Page 4 of Finessed By A Hood White Boy

“Hell yea she just shitted on herself. The fuck!” Ace held his arm over his nose and mouth.

Duke stood to the side with his face twisted up in disgust. “That’s some nasty shit. Literally.”

“I can’t even laugh right now. Nigga, my mouth was open, and I just sucked in all that shit,” Ace disgustedly said. “Woman, what the fuck did you eat today? A pot full of chitterlings? Some old ass enchiladas?”

This fool started gagging, but we both knew that if he threw up in my shit, I would put my foot in his ass.

POW!

Yeah, I’m sorry, but momma Flame had to go. I didn’t give a damn how scared or nervous she was; that shit was uncalled for. Got my damn warehouse smelling like sewage. Flame remained on his knees, bawling his eyes out, weeping in Spanish as he mourned his mother. The only thing this muthafucka had to do was tell the truth, and she would’ve walked out untouched. Nah, I’m lying, she was definitely catching a bullet. Ain’t no way in hell I was going to allow her to walk out those doors because her son damn sure wasn’t.

“Damn, my boy, that’s what you call collateral damage. It didn’t even have to go down like that.” I shrugged. “Then again, this is what happens when muthafuckas choose to play in my face. I gave you a chance, allowed you to have a seat at my table, and broke bread with your ass. The first time you set me up, you cleared your name and sold that shit to me real well. I guess you thought your nuts and heart was big enough to test my gangsta a second time, huh? That’s where you messed up, bruh. Play pussy get fucked, bitch.”

POW!

I had to go home to take a quick shower and change my clothes. If I kept my little momma waiting too much longer, she’d be blowing my phone down nonstop. I promised her Sweet Frog and a movie. She had been bugging the hell out of me to go see Inside Out 2 since she saw the trailer on TV. Although I could get my daughter anytime I wanted, it was my weekend to keep her. Zoie was my everything outside of my momma and Big Momma. I didn’t play about my leading ladies. The relationship I had with Zoie’s mother, Zenobia, was pretty cordial. We got along for the most part, and our level of communication stays positive. Zenobia was like another one of the homies, to be honest.

It only took an hour for me to get myself together and pull up at my Big Momma’s house. Without knocking, I welcomed myself inside and announced my presence. I could hear the music playing through her stereo, which was nothing new. Every time she was throwing down in the kitchen, she’d have music playing.

“Big momma!” I called out for her.

“In the living room!” she called back.

As I turned the corner, I saw Big Momma chillin’ in her recliner while watching Family Feud. She cracked up laughing as Steve Harvey talked his shit. All I could do was shake my head and smile at her.

Big Momma had been in my life since the day I was born. Back in the day, she used to open her home to foster kids who were being passed around in the system. My mother was one of those kids. At the age of fifteen, my mom moved in with Big Momma. It was actually the first home she lived in where she felt safe. Big Momma wasn’t with the bullshit, and she loved everybody, but the bond she created with my mother was something special.

Within six months of living together, Big Momma knew she wanted to keep my mother around. Off paper, she adopted her into the family. Big Momma already had three kids of her own, all boys. They were older than my mom except one. Duke was about two years old when my mother came along. Everyone referred to her as Big Kat.

Although she was raised in the hood, my mother wasn’t out in the streets like everyone else. She kept her head in the books and damn near lived at the library. Her goal was to graduate and go straight to college. Big Momma used to always tell me stories about how emotional my mother would get when she didn’t pass a test or a class. In her world, anything less than an A was considered failing. She was hard on herself at such a young age. So, imagine her surprise when she found out she was pregnant with me at the age of sixteen. I couldn’t fault her for considering abortion during that time, but Big Momma wasn’t having that shit.

I grew up in the hood as the only white boy on the block. I attended schools that were predominantly black and Hispanic. Despite the environment I was being raised in, my mother made sure I knew how important education was. For the most part, I respected her views and made sure I stayed on top of my shit just for her. However, I was fascinated by the streets and making quick money.

Duke, that fool was technically my uncle, but we were raised more like brothers. We were glued at the hip and stayed getting into shit we had no business in. One time, we both got busted in school for selling weed on campus. That day, my mother came up to the school to get us because Big Momma was at work. She played it cool in front of the principal and the entire car ride home. As soon as me and Duke walked through the door, she tore our asses up. Then, when Big Momma got home, we got our asses whooped again.

None of that shit fazed us. All we did was come up with a better plan to move work without getting caught up. We were savages. At an early age, Duke and I both made names for ourselves. People knew not to fuck with us, but at the same time, people wanted to fuck with us. Muthafuckas wanted to get down with the money train, and the hoes stayed on our dicks. When I went out to places, none of the white people wanted to fuck with me. I didn’t fit in with them. My swag was completely different, even the way I spoke. Nobody cared nor treated me like a regular white boy. To everyone, I was a part of the culture—my skin was just lighter. People used to call me the Tarzan of the hood. My name definitely held weight in the streets. Always has, always will.

“Where’s Zoie?” I asked Big Momma.

“Upstairs…Zozo! You’re daddy is here!” she yelled.

“You got something in there on the table,” she announced without looking at me.

I didn’t give a damn what she said. I knew Big Momma had a thing for Steve Harvey. It didn’t matter who was physically in her presence. If Steve Harvey was on TV, no one else mattered. I had an urge to turn that shit off, but I knew she’d cuss my ass out with a quickness if I did. Instead of going to see what she had out for me, I plopped down beside her. Her perfume invaded my nose, and it made me relax a little bit more, like I was a little boy who had a long day at school.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

I couldn’t get anything past Big Momma. She sensed everything, and sometimes that shit drove me crazy. She carried enough weight on her shoulders; therefore, I never wanted to add on to that load. Whether it was positive or negative, I always kept my business away from her doorstep. Or at least I thought I did.

“Someone came by here earlier looking for you,” she told me.

“Yea? What they want?” I nonchalantly asked.

“They never said, but they left an envelope. I accidentally opened it, but it’s in the kitchen on the table.”

I smacked my lips because she knew damn well opening my mail wasn’t an accident. Big Momma knew what she was doing. She thought she could get away with certain shit because she was the matriarch of the family. She also knew I wasn’t going to say shit about her being in my business.

“Um huh. Well, what they leave?” I asked, glancing at her.