It was Better than Riding the Bus

I hate my sister.

Okay, I really don’t hate my sister. I’m not too happy with her right now, but the truth is, I hate myself. Really? I just hate the place I’m in right now. No, not the physical place. I just hate where my life is right now. Twenty nine years old, fired from yet another job, living in a trailer, in a trailer park in Stone Mountain, Georgia with a pickup truck that needs a new water pump and starter.

In short, I’m the failure that Marie says I am. Oh, I hate Marie Richards too. She’s my sister’s best friend and is going to be the maid of honor at my sister’s wedding. And because my dad was diabetic and ate whatever he felt like eating and kept on smoking those nasty ass cigars and drank as much as a case of Buds every night, I get to walk my sister up the aisle. Down the aisle? I have to walk my sister from a tiny, un-air conditioned room to the alter where Delbert, our next door neighbor will marry Cheryl and Tony. I wonder why Marie don’t call her brother a loser. God damned asshole’s had like twelve jobs in the last three years. And get this; he ain’t never worked at none of them long enough get on Unemployment. Good job there Tony.

Marie will be standing there, looking all kind of hot, with her long brown hair and big brown eyes and big pouting lips. Of course, her lips will be smirking at me as I walk with my sister in her white wedding gown. Tony Richards will be smirking too.

White wedding gown; who the fuck does my sister think she’s fooling? I guess we’re all going to believe my niece or nephew was born five months premature too.

Marie’s going to see that I’m there by myself. Because my latest girlfriend decided she was going to go on back to her old boyfriend, the one she left because he was beating her. Which is how I lost my job at the Heritage Country Club.

I was pumping gas into my now broken pickup truck at the Quick Trip when I saw this punk ass mother fucker slap a girl. I don’t know what she said or did, but I don’t care. You just don’t slap a girl.

Anyway, she got pissed off and swung to slap him back. Problem was, you could see the slap coming from a mile away and he easily blocked it and twisted her arm. So, bad enough he slapped her, but now he’s got her in some kind of hold, hurting her arm. She’s whining and telling him let her go and he’s just smirking his face off.

“No, no, no, aw Sugar,” I said. “No, no, no. You don’t try slapping him like this.”

And I slapped the punk ass kid. They were both shocked that I actually dared to slap him. And I made that slap count too. I bet he saw stars. I know he let go of her arm when I slapped him.

“No, no, no,” I said to the girl. “Punk ass little pussy? Thinks its okay hit a girl? No, Sweetie, what you do is, step into the punch. Punch, not slap. That way, little cock sucker knows you serious.”

My punch actually knocked him on his back. I put my one hundred and eighty four pounds behind the punch. I don’t know if it was my punch, or the ground that knocked him out, and I don’t care.

I guess Jackie Cooper got my name and address from the police report. Jackie showed up at my trailer the next night, six pack of cheap ass beer in hand. I don’t know how she got that beer; she’s eighteen years old. At eighteen, she wasn’t old enough buy beer and she sure didn’t look no twenty one. Twenty one, that’s how old you got to be to buy beer in Georgia.

For nine days, I had a steady source of crappy beer and pussy. Really, the beer was better than the pussy. Jackie didn’t know how to fuck. She got out her clothes then just lay there, on her back, arms and legs flat on the bed. Blow jobs were disgusting; she wasn’t about to put her mouth on that. Pussy eating was just gross; she peed out of that. Up the ass wasn’t never going to happen; I really thought she was going to throw up when I suggested ass fucking. Hey, really, she had a nice bubble butt.

But with her big brown eyes and beautiful auburn hair, Jackie Cooper would wipe that God damned smirk right off Marie’s face. Then Josh and his daddy, David McAllister saw me working at the Heritage, checking on the sprinkler system. One complaint to the management and I’m out a job. And Jackie’s real sorry, she just realizes she really loves Josh; he’s her soul mate.

So, here I am, sitting on the steps of my trailer, hating my sister, hating myself, hating my life. Out the corner of my eye, I see a flash of neon blue and can’t help but smile.

“Good morning, Miss Althea,” I greet the mature black woman as she power-walks our drive.

“Man, boy, you still can’t tell time, huh?” the woman flashes me her big smile.

It’s a running joke of ours. One evening, I had just got home from my job at a local restaurant. I mean, I was really wiped out. The dishwasher had quit and the other bus boy just didn’t bother to show up and there was some Gay Pride thing going on that day and we were slammed. So, I was bussing tables, loading the dishwasher, bussing tables, unloading the dishwasher, bussing tables. And my ass had to be black and blue from all those cocksuckers slapping it as I scrambled around.

