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The
last time that we went to a house party together Lanesha got
robbed. She laid down her purse, and at the end of the night she
didn’t have nothing--no keys, no credit cards, no checks, no
I.D. She had the nerve to get upset that Tasha and I still had all
of our belongings. Why did her dumb ass take her purse inside that
party anyway? Tonight's
party was on the twentieth floor of a high-rise building in Hyde
Park. I only lived a couple of blocks away, so I was sure to know
most of the people there. As the three of us rode the elevator, we
could hear the music blaring. I was about to get my juke on.
The
party was inside a small apartment and it was packed. Sure enough,
my whole high school class was in attendance; it was like a mini
reunion. I grabbed Tasha and started toward the liquor.
Before
I could even stick my hand in the cooler, I heard someone
whisper-yell over the music, "Muthafucka, I’ll cut
you!" I looked at Tasha and she looked at me; we both knew
the voice belonged to Lanesha. By the time Tasha and I got over to
the commotion, Lanesha was screaming. The music had been turned
off, and a crowd had gathered.
"You
bitch ass nigga, you stole my stuff," Lanesha said. She was
talking to the guy whose house we were at when her things got
stolen. |
"Fuck
you, bitch. I ain’t took shit," he said. I knew that trouble was
coming. I looked for Tasha, but she was behind the guy. At that moment I
knew it was on. The guy was about six feet four inches and a hefty two
hundred and sixty pounds. He was going to kick Lanesha’s ass, but she
just kept on talking. "You ain’t shit, but a thieving ho,"
she said as she pointed her finger in his face. The crowd started
laughing, and you could tell that he was getting mad.
Lanesha
wasn’t through. She slapped the boy with her Coach wallet. "Oh,
snap," I said to no one in particular. From there everything seemed
to move in slow motion. He punched Lanesha in the jaw. Tasha jumped on
his back and had him in a half choke hold. I dove between his legs and
grabbed his nuts. He was calling us bitches and hoes, but we didn’t
let go of him. He punched Lanesha in the face again, stepped on my knee,
and flung Tasha forward onto her back. The three of us charged him
again, but we were grabbed and pushed toward the door.
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Some
of the partygoers were also trying to leave, so the hall was
a madhouse. It took about two minutes for us to find each
other. While we were waiting on the elevator, the guy
came charging out the door. "You bitches want some of
me?" he asked. "I’ll fuck you up, and I don’t
give a damn about y’all being girls."
"Nigga,
please," I replied, "take yo’ ass back in the
house. You’re just mad that us girls kicked yo’
ass." I wasn’t worried about him ’cause we had at
least forty-five people standing between the three of us and
him. Besides, the elevator would be here any minute, so I
just kept talking. "Blah, blah, blah," I said.
But it was Lanesha who
sealed the deal. "You’re just mad because your dick
is little and you couldn’t get it up," she
taunted.
You
would have thought that he was Superman ’cause he flew
over all forty-five people and knocked us down just as the
elevator doors were opening. We all fell into the elevator.
Lanesha still had that Coach wallet in her hand and she was
smacking the hell out of him with it. I was behind him,
hitting him in the side with body shots, and Tasha was
kicking his shins. Homeboy got in some good punches of his
own.
By
the time the elevator door opened, security was waiting. I
guess they thought he was attacking us, ’cause they hemmed
him up real quick. The three of us ran to the car and
didn’t look back. Once we were settled in the car, I
noticed that my girls looked a horrid mess. Tasha’s hat
was gone and her hair was all over her head, Lanesha’s
nose was bleeding and she had a bloody lip, and I had a very
cute right black eye. "What the hell was that?" I
screamed at Lanesha. "You knew he was going to be here!
We’re too old for this." I was mad as hell and had
had too much drama for one winter break. We rode home in
silence.
Two days later,
I was on my way to school and I was glad to be gone. My mom
was not a happy camper about my black eye and was even
madder when the police served me with a restraining order
taken out by Mr. Jeffrey Hampton. "So that’s that
punk ass’s name. What kind of man would take out a
restraining order on a girl?" I asked Mama. I would
soon learn that there were many punk ass men like Mr.
Hampton.
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