Stripped Manhood

When I saw the broken window, I knew I’d earned a beatin’, but none of that matter now. As long as no one heard that tink sound the window made when the little silver man jumped his butt through it, I’m scot-free. I’m headed to Chuck’s party, the defensive captain of our football team. It was the biggest event of the summer, a party so hot everyone was sure to be talkin’ about it for months. The coaches had been kept in the dark about the location so none of them could show up and spoil our fun, keep us from enjoyin’ the way we suppose to. Now, if I can just get out this house the back way without messin’ up my gear ‘cause I’m too clean to be touched – way too clean. I have on my white kangol, a black silk button down that was snug around the arms to show off my guns, a white tee, my so-creased- you-can-slice-bread-them Girbaud jeans that folks don’t know nuthin’ ‘bout up here, my A.T. Money platinum chain with emeralds, and the new Jordan’s my agent hooked me up with that wasn’t even bein’ sold yet. I checked them for scuffs. That half-story leap from my bedroom window wasn’t no joke. Wind was whistlin’ past my ears forever, thought I was gonna snap my ankle when I landed or worse, scuff my shoes. Coach would have been pissed ‘bout my ankle, but these babies here ain’t hittin’ the store shelves for another six months. I mean I can’t be showin’ up with no scuffed up shoes, I’m Amistad Thompson, All-Star runnin’ back for Denver’s favorite football team.

I knew the ladies would be there, so I had to make sure to turns some heads when I walked in. Plus Shareese would be there, the woman from the Baskin Robins up the street from trainin’ camp. She’s a little French-Vanilla-complexioned cutie, who pretends she don’t know who I am when I come in for my ice cream cone. She always know what flavor I want without me askin’. Ice cream soft, not even frozen, but she scoop it out real slow. I know she hear me askin’ for one scoop but somehow I end up with two, no extra charge. Tonight I’ma bust her “Oh I didn’t know you played for them” bubble. So I had to be clean – too clean.

My J’s was alright, but my butt’s gonna get scuffed when Mama finds that baseball sized hole in the window. Out of all the nights I had to choose this one to go and get clumsy and knock my little league trophy over on my way out the window. Luckily, it didn’t send the whole window pane crashin’ into the back yard. Lookin’ up I could still see the little silver man on top the trophy tryin’ to make the game endin’ catch. He just don’t know yet. The game’s never over till the fat lady sangs and well, Momma, she sang the last solo every Sunday mornin’ at church.

I could just see her up there in front of the pulpit, two sizes smaller in the gut from her girdle two sizes wrong. She’d be sweatin’, swayin’, wailin’, ‘Hold my mule – Oh, hold my mule’. By that time she’d worked up a good sweat under the bangs of her wig, with her head thrown back and mouth wide open to the point you could see the dark circles on the bottom of her molars where the dentist put the fillin’s.

I stuck around for a few more moments to see if any lights came on in the house. Shannon, my sister, was a light sleeper and a roach munchin’ on a corn nibblet could wake her. I could imagine her sleep-walkin’-eyes-crusted-over-nappy-headed-butt, stumblin’ into my room takin’ bout she heard a noise. Then next thang I know Mama is up and the gig is up.

I slipped out the back gate and into the alley, easin’ the latch down, hopin’ that the neighborhood ankle-biter wouldn’t start yappin’. But wouldn’t you know it, he did. The ugly little mushed-face rat-dog got to snarlin’, barkin’ and coughin’ like he had phlegm caught in his throat. He didn’t even have any teeth left, so I don’t know why they didn’t just put the little bastard down.

The livin’ room light clicked on, then the backyard’s lights. I froze like a ‘possum, with my head stickin’ over the back gate. My eyes must have looked all shiny like one too, ‘cause there was Mama with her boyfriend Pete and my Dad. With her dark skin and hair rollers, she looked like a thick, tar-covered telephone pole with transformers at the top.

She had an itchy finger ever since I bought her Benz. She thinks everybody in the neighborhood wants her car, which they do, but you not supposed to be lookin’ so anxious to shoot somebody. Pete just as black as she is, but at least Pete is a Mossberg shotgun.

“Niggah, if you don’t get in this house – I almost blew yo’ head off.”

“Mama it’s only 9 o’ clock, I wanna go out with my friends.”

“What I tell you ‘bout sneakin’ out the house, and snoopin’ round my Benz too, boy you lucky I can’t see through you right now.”

I came back into the yard. Dad was a small man, light skinned with a baldin’ head, wide, dark eyes, gigantic hands, and a pot belly. If you sat him in the dirt and made him cry, he’d look just like one of those children off the “feed the children commercials.” When Mama was standin’ close to him, like she was now, she could look straight down into his thinnin’ crop. I don’t know what ever made them two decide to hook up. He tugged at his coffee stained T-shirt, hiked his trousers up over that melon belly of his before he cleared his throat real quiet-like.

“Now Charlotte, maybe we shouldn’t be keepin’ the boy all cooped up–”

“Harold, I - wasn’t - talkin’ - to - you,” She was wavin’ Pete in Dad’s face like a conductor’s baton. “- And I don’t care how old he is, he under my roof, he gonna obey my rules.

Just then my sister appeared in the doorway, hair wild, yawnin’ and rubbin’ boogers from her eyes.

“What’s goin’ on out here?”

“Gone back to bed Shannon, wasn’t nobody talkin’ to your butt neither.”

“Momma, come on I’m – “

“I don’t care how old you is Niggah, get in the house!”

She slapped me in the back of my head when I passed her and stepped into the laundry room. She must have smelled my Burberry.

“Smellin’ all good for them heifers, I don’t smell yo butt smellin’ like that fo’ yo’ Mama.”

I was mad at Shannon for irritatin’ Mama even more. I gave her a nasty look on my way up the stairs. There was no excuse for Mama to treat a 25 year old man the way she do, but at least, I thought, she didn’t know about the window – yet.