What we posed to argue over some tramp bitch?
Nope. FUCK THAT RATCHED FACED BITCH…LOL!! Deuces
LOL
Tree turned off her phone after getting Marquis’ last text. Marquis was right. Nichelle had put his dick in a cheese grader and was trying to shred his shit up and make him her bitch. He always felt like she was trying to punk him but hearing it from another man, especially one that he was sharing the pussy with, infuriated him. He was mad on FIRE thinking about all the shit she’d put him through but to lie and say she was pregnant and she wasn’t? UN-FUCKING-REAL!! He started to grab his keys with the intent to go over to her dorm and just strangle her ass until she couldn’t breathe but remembered BASKETBALL and how this was already his second chance.
“FUUUUUCK!” he screamed as he punched a whole in the wall instead. He sat down in his recliner, his mind racing with fury. He sat alone with his thoughts for a while and even as upset as he was, he managed to smile because he realized that finally, not only had he shown a little raw emotion but Satin’s wife could go back to her husband and get the fuck out of his life.
The next day, Tree got up early and as soon as he turned his phone on, it rang like crazy, but he ignored it. He knew it was Nichelle calling. He didn’t have any words for her…literally. But she had a few choice ones for him. She had left seven voice mails but he didn’t have time to listen to any of them though. He got dressed and went to go see Coach Reed before his 11:00 a.m. class started. When he got to the coach’s office, Coach Reed greeted him with a smile and said, “That’s him, the 3rd coming.”
“The 3rd coming?” Tree asked.
“Yeah fool, the 3rd coming of Michael Jordan by way of North Carolina State University. Kobe was the 2nd, so I know Jayden Oakes has got to be the 3rd”, the coach joked and they laughed. “So what’s going on with you, son? Why did you need to see me?”
“Coach, have you met that new janitor, Jo? Older guy? Kinda tall, walks slow, and a little humped over?”
“Who?”
“Jo, J-O, Jo. He always runs the dust mop over the floor after the games.”
Coach Reed looked at Tree with a bit of confusion on his face. Then he replied, “Son, I’ve worked at this school for over 15 years and I know everybody who has anything to do with this gym, the janitors, the ticket sellers, the snack bar attendants, the media affiliates, the electricians, even the ticket scalpers. I never forget a face and there’s no Jo that works here. In fact, nobody has started here new since the season began. Why you ask son? What’s up with him?” Tree looked at the coach grinning. “Coach you getting old”, he said, “You don’t know Jo? Maybe because he comes after everyone leaves.”
Coach Reed looked at Tree seriously and said, “Are you sure the man you’re talking about is not posing as an agent and trying to persuade you to sign with him before the season has ended. Son you can be in a lot of trouble if…”
“Whoa coach.” Tree interrupted. “Pump yo brakes for a sec. Jo is no agent. He’s a janitor, man. He cleans the floors and turns the lights off. I haven’t spoken to any agents or signed anything coach. I promised you that I would let you guide me to the League by following your every command and I’ve done just that. I haven’t broken any of the rules, man. When I twisted my knee freshman year at UCLA and had to sit out a season, everybody thought my career was done, but you and Nichelle got together and came to me. Both of you persuaded me to come here for your own selfish reasons, but I felt like you, you coach, you really believed in me. If I hadn't twisted my knee, I wouldn't even be here. I owe you. You gave me a second chance. I would never do anything to jeopardize my chances of making it to the NBA, especially since I’m playing so well now.”
Coach Reed smiled and the pride he felt showed all over his face when Tree spoke. He stood up and said, “Son, don’t worry about the Jo character, he’s not important. We'll have to pick this up later cause you’ve got class in ten minutes. Get outta here.”
“Ok. Thanks, coach”, Tree said walking out of the coach’s office.
For the next few days, Tree’s anger spiraled into a funky depression about his dreams of having a stable family with Nichelle being shattered into oblivion, but for some reason he also remained determined to figure out who this Jo person was. He ignored Nichelle’s calls and avoided her on campus deliberately taking different routes than their usual to avoid her at all costs. He wasn’t ready for that confrontation just yet. He would deal with her when the time came, and besides, finding out about Jo was easier than dealing with his pain, so he allowed it to take precedence over everything, even his game.
On Saturday evening, Tree had a bad shooting night. He was 0 for 15 in the first half with 7 points, all free throws. After halftime, while walking back to the gym floor, Tree spotted Jo in the tunnel, but he didn’t have time to say anything to him. He would catch up with him later, after the game when everyone left like he always did.
After the game, Tree stayed behind after the gym cleared out and practice shooting jump shots while waiting for Jo. The lights did their thing and Tree looked around waiting for Jo, but he was nowhere around. Disappointed, Tree gathered his things and began walking off the gym floor. Then he heard Jo call out, “Sorry you had a bad game. The loss didn’t mean anything anyway. You guys are still going to the NCAA tournament.” Tree searched for Jo but couldn’t find him. He wasn’t on the floor. “I’m up here”, Jo said. Tree looked up and found Jo pushing a broom up in the raptors between the aisles of seats.
