Ready to turn around, I cut over Pennsylvania Avenue and picked up speed. I knew the cops in this area were known for tripping, but I didn't see any so I kept it moving. This time, though, a car that was coming our way cut in front of me. As fast as I was going, I couldn't stop. “Jesus, save me please!” Poetry yelled. “I will never get on this bike with this damn fool again, Lord, and it was so stupid of me tooooooooooo!”
I quickly swerved in the other lane, causing the motorcycle to lean. And instead of squeezing my waist, Poetry grabbed my dick. She squeezed that motha so tight, it caused my eyes to bug. “Slow this damn thing down,” she said, yanking on my package. That shit really did hurt, and the speed of the motorcycle jumped from ninety-five mph to thirty-five mph in an instant. After that, I pulled over, because my dick was hurting.
“That is not how you get me to slow down!” I said, holding myself down below. “I almost flipped this motherfucka over and yo' ass is lucky that I didn't.”
She pulled the helmet off her head. Beads of sweat were on her forehead and she wiped them with her hand. “I had to do what was necessary for you to slow this thing down. Have you lost your mind? I thought you were going to go nice and slow with me on the back of here, and who in the hell do you think I am? Some kind of biker bitch or something? This is my first time on one of these things, and I'm about to have a serious heart attack.”
“You ain't no fun,” I said, taking the helmet from her hand. “I figured you would like the rush and with all of that yellin' and screamin' you was doin', I know that shit felt good.”
“If you want me to yell and scream, come up with something better. I know you can, and it shouldn't have nothing to do with this bike.”
I smiled from the thoughts of making Poetry yell and scream like I
really
wanted her to. She smiled too, and I assumed she had read my mind. “Let's go get somethin' to eat,” I said. “I'm hungry, what about you?”
“I could eat a li'l something. What you got in mind?”
“You ever eat at the Fried Rice Kitchen in Wellston? They shit be off the chain. Let's stop there.”
“I've had them before. I'm down with that, but please do me one favor. I assume you already know what it is, but just in case you don't, please do not go over thirty miles per hour.”
“Thirty?” I shouted. “That defeats the purpose of bein' on a motorcycle. I can do forty for you, but no less than that.”
She took the helmet from me, putting it back on her head. “I guess I can work with that, but if you go past that, I'm squeezing the Charmin again. Hard.”
Poetry hugged my waist again, and as I made my way down Pennsylvania Avenue going slow, she started rubbing my chest. “See what happens when you play by the rules?” she said. Her hands eased up my chest and she rubbed and softly squeezed at my muscles. “You know you hooked up right, Prince. Your skin so soft and you cut in all the right places. Umph, umph, umph,” she said and kept on rubbing. When we got to the stoplight to make a right on Dr. Martin Luther King Drive I turned my head to the side.
“You pretty damn hooked up right too,” I said. “But if I can recall something that you said awhile back, you said my package wasn't capable of satisfyin' you, didn't you? I hope like hell you don't have to eat your words.”
She giggled. “I said that to hurt your feelings, but I wasn't talking about your package right now. I was talking about your chest, so don't be trying to change the subject.”
I took off, slowing it down so Poetry would enjoy herself. When we got to the Fried Rice Kitchen, we both went inside to order. Several people stood along the wall, waiting for their orders. I asked Poetry what she wanted, and hated to pull out my stash of money in front of everybody to pay for our food.
“I'll take a half order of shrimp fried rice with gravy and a strawberry Vess soda.”
I ordered our food and carefully watched my back as I flipped through the stash in my hand. I paid, then hurried to put the wad back into my pocket. Always being paranoid about my surroundings, I waited for our food outside with Poetry. We stood by my bike talking while our food got ready.
“You know you never told me how old you are,” I said. “Where do you work, and do you have any kids?”
“I never told you because every time I get close to you, you ran away. I'm twenty-one, don't have no kids, and if I had a job do you think I'd be begging you for one? I've been trying to find one, though, but it's been kind of rough for me because I dropped out of school and never got my GED. That's one of the real reasons I've been bugging you at the laundromat and I need some money. Besides, you need somebody to handle your business for you, 'cause you so unfriendly that you're going to drive people away.”
“I take it you're being funny, but why you drop out of school? I did too, but I was still able to do some things to put me on the right track. I dropped out because I couldn't get along with my coach and school didn't challenge me no more.”
“I dropped out because I was having some family problems. My mother is ... was a crackhead and she made my life so damn miserable. I wound up moving in with my grandmother and she's been taking care of me for years. Then I had a situation where my uncle kept trying to hit on me, and when I ran away, I met this dude named Anthony who I thought really cared for me. I caught him cheating on me, then he went off to the army and married somebody else. My whole world was turned upside down and school was the last place I wanted to be. I regret not going back, but I am going to someday get my GED.”
