Thirsty

by Mike Sanders

  regretting the fact that we hadn’t stayed around long enough to clean

  out those chicks’ closet. When Monk had told me about all of that

  gear we’d missed out on I wanted to kick myself in the ass! However,

  unlike Sapphire, I wasn’t that pressed because I already knew anything

  was liable to happen in this game. Just like any other game, you were

  bound to take a loss every once in a while.

  “You tryna see me?” J.T. asked.

  I thought back to the night we’d met and I was remembering how

  smooth and sexy his Tyson Beckford looking ass was. How could a

  sistah not want to see all of that again? Besides, how else would I be able

  to get into them pockets if I wasn’t going to get with him? “We can make that happen,” I stated, using my sexiest voice. “What

  you gettin’ into tonight?”

  “Hopefully you. And I meant that in a good way,” he responded,

  sure of himself.

  Unconsciously, my body began tingling at the mere thought of

  J.T. fucking my brains out, but I played it cool and chose my words

  carefully.

  “Okay, I can see that happening. We can get into each other over a

  couple of drinks out somewhere.”

  I was letting him know that I was only referring to conversation.

  Seriously though, I already knew that sooner or later all of that chitchatting would eventually come to an end. Then more than likely we’d

  end up somewhere messing somebody’s sheets up. However, I’d told

  myself that I wouldn’t get attached to this nigga and I wasn’t going to

  let my desire for a climax hinder my quest for cash. So, I’d made up my

  mind to just tease him, please him and let Monk squeeze him. J.T. said, “That’s a bet. Just let me know when and where.” Just then, Sapphire entered the living room carrying a daiquiri she’d

  mixed up. She saw me smiling and glowing like a schoolgirl while

  twirling the ice in my glass with my index finger. She sat on the love

  seat in front of me and looked at me with inquisitive eyes before silently

  mouthing, “Who is that?”

  I sucked the liquor off my finger, then raised it and spelled the

  letters J.T. in the air. I saw her eyes light up and I knew exactly what

  she was thinking. She wanted me to hook her up with the guy who’d

  been driving the Hummer the night I met J.T. I sighed and whispered

  to her, “Chill. I got choo.”

  Damn, I hated match making!

  “J.T., my girl wanna know if you got any friends?” I reluctantly

  asked.

  “Nah, but I got plenty enemies. Why?” J.T. laughed because he

  knew what I was getting at.

  “Where your boy at? The one who was with you that night we

  met?”

  “Oh, so you told her he was fine or somethin’, huh?” he teased. “No, I told her you were fine and that I didn’t get to see him.” I

  lied.

  “That was my cousin. Matter of fact, he sittin’ right here.” I heard his cousin ask who wanted to know who he was. Just then,

  my other line beeped. I looked down at my phone and saw Carlos’s

  number.

  Not today, I thought.

  I’d made up my mind to stop messing with Carlos because nothing

  prosperous was coming out of sexing him but a good nut. I was tired

  of hustlin’ backwards and I knew as long as I continued to see him I’d

  never be able to get over him. So, I ignored his call and continued to

  kick it with J.T.

  J.T. asked, “So, what we doin’? Double-datin’?” He had a hint of

  sarcasm in his voice. I could tell the idea wasn’t setting too well with him

  and I must admit double dating wasn’t what I had in mind either. I made it seem as if he’d suggested the idea of the double date.

  “Yeah, that’s a good idea!”

  “Nah, I was just say—”

  “You were just saying it was a good suggestion also, right?” I looked

  at Sapphire and spoke so that he could hear me. “J.T.’s cousin wanna

  meet you.”

  I heard J.T. sigh into the phone with a hint of frustration. I told him, “I know the perfect spot.” I paused and waited for any

  objections. When he didn’t object I continued, “You know where

  Skylar’s café is?”

  “You talkin’ about that boring ass jazz club or whatever it’s supposed

  to be?” He sounded slightly disappointed because I hadn’t suggested

  somewhere else.

  “It’s a spoken word café, and that’s where me and my girl will be

  tonight. If I see you, I see you. If not, I guess we’ll have’ta connect

  some other time.” I was being blunt but I definitely didn’t want to run

  this nigga off.

  J.T. thought about it for a minute, and then gave in.

  “Aiight. We’ll be there. What time?”

  I told him that Sapphire and I would be there at eleven and would

  be staying until closing. He assured me that they would be there, and

  we ended our conversation. My plan was already coming together. Sapphire left my condo soon after my conversation with J.T. ended

  so she could go and get dressed. We decided to meet at Skylar’s at

  ten so that we could get good seats before they got crowded. Both

  Sapphire and I enjoyed hearing spoken word artists do their thing on

  stage. Seeing it on television on shows like Lyric Cafè and other poetry

  shows was nothing like being there in the same room with the artists,

  feeding off their energy.

