Andreyia glances at me with a look that suggests she’s hoping I’m telling the truth. In a way, I was telling the truth. I’m just trying to convince my heart with the same feeling.
After going from store to store throughout the mall, Dreyia and I finally settle for an outfit and were ready to hit the road. Dreyia is dressed in her ivory jump suit, with her hair bone straight flowing flawlessly to the nape of her butt. My best friend has it going on and no, she is not rocking the weave thing. Andreyia is half-black and half-Latino, I tell her all the time that she needs to be a Hollywood model, but her dream was focused on becoming a beautician.
After picking up my girls and snapping a few pictures, we head out to downtown Chattanooga, ready to hit the streets at the once-a-year-event, the African American Benefit Social. Talking shit to each other, we speed down Brainerd Road bumping loud-ass music, and, of course, we think we are the shit. By the time we make it to MLK Boulevard, we have the ego of a super star. By the time my big ego ass turns a right at the light, I hit the curb, causing my whip to sputter. I think I have a flat tire.
Pulling over into a vacant lot not too far from the social entrance, I put my car in park, slowly stepping out to look at the damage of the tires.
“Fuck,” I say as I bend down to take a closer look. Just my luck, I ended up with not one but two flat tires.
“Damn, chick, what you gone do?” Dreyia asks as she walks around the car to inspect the damage.
Shaking my head, I contemplate calling my stepdad to come fix it but will need two donuts. As I think it over again, I step back and say, “Fuck that shit, I’m too bad for this shit. Let’s hit the social and I’ll call the wrecker to come tow this bitch,” I say.
I am single, and if I saw Shame, I want him to realize what he had. Therefore I am in my fuck-it attitude today. I have my girls with me, so yeah we are ready to set it off. Chatt’s finest, ya hear? Walking down a slight hill into the pathway of others walking toward MLK Boulevard where the African American Benefit Social is being held.
“Hey, how you doing?” I say as I speak to the security guard at the gate. After checking us for any weapons or foreign objects, we are finally walking though the park.
“Girl, there’s so many fine men here!” Mekia says as she pulls her shades over her eyes.
“You better get you one,” Brooke laughs as she walks around a baby who has wandered a few feet from his mother.
“Is that Monica?” Briana asks.
“It looks like her,” I say. “Damn, she has gotten big though. She used to be small as hell! I wonder what happened.”
“She had all those kids” Mekia says as she waves Monica over and pulls out a cigarette.
Moving to the side to get away from Mekia’s cigarette smoke, I feel someone grab my hand pulling me close. I get a whiff of his cologne. Damn, he smells so good. I turn around, and I’m speechless.
“What’s up, beautiful? Shit, I am just looking at you and something told me not to let you pass me by,” he says, looking sexy as ever. Gazing into his hazel eyes, with his neatly trimmed goatee, this guy is something different. I just feel it in my soul. Standing in front of me, with his wife beater and flexing his muscles, I can’t help but imagine him hovering over me—touching me, kissing me. What am I thinking? I’m not the type of female who would go out my way to be so attracted to someone I didn’t know. But this fine brother is an Adonis that I want to worship. His hair is neatly cut in the South of France style, and you can tell that he was someone serious about what they do. Flashing his silver Michael Kors watch, he pulls me by the waist so I won’t get bumped by some drunk idiot.
“Really?” I ask, unsure if he is running game. You know how men are—these days they will tell a female what they need to hear to get in their panties. Although this guy is fine as shit. I’m the type to go for that, so I’ll keep my dirty thoughts to myself.
“I mean, you don’t think I picked you out of this crowd, picked you out of what …five other females you were walking with, for nothing do you? I mean, a nigga just want to get to know you. Take you out a few times. I mean, you look like you deserve to have a good time.”
Oh, my goodness, was he serious?
“Hey, you okay?” Andreyia asks as she heads over.
“Yeah, she’s in good hands,” Mr. Fine answers for me.
