So Gone - By Jennifer Luckett Page 0,20

here for you if you need me, Daddy,” she said wit’ sincerity.

“That’s real, Li’l Mama, and that’s why I’ll never shit on you,” I promised.

I stopped at the liquor store and grabbed a half a gallon of Hen Dog and some brown stickies to roll the Kush up that I had on deck. I checked into a room at the Motel 6 out on Fulton Industrial and tossed Hen back like water. When my head started to spin, I sparked a blunt and mellowed my high. Then I started thinkin’ about my boo.

Dayum, why the fuck couldn’t I be faithful to Mo’? She was beautiful, fine, devoted and intelligent. I shouldn't have needed anyone else. Maybe I'm like Tiger Woods. I might need to go to a sex rehab center for help wit’ my sexual addiction, I thought to myself.

That was some funny shit.

I started laughing my ass off, because that was the lamest shit I had ever heard. Tiger prob’ly had been in rehab dicking therapists and nurses. Fa real tho, I needed to check myself before I lost a good woman. My li’l head was gonna get me in some shit that I couldn’t get out of one day. A nigga was droppin’ seeds like crazy.

I hit the blunt and held the smoke in my lungs until I started coughing. It was some fiyah I was blazin’! That shit must’ve been laced wit’ some common sense 'cause I swear every time I inhaled I could clearly see my mistakes.

I grabbed my cell phone and speed dialed my boo. I got sent to voicemail five straight times. On the sixth attempt Mo’ answered the phone. “Blunt, stop calling my damn phone.”

I said real softly, “Boo, all I ask is that you allow me a few minutes to say what’s in my heart. You don’t have to say anything in response, just listen to me.” I raised my foot up and planted it on the small nightstand on the side of the bed.

I was posted up in only a wife beater and black boxers. I tightly clutched the bottle of Henny in my hand and took a gulp. I was gettin' good and gon’ off that fiyah water.

“No, Blunt. You don’t deserve another minute of my time. I’ve wasted three years on you, and I’m not wasting another second. This is where I get off the rollercoaster, Sir,” Mo' stated without a hint of regret in her voice.

My heart dropped at the thought that she may have meant it this time. I spoke fast before she could hang up. "Mo’, you kno’ I love you. You can’t even dispute that. Am I perfect? Nah, not by a long shot, but my love for you is one hunnid, and that’s a foundation that you just don’t toss away. I told you when we first hooked up that sometimes I might make some pretty big mistakes, but you will always be able to count on my heart. Anything you ask me for, I give it to you, and I give it wit’ a smile ‘cause you’re my baby.”

“No, Blunt, I’m not your baby. Your babies are by Chunuchi, some broad named Mika, another trick named Luscious, and God knows how many other baby mamas you have.”

I got quiet. I wondered how she knew about Mika and Luscious.

“What now? Cat got your tongue? See, when you lay wit’ rats they go back and tell it. Lose my number, Dog Ass Negro.” The call abruptly ended.

I didn’t even call back. I just got high and kicked myself for fuckin’ up. My eyes slowly shut as I told myself that I had to get my baby back somehow, someway.

No Mask

Blunt

The next day I was out in the streets parlaying with my hood niggas. Mo’ was still on my mind, but I had on my game face around the homies.

“I heard you got them thangs on deck,” a nigga named Millionaire said to me as I walked up to where he was posted up on the hood of his metallic gray Dodge Charger, chopping it up wit’ some homies at Grant Park. We dapped fists.

“Yeah, I’m fuckin’ wit’ a li’l somethin’,” I said and steered him away from the others. My li’l homie, Deuce, who was sitting on the hood of his black '64 Chevy Impala a few feet away, winked at me.

When me and Millionaire got away from the others I asked, “So, how many of them thangs you tryna fuck wit’?”

“Depends on the ticket