Oh, Poop

Oh, no.  I cannot believe some parents out there! I’m not one to judge people’s parenting styles because after all it shouldn’t affect my children’s lives in any way, right? But when your child has poop and urine on his pants and he’s going around playing with other children and you are just sitting up there smiling like everything is all good and gravy in the navy, baby, that’s when I have to start questioning your intelligence!

The other day I took my kids to the park with a friend of mine and her daughter who happens to be my daughter’s newfound best friend.  There was another mother–or maybe she was a grandmother?–with a child there.  So, boom, the child was running from one end of the playground to the other as if he had endless amounts of energy.  He didn’t even stop for breath, he just kept going all the while his mom or grandmother–I’ll just call her his guardian–was literally on his tail trying to keep up with him.

I’ll have you know that this playground isn’t all that big…it’s literally just a swing set and this climbing thingy inside of a not-so-big-circle filled with…I think it’s called Wood chips?

But anyway, the guardian is over there getting a work out while me and my fellow mommy-friend were sitting there chatting it up talking about how different the south is from the north being she moved to North Carolina from Boston but was born in Brazil and I moved down from New York City.  We’re northerners still getting the feel of the south. Every once in a while the aspiring track star would come over to us, attempt to play catch with my nine month old who wouldn’t participate for obvious reasons (and yes, I did what I could to protect her fact from the big bouncy red ball–that belonged to my daughter’s friend by the way– but this kid was so confused as to why my little girl wasn’t catching the ball) and then he would be off again.

My four-year old and her best friend came and sat down with us not only with their doll babies but with these huge Batman and Superman action figures.  The girls explained to us that the toys belonged to the little boy and I thought nothing of it since neither the boy or his guardian seemed to mind.

He ran over to us again and again and then finally it hit me like a fistful of mud. An icky odor in the air.  I figured the garbage truck was nearby but why would I only smell the funk briefly then have it go away?

On one of the boys returns and departures my deaf nose (“deaf language” for strong sense of smell due to loss of one sense–in my case my hearing) zeroed in on the direction of the funk then my deaf eyes (“deaf language” for heightened sense of vision due to loss of one sense.  Think “you lose one sense your other senses become stronger”)  zeroed in on the ball at the seat of his pants.   As he kept coming and going with his guardian huffing and puffing behind him I noticed the ball at the seat of his pants kept moving south then it stopped just below his buttocks.  But what was it? And did he sit in mud? Granted earlier in the day it had rained but the sun had since came out and pretty much dried everything up so my first assumption was that he sat in mud…somewhere.

As a deaf woman I use my eyes for pretty much everything; they do the job that my ears can’t do plus the job they were meant to do so essentially I see and hear with my eyes. So, between trying to keep my eyes on my daughters, have a grown up conversation, and trying to figure out the mystery at hand, I admit it took me a little while to connect the dots.

At last I guess the guardian had her fill on exercise and came to sit with us and like magic the little boy stopped running around so much, he stayed close by, as did the odor as did the lines that would soon connect all of the dots in my head.

So let’s look at all of the clues, we have a boy, we now see wetness in the front of his pants, we have this sickening odor, “mud” smears on one thigh of his pants and now on his shirt.  The forced polite smile plus stiff body language whenever the boy would come near displayed by my fellow mommy-friend told me something was really wrong with this picture.  I couldn’t put my finger on it and I wasn’t even sure I wanted to if I could.

I disengaged myself from my adult conversation. I looked at the guardian. I looked at my mommy-friend  I looked at the boy. I looked at my oldest daughter.  I looked at my daughter’s friend. I looked at the big red bouncy ball right by my foot. I looked at my youngest daughter.

The guardian was laughing about something she was discussing with my mommy-friend, my mommy-friend was now looking like she was in an internal fight with herself, the boy had more “muddy” splotches all over his shirt and…face? My oldest was putting on her best superhero voice for Batman unaware that her mother was finally putting her Criminal Justice Degree in use to be a detective,her friend played along with her, my youngest seemed to be uneasy about something and that smell just kept getting stronger.

And then I was like…

“Oh, Shit”

Literally.

Now, just last week I binge-watched Containment on Netflix (and absolutely LOVED IT!) so I was a little paranoid about ending up like the people in the show.  I wasn’t trying to go out like that and I wasn’t trying to have my kids go out like that.  Nah, man, I wasn’t having it.  I made eye contact with my mommy-friend and we had a little conversation using only our eyes. What an intense conversation that was.