Blushing, I turn toward Andreyia; I nod my head to reassure her that I am fine. Giving him a once-over look and being the friend that she is, she stands in front of us with her hand on her hip.
“Um, well, I’m going to need your name and number to make sure you’re straight because niggas crazy these days and we don’t know you.”
“Hustle,” he says, shaking his head at my over-protective friend.
“Hustle?” we both say in a unison.
“Yeah, Hustle,” he says with seriousness in his voice. This guy wasn’t kidding.
“Why do they call you Hustle?” Andreyia inquires. Oh my goodness—no, she didn’t just openly ask this man that!
“Shit, ’cause I’m ’bout my business. Point. Blank. Period,” he says with much arrogance in his tone.
Finally speaking up and breaking the awkward moment of my girl cock blocking, I turn to Hustle, not wanting to make our conversation short. “Excuse her behavior, Hustle. Your game is good, but right now is not a good time. I’m just trying to get over—”
Suddenly, he grabs my phone, enters his phone number, then calls his phone with my phone. “Now we can keep in touch … miss … ?” he asks as he hands my phone back to me.
“Yemya, or Mya.” I am in awe that this dude was really getting next to me. Kissing me on my cheek, he walks off with his boys and I am left there smiling. “Who was that?” Mekia asks as she walks up to Dreyia and me.
“Girl, some dude that’s try’na pimp Yemya with his game.”
“He was not trying to pimp me,” I say eagerly. “Besides, he cold at what he do. That’s for sure.”
“Yeah, that nigga is smoove all right, and watch he’s going to want to slither his dick in that pussy too.”
Brushing off my best friend’s comment, I am trapped, deep in thought about this Hustle. It was just something about him that I can’t put my finger on—smiling at the thought of this new guy that found me without my searching.
“Look at her,” Andreyia giggles. “Here we go again, this bitch in love and don’t even know the guy.” She laughs.
“Ain’t nobody in love,” I say, feeling offended.
“Shit, he’s fine, Mya. I would have left with him and said fuck y’all,” Brooke says as she laughs at her joke.
“Y’all so crazy,” I say as we continue to walk the strip. “I’m not in love with nobody. It doesn’t hurt to get to know someone new. Isn’t that the reason y’all talked me into coming out here to this damn social to mingle? Shit, let’s just chill; dammit to hell with Shame and to hell with any other man who isn’t on my level,” I say as I take my strides with confidence.
As the African American Social event slowly comes to an end, I forgot all about my car catching two flats and calling a wrecker. My girls found a way home with their men and, I am sitting outside on the hood of my car waiting on the tow truck to pick up my whip.
As I sit waiting, I see an all black Chevy Capris pulling up beside me with the music blasting. Preparing for whatever, I jump off the hood of my car ready to defend myself. Rolling down the passenger window, the driver lean out the window so that I can see his face. It was him, Hustle.
“What’s up, baby girl, you straight out here?” he asks.
Keeping in mind that he is a stranger and that I never seen him a day in my life, I stand closer to my car in case he wants to try something.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I say as I look as if I am cool and not stuck in this situation.
“You sure, ’cause from here it looks like you have two flat tires and I don’t think you should be out here alone. Where your girls at?” he asks.
Unsure of how to
answer his question, he parks his car and gets out. Oh, Lord Jesus, he’s about to get me! I think as I start to open my car door to get in.
“Whoa, whoa, what’s wrong? I am just being respectful. I can’t let you stand out here by yourself. It’s not safe. Besides,” he says as he hands me a jacket, “you look cold.”
“Thanks,” I say, grabbing his jacket, unsure if I should feel comfortable or keep myself on guard. Hustle leans against my car as if he is going to stand with me.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“I’m going to sit here with you.”
“Um, for what?” I inquire. Ugh, why am I playing hard to get and this Hustle guy is being such a gentleman. I mean, something has to give, Yemya. If you keep being mean you’re going to run his fine ass away.
