The Kat Trap

“…But you, I just let your ass run wild. And now you done took it too muthafucking far. Since you think you so gotdamn gangster with yours; since you think you grown enough to talk slick and greasy to me, I promise you, ya ass is gonna see what it’s like to really get it in with a Brooklyn bitch ’cause me and ya aunts—”

I couldn’t believe this shit. My own mother was on some high school shit, talkin’ like she was gonna have me jumped. For a woman who didn’t drink or get high, the way she acted sometimes made me wonder. This was so over the top for me. The crazy thing was, she really had no idea who I was or how I got down. And I aleady knew in my heart, if they tried it, it would be messy. There was no way I was gonna ever let a bunch of bitches jump me, especially some old ones, family or not.

All the years she let her niggas disrespect her ass, and not once did she stand up to any of ’em. She’d fight a bitch in the streets before she went upside a muhfucka’s head for puttin’ his hands on her. She’d let him run her nerves down into the fuckin’ ground, stressin’ and wringin’ her hands over a sorry nigga. And not once did she think ’bout, or consider, how that shit was gonna affect me—all that yellin’ and screamin’ and cursin’ and cryin’ and beggin’ and breakin’ shit. Not once did she fuckin’ consider me! All the years she allowed me to do me without structure or restrictions or rules, she didn’t raise me, and she damn sure didn’t show me love. The streets did. Now all of a sudden she wanna be on some tough-girl shit, talkin’ ’bout she’s my mother and deserves to be respected. As far as I was concerned, she was a day late and a dollar too fuckin’ short.

I lit another L. “Listen,” I said, cuttin’ her off, and takin’ a pull off my blunt. “I ain’t call you for all that. Do what you feel ya gotta do. I’m not pressed. I shouldn’t’ve called you a bitch, but I said it, and I can’t take it back. Nor do I wanna. ’Cause, keepin’ it real, you are a bitch.”

“I’m your mother!” she yelled.

“Then get over ya’self and start actin’ like one.”

“Kat, watch how the fuck you talk to me! I’m not one of them whore-ass bitches you run with.”

“I can’t tell,” I said back.

“What?!?” she screamed.

“You heard me.”

“Kat, what did I ever do to you for you to be so fucking hateful?”

Although I wanted to scream on her ass, I kept calm. I figured it didn’t make sense to have both of us yellin’ and screamin’ like two wild bitches. “Okay, so either you really don’t have a clue or this is your version of selective amnesia.” I sighed, pausin’. I let the silence steady my voice and give me time to think before I spoke ’cause a bitch was ready to blast her ass. As I said, I’ve kept a lotta shit in with this woman. Out of respect. Out of some fucked hope that one day we’d have something that resembled a mother-daughter connection. But the older I get, the clearer this picture becomes. We will never, ever, be fuckin’ close, and a bitch is tired of wishin’ and hopin’ for shit that ain’t gonna happen. And I’m fuckin’ done with tryna hold on to somethin’ that ain’t worth holdin’ on to. Yes, I know I’m ’posed to honor and respect my mother no matter what, but dammit…a bitch can only take but so fuckin’ much. And right about now, this bitch had reached her limit.

“You want the truth, huh, mother? Well, how ’bout I give it straight. You opened up your fuckin’ legs! You chose dick over me. You never had time for me. You treated me fucked up. No, you never beat me; you fuckin’ ignored me. But as far as I’m concerned, that’s worse than if you woulda beat my ass every damn day. Some kinda attention woulda been better than nothin’ at all. No matter how hard I tried to love you, you never wanted to love me back.”

“What kinda shit is that! Of course I loved you. I gave birth to you. I raised you. I made sacrifices. If that’s not love, then I don’t know what to tell you.”

I was so fuckin’ done with her. “You sacrificed what? What was it that you really gave up, huh?”

“My life!” she snapped. “I gave up my fucking dreams.”