When the guardian finally got up to leave, the boy put up a fight and went into a screaming match and hit notes that would make a bird jealous.

“Did he really poop on himself?” I asked my mommy-friend

“Yeah, and you know I’m sick and my nose is stopped up but I could still smell it” she replied, bewildered.

We sat there not believing what we had just witnessed.

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The strength to let go

 

He was a big guy with a tough outer appearance who obviously had a rough childhood.  His rugged looks had been the only thing that kept bad company away but on the inside he longed for someone to call his own.

But when he finally found someone who looked beyond his surface and deep into his heart, someone who would finally be his own, he didn’t know how to fully let himself trust her.  He couldn’t let her in.

It is true when they say that hurt people, hurt people because that’s exactly what he did. He threw daggers into her heart over and over and each time she would simply pull it out and smile through her tears and pain just to let him know that she wasn’t going to go anywhere.  Still, his childhood had him hardwired into believing that true love didn’t really exist and people would only stick with you until they found something new.

After years of being broken down and burned by this man she finally picked up the shattered pieces of her heart that lay in his wake and walked out the door and made a vow to never look back.

her strength was infused with anger and exhaustion, she could no longer take the uncertainty that came with trying to build a future with a man who seemingly did not want to.  She could no longer find it within herself to believe his words when he would tell her he loved her because his actions showed otherwise.

Through the years she’d lost herself trying to love a man who was incapable of loving and accepting love.  She took in her surroundings and swallowed against the bile that was building up within the pit of her stomach.  She was angry that her efforts were unappreciated, afraid that she was too damaged to love again.  Will she now be the one to hurt another?

This would be her first time facing the world alone and she didn’t think she could.  She wrestled with the option of turning back around and going back to something more familiar even if that meant she would have to endure more pain and heartache but the small resilient voice in the back of her mind persuaded her to put one foot before the other and keep going forward.

She didn’t know where she was going to go, didn’t know what she was going to do but she did know she deserved to be happy so she made happiness her destination.  She was determined to heal and when the time was right she would love again.

via Daily Prompt: Infuse

And Then This Happened.

I know I shouldn’t laugh and this really shouldn’t be funny but I have a confession to make.  Both of my children fell off the bed less than 24 hours apart from each other.  And I laughed all three times…I know! I’m a horrible mommy! And don’t worry no child was harmed in the making of this blog.

So, this is how it went down (no pun intended.)

Ever since my 9 month old discovered the joys of crawling a month ago, she’s been so obsessed with crawling to the edge of the bed and looking down.  Of course I would be right there gripping her legs and pulling her back whenever I felt she’d seen enough.  But as the month progressed, she’d only gotten faster as if conspiring to give Flash a run for his title.  I’m a mom, I make mistakes, so this particular day, me and my two little girls were watching a movie for Family Movie Night.  Unfortunately, the attention spans of a 9 month old and 4-year-old are incredibly short.  They like to move around–especially the new crawler.

My four-year old was the first to get off the bed to twirl around, toss a balloon into the air, fall down on purpose, tummy crawl, roll around, speak an unknown language and burst out laughing for no real reason.  Aside from the fact that she is indeed a little…coo-coo she was fighting her sleep with all her might.

Every little sister wants to be like her big sister, right? So, my 9 month old attempted to follow suit but under my close supervision, of course, it was kind of difficult for her. At first.  I handed her the balloon my oldest was playing with to keep her entertained while I quickly put my phone on the charger.  It literally took me all of two seconds and by the time I turned back, my little baby was on the go. She pushed the balloon off the bed and a split second later she went after it with no hesitation. It all happened so quickly, I couldn’t get to her quick enough.

She believed she could fly, but gravity told her that the lie detector determined that was a lie.

I yelped loudly, as did my 4-year old who, just a few moments before had been too wrapped up in a deep conversation with the…wall perhaps, to even notice her sister was about to take a leap.

My youngest landed on her stomach with support from her hands (are her reflexes on point, or what?) Of course the shock of falling scared her and she shed a few tears but once I placed her back on the bed she found something new to play with and all was forgotten.  She was back to her old-laughing-and-happy-self which made me laugh because I was kind of impressed that she had taken the fall so well.