“Like I said, I’m not going to let you sit here by yourself. You’re obviously waiting on a ride or a wrecker. One or the other, whatever the case me be … Miss?’ he asks.
“See? You forgot my name,” I laugh. “It’s Yemya”
“I didn’t forget. It’s just different. I like different.” He smirks, flashing his pearly white teeth.
I can’t do anything but to melt under his smile. This guy is something and I want to figure him out.
“So where are you from?” I ask as I prop my back against my car.
“What you mean where I’m from?” Hustle asks with much enthusiasm.
“Come on now, I picked your accent out from somewhere. I just can’t figure out where.”
“I’m from Baton Rouge, Louisiana, baby girl,” he says smiling, flashing his teeth again.
“Are y’all that fine down there?” I ask.
“I don’t know—you should let me take you one day.”
“Boy boo, you’re a stranger. I don’t know anything about you,” I say, pulling a stand of hair behind my ear.
“That don’t mean you can’t get you know me. How do you think a lot of people meet? They were strangers first.”
Somehow, I feel myself gazing into his hazel-brown eyes imaging myself kissing him. Snap out of, Yemya! I told myself—if truth is being told, I am starting to drool on my damn self. I’ve never been to Louisiana, but good gracious, he sure is a rare breed.
“Yeah, you’re right,” I am finally able to say.
“So you’re going to tell me the truth,” he inquires.
“The truth about what?” I ask, unsure of what he is talking about.
“When I pulled up you said you were straight. If things are so good, then why you just sitting here? Your man is going to put an APB out on you,” he jokes.
“For one, I don’t have a man …” Hearing myself say that is reality check. Hell, I don’t have a man. “And honestly, I have not one, but two flat tires on the right side of my car and I’m waiting on a wrecker to come to tow it,” I say.
“How you get two flat tires, baby girl?” he says as he walks around my Impala to observe my tire damage.
“You know how females get … cocky and careless sometimes. Me and my girls were headed here, bumpin’ music and vibin’. Next thing you know pow! I hit the curb,,” I say with all seriousness in my voice.
“The curb caused you to have two flats?” he asks, shaking his head. “Y’all females are careless with cars.” He laughs. “So how long has it been since you called the wrecker?”
I check my call log. “About twenty minutes ago.”
“Did you tell them that you were alone?” he asks.
“No, I didn’t think to tell him that. Speaking of the wrecker, there he goes now,” I say, seeing the black-and-gold tow truck pull into the lot.
Hustle nods his head as if to say, “That’s what’s up.” “You need me to take you home?” he asks as the driver positions his truck in front of my car.
“Nah, I’m good, I’ll have him drop me off. Thank you though,” I say as I get my things together to leave.
“Is it the stranger thing? I thought we got to know each other for you to trust me,” he jokes.
I laugh. “I have trust issues. Besides, I don’t know you enough to introduce you to my home. You don’t need to know where I stay right now, I feel comfortable knowing that. Stranger.”
“Funny. Aight. Be that way, but I am going to see you off safely and make sure the dude is straight,” he says as he walks toward the direction of the driver.
Unsure of what to think of Hustle, I say, “Thank you, Hustle, but I’m a big girl. I can handle it from here.” I smile.
“Aight then, baby girl,” Hustle says as he kisses my cheek and walks back to his Chevy Capris.
He did what he said he was going to do. He sat in his car until the tow truck driver pulled off with me right beside him. Deep in thought about this mystery man, I feel my phone vibrating in my hand. As I read the message, I can’t help but to smile. This stranger, the one who calls himself Hustle, texted me asking me to text him for when I made it home safely. And I did. I soon as my keys hit the door and I am inside, I texted Hustle to tell him thank you for staying with me and that I am home. He instantly replied back, something Shame never did. The gesture made my heart flutter.
20
“If you love someone tell them; broken hearts are often caused by unspoken words.”
