guess what this fool said next...pt. 1

a while back i went to apache cafe' with a girlfriend of mine. we were there for the spoken word taking place that night. so we're walking into the joint and we hear this cat speaking (to us evidently):

"oh...look at this beautiful woman coming in here!"

followed by...

"oh...another even MORE beautiful woman is stepping in right behind her!"

i rolled my eyes and looked up to see a tall brotha in shadow, so i couldn't make out his face. first off, i can dig getting a compliment from a brotha on my looks (i mean, i am beautiful after all), but there was just something about the tone in his voice that let me know he was used to giving away compliments like a prostitute gives away pussy...without thought and very cheaply.

so candice and i walk into the spot and notice immediately it was dark and crowded so we wouldn't have anywhere to sit. while i would have preferred a table, it was all good cuz in the meanwhile there were plenty of nice looking brothas lining the walls and what sista in her right mind is gonna have a problem with that? candice and i took our places along the wall and look towards the stage where this sista was basically screaming her head off and dancing around frantically. while i didn't have a clue as to what she was trying to communicate i gave her props for being up there and doing her thing. somebody in there was bound to feel her, even though i knew it wasn't gonna be me.

we're standing there watching the performance when our view is blocked by the same tall cat who had come to us with the bullshit at the front door. this time, the lighting from behind the bar hit him square in the face and i could see him.

oh SHIT i could see him.

and lawd, i knew the bastid.

i don't mean i knew him in the biblical sense, nor do i mean i knew him in that 'get a mushy feeling for seeing an old love' sense either. no, i mean i knew him in that 'aww HELL nah...not THIS negro' sense..

he starts talking to candice first. i have no idea what he's saying to her. then he turns to me and i look at him and start frowning. no need to let the brotha think he even stands a chance.

before he could even get his words out of his mouth, i spoke.

"i remember you."

he raised his eyebrows in surprise, his eyes looking at me while i could tell his mind was feverishly trying to remember a face he hadn't seen in over ten years.

"you know me?" he asked incredulously.

"uh, yeah. your name starts with an 'f' or something."

"yeah, it's fitz," he responded, viewing me skeptically. a moment later, recognition dawned on his face and his mouth curved into a cheezy grin.

"oh YEAH! nikki, right?"

i rolled my inner eyes this time, not wanting to be rude to his face.

"yeah," i replied.

now all of a sudden the brotha has changed his entire steelo. he went from superficial smarmy to intimate smarmy, like we had some kind of shared history he wanted to remember with me. you know how it goes down...brotha slides his hands across my shoulder, leans in close like he's about to deliver the million dollar answer to all my dreams, then gets straight to the game of talking shit. i shuddered.

"niiiiiikkiiiiiiii," he starts off, "you were the sista that got away..."

what the fuck? what kind of bullshit is this?

"dude, do you have me mixed up with some other nikki?," i asked with a cynical smirk on my face, "cuz you making this way more than what it was."

he started grinning even more broadly. oh shit, what the fuck is that about? he leans in, i guess for effect, then replied.

"i was young back then, nikki." his voice was all low and shit like he was trying to seduce me right there in the fucking club. really, does this shit still work with women? did it ever?

"yup, you were."

he's still grinning.

"so can i have a moment of your time?"

i stared up at him. okay, i could cut his ass of at the quick right now or i could hear what he's saying and cut his ass off later. curiosity got the better of me so i decided to hear what he had to say (aiight, so part of me was like "this will be some good shit to write about in my blog." see what i put myself through to entertain you people?)

we head to the back of the club, step outside into the covered lounge area, and find some seating.

he turns to me and starts with the spiel.

"you look beautiful tonight."

it took alot of effort for my mouth not to curl into a smirk.

"yes, i know."

he laughed softly and started shaking his head slowly.

"dang, girl," he said, "you ain't gonna give a brotha no quarter, are you?"

"am i supposed to?" i answered.

"what happened between us was over ten years ago!"

"true," i responded matter-of-factly, "so why mention it?"

he settled into his seat next to me and leaned forward.

"because i want to explain to you what a brotha was going through at the time we met."

"and that's important now because..."

"because i was thinking maybe we could start over."

have you ever been around someone who put way too much stock in some shit that you barely gave a passing glance to? like, he thought you two were writing the next great symphony together while you thought it was a cheap jingle for a hair vacuum. i sat there for a moment and digested what he said.

"start over?" i asked cautiously, "what's there to start over?"

"i'm saying," he replied, "what we had was special."

he reached for my hand and squeezed it, an earnest look on his face. i started racking my brain trying to figure out what he was talking about. special? what kind of standards did this guy have anyway? was it 'special' to him cuz i actually gave him my real number? was it 'special' to him because i actually picked up the phone when he called? really...when i say there was nothing going on there, there was NOTHING going on. meanwhile, he was acting like we were a step away from being married. he leans in closer and i covertly lean away from him, cuz he'd been drinking and his breath smelled liked henn-assy.

guess what this fool said next?!?