  It was a little past six when Sapphire had left, so I sat around and

  wasted a little time by playing around on the internet before getting

  dressed. I went to Amazon.com and ordered a few books I’d heard were

  “must reads.” I ordered Ghetto Resumè, Trust No Man, and a new joint

  Thug Lovin’. Those were just a few to add to my ever-growing collection. At nine-thirty I left my condo and headed downtown towards

  Skylar’s to meet my girl.

  Located on South Tryon Street near the downtown area, Skylar’s

  was one of Charlotte’s oldest jazz clubs that had been renovated in the

  early 2000s and transformed into a poetry café. Wednesday nights,

  amateurs took the stage and did their thing. On Saturday and Sunday

  nights the more seasoned vets along with a few celebrity artists made

  appearances. The club was built like an antique theatre with tables

  posted all around the stage so that everyone could get a clear view of the

  performer. There were also a few booths just in case someone wanted

  a more intimate setting. This Saturday night the club was packed to

  capacity. When I pulled up to the entrance valet took the keys to my

  Chrysler and I entered the dim café to look for Sapphire. I was hoping

  she was already seated at a table.

  As soon as I passed the hostess’ station I saw Sapphire seated in a

  corner booth sipping on a tall, fruity-looking concoction. She looked

  like a chocolate Barbie doll. I could tell she was trying to make an

  impression because she was displaying mucho cleavage in a banging ass

  dress that I’d never seen her wear before. She spotted me and waved

  me over.

  “‘Sup bitch?” I spoke as we shared a sisterly embrace. “Daaamn, I

  see you are in rare form tonite. Lemme find out,” I teased. I was referring to the new dress.

  “Oh, you mean this old thing?” Sapphire mimick
ed a white woman

  as she struck a Tyra Banks pose.

  “Yeah, that old thing. Gurl, yo’ ass is tryna catch. Just don’t forget

  that this shit is only business.” I looked at the expression on her face.

  “Lemme find out you really lookin’ for love.” I laughed as I slid into the

  booth opposite her and waved for the waitress.

  Once the waitress appeared, I ordered an apple martini and got

  ready to enjoy a little of the show before J.T. would arrive. It was just

  after ten so we had almost an hour to kill. We drank and listened to

  several poets do their thing onstage while we waited. A few of the poets

  were mediocre and one of them, Sean Ingram from Raleigh, North

  Carolina, was good. But when my favorite poet, Shakim, graced the

  stage, I was all ears because he always sent me home with something

  to think about.

  Shakim had been my favorite poet for over a year because he always

  spoke about conscious topics, and things you could relate to. He

  was a pecan-tan brother with neat, shoulder length salt and pepper

  dreadlocks that accented his handsome, hairless face. By his youthful

  appearance and gorgeous physique one would never guess him to be in

  his mid-forties. The only thing that gave a hint at his age was the specks

  of silver that streaked his dreads.

  The cafe was dim and cozy with only the smooth sounds of the live

  jazz band playing in the background when Shakim graced the stage and

  took the mike.

  He looked out over the crowd and smiled his signature smile before

  asking, “Ladies, how much do you know about men?” He paused, then

  asked, “And my men, how much do you know about yourselves?” Shakim grabbed the microphone stand and walked slowly to the

  back of the stage and put the stand out of sight so that he would have

  room to maneuver.

  “This piece is titled ‘Men,’” Shakim stated, then commenced to do

  his thing.

  “Men...we are perceived to be a complex species, but in all actuality,

  we are fairly simple creatures with a very simple mission. Although we

  spent nine excruciating months trying to escape the womb, we end up

  wasting the rest of our lives attempting to get back in.”

  I heard a few closed-minded men whistle and nod in agreement as

  Shakim continued to pace the stage and make hand gestures, emphasizing his point.

  “We intend to accomplish our mission by any means necessary. We

  even spit enough game to maim the lame and we prey on weak-ass

  minds. Women find…it hard to resist us, though they try to no avail.

  Egos swell—pride resides and we sometimes experience a chemical

  imbalance that hinders our thought process when it comes to trying

  to be monogamous. We cheat and they flee. Then we chase with haste,

  without realizing it’s their time we waste!”

  At this point I heard my sistahs agreeing and shouting “Amens.” I raised my drink as if to salute him and commented, “You go, wit’

  yo’ bad self!”

  He continued, “If we knew how to treat them, maybe we could

  keep them. But we don’t, so we won’t. We tend to use, abuse, and disilluse them while regarding them as mere puppets on a string. Realizing

  all too late that out of all things God ever created, the woman is the

  most precious and the most beautiful thing! Instead of encouraging our

  Queens to succeed, we’d rather encourage them to bend their knees

  and suck seed.”

  Shakim paused to allow his last verse to sink into the minds of

  the crowd. I was yearning to hear more because the resonance of his

  smooth voice along with his conscious words had me feeling like he

  was making love to my mind.

  “Men...a strange breed we are! The undisputed champion in the

  battle of the sexes. At least that’s what our guess is. We love to make

  love, but we hate to truly love! We make up excuses and alibis to avoid

  long-term closeness. Yet, we want our women to be devoted. We even overprotect and outright overshadow our women with possessiveness

  and mind-blowing, controlling behavior. Why?”