They expect you to let go of something that you’ve grown so attached to, something that can walk into your life and make you feelwanted. You have found the attention that you were searching for. That feeling that you felt that you were missing—that space is now complete. But now, it has you suffering, feeling defeated, feeling stupid to the point where your stomach begins to hurt and makes you so upset that you begin to cry. And yet the feeling that your love can only make you feel so foolish; trapping you in a box full of confusion. Yes, I am feeling this way. Shame still has that effect on me, and although we haven’t spoken in days, the history between us is something that I just can’t shake.
May 28, 2013
Man, so much has been a part of our lives from the day that we shared our many ups and downs, to the day that we ended our relationship for good. Even from finding out about you sleeping with Jennifer, it broke me down to one ounce of pain. Though you say it occurred before me, I still feel as if I can’t put anything past you. I wanted to hate you, yet at the same time, I wanted to love you. In my mind, all I can ever think of saying is, “Damn, how can I let this shit happen to me?” It’s been almost a month now, and anything after that has been nothing but the state of confusion. I count my days of many blessings, and yes, I’ve even considered including you in those blessings, Shame. The one I loved and trusted the most turned out to be the one to betray me because you can’t seem to keep your dick to yourself! How can I express the way I feel and what I am going through when I’m not even sure my damn self? The fucked-up part is that my heart be missing you. I be missing you.
No one seems to understand how much a woman can actually miss you, Shame, in spite of what I am going through, unless she is in the same shoes as me. I try to admit to myself that I don’t feel the way I do about you. This is only a phase that we as adults go through. But who am I kidding? I aborted my baby—a living human being. I ache inside from heartache out of loving you! Yet, being with someone else makes me think of you, makes me hate you, makes me forget that I even loved you. And his name is Hustle.
Yemya
Hustle and I have been texting back in forth for the past few days now and deep inside I am starting to really feel him. He is different. His attitude, his looks, and um, the way he respects me even though we communicate only through text messaging. I can’t believe that I’m really lusting over someone who’s not even Shame. I mean, Shame is so not even the subject of my life anymore. I’m single now, and right now, I just want to live for the moment and free myself from any past demons with Shame.
Just think’n bout cha—is the text message that I receive from Hustle. Damn, do this nigga have a lot of time on his hands to be texting me so much.
That’s what up? I instantly rep
ly back.
When u gone let me see u again? This messaging and picture sending is for the birds, he replies with a sad face.
I don’t know Hustle, I just got out of relationship and I am still going through the motions with my ex—having you in the picture can confuse things for me, I admit in my message.
How is that? I don’t have nothin’ to do wit yo ex. So y is he the problem between what you can have with me????
Okay, let’s be honest. I am feeling Hustle. His game is good, his words are tight, but my relationship with Shame has prevented me to take a leap over boundaries. I mean, I want to see Hustle. Hell, I want it to be more than just texting. But I’m afraid. I’m afraid of opening up, I’m afraid of falling for him, I’m afraid that he’s like Shame, so I run. I make excuses. I avoid the talk of hooking up until I’m ready for Hustle.
We will—I’ll let you know, I reply back. I’m sure if anything will go beyond just texting. Hustle doesn’t seem like the type with very much patience. I don’t want to tread him along a string and keep him waiting. Right now, I’m not sure of anything at this point. I wasn’t quite over Shame as much as I wanted to be. But yet and still—I’m ready to fall for Hustle.
21
“If I go on my way without you … Oh, where would I go? I’ll always … come back to you.” Trina
“Hello?” I groggily say into the phone.
“What’s up, baby?” It’s Shame.
“What’s up, Shame? Why are you calling me at three in the morning?” I say as I slowly rouse up in my bed.
“Damn, I didn’t know it was like that,” Shame slowly says.
I missed him true enough, but I have to be strong and I am in the process of getting over our relationship. What we had is done and I came to the conclusion that it could never be. My trust for him has been thrown out of the window, but the love for him is still tugging on my heart.
A Lover's Mentality Page 10