Miss Althea walked by, heading toward the kiosk of mailboxes and I tiredly said ‘Good morning’ to her. She stopped, looked at me and asked me, straight-faced if all white people had trouble telling time. She had on a purple blouse and bright yellow shorts, showing off some very nice legs that evening. I smiled and said I only had trouble when there were beautiful women around.

So, I said ‘Good morning, Miss Althea’ even though it was closer to six in the evening. When she made her comment about me not being able to tell time, I reminded her, I only had trouble when beautiful women were around.

On her second loop of our trailer park, Miss Althea stopped and asked me what was wrong. I looked at her for a moment.

“Boy, it is all over that handsome face of yours,” she said. “Got the weight of the world on them shoulders. Now, you tell this beautiful black woman what’s got you all wore down.”

So I did. And I left nothing out. Lost yet another job, lost yet another girlfriend, truck wasn’t running, was going to have to take a Greyhound back to Louisiana for my sister’s wedding, was going to have to face my old girlfriend, the whole reason I’d left West Monroe in the first damned place, had just enough money to take Greyhound to Louisiana, but not enough to take Greyhound back to Stone Mountain.

“That it?” she smiled. “What’s in the cup?”

“Don’t know what you’d call it. I guess a screwed up screwdriver,” I said.

Sandra, an old girlfriend, the one right before the one before Jackie had left a six pack of diet orange soda in my fridge. And I had some bottom shelf whiskey; think it was Melanie had drank that. I didn’t even have beer in the trailer. So I just mixed diet orange soda and whiskey in a big plastic cup.

“Give me a bit,” Miss Althea demanded.

I handed her the cup. With a smile, she took a big old gulp of my drink and handed me the cup back. Then she patted my cheek like a grandmother would and told me it was my lucky day.

“I know you can’t tell time, boy,” she said, getting to her feet. “But hope you can tell days. Need mark this day on your calendar there. This is your lucky day.”

She walked away, much more briskly than before. Those legs of hers were really pumping as she strolled. I have no idea how old Miss Althea is; probably in her late fifties or even early sixties, but she is one put together black woman. And she always wears bright colored clothing. She wants you to see her, to pay attention to her.

About thirty minutes later, I was putting the finishing touches on my dinner. There was this hard knock on my door and I wondered who it could be. I knew it wasn’t Jacki; she had this stupid knock of two times, then a pause and two more times. This was just three hard slaps on the thin door. Really, just about anyone could kick in my door; it’s this cheap ass door.

Anyway, I opened it up and there was this black guy smiling at me.

“You Trey?” he asked me, sticking out his hand.

That’s me. I’m Walter Edward Lott the Third. My dad was Walter Edward Lott, Jr. Everyone called him ‘Buzzy’ and call me ‘Trey.’

“Yep,” I said and shook his hand.

I don’t know why I shook his hand, other than he had it out and I didn’t want to be a dick. Anyway, I shook his hand and then he got this funny look on his face. He sniffed the air, looking around. Then he looked past me into my trailer.

“What’s that I’m smelling?” he asked.

“Dinner, red beans and rice,” I said.

“Come on!” he said. “How you make it?”

So I told him I soak them overnight, with about a tablespoon of baking soda in the water. Someone said that takes the fart out them beans. I don’t know if that’s true; baking soda or not, I still get the farts pretty bad with them.

“Rinse them off, put them in a pot with enough water cover them, fry up some bacon and onions and some sausage in a cast iron skillet and add them in,” I said as he came into my kitchen.

Uh huh, uh huh,” he said, taking the lid off my beans and looking in on them. “And how you do your rice?”

“Little bit of bacon grease and some onion tops,” I said. “And that skillet I done the sausage in? I make me some cornbread go with it.”

We sat down and had us some red beans and rice and some cornbread. He looked like he wanted some more, but come on, man, I don’t know when my next check’s coming in. I need to eat, just like the next guy does.

“By the way, who are you?” I finally got around to asking him.

He looked at me really funny, then just bust out laughing. Really, he was slapping my table, he was laughing so hard.

“Aw, shit man!” he laughed. “Man, I’m Jerome.”

I didn’t know any Jerome so I just looked at him. He laughed again and brought his plate to the sink.

“Miss Althea’s my momma,” he said. “She called me, told me give you a job.”

“Oh!” I said.