My oldest, on the other hand stepped out of crazy-mode long enough to tell me it wasn’t funny and that her little sister could have hurt herself.  She re-examined her sister (because she didn’t trust that mommy examined her sister well enough–I mean who would trust their mom after laughing, right?) and when she was satisfied with her sister’s state of health, she too, started laughing and went right back to her crazy-zoo.

Now, fast forward to the next day.

Once upon a time I was a “bubble-wrap” mom but then I adopted the ideals of being a little more hands on with my children.  And by hands on I mean I let them make their mistakes and falls so they could experience in real-time what cause and effect is all about.  If you don’t tie your sneakers before taking off in a sprint, you might fall and make the ground bleed or If you run into a wall, the wall might get hurt, you know, stuff like that. So, when my four-year-old decided (without consulting with management first!) it was a good idea to attempt to do a handstand off of the bed while we were watching our morning cartoons I just sat there watching her.  Who knows? She probably would have succeeded. Did you like…taste how much sarcasm that was lathered in?

So, as she was inching off the bed, head first, hands ready to support her weight my youngest and I just sat there silently not knowing what the hell this girl was up to.  I didn’t want to startle her so I opted not to say a word, I just watched. And then it happened.

She supported her weight for all of a .05 seconds then her body went to the right and landed with a thud.  Think of  the second and third phase of doing a cartwheel. That was her.  She popped up and immediately said “WHOA! I’m okay!”

She and I both ended up in a fit of laughter, I promise you I couldn’t breathe but when we finally cooled down I asked her the million-dollar question, “What were you trying to accomplish?” to which she responded “I was trying to do a handstand! But…I don’t know what happened!” Her legs were not long enough for her to successfully pull off that stunt, that’s what happened! I asked her if she was hurt and she told me–through more laughter–that she was fine.

You would think one fall would have been enough for her for the day, but no.  Later on in the day after she argued her case against taking a nap, she miscalculated how close to the edge she was laying and as she was in the midst of rolling her eyes and rolling over so her back would be facing me, she rolled straight off the bed.

Oh, she was mad that mommy was right ,again, about her being sleepy but I guess it’s safe to say that my laughter is contagious because she couldn’t stay mad for long. She also couldn’t stay awake for long, either.

It’s been about a week or so, she hasn’t fallen off the bed again and she hasn’t put up any resistance during nap-time, and the icing on the cake? After all of that falling, my floor didn’t break! (I forgot to mention, but yes, we have carpet)

 

At the End of The Tunnel

Survive

Isn’t it amazing how much you can learn and come up with when you’re forced to enter survival mode? New-never-before-thought of inventions are born, new lifestyles come to life.  You learn what you can live without and realize what you can cut back on, you take something that is meant for one thing and use it for an entirely different thing.  Then even when you emerge from survival mode and enter comfort mode, those life hacks you learned during your low moment can still be applied.

Let me use myself as an example.

About a month or two after my youngest was born things got a little tight financially.  When faced with the decision to either buy sanitary napkins or something cheap to make for dinner, of course I chose to feed my family, but what was I going to do about the impending dreaded visit from my….”Aunt”? I knew that I would bleed through tissue so I wouldn’t even allow myself to go there.  I also knew that my youngest had outgrown her Newborn diapers and was now a size 1 so here I had all of these Newborn diapers just sitting around.  Let’s just say, they absorb much better than regular pads! I call this finding the “Struggle pad”

Not long after running into financial problems we unfortunately lost our apartment and had to live in a hotel (luckily, for only one week!) The hotel had a kitchenette area so we were able to cook our own food which was great! One morning I decided to make pancakes (from scratch. Haven’t made pancakes from the box in years–and yes I’m showing off!) I made a whole stack of pancakes just for my four-year old to ask me to pass her the syrup. Crap.  I didn’t have any and forgot to buy some! (I’ll have you know the hotel was basically in the middle of nowhere and there was no store within walking distance and I didn’t have a car) But I did have milk, brown sugar and cinnamon! The perfect blend of the three (preferably heated up) had my daughter and I like “Syrup? what’s syrup?” We call this concoction “The special stuff”

When I find myself in situations that are meant to break me, sure I go through a moment where it’s like “oh, my God, this is the end, there’s no light at the end of the tunnel” but then a little voice in my head yells above all of the negative thoughts and tells me, “use it.” For the longest I never understood what that meant until I was forced into survival mode when I moved to North Carolina from New York City and didn’t know the lay of the land at all.  I couldn’t find a job or affordable daycare and therefore was pretty desperate and feeling worthless.  There was that voice saying “use it” and It finally clicked.  Though I haven’t made any money from it, I thereafter started using my life experiences and putting them on paper in a story-form. I notice that my writing skills grow with each story I write and I therefore feel myself grow.  It’s like I write my way out of a dark circle.  I call these creations “Potential-books-that-need-to-be-published.”

