So, I decided to veer in another direction.
“I’m still tripping over the fact that you didn’t have a passport.
In all your life, you literally never left the country?”
She shrugged. “I guess you can’t really miss what you never had. Besides…I’ve never flown anywhere, before this.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You bullshiting?” “Nope. I’ve never flown before.”
“Why?Youneverthoughtaboutseeingshitoutsideof Houston?”
“Yeah, of course. Plus, I never said that I haven’t traveled. I just haven’t flown.”
“And why is that?”
“Cause,”shesighed,beforegiggling.“TooLowhadsome
parole issues, and couldn’t get a passport. And then…he has this intense fear of flying. So, we had to drive everywhere.”
“Damn, that’s fucked up. I can’t believe that you’ve been deprived of all these experiences.”
“I never really saw it like that.” “Then how did you see it?”
She exhaled. “We may not have flown anywhere, but we were big on road trips—”
I lifted my chin. “Where have y’all driven to?”
“Let’s see.” She placed a finger on her chin. “We’ve driven to Cali, Louisiana, of course, Georgia, Florida, Tennessee, etc. That means that we’ve been to L.A., Oakland, Atlanta, Miami, Memphis. All that good shit.”
“Damn, I know that those long ass drives were brutal.”
“Nah, actually, it’s the opposite,” she claimed. “We would usually travel with at least six other people. Most of the time we’d rent a SUV or small sprinter. I was always in charge of arranging everything, and you couldn’t come, if you wasn’t down with taking turns driving. I would have itineraries, and even plan the pit stops. We’d have so much fun, and would make some real memories. The only thing was…you had to travel with people you actually liked. We liked doing similar shit, and just vibed. So, I see being on the road completely different. Because those were the times where I felt closest to my people. Too Low couldn’t hit the streets like back at home, we made every move together, and would talk for hours in the back, while other people were driving. And that’s all I wanted, honestly. Quality time with the person I loved.”
I nodded, although I wanted to tell her that nobody gave a fuck about that nigga, and what they’d done. But on the low, the shit was intriguing, because I was a grown ass man with kids,and I’d never had a relationship that was remotely that deep. “It’s so weird, listening to you talk,” I admitted. “If I closed my eyes, and
listened to your humbleness, there was no way that I’d picture somebody who looks like you. Women who look like you just don’t say shit like that. You never talk about money or none of that shit. Meanwhile, a lot of girls use their beauty as a tool. They fuck with whoever can take care of them. The nigga knows that she’s only there because of what he can provide. So, he cheats. Then either she cheats too, or she leaves, getting with another nigga doing the same shit. But either way, they aint fucking with no broke niggas.”
She smirked. “I think I get what you’re saying. But I never really could identify with girls who fucked for survival. They always dress it up as finessing, but it aint that if you’re fucking somebody that you really don’t like. That’s basically selling it. And I aint just talking about the pussy. Besides…you must haven’t seen my mama. I look just like her, and she still looks young. She got with my daddy when she was in high school, and had my brother when she was sixteen. By the time they had me, my daddy was a big dope man. He moved us out of the hood, and everybody considered us rich. But my mama was miserable, because…my daddy was simple, as far as in looks. And no matter how much my mama tried to reassure him, he never accepted that she just wanted him. So, there was a lot of fights. My mama couldn’t go nowhere. Couldn’t do nothing. So, for as long as I could remember, she’d always tell me that being pretty wasn’t enough. Being pretty could also be a curse if you chose the wrong man. Because he could punish you for the attention you naturally get. He’d fight you because of his insecurities. Keep you in the house. Be financially abusive. And that’s why my mama wasn’t even tripping when the Feds swooped in, and took my daddy to jail. They took the house, and any cars attached to his name. All my mama had left was clothes, bags, and her two cars.
We moved back with our granny, and weirdly, I’d never seen my mama happier. She broke up with my daddy, and moved into
The Ghettos. Even then, my daddy would call threatening her. Saying that if he couldn’t have her, then nobody else would. Eventually, my mama got fed up, and reminded him that he was calling on a recorded line, and she’d call them people to review his calls, and get him some extra time for the threats. That’s when he let go, and realized that it was really over.”
I squinted. “So, the moral of the story is that your mama told you to only fuck with broke niggas?”
She exploded with laughter, and lightly elbowed me. “Boy, fucking stop. And no, she didn’t tell me to fuck with broke boys. She put heavy emphasis on being more than my looks. So, I was told that I was beautiful, but I trivialized it. And as far my choice of man…I met Too Low in middle school. He was only two years older, and was a child himself. So, him having money wasn’t on my mind. And by the time we were grown, I was already in love.”
“Fair enough.” I nodded. “But let me ask you this. Are you happy with where you’re at in life? Or do you want more?”
“Oh, I unquestionably want more.” “So, what’s stopping you?”
“Well…first I have to get my money right.”
“So, you aint got no money put up, right now?” “I got a little.”
I furrowed a brow. “Is it over ten?” She bit the corner of her lip. “Yes.”
“Then you bullshitting. I know several places that got small lil’ suites that you can rent out for about five hundred. A thousand at the most.”