“Anyway, my Roey be here ’bout ten get you,” Jerome said, again holding out his hand. “I just come by, you know, do us a little interview, but shit! I can tell you know how cook so he job’s yours.”

“Oh,” I said again.

“Shit, man! Don’t even know me and let me come up on in your place and eat your food,” he said as he left my trailer. “Ten tomorrow, hear?”

He was wearing jeans and a tee shirt, so I wore jeans and a tee shirt. Roey was on time and smiled as I got into her car. I don’t know one rap artist from another and I don’t know who she was listening to, but it was shit as far as I’m concerned. Booming and thudding and just all kind of noise. Really, I think it’s kind of insulting to call them artists.

Roey was cute. She had straight black hair that hung down to her round shoulders. Her face was round, her arms were round, her boobs, both of them were big and round. They looked huge in her tight tee shirt. Her ass looked huge and round in her jeans.

I don’t know shit about women and bodies and body mass index and all that shit. I’m sure on some kind of scale, Roey was probably way overweight. But it looked damned good on her. She filled out her tee shirt really nice and filled out them jeans really nice.

Jackie had complained about being too fat. She was just about skin and bones but she said she was too fat. Sandra had said she was fat, and yeah, she was fat. That’s why she drank that nasty diet orange stuff.

Really, the only woman I ever met said she wasn’t fat was Marie. In Marie’s eyes, she’s perfect.

Anyway, Roey drove us to this popular soul food restaurant in Tucker, Georgia. I knew about the place but had never ate there. Over her music, some guy bitching about the women in his life, over what sounded like an artillery range at an Army base, Roey let me know it had been letting Miss Althea take a sip of my drink had got me the job interview with Jerome.

“Wasn’t no sip; woman took about half the cup,” I laughed.

But the fact that I didn’t act all stupid about sharing my drink with a black woman sealed the deal with Miss Althea. I didn’t tell Roey, but I figured all the alcohol in the cup would kill whatever germs I had and whatever germs Miss Althea had. So, why act all stupid about sharing my drink? It was a nasty drink anyway.

At the restaurant, I was introduced to Jerome’s brother, Jules. That man never heard about smiling. He just told me I needed to get my ass moving; we had about forty five minutes before people started coming in and ain’t one of them going give a fuck it’s my first day there.

Jules and I cooked while Jerome and Roey kept the plates coming out of the kitchen and coming back into the kitchen and into the dishwasher. And the whole time, Jules kept yelling at me to hurry the fuck up; people was hungry and they needed to eat.

I was one tired ass white boy when Roey drove me on back to my trailer. I was even too tired to want her to turn off that shit she called music.

I was really surprised when Roey told me she’d be picking me up tomorrow. Shit, listening to Jules, I didn’t do shit right whole time we was there. Roey must have seen it on my face; she gave me this big old smile.

I made myself another screwed up screwdriver and sat on the steps outside my trailer. Miss Althea came by, pumping them beautiful black legs in a bright orange pair of shorts. Hose shorts did not go with that Pepto-Bismol pink shirt she was wearing, but Miss Althea did not give a crap. She flashed me a beautiful smile when I told her ‘good morning’ and kept on going.

“You save me some of that drink, hear?” she said as she pumped them legs past me.

On her next go-round, Miss Althea stopped and grabbed my cup. She drank about half of my drink before giving me my cup back. Then he asked me how my day had gone. Her big smile got even bigger when I told her how hard Jules had worked my ass.

“He’s the oldest,” Miss Althea told me. “So, he’s got it in his head, he don’t do everything just right? Well, then everybody going suffer. And it going be all his fault; give me some more that drink.”

I let her finish the drink. She patted my cheek again and walked off, swinging her arms and pumping those legs. If Jules and Jerome are her boys, then Miss Althea’s got to be older than my mom. And my mom don’t look half as good as Miss Althea.

The next morning, I could hear Roey coming up the drive before I saw her car. I wonder how my Pantera would sound coming out her speakers. I bet ‘Walk’ would really kick. Or would sound really rough.

On the way to the restaurant, Roey told me I didn’t need to worry about how I was getting to New Orleans; she was my ride. I stared at her, not really sure I understood what she was saying.

“What? Problem?” she asked, really nasty like when I didn’t say anything.

“Why am I going to New Orleans?” I asked her.

“Shit! Your sister’s wedding?” she asked.

“Oh! No, no, West Monroe,” I said. “Get on I twenty and head west.”