“Hey, man. Who are you anyway? Coach says you don’t even work here.”
“I’m working ain’t I’m?”
“Yeah, but Coach said you’re not employed here. Who are you?”
“Go home son.”
Then suddenly the lights began shutting down in their mechanically, systematic, fashion, one row at a time. Tree left the gym and when he got to his car, his windshield had been bashed in. He looked at it and just shook his head. He knew Nichelle had been there even before he read the note on the seat. It read, “How dare you ignore your pregnant girlfriend!!! Trying to cut us loose before you sign the dotted line, Jayden??!! Love Nichelle. PS I know you got my phone nigga.”
Tree started up his car with the cold North Carolina breeze flowing from his windshield forgetting all about Jo, furious with Nichelle. No more waiting or putting it off, the time had come. All of the years he'd been with her, thinking she was different from the rest. She was different all right, but in the worse way. She was actually what his Madea had tried her best to steer him clear of. His phone kept ringing but he had zoned out and didn’t hear it. He was on a mission to go stomp a mud hole in that crazy wench.
He drove to Nichelle’s dorm room and practically ran through the lobby to the elevator. When he got to Nichelle’s floor, he sprinted down the hall to her room door and started banging and bamming on it like he was the police. When Cynthia opened the door, he pushed passed her grabbing Nichelle by the roots of her weave and slamming her up against the wall. He looked her directly in the eyes, adrenaline pumping, sweat dripping, fist balled up, ready to slap the snot out of her, but caught himself. “She ain’t worth it dude!” he heard somebody yell.
There was a crowd watching and those all those eyes instantly snapped Tree back into reality. She wasn’t worth it. He had worked way too hard to lose everything now over some common gold digger. “Yeah bitch”, he finally managed to say. “I know about Marquis and I know you busted out the window but I ain’t even trippin’ off of that petty bullshit cause it could be replaced. But you know what can’t be replaced, that fake ass bundle of joy you’re NOT carrying in your womb.” Tree then took out her phone and began reading in a feminine voice the text messages, which broke his heart, and changed his life. He threw the phone up against the wall up watching it shatter into a million pieces. He walked out feeling like he just bench pressed Andre the Giant off his chest.
The crowd started clapping and cheering and he could hear all their comments: “Bout ti
me he got rid of that Skank-A Saurus Rex!”, “Good for you homeboy. You don’t need her anyway”, “Right on brother” “Fuck that bitch dude. You’re too good for her.” “That Hood Scrape got exactly what she deserved.” He just shook his head and left.
When he got back to his apartment, he grabbed a Gatorade from his refrigerator and sat stoically in the dark. He actually felt bad for exploding like that, even though she did deserve it. He was relieved, yet crushed, and the pain he felt reminded him of his distressing childhood. "Another painful ass experience." he thought to himself.
As he sat and moped, he kind of felt reassured that he could now move on into reality but the mystique of Jo hovered over him once again. He could not stop thinking about him, even in the midst of being furious. It was because of Jo that he found out about Nichelle’s deception in the first place. He had to find him and tell him he was right. He had to tell him how a few text messages changed his life. He had to thank him and he would make sure that he would do it the next time he seen him. “Go home.” Tree remembered. “Home,” Tree thought and he called his Madea in California.
“Hello? Madea?”
“Hey Jay baby! How are you?
“I’m doing real well. I just called to hear your voice, I miss you like crazy gran’ma.”
“I miss you too, son. How’s Nichelle?
“We broke up. Long story.”
“Well, son, God does as he sees fit. Maybe it was for the best.”
“Yeah, it was. It never happened.”
Madea paused and Tree could see her smiling across the miles. “Madea,” he started, “I know that pause. It means you’re smiling. What for? You never liked Nichelle anyway. You were right about her all along.” Madea had a fit of coughing and when she stopped, she answered, “No, son. Truthfully speaking, I never liked the girl. She was too bossy. But I wasn’t smiling at your anguish due to you alls break up. I always knew that time would take care of that. I’m smiling cause you said something that your grandfather used to say.”
“What?” Tree wanted to know.
“It never happened. Jeremiah Oakes, your grandfather would always say that when someone apologized to him. No matter how minor or major it was, he would always say, ‘It never happened.' His way of saying you were forgiven and it was over.”
“An old janitor here at school said it to me a while ago. Well, Madea, I gotta go now. I know it’s late for you and I don’t want to keep you. I love you and I can’t wait to see you in June.”
“I love you too, son. Take care.”
Tree sat in silence as he pondered what his grandmother had just told him, that his grandfather, who died when he was 3 years old and never had the pleasure of knowing, used to say that little saying, “It never happened.” Just like Jo. Then the light that he was searching for finally flickered, shining brightness on the answer he was searching for.
********************
It was the last game before March Madness and Tree was a cool as a Cheshire cat. He knew that no matter how well they fared in the tournament, he had solidified himself a first round, high lottery pick to obtain his childhood dream, to be in the League, the NBA. They played Boston College for the final game, and they were no competition for Coach Reed’s Wolf Pack.
