Friday, August 17, 2012

All Money Ain't Good Money-Episode 1


It's the day after Christmas, and this bitch—aka the Wife-- has just given me the best mu'fucken present ever! She tells me she doesn't want this marriage no more. There's no point in having a relationship with no romance, no sex, no trust. Hell, how the fuck do you trust someone who's lied to you from day one about who and what she was?

This bitch suckered me in with photos from the past: a body with curves that would make a Lowrider model envious; long brown hair with full lips; cat-like eyes that would make you stumble over your fucken feet if she batted them at you.

That was the past. What was standing in front of me now? A two hundred fifty-plus pound, baby-voice talking, insecure sack of overweight piece of shit who's sucked the fucken life out of me for the past 3 years. And now it's done.

The only thing I don't like is the way she's talking shit to me in front of my son, calling me all kinds of no good son-of-a-bitches. Honestly, I'm glad she's letting her true feelings out. She tells me how she wasn't ready to take care of another husband, much less his kid.

His kid.

And here Lamar loved her like there was no other woman in his life. He'd push his nana to the side to spend time with her and now he sees he was nothing more than “my kid”. I could smash her damn face in right now, but the look on Lamar's face lets me know he needs me by his side more than me getting knee deep in her ass.

She goes on for five minutes, and I stand there and take it. She goes on talking about my son like he isn't there, saying Lamar will never be shit in life, and he'd end up just like me: a no-good bastard who can't express his feelings. She must've seen the look on my face, seeing how fucken pissed off I was, so she grabs her shit and waddles to the door, and without a look back, she's gone. The apartment is finally quiet, thank fucken god. I don't know how much more of that damn whining I could take.

I look at Lamar, his head hanging and hands balled up into fists at his side. I put my arm around him and hug him. What's to say at a moment like this?

“Merry Christmas, mijo”, I tell him and kiss him on his forehead. He raises his head and looks at me with tears in his eyes and I remember he's only a kid who loved my “wife” with everything he had, and didn't deserve this. I feel like such a damn punk right now. He finally gives me something, that smile. The one that tells me that everything is okay, and hugs me back.

“Merry Christmas, daddy.” He stays hugging me for a few more minutes, which is cool with me. He's been my light since he was born, and I've forgotten what my purpose was in life: to protect him, provide for him, and make sure he has a good life.

Thanks, wifey. You pulled my head out of my ass and you gave me my freedom. That's twice I owe you.

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