Granted it’s not a good feeling to have to be put through rough spots but at least I can create a story from it, right?  (I promise I will finish at least one….some time soon so you guys can read it! I have a really bad habit of starting one story then having another idea–A.K.A another life obstacle–pop into my head–and life–then dropping the first story then continue with the second and so on and so forth but I will get my shit together I promise!)

Did that make sense?

At last, the final thing that being in survival mode teaches you is who is really there for you and who isn’t.  Through all of my trials and tribulations, I’ve learned that not everybody around you wants the best for you.  They tend to usually keep you around for their own benefit and would have nothing to offer you when you are in need.  I call this discovery, “Growing up”

Yep, surviving caused me to grow up.

via Daily Prompt: Survive

Deaf.

“You’re deaf?”

That’s the question everyone asks me right before they start enunciating their words and cutting me out of conversations and pretending they don’t understand anything I say suddenly.  They tell me I’m not the “typical deaf girl” or that “I don’t look deaf” but honestly, what does a hearing loss look like? I mean really?

I looked at my classmate Amy, with a forced smile “well, yes, that’s why I have a sign language interpreter…” She sat extremely still as if afraid that one wrong move would somehow make me…deafer?

“wow….” she finally said, “I was under the impression that you understood me when I spoke, you laughed at my jokes, answered me when I spoke to you…wow, I can’t believe the entire time you couldn’t hear me” let me not add that this was said with a heavy dose of enunciation and a voice loud enough for the entire campus to hear her. People were turning their attention to us and I felt my skin heat up from being so embarrassed. Some people’s ignorance is annoying.

“I do hear you. I hear your voice and how loudly you’re speaking right now,” I pushed my left hearing aid in for visual effects “as you can see, I can also speak clear enough for you to understand me but somehow after most people realize that I am indeed deaf, they go deaf as well and suddenly can’t understand anything that I say–” I noticed she was looking over my shoulder at my interpreter and did a mental eye-roll, “so I’m not going to waste anymore time here trying to help you not fall into the dumb-hearing-folks category, so it was nice knowing you for the past three weeks” I waited a few beats and waited for her inevitable “wait…what?” to which I shook my head and faced the front of the room.

I felt like a total bitch but after 19 years of life, it just seems that the older I get the dumber everyone else around me becomes.

My interpreter gave me a sympathetic smile and using sign language, informed me that Amy looked like she felt embarrassed, I wanted to turn around and apologize but a part of me refused to.  I refused to get any closer to another person just for them to see my deafness as a barrier; just for them to see me like I’m broken or something, like I don’t matter.

I just wish that people would see me for me beyond my hearing aids, is that too much to ask?

Once class was dismissed, I opted to make myself “busy” and wait until the majority of the class left the room–including Amy, I did not want to look at her.  Just as I stepped out of the room two familiar faces approached me. As I stood trying to figure out where I knew them from I was thrown off by their…signing.

“My…name…is….M-a-r-y” signed the taller of the two awkwardly

“My…name is…R-o-b-e-r-t-a” signed the other, a little more fluidly.  “And that’s all we know–oh! we know how to say ‘what’s your name’, too” she said with a little giggle.

I was impressed and before I could express that, Mary told me that her little sister’s best friends parents were deaf and she taught them some signs.

“By the way,” she added, “I’m sorry about what happened in there with Amy, I found out a little while ago that she grew up on a farm so basically if it doesn’t cluck it doesn’t click in her mind.”  Ah, yes! These are the girls who sit towards the back of the room and are always finding something funny to laugh about during the class discussions.

We all laughed at her farm-girl reference.

