Page 19 of Queen of the Pole

I wanted to know where her husband was, and why the fuck he had my mama sitting outside in their backyard on their wedding anniversary.

My question made her sigh. She sighed, and the sadness in her eyes that you could tell she had been trying to hide from me over the facetime call was now evident. I was driving, but every few seconds, I looked down, so that I could get a better look of her face.

“I’m not sure where he is. He left out earlier, telling me that he was going golfing,” she said, and that shit infuriated me.

So much so that as I was stopped at the red light, I picked the phone up, getting a better look at her.

My mama was so fuckin beautiful man. Her inside was just as beautiful, and pure as her outside. Literally, the kindest, soft-hearted person that I’ve ever met before in my life. She had the kind of beauty where you would look at her, and wonder if she used to model back in the day. Her face card was lethal.

She had that beautiful brown skin that always held this glow to it, even with the shit that she was constantly putting up with from my pops. Long, wavy hair that was hanging down right now. I had the same long, wavy hair as hers. She’d given the hair to me, and all my brothers, but I was the only one that held onto my hair all these years.

She was a tall woman. She stood 6 foot even. Slim too. All my life, I’ve known her to keep a clean diet, always very mindful of what she would put into her body, and it showed in the way she was aging. 55 years old, yet she could pass for a woman that was in her 30’s.

“That nigga left out on your wedding anniversary to go golfing? Ay, let me ask you something. You saw him this morning?” I wanted to know. She looked me in my eyes and nodded her head yes.

“Did he tell you happy anniversary?” I wanted to know.

“He didn’t. I think he forgot,” she said.

“Man, hold on. I’m about to call that nigga. Fuck he got going on?” I spat.

“Son, please. Just leave it alone,” she went on to say, and I looked at her like she was crazy.

“Emaye, what you mean? You gave this nigga 35 fuckin years of marriage. 35 years that his ass didn’t even deserve. Four sons. All the shit he’s put you through over the years, and he didn’t wake you up this morning, telling you happy anniversary and didn’t shower you with gifts? He should be kissing your feet! Look to the right of you, man. Look to your left. That nigga not there. I’m about to call him. I’ll call you right back,” I spat, hanging the phone up, not giving her time to respond back to me.

The light turned green, but I was able to still maneuver around, find his contact, and I immediately hit him up. The phone rang about eight times before it went to voicemail. I dialed that nigga again. I sat here, driving, calling him like a pest, trying to get him to pick the phone up. Probably ten calls in, I was able to get him to answer the phone. When he answered, he picked up on the very last ring.

“Wolf, what the fuck you got going on man? If I didn’t answer the first few times, don’t that mean that I’m busy?” he barked.

“Ay, where you at?” I got right to the point.

“I’m your daddy or it’s the other way around? Fuck is you questioning me about my whereabouts nigga?” he shot, giving me the same energy that I was giving him.

“What’s today?” I asked, not bothering to answer that slick ass shit that he just asked me.

“Don’t call my phone with no fuckin Q&A. You just sat here and blew my phone up like it’s an emergency. Ima ask you again, what the fuck is going on? Is my wife okay? Are you and your brothers okay? Nigga, what?” he spat.

“It actually is a fuckin emergency. Thirty- five years ago today, my mama stood in a church, in front of God, where she handed over the rest of her fuckin life to you. That’s the emergency. You got her sitting in the background, all alone on ya’ll wedding anniversary, while you’re out doing whatever the fuck you want to do. She told me that you didn’t even wish her a happy anniversary this morning, which means that you forgot. Whatever pussy you laying in, just remember that you got a wife at home⁠—”

“I get that you’re upset, but watch that shit nigga,” he cut me off to say.

“Or what? I hope you don’t think that I gotta respect you. You don’t give me shit to respect. What kind of example you supposed to be for me and my brothers, man? Don’t you think that shit getting old? You’ll be sixty years old in two years, and you still running around here like a young nigga in their twenties. She gave you all these fuckin years of her life, bruh. I wish she would have been left you!” I was livid. I knew he was laid up with a bitch. That’s why he wouldn’t answer the phone at first.

“What me and my wife got going on doesn’t concern you. Stay out of me, and your mama business!” he roared.

“Bitch ass nigga, that’s my mama! That is my business, and I’ll stay in it. I been in ya’ll business since I was old enough to understand why she was crying in the first place. You’re sorry man. The day she’s ready to walk away from you, Ima be the first motha fucka over there to help her pack her bags. Do yourself a favor you clown and call your wife that you always claim to love so much and wish her a happy anniversary!” I had nothing left to say to him, so I hung up the phone on him.

I was angry. The kind of angry where as I was driving, a few times I had to catch myself because I was on this highway, damn near flying. You would think that after all these years, the nigga would finally get it, and start appreciating his wife, and respecting her a little more. That wasn’t the case though.

With age, I felt like he was only getting worse. That’s why I truly believed that a woman was supposed to leave a man the first time that his ass cheats on her. Fuck all that going to therapy bullshit, working through it, and all the other performative shit that comes after a man cheats. The second you forgive a nigga for cheating on you, you showed your hand, showing that nigga that you’re willing to tolerate a lot of shit. My mama allowed him to get away with years’ worth of cheating, and that’s why he wasn’t going to ever slow down. She’s already proven to him that she was comfortable with him disrespecting her, so he was going to keep doing it.

I didn’t bother calling my mom back. It was useless. She wasn’t going to feel where I was coming from. I’m sure whatever pussy he was laid up in right now, he was going to quickly crawl out of it, and make his way to the stores, so that he could pick up some pricy gifts for my mom. He was going to come to the crib, bearing a bunch of gifts, walk in with her favorite flowers and shit, while telling her a bunch of lies about where he’s been, and saying whatever sounded good to overpower the fact that he had forgotten that it was their anniversary.

I knew how that shit went with them, and that’s why I didn’t call back. I continued in my drive, and before I knew it, I was pulling up to the service area at Range Rover.

The area that I pulled into was covered, sitting right outside the service department. There were a couple of workers standing out here, directing me where to pull the loaner. I parked where they told me, stepped out of the car, and one of the advisors approached me, holding a tablet in her hands. I quickly let her know that I was returning the loaner and picking up my car. She told me to go ahead inside, and that’s what I did.

Because it was late in the evening, there weren’t many people inside. I only saw one older man waiting. I headed for the cashier area, so that I could let them know that I was here. The second I turned the corner, someone was rounding the corner as well, walking with her head down, eyes clued to her phone, causing us to crash right into each other.