“And that’s my fault? Oh, please. That’s a bunch of shit. The only thing you spent ya life dreamin’ ’bout was some nigga, and how big his dick was. The only thing you gave up was ya pussy. You couldn’t be so bothered to be a fuckin’ mother. But that’s my fault, right? It’s my fault ya ass tricked ya money and life up on dick, yeah, okay. Well, was it my fault ya ass got pregnant? Was it my fault ya ass had a bullshit job and we had to live paycheck to paycheck? Was it my fault my father fucked a slew of bitches and got locked up on ya ass? Was it my fault the niggas you ran behind tryna love didn’t love you back? Yeah, it’s all my fault that ya ass never wanted nothin’ more than what ya already got. That’s right, Juanita, blame me for your fucked-up, miserable life.”

“Oh, now you done gone from callin’ me bitch to Juanita. This is the disrespectful shit I’m talkin’ ’bout. If you were in front of me, I’d knock your fucking teeth out.”

“I seriously doubt I would sit there and let you get that off,” I said, takin’ two hard pulls on my blunt. I needed a drink. I got up from my seat and went downstairs to my bar to pour some Remy in a glass. I tossed it back, then poured another. “If you didn’t put ya hands on me when I was a kid, what the hell makes you think I’d let you put ya damn hands on me now? But tell me this. When you gonna start actin’ ya age instead of tryna be on some ’round-the-way-chick shit? You can’t compete with me, sweetie. If anyone has ever been jealous, it’s been you,” I said, walkin’ back upstairs, then over to my balcony. I opened it and stepped outside.

“Kat, I’m tellin’ ya ass right now. Keep disrespectin’ me, okay, and see what happens the next time you bring ya ass to Brooklyn. I’m not gonna tell you no more. You had better start showin’ me some muthafucking respect or you are gonna find ya ass beat the fuck down.”

“Like I said, you need to act ya age, instead of runnin’ ’round actin’ like you still in ya twenties. You need to really let it go. If you want me to respect you like a mother, then, like I said, try actin’ like one. Then again, you wouldn’t know how to do that since you’ve never tried it. But you right. I don’t respect ya ass. I never have ’cause you never gave me a reason to. Please don’t come at me ’bout no damn respect ’cause at the end of the muthafuckin’ day, if a bitch wants respect, then she gotta know how to give it, real talk.

“And, sweetie, please be clear. Just like you, I’m a grown-ass woman. And there’s no fuckin’ way I’ma let you, your sisters, or any other fuckin’ bitch jump me or put their hands on me and shit’s gonna be all sweet. I don’t give a fuck if ya gave birth to me or not. It is what it is. Now, like I said, I apologize for callin’ you a bitch. But I will never apologize for not likin’ you or for not respectin’ you. You brought that shit on ya’self. You’ve always been weak when it comes to a nigga. I’ll be damned if I ever take responsibility for you bein’ a fucked-up, neglectful mother. I’m done with you. Go get married, live a happy life, and leave me the fuck alone. You don’t exist to me.”

I snapped my phone shut on her ass before I said somethin’ else that couldn’t be taken back. When I finally walked back into the house and looked in my wall mirror, it was then that I noticed a bitch had been cryin’.

I don’t need this shit right now, I thought as I tossed the cordless on the sofa, then climbed my ass up and around the spiral staircase. I was fuckin’ drained and decided to take a long, hot shower, then take my ass a nap.

CHAPTER TEN

“Bitch, why you didn’t call me back?”

“What?” I asked, wakin’ up all groggy ’n shit. I’d slept so damn hard I wasn’t sure if it was day or night. I had to look around to see where I was. After I took my shower, I remembered goin’ back downstairs to get me another shot of Remy and ended up takin’ the bottle and a glass into my media room, smokin’ another blunt, and listenin’ to that crazy chick Amy Winehouse’s Back to Black CD. The last song I remembered hearin’ was “Tears Dry on Their Own” before dozin’ off.

I yawned and stretched. “Girl, what time is it?”

“It’s almost five-thirty.”

“Damn,” I said, sittin’ up. “I musta been tired as hell.”

“I thought I told ya ass to make sure you called me back.”

“Unh-uh, don’t do it. My mother got on her bullshit again. So you really don’t want it, ho. Not today.”

“Oh, shit. That bad?”