“Miss …Can I take your order?”
What was I thinking? That man was bad (bad as in good) and I let him slip through my fingers like a condom with baby oil on it.
Not only did he look like a chest naked demigod or an extra in a Tyler Perry play but he saved my clumsy behind when I tried to get all Marion Jones in the rain, in the dark, emotionally driven, with $30 knock off FiveFingers on my feet.
Tamara made a fool of herself the other night. She went running at the track when the rain subsided a bit and then ventured into the wooded park along the dirt trail. Bad idea. There were dips and bends that she was unaware of and she got hyped when “Beat’n Beat’n” by Vybz Kartel came on her ipod. BOOM! FLOP! Her foot got caught in a crevice of the earth that didn’t even belong in her path and she sat there in pain assessing the damage. Next thing she knew, here came sexy Chest Naked Boy wet with a combination of sweat and rain. He hovered over her and simply asked, “Are you okay?”
That night, Chest Naked Boy didn’t even wait for her response. He picked her up (all 175lbs of her!) and urgently placed her soft behind on a park bench. He elevated her feet and then stooped down so he could look at her lower body at eye level.
“Just looks like a scrape on your right ankle. Does anything hurt?” he said.
“My pride…my ego…and last but not least, my heart”, Tamara thought. Instead she just nodded ‘No.’
He looked relieved and revealed a smile so bright it could give the moon competition. Then he stretched, looked at her anxiously as if he was hoping she’d say something…
When Tamara stared at him like a simpleton and didn’t even mutter a “Thank You”, Chest Naked Boy completed his run.
“Miss…Can I pleeeeeaasssse take your orda???!”
The ghetto hood booger broad in the drive thru window was starting to lose patience. Tamara was daydreaming once again, thinking about the man she met at the park. Her lap vibrated with a text message from Travis:
“Can I see you today?
He must want some booty. Smh
When she arrived at the second drive thru window, the same hood booger was working the window.
“Understaffed?”, Tamara said with a chuckle.
“Huh?” Hood Booger said in utter confusion.
“Nevermind”, said an exhausted Tamara.
“I like ya’ watch miss”. It was a Rolex that Tamara received from her god-father years ago as a belated birthday gift. All gifts from her god-father were belated. It was like she was his permanent afterthought but the gifts were always good so she didn’t mind being his last precedence.
“I like ya hair. Where’d you buy it? What numba pack is dat?” Hood Booger was getting on Tamara’s nerves.
When Tamara handed Hood Booger the cash, Hood Booger glared admiringly at Tamara’s nails.
Wait for it…wait for it…
“Dats a niiiiiiiice cola miss! Where you get ya nails done at?”
How long does it take to make a chicken sandwich? Why do people always pick you apart and complement each segment of your overall look, ask you where you acquired the components to maintain that look and then continue to look you up and down while they interact with you. Isn’t it easier to just say, “You look nice today”?
“Miss, can I have my chicken sandwich please?”, said an exasperated Tamara
“It aint ready yet Ma”, exclaimed Hood Booger.
If this chicken-head don’t give me my chicken sandwich…
Tamara was starving and her head-space was clouded with thoughts of her park-dwelling hero the other night. She had been thinking of him so much that she went back to the park the next night in her sexiest, stretchiest, spandexiest, athletic wear. She put a little bronzer on her face and gelled her hair into the perfect “effortless” bun and walked her curvaceous behind around that track for approximately 2 hours until the lights went out. Where was Chest Naked boy and why didn’t she get his name that night?
She didn’t get his name because she was still being faithful to the idea of a relationship with Travis. How dumb is that? Travis could be out here dipping his doodle in everything that moves and how would she know any better? She was conforming to a “situation” an “it’s complicated” status of being instead of the commitment she knew she deserved. This man would reach for her stomach and say, “Just making sure your tummy is still flat.” God forbid he hug her and embrace her. She wanted a man who could lift her up into the air, slide her down his tight thick strong body and let her feel his “power cord” (the affectionate term she and her girls had for a man’s special place) and then whisper in her ear, “You see what you do to me?” Instead she was in the seventh circle of hell waiting at the drive thru window, waiting for a chicken sandwich that she’s not even going to eat. She was going to surprise Travis with lunch and more than likely, he would just ask her why she didn’t cook for him instead.
“You know what hunni? Cancel the order.”
Tamara placed two business cards on the platform of the drive thru window, one for her hair stylist and one for her nail salon. She smiled and drove off.
I can’t do this anymore.
She text messaged Travis:
“Yea…you’ll most definitely see me today. We need to talk.”
(To Be Continued)
By: Shaun M Nickens