“West Monroe; that anywhere near New Orleans?” she asked me as we hustled to the back door of the restaurant.

Again, Jules rode my ass like I was a bicycle. Really, I needed this job or I’d knocked the shit out of him. Calling me the laziest ass white mother fucker he ever met was just unnecessary as far as I’m concerned.

“So, you got a problem me going with you to, where the fuck was that again?” Roey asked as we went back to my trailer.

“West Monroe, and you kidding, right? I’m going have a problem showing up with one beautiful ass black girl?” I asked her.

“I know that’s right,” she smiled.

Then she kissed me. I’m tired, I stink from onions and pork and cooking grease and Roey leaned over, that shit she calls music just pounding away and kisses me.

She got my dick hard. I can smell the food and her sweat and that lotion she keeps smearing on her hands and she’s got really soft, full lips and a soft fat tongue.

“See you on tomorrow,” she said, pushing me away.

Damn it! I was inches away from grabbing one of them big titties of hers. As I’m getting out her car, I can see those nipples just about poking through her tee shirt.

I’ve never been with a black woman. I don’t got a problem with that whole black and white thing; I’ve just never done it. I’ve never beat my meat looking at interracial porn on my computer. It’s not because of any kind of prejudice. I’ve just really never thought about it.

I knew my mother would have a huge problem with it. And so would my Uncle Dwight.

To Roey’s face? Both my mom and Uncle Dwight would be sweet as pie. And the minute her back was turned, my mom and Uncle Dwight would be ‘N word’ this and ‘N word’ that. And telling me how embarrassed they were that I’d brought an N word to my sister’s wedding, my own sister’s wedding, didn’t I have any sense of right and wrong in me?

Really, I’ve been a disappointment to my mom from the minute I shit my first diaper. And my Uncle Dwight’s a big asshole too. He’s headed for an early grave just like my dad. You’d think watching his older brother go through the shit my dad went through would straighten Uncle Dwight out, but nope. I’ll probably be walking my cousin Valerie up the aisle too.

I took a shower; damn I stunk. My hands really stunk. Onions are hard to clean out of your skin. And, still smelling my hands, I fired up my computer and pulled up some interracial porn.

Thanks to porn, I had a pretty good idea what Roey’s titties would look like, had a pretty good idea of what her lips would look like if I ever got her to blow me. Damn, the one clip I watched of this white guy pounding this gorgeous black girl’s ass had my dick so hard it hurt.

The stories left me kind of cold, though. Wasn’t none of it about two people being attracted to each other because of who they were? These cute little blondes were attracted to the boys only because they were black and had really big black cocks. That was the whole thing; they wanted to fuck them just because they were black and had big cocks.

Same thing with the white guys. They only saw the women as black and needed to fuck them just because they were black. I mean, really, I understand, looking at some girl and finding her attractive, but just because they’re attractive on the outside don’t mean shit. Jackie was cute, Marie was hot, but Jackie didn’t know how to fuck, and Marie is one ugly bitch on the inside.

On Friday, I reminded Jerome that I was going need next Friday and Saturday off. He just shook his head and kept rolling up the forks and knives in paper napkins.

“Got Junior coming in,” Jules said.

“That little n—a going get his hands dirty?” Jerome said.

“Just because the boy in college,” Jules yelled.

I got my ass into the kitchen; I didn’t know if Jerome and Jules were going come to blows over this shit. Either one of them started swinging, I wasn’t going be in the middle of it.

“Just need keep your shit out my face, all I got to say,” Jules was muttering.

I guess I was standing too still for his liking because he started yelling at me. I hustled; I mean, shit, I already had the black eyed peas done, the trays of cornbread was ready to go in the oven, the mustard greens were cooking down. We was just waiting on him get the chicken done, slice up the pork roast.

“So, where we going on our first date?” Roey asked as we pulled out of the parking lot.

“Anywhere they don’t play rap music,” I thought.

My trailer’s got two bathrooms, but only one hot water heater. Next time, I ain’t going be no gentleman. Roey used up every last drop of hot water taking her shower. Obviously, no one taught her the White Boy way of taking a shower. You get in, you turn it on and get your body and hair wet, then turn the shower off. You lather up your hair, you lather up your body, you get some shampoo on your dick and beat off. Then you turn the shower back on and rinse off.

That way, you got enough hot water to run the dishwasher, or run a load of towels in the washer.

But it was really worth it; she came out of the bathroom, one towel around her chubby body; tick black legs looking good, and her big round black titties about to pop out the top of that towel.