“Well, I’ve been dealing with that and other misconceptions of being deaf all my life, you would think I’d have gotten used to it by now”

“Yeah, people are dumb” said Roberta, “I was on Facebook the other day and there was this article talking about a baby who was born deaf and got some type that implant surgery and someone commented and said ‘poor girl, at least now she’ll be able to do normal-people things like drive a car some day’ and I just wanted to break my phone, Kris, I swear”

At her mention of my name I realized I didn’t even formally introduce myself but she didn’t seem to mind, “Girl, don’t get me started”

Once again we burst out laughing and made our way to the school cafeteria for coffee.

 

via Daily Prompt: Impression

Impression

Unidentified Smelly Object

I don’t know why I continue to let Jennifer drag me along to these speed dating events that were usually held in hotels all across New York City.  Just because she is a hopeless romantic doesn’t mean I am, too, and just because she’s single and has cobwebs doesn’t mean I have a problem with having mine. My generation is so sexually charged, like why is it not a thing for two people to just sit down and have a conversation about Earth and not somehow end up on the topic of sex? I mean, what is wrong with people?

What is wrong with me? Why can’t I say no when Jennifer asks me to accompany her to these things? Oh, that’s right, she’s my roommate and the only one who can make sure we get a quality meal because I can’t even properly boil a pot of water without running the risk of burning our apartment building down.  So, I’m pretty much a whore for food; you dangle food in my face and I’ll do whatever you want.  Why am I so pathetic?

Why is this guy so pathetic? I get that we only get ten minutes before we have to move on to the next date but there is absolutely no excuse for why the first thing that flew out of this dudes mouth was “you have some sexy toes, I bet” like, um, no, my feet are fuckin’ gross, I wear socks and boots all year round and they could pass for a nuclear weapon, thank you very much.  He spent the last 9 minutes trying to convince me to take my boots off so he could “be the judge of how horrible they really are” as if I needed the extra verification and about 50 dead bodies tagged onto my name. Tracy Brown, Mass Murderer, The First to Effortlessly Wipe Out a Room Full Of People With The Removal Of Her Footwear.  Yeah, no thanks. I told Toe Boy he would be forever alone and wished him good luck with life before the next guy took a seat at my table.

I swear to God, Jesus, Mary and all of them, I don’t know how I ended up upstairs in this hotel room completely naked feeling the urge to smoke a cigarette–or hell, a blunt would suffice–with the God of a man who came to my table after Toe Boy.  It’s almost like we catapulted out of the room and up to this room and the rest is history.  Who knew, ol’ girl Tracy was going to get her cobwebs cleared tonight? I certainly didn’t but I’m damn sure glad I did!

We went for a few rounds before my body finally fell into a state of drunk-like stupor.  When I peeled my eyes open the next morning the clock on the night stand read: 12:00…so it indeed was no longer morning but the room was suspiciously quiet.  I sat up and looked around, Mr. Sexy wasn’t next to me, nor were his clothes, I didn’t hear anything coming from the bathroom and he didn’t even leave a thank you note.  Ain’t that a bitch?

In search of my clothes I realized my boots and socks were missing and a dreaded feeling coated my stomach.  Not only was I going to have walk through the streets of New York barefooted but I realized I got got by Toe Boy! His game is on a whole ‘notha level; he makes you think he’s a weirdo so that when you saw the next guy–Jackson something or whatever his name was–you would think you hit the jackpot just for Jackson something to lay down the pipe so good and steal your shoes so Toe Boy could come and take advantage of your feet while you were asleep.

My feet didn’t particularly look like they’d been assaulted but then again I don’t know what an assaulted foot looks like.

Just then the door to the room opened and in came Mr. Sexy Jackson something and just like that I forgot how disgusted I was with him.

“Rise and Shine beautiful, I got you something” he said with that God forsaken sexy smile of his he handed me two bags, one full of socks of all variety and the other with two boxes…shoe boxes.  One box had a pair of boots that were the exact replica of the ones I was currently missing and in the other box were these memory-foam type flip flops.

I looked up at this man, mouth agape, eyes opened just a slit unsure of how to feel.  Happy, I didn’t have to buy new boots for the summer, Sad, because my old boots had been shoenapped, scared, because this stranger bought me boots and flipflops and socks, or turned on because I really wanted to jump his bones one more time.

“Where are my boots?”