  He looked out over the hushed crowd, and then continued without

  waiting for a response because he knew no one in the audience could

  answer his question.

  “I’ll tell you why! Because it is our primal instinct to assume we own

  whom we bed. A way of thinking that’s so sad! But this assumption was

  derived from our caveman ancestors whom led us to believe women

  enjoy being clubbed over the dome and enjoys getting drug home. We

  even practice the club and drag technique to this very day, only in a

  more modern way.

  “Instead of utilizing the club, we beat our women over the head

  with manipulative, deceitful, misleading nouns and verbs. Phrases so

  slick, women forget that they’re merely just words. We still drag them

  also, though maybe not always in a physical way. We break them down

  emotionally, tear by tear, day after day!”

  When Shakim spit this verse, me and every woman in the crowd

  was moved by those words. He was verbalizing what we’d been silently

  thinking for years.

  “Men…Women can’t live with us and they definitely can’t live

  without us. They doubt us; they love us, and they hate us all in the

  same breath. Giving so much of themselves ‘til there’s nothing left!” Shakim stopped pacing the stage and stood in one spot for the first

  time since he’d taken the mike.

  He continued, “I know us Y and X chromosomes must share this

  universe, so we should try to meet one another halfway. But which

  one is going to be first? Which one of us is gonna take that first giant

  step towards this thing we call trust? Hell, knowing me and my species

  and how stubborn we are, I’m more than certain it won’t be us. Why?

  Simple…’cause we’re men!”

  The crowd erupted in cheers and applause as Shakim replaced the

  mike stand and gave the host a brotherly hug while bumping shoulders

  before gracefully exiting.

  I was thinking, Any man who is that in touch with his inner-self has

  gotta be a bad mutha!

  “Damn, that was deep. That shit was so true,” Sapphire commented

  while looking around at the faces of the men throughout the room and

  noticing a few grim expressions. “He called these niggas right out and

  they don’t know how to take that shit,” she giggled.

  I looked around and noticed the confused expressions also. “That’s right. It’s ’bout time somebody checked their asses,” I

  replied as I felt a hand touch my shoulder. I saw Sapphire looking over

  my shoulder smiling. I turned to see J.T. standing there smiling that

  same sexy ass smile that had made me lose focus that night at Nine

  Three Five.

  “Hey stranger,” his voice boomed.

  I slid out the booth and gave him a hug as his muscular arms encircled my waist. I must have held him a little too long because I heard

  the sound of someone clearing their throat and it dawned on me that

  we were not alone.

  “Oh, damn, I’m sorry, J.T. This is my girl, Sapphire. Sapphire,

  J.T.”

  I made introductions and watched as they casually shook hands

  then J.T. introduced his cousin.
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  “This is Red,” he said while keeping one hand on my waist. I noticed

  that J.T. was now wearing the jewelry that Red had been wearing the

  night we’d met. I thought of how corny it was for them to be sharing

  jewelry like that.

  After introductions were made we all slid into the booth. J.T. and

  I were side by side and Sapphire and Red were opposite us. One look

  at the gleam in my girl’s eye is all it took for me to know that she was

  digging this dude. I had even given her the raised eyebrow gesture,

  letting her know to tread lightly because I knew how easy it was for

  her to get caught out there. And the fact that this dude was cute

  wasn’t doing anything but making matters worse. Red was light brown

  skinned, muscular built with hazel eyes and short, wavy hair. This guy

  was Sapphire’s type all the way around!

  We all ordered drinks and engaged in small talk while getting to know one another as the poets continued to do their thing. Soon the conversation turned to Shakim and what he’d spoken on. J.T. and Red had caught most of what Shakim had recited when they had first

  entered the café so they were a little up to speed with the topic. “So, you believe all men are like that?” J.T. asked me.

  His lashes were so thick I wanted to reach out and touch them. But

  I didn’t want to seem too forward.

  “I believe all men got a lot of what he was saying in them,” I said,

  staring into J.T.’s eyes.

  “I feel like if a woman stands behind her man for support and

  respect him then it shouldn’t be no problems,” Red interjected from

  across the booth.

  I looked at him. “Yeah, a man would say somethin’ bogus like that.

  But I think a woman should stand beside her man to be supportive,

  not behind him.” I looked at Red and rolled my eyes, then continued,

  “‘Cause if she’s behind him he might end up blocking her vision.” Only a few minutes into the date and Red and I were already

  bumping heads. I saw Red look at me with a “Whatever bitch” scowl

  and it set me off!

  “Niggas kill me with that ole 1922 mentality, thinking women don’t

  even have the right to make a decision!”

  Damn all that! I thought. Anyone who knows Justice knows I’m a very

  opinionated woman and I don’t give a damn who don’t like it. I say what

  I mean and mean what I say. Because those who matter don’t mind and

  those who mind, don’t matter!