“Please tell me you got a hair dryer,” she said.

I got the blow dryer out of the bathroom. When I stepped into my bedroom, where she was sitting on the edge of my bed, she was just sitting there, big naked body bare.

My dick was so hard I thought it was going to pop. Those titties were really amazing. They looked like two footballs hanging there, with two large dark brown nipples pointing at me. She had a soft belly and a cute little tunnel where her belly button should go.

Her hips were wide, leading into those big thighs.

Roey’s back was smooth, like smooth milk chocolate and led into two basketball sized ass cheeks.

I didn’t need to lube up my dick with shampoo; I blew a load into my boxer briefs just looking at her beautiful body. And her sweet, almost innocent looking smile as she watched me looking at her incredible body kept my dick hard.

After my cold shower, after she finished blow drying her hair, Roey asked me really sweet like if I’d put some lotion onto her back. She gave me a really big tube of that weird smelling stuff she kept smearing on her hands all the time, then rolled onto her belly.

I worked that lotion into my hands then slathered it onto her shoulders and back and then I bravely started massaging her fantastic butt. Roey spread her legs wide to give me more access to that ass. Underneath, I could see her dark pubic hair and her bright pink lips sticking out, real wet looking.

We went to a comedy club in Sandy Springs, then went to this chicken and waffles place right off I-75. Me and this blonde woman were the only spots of salt in the place. That woman looked rough too. She was wearing these shorts that showed off her saggy ass cheeks and this top that damned near had her boobs hanging in her plate. She also had about an inch of brown and gray roots showing where her blonde hair needed to be touched up.

But if anyone thought it was weird to see me and her in there, they didn’t show it. And, I know, if the situation was flipped, you know, me and that woman were black, in a restaurant where everyone else was white? They’d be staring at her and me, making her and me feel really out of place.

Back at my trailer, Roey and I kissed. We kissed on my couch for a few minutes, then she pulled me into my bedroom and started getting naked. For a few seconds I really just stared; Roey was big and beautiful and I wanted to see her.

Then my ass and mind got into gear and I got naked too. Roey looked at my cock and must have liked what she saw because she smiled and pulled me in for another kiss. How I didn’t blow my load on her tummy, I’ll never know.

Like I said, my ass and my mind got into gear and I eased her onto my bed. Then I lay down next to her and started kissing all over her. Her lips, her neck, her shoulders. My hands were touching her arms, her belly, her sides. Then I got aggressive and kissed my way to those melons. That lotion smells weird, and it has this really weird chemical taste to it. I’m not kidding; the lotion made her nipples kind of hard to suck on and actually made my lips and tongue feel slightly numb.

I hoped and prayed she didn’t smear that stuff on her pussy. I admit it; I like the taste of pussy. Okay, I didn’t like the taste of Melanie’s pussy; she didn’t have a taste, other than Ivory soap. I’m sure Jackie Cooper would have had the same really clean taste.

When I got down to licking Roey’s very wet pussy, she did not taste like lotion. She tasted of really strong pussy. And, just like all of her, that clittie was big.

Those heavy thighs clamped around my head and Roey pushed that hot pussy on my face and that was the first time I’d ever got squirted.

And when I pushed my dick up in her, Roey wrapped those legs around me and I really thought she was going to break my back. She squeezed the fuck out of me and I grabbed onto her titties and just held on for dear life.

After blowing my load in her, I just couldn’t go on. Roey smiled a pretty smile and then took two of my three pillows for herself.

In the morning, I got to see what Roey’s pretty lips looked like while she sucked my dick. She even swallowed when I spunked her throat.

I’m not a fan of Dunkin’ Doughnuts doughnuts, but I do love their coffee. Roey made me get a dozen of their powdery cream doughnuts; I can’t stand them. To me, the doughnut itself is always too dry, and there really ain’t enough cream in them. But I bought the dozen doughnuts, two large coffees, then we went to work.

Jerome, Jules, and Roey polished off them doughnuts in milliseconds. And get this; neither Jerome or Jules said ‘thank you’ for the doughnuts.

Don’t ask me why because I sure don’t know, but Saturday? We were just about dead. Just about any other restaurant? Saturdays are slammed. But us? Dead.

Roey drove us back to my trailer, and demanded that I cook for her. I did a simple meatloaf; I needed to use up the ground beef before it went bad. We followed dinner with fucking. To call it sex would have been kind of insulting. And it wasn’t making love. I didn’t think I was in love with Roey and I’m pretty sure she wasn’t in love with me.