“You mean them Area 51-U.S.O-Nuclear weapon boots? Oh, I threw them shits out. I called the desk to complain about a possible pack of dead rodents somewhere in the room and they had someone come up to check it out only to find out they were your boots, so I did you a favor and I also booked us for a little treat at the Spa down the block” he looked down at my feet, “you are going to get those feet corrected once and for all, you are a beautiful woman, there’s no reason for that”

Part of me wanted to blush at the mention of me being told that I am beautiful but the other part of me couldn’t fight curiosity, “What the hell is a U.S.O?”

“Unidentified Smelly Object”

I couldn’t contain myself, where I should have been embarrassed and ashamed of myself I actually felt comfortable.  Tears streamed down my cheeks and I was pleased when he joined in.

“So what’s your name again?” I asked after we both sobered up.

“Jaxon Sumthin…and no I’m not lying. Jaxon J-a-x-o-n Sumthin S-u-m-t-h-i-n”

That was it, I lost it.

Apparently my laugh turns him on because next thing I knew, he lifted me up and catapulted me onto the bed. Oh, My God, It was about to go down! I guess we were going to make a little detour before heading to the Spa.

Daily Prompt: Catapult

 

 

Karma

As we walked into the hotel me trailing behind Jordin, I already felt out-of-place.  I looked at the sign near the entrance and took note that we were in the right place but somehow it felt like we were in the wrong place.  The National Convention for Small Businesses was looking like a snow storm and I was getting a little chilly.

“Jordin, when did it start snowing in Miami in the middle of August?” Jordin glanced over her shoulder and snorted.  Rolling her eyes she asked me “why do you always have to be such a hoodrat? This place is classy; have some class, damn”

If I had pearls I’d definitely be clutching them.  Did this bitch just call me a hoodrat? I am an educated black woman, I have a degree in Business and as far as I know, we were not going to get any business here at this convention, that was for sure.  But we’ll do things Jordin’s way as usual because little ol’ Katrina was a hoodrat.

As we stood in the middle of the lobby taking the scenery in, a short squared grey haired lady with about three to five chins made her way toward us She stared at us with her mouth agape as if she was looking into the soul of a ghost. You would have thought that she knew us from a hole in the wall because the next thing she did was had my life flashing before my eyes.

“How did you get your hair like this?” she asked, stroking Jordin’s dreadlocks, “it feels so rough, yet so…how do you say it? Um…sturdy?”

With horror in my eyes I looked at Jordin and watched her descend slowly but surely into “hoodrat territory”.  I knew by the way her left eye slightly twitched and her full lips slowly formed a thin line, she was summoning all of the Karma Gods like she usually did so no one was really safe at this point. So I did what any best friend would do.

“Black girl magic!” I shouted, startling the woman.  She dropped the handful of dreads she caressed and I ushered Jordin to the check-in desk “moving along, bye-bye, now!” Once at the desk I checked us in,  retrieved our room number and key and headed to the bank of elevators, clutching Jordin’s arm as I went.  There was no telling what she would ask the Karma Gods to do at this point and I was really not looking forward to enduring a scene from that movie Carrie. No, sir, no, thank you.

We stepped onto the elevator as did a couple who looked to be filthy rich just by the look of their luggage and their attire.  I knew for a fact neither item was made in America, I was getting an Italian vibe.  I smiled at them politely and the husband nodded back.  I pushed the number 4 and the husband pushed the number 3.  the elevator doors closed and we were lifted.

“See, darling? That was what I was talking about the other day when we were out with Debbie and Alvin.  When I was saying how unprofessional the clusters of naps looked in the business setting” I glanced over my shoulder and was met with the horrified look on the husband’s face,

“Honey, that was very rude”

“What? it’s nothing a little brushing can’t fix” She gave a little chuckle and pushed her hair behind her ear. And speaking of ears, steam was definitely blowing out of Jordin’s, but you see, she’s not a “hoodrat” like myself so she didn’t say anything so it was up to me to save the day, again. Once the elevator reached the third floor and the couple was out of the elevator just before the door closed I called out “Black girl magic you rude heffa!”

Jordin nudged me in the side and chided me.  “You really have to stop saying that, you’re going to drive away our potential clients.  You need to stop trying to do Karma’s work, people will get what’s coming for them in due time” we got off on the fourth floor and from the sour look on my face you would have thought I was sucking on a Warhead, “I knew I should have said ‘bitch’ instead of ‘heffa’ that would have been nicer right? Like, did you not hear what she said?”

