& the heat goes on...
It's Saturday night, the night after I just got paid. Seriously, I did. Anyway, I was debuting my romper in the United State in honor of a girlfriend's birthday belated celebration. Don't worry about how wrong that sentence sounds; birthday passed, celebration was late. As I said, I was debuting the romper beyond the beaches of the Bahamas, and successfully I might add. I headed out of my building to my car. On the way, some Stoopers (brothas who gather on stoops) started calling out "HEY MA!" I didn't respond and got my cute self on in the car. Just like last Friday I was getting the party started in my vehicle and took the time to plug in the iPod and let out some of the day's pent up heat by putting the windows down. A natty youngin cam bounding across the street and posted up in my window. Sigh...here we go....
"You 'bout to go out?"
I wasn't sure how to respond to this question. See, where I come from, someone getting in their car and turning it on is a surefire sign that they're about to go somewhere. I knew that was NOT the time to teach this young man problem solving skills and just said yeah.
Natty: You lookin all good and stuff. Damn, you pretty.
Me: Thank you.
Natty: I'm just sayin...You pretty as shit.
Me: Thank you.
Riveting conversation, right? I thought so too. More interesting than this intellectual exchange was suddenly being overcome by the urge to cough. See, Natty missed several lessons in etiquette in whatever school system or home environment he's a product of. My young friend had pulled his hand from behind his back and took a drag on his cigarette--SEX-SAY!!--and then blew the smoke out in the direction of his conversation. In other words: DIRECTLY AT ME.
Natty: So, I'm sayin, I really want to talk to you. Can you take my number.
Me: Sweetheart, I'm flattered, but I'm not going to waste your time pretending as though I'm going to call you. I have a hard enough time calling the people I DO know.
Natty: Damn you['re] mean! You coulda just took my number and not used it if that's how you felt.
Another young soldier in these streets who is fighting the good fight against The Middle Man. Sigh...
Me: I'm not into wasting people's time or lying to them. To take your number would mean I've done both. I'm flattered but I really musts be going.
Natty: You jus' gon' leave your boyfriend at home tonight?
Natty: You lyin, you ain't got no boyfriend.
Me: If you knew this already, why'd you ask?
You're probably wondering why I haven't rolled over his foot on my way out of my parking space to end this conversation. Had I done that you would have nothing to read right now. It's like wondering why the dumb white girl always runs toward the danger in the horror flick. The movie would end abruptly if she suddenly wised up and hauled ass outta the woods. I make these sacrifices for you.
Natty said something I couldn't hear over the smoke.
Me: How old are you? Because something tells me this is where the wrap up comes in.
Natty: I'm 25. You?
Natty: Awwwwww man, no you ain't. You jus' said that to hurt my feelings and discourage me.
Me: It's true. And now I'm going to go on about my grown woman business. I have people waiting for me. Again, I appreciate your flattery this evening but I must be out.
Natty: I'ma watch you peel off. I'm gonna see you again, I promise. I wanna talk to you baaaad.
At this point he leans back on the vehicle next to mine and literally stands there to watch me leave. Out of my rear view I saw him run back to recount his adventure to the Stoopers.
When cats approach me in a manner that can be considered respectful I don't slice and dice 'em. I try to respectfully decline their advances. I'm not into Black on Black violence so I try to be as kind with my "no" as possible. No need to leave man having to pick up his face from the asphalt unnecessarily. The problem with this, and there always is one, is that kindness makes people feel comfortable and maybe like if they press hard enough they might be able to squeeze out a "yes." This is all time wasting behavior.
I would love to share with you the Young Holla that came at the very end of the night, or should I say at the start of the morning, but mosst of it was drunken incoherence and I left my Drunken Farsi pocket translator at home. Oh well.
Watch me move.