Marie let me fuck her ass one time and one time only. And even though she had liked it, a lot more than she wanted to admit, she wouldn’t let me have her ass again. When I was trying to break things off with Sandra; God, we had nothing in common, she offered to let me fuck her ass. Melanie wouldn’t even let me get a finger into her ass and Jackie thought the idea was repulsive.

Roey handed me that nasty lotion of hers and got on her hands and knees and told me I knew what to do. I used a good handful to get her dark brown hole ready.

“God damn, its ready; what the fuck you waiting on?” she ordered, wiggling that big butt of hers.

“Oh! God damn! Yeah, aw yeah, mother fucker, fuck that ass, mother fucker,” she hollered out when I had about half my dick in her.

When I reached around and gave her fat clittie a good rubbing, Roey screamed so loud, I thought the neighbors would call the police. I blew a load up her ass and I really think I kind of passed out.

We were off on Sunday, but Roey woke me up early, got on top of me and fucked me to two screaming orgasms then kissed me and let. She said she had to go to church, and really, I’m glad. I needed some sleep bad.

Miss Althea was wearing electric blue shorts and a blue and green striped shirt as she marched around. Really, anyone else would have looked silly dressed like that. But Miss Althea made it work.

“Hear you and my granddaughter getting along,” she said as she strolled past me.

“Yes ma’am, I can’t tell time when I’m around her neither,” I said and she laughed.

“You know, Rowena’s my only granddaughter,” Miss Althea warned as she came around on her second pass.

“Rowena?” I asked, then made the connection.

Miss Althea stopped, grabbed my can of cheap beer and drank most of it. Then she told me all about how special Rowena was to her. She sure didn’t have nothing nice to say about any of Roey’s previous boyfriends.

Miss Althea finished my beer, patted my cheek and walked away. She laughed out loud when I told her to have a good morning.

Monday morning, Roey and I kissed for a minute, then got our butts to work. We were busy. But I must be getting up to speed; Jules only called me a lazy ass white boy once.

Thursday night, Roey drove on past my trailer and pulled up in front of Miss Althea’s trailer. She knocked once then let herself in, calling out for her grandmother.

Miss Althea held out her hand and Roey gave her the keys to her Toyota. Then Miss Althea went to her purse and pulled out the keys to her black Mercedes-Benz. I don’t know one model from the next, but that triangle symbol tells me it’s a Mercedes-Benz. Roey held out her hand but Miss Althea slapped the fob in my hand.

“Let that little bitch see ya’ll driving up in my ‘cedes; she don’t need know it ain’t yours,” Miss Althea said. “And make sure ya’ll put gas in it before ya’ll bring it back here.”

At my trailer, with Miss Althea’s Mercedes sitting out front, Roey took another long shower, draining all my hot water. Then she had me lotion her us. Rubbing her got me horny, and apparently got Roey pretty horny too, because we fucked. Then Roey got my dick hard again and we fucked again, this time her on top of me.

The golden arches used to have the best coffee in the world; I don’t know what they did to fuck it up. So, Dunkin’ Doughnuts got my money again. And I bought a half dozen of them nasty cream filled and a half dozen of the twists; I like the twists.

It is surprising to me, but at six thirty on a Friday morning, the traffic in Atlanta is quickly approaching shitty. How they can have five lanes of traffic and manage to fuck up four of them.

But I tell you, driving a Mercedes is nice. It is a solid car and it handles like a solid car.

Nine hours later, we pulled in front of the motel. My mother said we could stay at her home, but she didn’t know that Roey was black. And she did let me know that my girlfriend and I would not be sharing a room under her roof. So why would we stay with her?

The pantsuit that Roey brought with her was a very flattering outfit on her. The jacket and pants were light blue and her shirt was tan and her shoes and purse were tan. I wore a simple pullover and a pair of khakis.

Just as I thought, my mother met me at the door with a long list of complaints about me. Roey was a complete shock and almost managed to silence my mother.

Almost. My hair was too long, surely I had a suit for the wedding. And a tie. I needed to get my hair cut if I wasn’t going to embarrass the whole family; Cheryl had paid for a photography; did I really want people to look at the photographs and only see how awful my hair was?

And, the moment Roey was out of earshot, out came the n word. And Uncle Dwight got in on the fun.

“Tell your brother to get a haircut,” my mother ordered Cheryl.

My benign smile really pissed my Uncle Dwight off. He grabbed my arm in his meaty paw.

