Crave All Lose All. Erick S Gray

       Five

      After the funeral, I headed over to my baby mother’s place. It was Saturday afternoon and I missed my son. I needed his joy and spirit to uplift me. Between the lay-off and Thomas’ funeral, I was going crazy and needed to escape.

      Chandra opened the door, but there was no welcome smile. She was unconcerned and distant.

      “I missed you, too,” I said with attitude.

      My sarcasm matched her frown. I walked into the two-bedroom apartment and closed the door. Chandra walked into the kitchen and I followed. She was looking good and I was still attracted to her. I still had love for her that burned within me when I came around her. We had been apart for a year and a half, but only stopped fucking for six months.

      She cut me off from the pussy, cold turkey. I speculated it was because of someone she was fucking and got jealous but it wasn’t my business. We weren’t together.

      “Where’s my son?” I asked.

      “In his room sleeping,” she said brushing me off.

      She was making fries and had burgers cooking on the Forman Grill. I eyed her for a short moment. She was in blue-jeans and black T-shirt. Her long hair was styled into a pony-tale. A new diamond bracelet adorned her wrist and her earrings were new. They had to be from some nigga she was fucking. And by the gleam in the jewelry, he must be stacking paper like that.

      She was acting like I wasn’t there. Chandra busied herself going back and forth to the cabinets and stove. She suddenly stopped with a frustrated looked and said, “Your son needs some sneakers. And he needs some summer clothing. He only has winter clothing and it’s like eighty degrees outside.”

      “Chandra, I know that but I bought him a pair two months ago.”

      “Yes, but he’s a child and he goes through them fast, always running and playing,” she said.

      “Damn, Chandra, I ain’t made wit’ money. Why can’t you buy him what he needs for now? You’re making six hundred a week. I ain’t working right now.”

      “You’re his father and can help out with something.”

      “I do help out, so don’t come at me wit’ that shit,” I barked.

      “Whatever!” she spat.

      “Yeah, whatever,” I exclaimed.

      “So, you ain’t found a new job yet?” she asked sounding judgmental.

      “I’m trying.”

      “Well you need to try harder, Vincent. You knew the Airline was going to lay you off and you should’ve been looking for another job months before. I can’t do this by myself. Your son needs a ton of shit by next week and I can’t get that for him. I just paid rent and went grocery shopping. I’m broke.”

      “What’s up wit’ all that bling…?” I asked.

      “A friend,” she quickly replied.

      “Nice gifts from a friend.”

      Chandra cut her eyes, rested her hand on the kitchen countertop and placed her other hand on her hip, “Yes, I’m fuckin’ da niggah, if that’s what you was about to ask.” She exclaimed.

      I grunted trying to control a rage that could lead to me slapping the shit out of this bitch. Before I could respond Chandra was in my face.

      “And don’t ask the nigga that I’m fucking to do for Vinny. He’s your son and you need to handle yours.”

      “I wasn’t gonna go there, because I don’t want no one taking care of my responsibility. Don’t fuckin’ play yourself, Chandra. Remember, I’ve done for my son. So don’t be throwing shit in my face, ‘specially ‘bout some nigga you fucking. I ain’t the one for you to be fucking play wit’ right now…”

      I reached into my pockets and pulled out my last twenty. “Here, you need money, take it,” I shouted tossing the bill at her.

      “Vince, I don’t need petty cash,” she said.

      “You need it more than me, so take the fuckin’ twenty,” I spat.

      She sighed and replied with, “You’re getting loud and ridiculous, Vincent. Please lower your voice.”

      I looked at her feeling angry and hurting on the inside. It was sad. I felt low bending to pick up the twenty dollar bill. I could tell she was staring as I stuffed it into my pocket. It was as if I had given myself a handout.

      “Yo, fuck this, I’m out. Just tell Vinny that I love him and I’ll see him tomorrow.”

      “Vincent,” Chandra called out.

      “What?” I turned and asked.

      “Can you or your mother watch him next weekend for me?” she asked.

      “Why?”

      “I got plans,” she replied.

      I wanted to tell the bitch no, go fuck herself because I knew her plans were to get at some nigga and get fucked. But I loved spending time with my son.

      “Cool, I’ll take him,” I said.

      “Thanks,” Chandra smiled.

      “I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for my son. I love him regardless of you being a bitch. I’m gonna be there for my son,” I proclaimed.

      I was in the hallway when I heard her say, “Vince, please get a job, not a hustle.”

      “What do you mean?”

      “Vinny’s gonna need a father in his life, not one that’s behind bars, or dead. Have you given going back to school any thought?”

      I chuckled and left thinking she was acting like she cared for a nigga.

      I sat in my car for hours outside Chandra’s building thinking who was doing more for her than I could. It bothered me that another man was being a father to my son. He was able to afford clothes and toys for my son’s birthday and holidays.

      I spotted a burgundy Escalade with 24” chromed rims pulling up. A six-three, stocky dude with long dreads wearing a white and black tracksuit, and sporting new Jordan’s stepped out. A baller and definitely a nigga Chandra would fuck with, I started grilling him.

      Slowly driving in his direction as he walked to the building, I eyed him like there was beef between us. He turned and looked at me with a scowl. Our eyes locked.

      “You gotta problem, brethren?”

      He was Jamaican and Rastafarian.

      “Nah dreadlocks, I thought you was someone I knew, that’s all.”

      I smiled and drove away, blocking the thought that this punk-pussy-ass, nigga could be fucking my ex, my baby mother.