I heard the phone ring early this morning and I picked up when I saw that it was my sister calling.
“Hey, sis! What’s up?”
“BITCH…check THIS out! (That’s how she starts EVERY story of her life.)
She burst into the conversation with a series of unladylike expletives. I sat and listened with a wry smile on my face. “What kind of shit has she gotten herself into now?” She prattled on excitedly about one of her sex partners and how he was always trippin’ about her having relations with other men, but that he expected her to accept him having partners of his own. I could sympathize with her annoyance. I mean, what’s with the double standard? Anyway. Lavon is a master-manipulator and, according to her, money makes her pussy wet. “If a nigga ain’t got money he ain’t got nothin fuh me!”
In the midst of our conversation I heard her say something about demanding that said booty call give her some money to go to the clinic.
“Wait. What?! Why? You’re not pregnant! Are you…?”
“Naw! But dat nigga don’ need to know dat!”
*gasp* “LUH! VON! Why would you tell someone something like that?”
“That’s how I get over on niggas! I’ve done it befo’. I got that nigga Reggie fo’ fi’-hunnidollas one time. I told him I was pregnant wit his baby and that he betta give me da money to get an abortion unless he wanned to be payin’ child support for eighteen muthafuckin years! I rolled up to his crib wit somethin’ up unda my shirt and that nigga gave me da money like he was handin’ a baton off atta track meet. I went around da corner and pulled that shit out from my shirt, waved them hunnids in the air, and said ‘LET’S PARTAYYY!'”
In case you didn’t catch it, she gypped poor Reggie for five-hundred dollars. I sat in silence for a second, unsure of if I would go to hell for laughing. Then I chose the colors for my hand basket and got to howling.
“AAAAAAAAAHAHAHA! SISTER, YOU ARE CRAZY!”
“THAN A MUTHAFUCKA!” she said. She’s always been proud of her cunning wit.
When I was finished laughing, I registered the shameful and utter nonsense I was getting my kicks from that morning.
“That’s cruel…” (I had to say SOMETHING.)
“Nah it ain’t! Niggas always runnin’ game on a bitch and SOMEBODY’S got to pay for my pain and sufferin’!”
That was her way of justifying her plot to deceive and retrieve. When I found myself struggling financially last year I confided in her about my troubles. Her resolution to my predicament was prostitution.
“Well, sista, I know you wasn’t raised like us. But if you wanna get outta that situation you in, you gon’ have to getcho ho’in a-goin.”
Get my ho’in a-goin huh? At that time I remember using her own words against her, “That’s what I AIN’T gon’ do!”
I love my sister and I’m so glad to have been able to reunite with her after sixteen years, but damn…