“Uncle Dwight, you want to be able to walk, you better take your fucking hand off me right now,” I ordered.

I wasn’t the scrawny fourteen year old kid he used to push around. And my dad wasn’t here to make me apologize to this bag of shit.

“Now listen,” he said, spraying spittle in my face.

A direct knee to his tiny balls brought Uncle Dwight to his knees. I put my foot on his hand, not hard, but hard enough to pin in to the floor.

“Like I said, you bag of shit, take your fucking hands off of me. You ever put your hands on me again? I will break it. Got it?” I said while my mom yelled at me that I was embarrassing her and my sister, and God and everyone in the state of Louisiana.

“Next time? Break that hand,” Cheryl whispered in my ear as Delbert told us what we’d be doing tomorrow. “It’ll keep him from trying to cop a feel; fucking asshole.”

At the rehearsal dinner, my mother tried to embarrass me and Roey by trying to make us sit at opposite ends of the table. I smirked at her and at Uncle Dwight as I told Randy, Tony’s best man to move over so my girlfriend and I could sit together.

In the morning, Roey put on a pretty dress and a matching jacket; it was kind of pink with white stripes. I put on my gray suit and blue and gray tie.

When we arrived at the church, my mother immediately started with the complaints; I thought I told you to get a haircut, don’t you know how to shine your shoes, you’re going to look horrible in the photographs, don’t you even care about your sister’s feelings, you need to apologize to your Uncle Dwight.

My shoes are fine. My hair is combed. And this marriage won’t last long enough for the photographs to be developed. I’ll apologize to Uncle Dwight at his funeral. Maybe. No, probably not since I don’t plan on attending the man’s funeral.

I did notice that Marie, my ex-girlfriend wasn’t smirking at me. She wouldn’t even look my way. That’s fine. I really got nothing to say to her anyway.

And, because I refused to bow down to my mother, she barged into the closet we were crammed into, Uncle Dwight right behind her. She informed Cheryl that there was a change of plans; Uncle Dwight was going to walk her up the aisle, not me.

“Fuck you, Uncle Dwight,” Cheryl said. “I’d rather go up there alone than let you walk me.”

With a few not so veiled threats, and complaints about me bringing an n word to the wedding, my mother stormed away.

“So, take me with you to Atlanta?” Cheryl half-joked to me as the crappy organ music got a whole lot louder.

“Sure; there’s a shit load of jobs there for Tony to get fired from,” I thought.

I kept my mouth shut, though, and just smiled at my sister. After all, I had been fired from a shit load of jobs in the greater Atlanta area too.

The wedding was nice. The reception was all right. Most weddings and receptions really suck anyway.

“You going dance with Marie?” Cheryl asked me when I was at the bar buying myself and Roey some drinks.

“No,” I said.

“Come on; she really wants a dance with you,” Cheryl whined.

“Tell her there’s a whole bunch of losers she can dance with,” I said and walked away.

When I started to tell my mother good-bye; we had a nine hour drive ahead of us, my mother started with the complaints. Again, my smile really pissed her off, and pissed off Uncle Dwight. But the shit head was smart enough to keep his balls out of striking distance.

“You know, Mother, this is the last time we’ll ever see each other,” I said. “So, I guess just get it all off your chest. You’ll never have another chance.”

“What? What do you mean?” my mother asked, shocked.

“Because, Mother, I will never see you again,” I smiled. “I will never ever drive this far again. There’s nothing here for me, and that includes you. So, say it all, get it all out. You’ll never have another chance.”

Roey and I changed out of our clothes in a Taco Bell’s bathrooms. Mercedes are a nice ride, but they drink up a bunch of gas. I put five tanks of gas into that big car before we finally pulled up to Miss Althea’s trailer.

“Some guy, some white guy come by on a motorcycle, man, that thing was some loud looking for you,” Miss Althea informed me after we told her about the wedding.

We told her about the wedding. We didn’t tell Miss Althea about my kicking Uncle Dwight’s ass or telling my mother off. Roey didn’t even gloat about me refusing to dance with my ex-girlfriend. And we really didn’t want to tell Miss Althea anything about my mother and my Uncle Dwight using the n word.

“You know, that’s the only momma you ever going to have,” Roey said when we stepped outside.

Roey didn’t even kiss me before she got in her Toyota and drove off. I walked back to my trailer and wondered about some white guy coming by on a motorcycle looking for me. As far as I knew, I don’t know anyone has a motorcycle.