“Yes, I did but you need to ignore things sometimes because I really believe in Karma, you get what you give out, so please control yourself, Kat”

Here we go with this Karma business, man listen, Karma isn’t going to let me accept disrespect, but whatever.  If I have to “control myself” for this weekend I would.

They say that we shouldn’t make promises we can’t keep but how was I supposed to know how blatantly disrespectful this crowd was going to be? When we went downstairs to the meet-and-greet gathering, comments were being made–backhand and otherwise–about everything about Jordin and myself.  Everything from “wow, your kids must be so proud of you guys” and “we sell gym equipment that focuses on the thigh area” and some crap about how much fat was in my thighs compared to how much muscle all to which I responded “Black girl magic” and kept it pushing because we don’t have any kids and I love my thighs. I did not care how uncomfortable I was making everyone feel.

“Ugh, Kat, come on! potential clients! Hello!”

“Oh, please, you think people who only use Salt and Pepper for food will know a thing or two about proper care for natural hair?”

“Karma is going to eat your ass up, you just wait on it”

“Well, somebody should, girl, you know how long its been”

Insert another eye-roll from Jordin, here.

As I was getting a drink from the open bar I spotted him, Brandon Tillman, former quarterback from Samsung University, Morris Chestnut meets Idris Elba with a splash of Michael B. Jordan, the object of all of my fantasies; a God walking the face of Earth.  He noticed me and my breath caught in my throat.  I haven’t seen him since our graduation day all them years ago.

Before I knew it, he was standing before me and just like that all that Black Girl Magic I had before went straight out the window.  I tripped over my words, a little squeak slipped out every now and then, I may or may not have caught myself drooling and my mind went blank far too many times but we managed to make plans to meet up later at the pool so we could “catch up”.  That’s Man-language for something more…you know…right?

Yeah, I thought so too, so after the meet and greet I got myself ready to go to the pool.  Jordin had plans to go as well so we put our bathing suits and wraps on but unlike Jordin’s choice of flip-flops, I opted for a pair of heels that I had no business wearing.  I knew I couldn’t properly walk in them and only packed them just in case I landed a hot date–you know, the type of date where shoes wouldn’t be all that necessary so I wouldn’t need to keep them on for too long.

I don’t know what came over me but the walk to and from the elevator and through the lobby was pretty smooth with these shoes on. I guess a girl who was about to get some has better balance.  Nice.

The pool was located just beyond the back exit of the Hotel and the view was breathtaking, palm trees outlined the entire area, giving much-needed shade in certain areas.  The pool was what I believe is called an Olympic sized pool, the water was a deep blue color as opposed to the regular light blue, all in all I was impressed.

Jordin and I descended the immaculate stone steps looking good and feeling even better.

That was until I caught the view of Brandon and saw him see me and in an instant my legs turned into jelly.  I plunged forward, flipped, rolled then skidded down the steps.  I landed face down on the landing and didn’t move a muscle.  I could feel a variety of cuts and scraps on various parts of my body but I did not move a muscle, embarrassment just wouldn’t let me.

The voice of a teenager all too causally asked “so, like, is she dead?” I recognized the voice as the little snob who asked me how many butt shots I got to make my butt so big. Someone, I assume it was her mother, told her to be quiet to which she responded “no, like seriously because if she’s not dead she should just go ahead and die now because her Black Girl Magic ran out, I mean that stuff should have made her float, right?”

“Gabby, for the last time, be quiet, this woman could be badly injured”

Yeah, Gabby shut up and go to hell.

I heard Jordin’s feet falls before I felt her hands on my back and I knew exactly what she was going to say after she figured out that I was okay and just a little banged up.

“You could get up now,” she whispered into my ear “Karma is done with you now” she helped me up and to my astonishment I found Brandon doubled over with a group of guys laughing so hard no sound was coming out.

I sucked my teeth.  He was dumb anyway.

Jordin held it together until we got to our room.  Only then did she melt to the floor doubled over with laughter, dreads flying in every direction she threw her head.  I simply did not see anything funny about this whole thing, I had boo-boos everywhere now.

“Now, for the last time, you need to stop playing with Karma” she managed to say through her laughter.

“No, I just need new friends” and I hurled a pillow at her body that was now rolling from side to side on the floor.

I silently made a vow to myself to never get into it with Karma ever again because she likes to go overboard

via Daily Prompt: Descend

Descend