Page 15 of Wasn't Supposed To Be Yours
I could see what my words were doing to her. It was no coincidence that after I talked my shit to her, she crossed her legs, and she picked her glass up, so that she could take another sip.
“Yeah, sip that fuckin wine, and stop trying to pick fights with a nigga,” I joked, and she sat the glass down.
“You are the one that keeps talking to me. You keep sparking up conversation,” she said.
“And you like that shit because every time I talk to you, you respond. If I was bothering you, you would have been got up and moved, or you would have told me to shut the fuck up talking to you. I don’t know much about you, but I know the kind of woman that I’m dealing with. If I was bothering you, wouldn’t you have looked me in my eyes and told me to shut the fuck up?” I asked her.
Her eyes were on me, and they were piercing through me. She couldn’t deny that she was attracted to a nigga. I showed up tonight, clean as motha fucka in an all- black Prada outfit. I smelled good too. If she would stop pretending that she hated a nigga, she would have probably jumped on me already.
She chose not to respond.
“What you doing when you leave here?” I asked.
“Going to one of the lounges out here. I’m doing italonethough,” she said, and I laughed because that was her way of trying to shut down whatever invitation from me.
“My cousin coming up next. Let’s make a bet. If you like her poem, we can go somewhere together when we leave here. If you think her shit is trash, tell me fuck me, and you not going anywhere with my black ass. Can we agree on that?” I asked, hoping that she would make up her mind quick because the MC was coming back on stage, and he was getting ready to call my cousin up.
“I saw the line up for tonight, and I never heard any of your cousins poems before. That’s not a fair bet because I don’t know what I’m signing up for,” she replied.
“That’s why it’s called ‘a bet’. It’s a gamble. You not supposed to know what you’re signing up for. You going to take the bet, or no?” I asked. She sighed, looked down at the pamphlet that was sitting in front of her that held the line- up of the artist tonight, along with their pictures. She looked at Seren on the pamphlet, my family, and then back at me.
“Okay. We can bet on it,” she agreed, and I smiled.
She was right. The bet wasn’t fair. Seren was damn good at what she did. I’ve seen the videos that she would post on social media of her reciting her poems. My little cousin could spit, and because she was so passionate about what she would talk about, she knew how to pull the emotions out of anyone.
If Dionne was a team sport, and if she moved off honesty, then she would admit that the poem was good, and she would spend the rest of her night with me. If she told me that the poem was trash, and we didn’t spend the rest of our night together, then her ass was a fuckin liar.
“Cool. I already know what lounge I want to go to,” I hit her with, and she just focused her attention back on the stage, tuning my ass out for good this time.
I bet she was sitting her ass there, praying that my cousin was trash. Little did she know she was in for a surprise.
Chapter 5
Dionne Henry
Unexpected Comfort
Istood up with everyone in the room, snaping my fingers, and trying my hardest to fight back tears, after I just witnessed the performance done on stage by Tank’s cousin, Seren. That feeling that you get in your throat, when your trying to fight back tears, was such an annoying, throbbing pain. I had this shit talking ass man sitting next to me, and I wouldn’t dare shed a tear in front of him, but damn, it was so hard not to.
The poem that Seren just recited was out of this world. I love poetry. Poetry has been my thing since I was a little girl. I still had my journal back at home that was filled with a bunch of poems that I’ve written over the years. I’ve never recited any of my poems to anyone though. I’ve listened to so many poems throughout my life, I’ve gone to so many open mic events, but man, no one has ever moved me with their words the way Seren just did.
She recited a poem that was titled, “Black Woman… Figure that shit out”.Seren was a young girl. Only 20 years old, and in her poem, she talked about being in a space where she was trying to find herself. She talked about the different career paths that she’s taken since high school, and how nothing seemed to be thebest fit for her. She talked about the pressures that she felt to be perfect, and to make her parents proud.
I loved the stance that Seren took when she spoke about black women. She was brutally honest. When she spoke about little black girls growing up, becoming women, and not getting the luxury to ever fall apart, that was the part that almost broke me. Growing up, my mom was so tough with us, and as a kid, I used to question if she ever wanted kids for real. I went through something in my childhood that I was never strong enough to tell my mom about. Not because I didn’t think she would believe me because I had the kind of mom where her kids could tell her that someone hit us, and by the time that we could get the full story out and let her know that we were hit by an accident, she would be ready to find the person, pull up, and beat their ass. That was just one of those things where I didn’t have the strength to tell her. I knew she would blame herself for it too, especially since it was a man that she’d brought into our home because she had been dating him for a little minute.
Seren talked about how women can lose themselves, lose people, lose what was once the norm for them, and still have to move through life pretending that everything was okay. It made me think about my daddy. The pain that I went through growing up, not having him next to me. Only getting to see him once a month when my mom would drive us to the prison, or those times when I would go with my grandmother. It made me think about my relationship with men over the years, and how I never seemed to choose the right one.
Seren brought so much insight to how black women carry so much hurt, never talking about it with anyone, so the shit that we’re walking around carrying is heavy. In the end, we were forced to figure that shit out, and that’s what had me emotional. I was still a little on edge about what transpired in my condo last weekend between Garrus and I, as well. More baggage that I wascarrying on me, making my load even heavier because of course I didn’t tell anyone about that.
“I already know the lounge we’re going to. It’s not too far of a walk, so you should be good in those heels,” Tank’s deep voice said from behind me.
His warm, minty breath whispering in my ear, caused every hair on my body to rise. If he would have touched me… I’m talking just the slightest touch of putting his hand on my waist, or the small of my back, mixed with him whispering in my ear like that, I probably would have passed out.
It was so loud in the room because everyone was still applauding for Seren, so he had to walk up on me, and whisper in my ear. Knowing what it felt like for hands to touch me that I didn’t agree on being there or knowing how anal I was when it came to someone entering into my personal space, a natural reaction would have been me telling him to back his ass up, but I didn’t. His closeness didn’t bother me. It didn’t annoy me. Just like the constant talking that he’s been doing with me all night didn’t annoy me. I hated that it didn’t though. Tank was so good to look at, so I couldn’t tell him to shut up because it’s not what I wanted.
The event ended, and if I hadn’t made the bet with Tank, I would have left out, just like everyone else was doing, but I stuck around, standing next to him, as the rest of his family were standing up as well, waiting for Seren to come from the back.
“Tank, who is your friend?” an older woman asked, coming over, and she stood right in front of Tank, and I. She was a beautiful black woman. Seren’s features resembled hers, so I was going to assume that this was her mother.
