Daddy Long Stroke полностью

“Nigga, I fuckin’ told you I didn’t want this motherfucking shit up in my house. I warned your black ass some bullshit like this was gonna happen. But you wanted to keep bringing these unstable broads up in here, disrespecting my goddamn house. But I tell you what. You done fucked ya last piece of ass up in here!”

“My bad,” I said, pickin’ pillow cushions from off the floor and puttin’ them back on the sofa. Yeah, I know it was some weak shit. But what else could I say? He was right. I fucked up. I swear, I never seen dude go off the way he did walkin’ up in that piece seein’ his coffee table knocked over, the sofa cushions all over, pictures on the wall crooked. E’erything was outta place.

“My bad? Nigga, are you fucking crazy? My bad? That’s all you gotta…” He stopped in midsentence, opened and closed his right fist. On some real shit, I know he wanted to swing off, but he didn’t. And he woulda had a right to. But on some real shit, I don’t know if I coulda stood there and let him straight duke me wit’out goin’ in on ’im, Pops or not. He bit his bottom lip, shook his head. “Leave e’eryting where it is. Get your shit…and get the fuck out before I forget you’re my son, and fuck you the hell up.”

“It’s nuthin’,” I tell her, kissin’ her on the check. “I got into a lil’ scuffle wit’ a disgruntled customer.”

She smirks. “Uh-huh, ‘disgruntled customer,’ my ass.” She shakes her head. “You don’t have to lie to me. You know I already know.”

“I know, so why’d you ask?”

“Just to see what you were gonna say. And I heard ya father finally put your ass out, too.”

And leave ya fucking key on the table when you leave ’cause you are no longer welcomed to come in and outta here. I couldn’t be mad at ’im, though. Bottom line, it’s his crib. And I disrespected his space.

She shakes her head. “I told him it was only a matter of time before you brought that mess up in there, but he didn’t wanna listen to me. The best thing he coulda did was take his house keys from you. He shoulda did it a long time ago. Instead of complaining to me about all that fucking you had going on up in there, he shoulda been talking to you about it. I told him ya ass was too damn old to be still laying up over there, and not paying bills. Mmmph. I love you dearly, but ya ass is a magnet for drama. And this is only the beginning. I’ve tried to warn you to stop fucking over all those women. But ya ass is hard-headed. Lord only knows what else is about to go down. But whatever it is, I know it ain’t gonna be pretty ’cause you done fucked over too many women. I hate to say it, but you are worse than your father ever was.”

The center of my head starts poundin’. And hearin’ her tryna compare me to Pops and ramblin’ on and on is only makin’ it worse. “Ma, I’m a grown-ass man. I didn’t come here to be lectured, aiight? Damn. I don’t need this shit right now.”

She slams her hand on her hip, stares me down. “’Scuse me? What did you just say?”

Not thinkin’, I repeat myself.

“Oh really? Well, I tell you what. You can take ya black ass on up outta here. I don’t know who the fuck you think you talking to, but I am still your goddamn mother!”

Fuck! She’s the last person I need to be beefin’ wit’, for real. “You right, Ma, my bad. I apologize.”

She clucks her tongue. “Mmmph. You just oughta be. ’Cause I’m not the one. I will smack your damn face up.”

“I was outta pocket, Ma,” I say, walkin’ up on her and givin’ her a hug. “You know I’d never disrespect you.” I try to kiss her on the cheek.

“Hmmph,” she grunts, sidesteppin’ me. “Try it and get fucked up, okay? Now, are you hungry? I made some smothered chicken and brown rice.”

I smile. “You already know.”

“Hmmph, I shouldn’t give your black ass nothing,” she says, switchin’ off toward the kitchen. I follow behind, apologizin’ again. I pull a chair out and sit at the table. She brings me an empty plate, then tosses it down in front of me.

“I don’t know why the hell you sittin’ there like I’m about to serve you. Get your spoiled ass on over there”—she points toward the stove—“and fix your own damn plate. Hazel the Maid is done servin’ your fresh ass, Mister Grown-Ass Man.” I get up, shakin’ my head. “And when you’re done, wash your motherfucking dishes. You done lost what’s left of your goddamn mind talking shit to me.”

I’m not sure what’s set her off, but whatever it is, I’m convinced it has nuthin’ to do wit’ me. I keep my mouth shut, though. Let her rant ’n rave as I scoop out a big spoon of rice, cover it wit’ three pieces of chicken and a buncha gravy, then stick my plate in the microwave.

Fuck!