After the game, Tree loafed around, doing what he did best; challenging himself to a game of one on one after everyone had left the gym. He waited for the lights to flicker but they never did. He just had to see Jo, because that night, that phone, those text messages, all of it, changed his entire life. It was fate. He no longer had to walk around and pretend to be happy. For the first time in a long time, he felt free. He was really keeping it 100. So he waited for Jo to show up, but he never did, not that night or any other night.
In fact, the next time Tree saw him was in Secaucus, New Jersey at the NBA League offices while standing at the podium shaking Commissioner David Stern's hand and being welcomed as the newest addition to the Golden State Warriors. He saw Jo pushing a broom in the back of the crowd. Tree smiled at him and Jo tipped his hat and then resumed to pushing his broom disappearing into the crowd.
CHAPTER 9 – HIDING PLACES
Hiding Places
I hide behind a mask of smiles
When my insides are soaked with tears.
I hide behind a shield of courage
When my heart is filled with many fears.
I hide behind a window of confidence
When the mirror reflects insecurity.
I hide behind the walls of a society
That thrives on insincerity.
I hide behind nonchalance
When all I really want to do is feel.
Why are we always hiding?
While supposedly “keeping it real”.
The world is filled with many hiding places
Some of us hide behind emotions.
Some of us hide behind hopes and dreams
While some hide behind distorted notions.
We hide behind fashions and hair-do’s
Thinking these are the things that define us.
Allowing things like brand names, banks accounts,
And symbols of status ultimately blind us.
From the time we are conceived
We are taught to conceal our true faces.
We learn a game of hide and seek
That has far too many hiding places.
CHAPTER 10 – UNCLE SAM
Uncle Sam
Frustrated, castrated, and relegated to a system
That sets us up for failure by making it impossible
To achieve the American Dream.
You look surprised!
What? You didn’t know that women
Could be castrated too?
They castrate us with their glass ceilings
And sexual harassment and not allowing us to simply be.
Whether it’s us wanting to be nappy headed or unwaxed
Or bigger than a size zero or have feet larger than a size 8.
Or making it seem like unless there is a Mrs. in front of our name that we don’t count.
We’re castrated every single time the government
Tries to legislate my right to abort
A child that I don’t want and damn sure don’t need
Because even with a $100,000 education
I still only make $12 an hour before taxes.
I want YOU is what he says
But what he really wants is my tax dollars.
For what? I don’t know.
Because we live in the same raggedy, potholed streets
In which many of us were raised.
I work my 9-5 so that Uncle Sam can take
30% of my money,
Claiming it goes to schools which consequently
Have no pencils, paper, or books.
For Christ’s sake I even have to buy my child’s Kleenex.
Disability and social security are a joke.
I can’t even afford to get sick or disabled in this economy.
And I better not get hungry either cuz food stamps just like Medi-cal, are simply not an option
Because guess what? I make $2 too much!
Too much for what is what is what I want to know
Because the last time I checked,
I had more month than money
And I can’t afford groceries, gas, or healthcare.
Uncle Sam wants me all right!
He wants me to starve and die a slow and painful death
Simply because I can’t afford to see a doctor
And damn sure can’t afford the medicine
That will cure my ailment or make me well enough
To go to my 9 to 5.
The American Dream is more like the American Scam
Thank you so much Uncle Sam!
You ain’t my damn uncle!
CHAPTER 11 – DEAR MR. PRESIDENT
Dear Mr. President
from: The White House
reply-to: The White House
to: Barack Obama
date: Tue, Jul 27, 2010 at 9:55 PM
subject: Dear Mr. President, please read…thanks
mailed-by: prod.govdelivery.com
Images from this sender are always displayed.
Don't display from now on.
Dear Mr. President, please read. Thanks!
Dear Mr. President:
How did you start your morning? Did you wake up to your beautiful wife in bed next to you, while your two children ran in the room and jumped on your bed? Did you take a nice hot shower, get dressed in a nice suit, and hurry downstairs for a massive breakfast? After eating, did you get started on your daily pow-wows and meetings, putting out a few fires and starting a few of your own? Would you like to know how I started my morning, Sir? I will tell you.
This morning I woke up at dusk to the smell and the sounds of a man that I do not know taking a shit just a few feet from where I was sleeping. Had I known last night that this was a popular place to excrete bodily functions, I would have kept on walking. The only reason I even decided to set up shop at this spot is because it reminded me of a bathroom stall; private, safe, and dimly lit. With smut on his face, alcohol in his pores, and smelling like he bathed in piss and body funk, Life had definitely whipped this old man’s ass and told him “Fuck You” a long time ago. Imagine the irony of waking up to him grunting and pushing as the day was just beginning to break, with his eyes closed, pants down to his ankles, as if the Earth was his bathroom stall, private, safe, and dimly lit and he was shitting on the world, his way of saying “Fuck You” back.
Urban Diaries Page 6
