually.
She expressed to me how she wanted stability, peace and her own version of success and whatever shape it took. I used to laynext to her and listen to her talk like she was mapping out a future only she could see. Now I still caught myself wondering if she made any of that shit happen. I hoped she finally stepped into the life she used to talk about.
There weren’t many women like Jatavia in the world. It was beyond her looks, although to me she was beautiful as hell with a hell of a personality to match. I could show up as Dreu Langston and not who others deemed me to be. There were many days I felt low and doubted myself and she lifted me high without even trying. When I felt like my family overlooked me, Jatavia made me feel chosen. I messed that shit up, but somewhere deep inside of me told me that one day I’d be able to get my first and true love back.
“I smell better now, I’m ready to finish.” The stylist cut through my thoughts.
I rubbed both hands over my face trying to shake the heaviness that settled in my chest when thinking about Pancakes. I stood and looked at the stylist who waved her hand over the stool like this time would be better and shook my head.
Hopefully Vegas wouldn’t disappoint a nigga. I hoped the universe aligned like women loved to say because now I had a strong craving for Jatavia Clark.
Chapter 3
Jatavia
For the first time in weeks, I actually felt…cute. Not perfect, not flawless but cute enough to look myself in the mirror without wanting to turn away from it. The colorful sky and all of Vegas’s lights lifted me a little as I drove. My windows to my Toyota Camary were halfway down, the warm air felt good against my skin.
I had my phone on speaker, propped in the cupholder while Tammy’s voice filled my car.
“Girl,” she said wheezing between laughs, “when I tell you a bitch was funky! Like gym class in the sixth grade forgetting to bring my damn deodorant and perfume type of funky!” She laughed hard.
I could no longer hold in my own laughter. One thing about my cousin Tammy was she had no shame in her game. She cursed like it was a part of her religion and she had no problem being blatantly honest. She was my best friend, my only friend. Tammy always was down to ride hard for me, and she called me out on my bullshit, always.
“Tammy, stop.” I snorted out.
“Bitch no I can’t stop! Because why did I think it was a good idea to go do a client’s hair after hittin’ the legs and stair master?I realized I was going to be late after my work out session. I had sweat dripping down my damn back and in between my damn titties! Then I over did the shit because while I was doing the nigga locs my back locked the hell up. I kept leaning my musty ass titties against his back to relieve myself of some of the pressure.” She yelled.
“Okay please.” I covered my mouth with my left hand but still busted out with a loud cackle.
“I’m trying to drive and you not making it easy for me at all.” I blinked my eyes hard.
“I’m so embarrassed girl, the nigga was hell of fine! Tall and broad, tattoos all over his sexy ass body with long ass dreads. That nigga told me to back up, he was trying to be nice about it at first until he flat out told me that my titties were hot and fucking humid!” She howled.
It sounded like Tammy started to choke off her own spit as she laughed even harder.
“He did not!” I chuckled out, stopping at a red light.
“Bitch he fuckin’ did, okay! Told me to go in the bathroom and clean myself up. I felt slighted as fuck. I wanted to get on his ass tough about them crusty, ugly ass dry cracked feet of his. I just had to keep it real with myself though. Plus, I needed the extra money this month for my rent girl. Ain’t no future in my fronting, it’s not every day that I get a celebrity to add to my portfolio. He tipped me a thousand and even gave me tickets to that music fest shit you going to with Mr. Cornball.” Tammy’s voice was hoarse from talking so loud.
“I was in a room full of fine ass niggas. I swear I wanted to die and vanish right there when he told me that my situation was too close to him. Fine ass, cocky, dumb nigga! But you know what I did?” She asked voice dropping low.
“What you do, crazy ass girl.” I giggled.
“I went to that damn bathroom and took a hoe bath. I walked back in that bitch smelling like eucalyptus and humiliation but still made my monies!”
My stomach hurt from laughing, but in the best way. It felt good, better than good to laugh like this with my girl. On top of that, I felt good stepping out of the house for something other than clocking into a job that drained me. I glanced at my reflection in the rearview mirror and smiled a little.
Tonight, I actually put effort into myself. I had on a soft black off-shoulder shirt that hugged just enough without making me feel too exposed. My high-waisted jeans matched my shirt perfectly. It cinched my waist and made my big stomach look smoother than it felt. I paired everything with my black and white New Balance 9060’s, the one that never creased because I only wore them when I wanted to feel fresh.
I managed to press my thick hair out. I left the back down and curled at the bottom then slicked the rest up into a high ponytail with more defined curls. I felt present, like I belonged in my own life again. With the help of Tammy, she intensified my good mood.
With seasonal depression, it sometimes felt like I was at war with myself. I’d stare at everything that I considered imperfect on my body then tore my own self down. But whenever I was in a mood like today, I’d build my own self back up again and make myself feel fierce and satisfied with me.