The next day, I guess after they got back from church, Roey called me and told me I needed to get my own way to the restaurant. She didn’t say anything else, just told me I needed to get myself to work, then ended the call. I guess I really should have picked up on it; the whole way home from Louisiana, she’d been really quiet.

Thankfully, I’d managed to fix my truck. At work, Jerome and Jules didn’t have nothing to say to me. Jules didn’t even call me lazy.

“You know, my momma? Damn! That woman rode me hard,” Jules said right as I was clocking out. “I mean, shit! Hard, you hear? But, all she were doing were trying make me a man.”

“Yes sir,” I said, wondering how much longer I’d have this job before they found some reason run my white ass off.

I got home and took a good hot shower. Then, I started on my dinner. Just after I pulled the biscuits out of the oven, I heard a loud motorcycle coming up the drive.

I didn’t have to wonder if that was the motorcycle Miss Althea was talking about; it stopped right outside my door. A minute later, a hard knock sounded on my door. I told you, that door was a cheap ass door.

“You uh, Trey?” a pretty solid looking guy asked me.

“Yes sir,” I said, wishing I’d put a shirt on after my shower.

I was just wearing my old gym shorts from high school; the elastic had just about fallen apart; I had to pull the cord really tight to keep them up. But, shit, they were comfortable and it was just me in my trailer.

“Kevin Cooper,” he said.

“Yes sir?” I asked again.

The name Kevin Cooper didn’t mean anything to me. We just kind of looked at each other for a long minute.

“Jackie’s dad?” he finally said.

“Oh!” I said, wondering if I could outrun him.

Probably not. I was barefoot and that gravel driveway would eat up my feet quick. And I’m pretty sure after a minute, my gym shorts would slip down and probably trip me.

“Come on in; I got some chicken smothering right now,” I said.

“Them drop biscuits?” he asked, looking at my tray on the counter.

“Yes sir,” I said, getting out a second plate.

“Jackie’s pregnant,” Kevin said as we sat down to eat.

“Oh, I uh, that, her boyfriend, damn, uh,” I said.

“Josh. Joshua David McAllister,” Kevin said, voice and face telling me he had one low opinion of Josh.

“I guess,” I said.

“Well, he ain’t the daddy,” Kevin said. “Jackie swore up and down she ain’t been with no one else. Did one of them in vitro DNA tests. Pops up no match. That’s when she remembered you.”

“Yes sir, I’m not going lie to you, we did have sex,” I admitted. “But I used a condom.”

And I did. See, punk ass kids like Joshua McAllister? They think they’re immune to everything. Daddy’s money will protect them. And as dead a fuck as Jackie was, you can’t tell me Josh wasn’t using some fake ID, getting into strip clubs and paying for some pussy out on Ponce.

Turns out I had him pegged. He’d picked up some goo from somewhere and gave it to Jackie. When she went to her doctor, that’s when they found out she had the goo. And was about two and a half months pregnant. The time line fit; that was about when she was flopping on her back on my bed.

“Pretty easy thing,” Kevin nodded, using his fourth biscuit to sop of the last of his gravy. “Just need some spit from you.”

“Good thing I made a bunch of them biscuits,” I said.

“Yeah it is. Shit, you can cook,” he agreed.

I spit into the cup he gave me. We shook hands, man to man and he left. I noticed he had his reddish brown and gray hair pulled back in a ponytail. I wondered if his mother gave him grief over his hair, his motorcycle, his idiot daughter.

By Friday, I was really wondering how much longer I was going to have a job. Jerome and Jules didn’t have nothing to say to me. Roey was polite but that was about it.

On Saturday, they let me know they appreciated my work, but it just wasn’t working out. But Jerome said I put him down as a reference, he’d put in a good word for me. Jules just nodded in agreement.

“What you cooking tonight?” Kevin asked, all smiles when he pulled up on Monday. “Tell you what, you give them boys a few extra bucks, tell them take their girlfriends out? They will put a rush job on your DNA tests, you hear?”

“Just lost another job,” I admitted. “So, we having jambalaya.”

“What’s losing a job and jambalaya got to do with each other?” he asked me, losing his smile.

“Jambalaya’s what you make when you ain’t got no money and need use up the leftovers in the fridge,” I explained.

“But you got some more of them biscuits, right?” he asked.

“Take me about ten minutes make them,” I said, smiling.

Look, I really like to cook. There’s just something soulful in the simple act of throwing shit together and making something people want to eat.