It seemed like Poetry had been through some shit too, and I was sure there was nothing worse than having a crackhead for a parent. “Where your father at? And maybe we can work somethin' out about you workin' for me.”
Poetry smiled, then rolled her eyes. “I hope we can work something out, but as for my father, I have no idea who he is. My mother was all over the place and ain't no telling what man out here laid a seed in her to have me. All I know is I was born in Alabama, and I guess he still lives there. He probably don't know nothing about me, but even if he did, I'm not sure if it really matters. For years, it's just been me and my grandmother. She's the only mother I know and will forever know.”
Her situation reminded me too much of Romeo's, except his mother was in jail. His grandmother died a few months before he was sentenced, but he counted on her, just like Poetry seemed to count on her grandmother. My mind had eased a bit from all that was going on with me, but as Poetry and I talked about family, I couldn't help but think about Mama. Damn, what was I going to do? I had put the only way out of this with Raylo behind me for now, but there it was staring me right in the face. Thank God for Poetry helping me to clear my mind tonight as I tried to focus on her alone.
We got our food that was put into a brown paper bag. I slowly drove back to Poetry's house, and as we rode, she laid her head against my back. Her hands continued to stroke my chest, and I'd be lying if I said her touch didn't feel good. When I pulled in front of her house, she got off my bike and removed the helmet. She reached for her box of rice and told me she would be right back. I waited for her to return, and since I was hot, I pulled my shirt over my head and tucked part of it into my back pocket. I removed my box of rice from the bag, assuming that Poetry had gone inside to get us some forks, even though plastic ones were in the bag. When she came back outside, she was empty-handed. She straddled my bike again, and I turned around to face her.
“Where your food at?” I asked.
“I gave it to my grandmother.”
“Why you didn't ask me to buy her somethin'? Now, what you gon' eat?”
“I'ma eat some of yours,” she said, watching me open my box. Steam from the gravy ran across our noses, smelling damn good.
“Unfortunately, ma, you ain't got nothin' comin'. All of this rice here is goin' in my stomach and my stomach only.”
I started to eat my rice, teasing Poetry as if it was so good. It really was, so I didn't have to pretend. “Mmmm,” I said with each bite. “Delicious.”
Poetry playfully pushed my shoulder. “Oooo, you are so wrong, Prince. Give me some. Just a little.”
I kept teasing Poetry, then reached out to give her some of my rice. When she opened her mouth, I snatched the fork away and put it into my mouth. We both laughed, and to be honest, I couldn't remember the last time I laughed so hard about anything. Poetry pouted and folded her arms. She looked so cute that I couldn't resist sharing my rice.
“I meant to ask you,” she said after she swallowed the rice. “I know your real name ain't Prince, is it?”
“Yes. It's Jamal Prince Perkins, but don't you ever call me Jamal. I prefer Prince. Now, what about you? I'm sittin' here sharin' my rice with you and don't remember your last name. I remember seein' it on your driver's license, but what is it?”
“I'm not going to tell you because all you're going to do is laugh.”
“Why would I laugh? I don't recall it being that funny.”
“My last name is Wright. Poetry Wright, get it?”
I shrugged, but smiled as it came back to me. “Do you
write,
Poetry?”
“See, I knew you'd make fun of my name. I don't write poetry, but I do love to write.”
“I do too. But I haven't done so in a while.”
Poetry reached out to touch my chest. She scrolled her fingers along my Street Soldier tattoo and looked at my mother's name. “Girlfriend?” she asked.
“Nope. Mama.”
“What about Street Solider? What does that mean?”
“It means that I'm a soldier on the streets, particularly in my hood. I see the streets as bein' a warzone and me being a soldier who's learnin' how to survive.”
“Then I guess I'm a Street Soldier too. It ain't been no picnic for me, but at least I'm still alive. I guess I can't complain.”
“Me either,” I said, changing my thoughts to what was really going on with me.
I lost my appetite, and gave Poetry the rest of my rice. She held the box in her hand and started to finish it off. I wrapped my arms around her waist and looked at her still straddled on my bike. “Ay, I apologize for givin' you such a hard time about us hookin' up. Again, I was diggin' you since the first time I saw you, but wasn't sure about how to approach you. You forgive me?”
“Uh huh,” she said, looking into the rice box and scrapping the sides with the fork. She put the last of it in her mouth, then closed the box. “Let's go on the porch. I would invite you inside, but truth is, my grandmother be trippin' about people she don't know being in her house.”
“I'm good,” I said, helping Poetry off my bike. I followed her on the porch and we sat next to each other on the swing.
“So, you gon' give me a job or what?” she asked.
“You are dead serious about finding a job, aren't you?”
“Hell, yeah, I'm serious. Having no money ain't fun, but I guess it depends on how much you paying.”
“My pay is always good. Spectacular, some may say, but you can be sure that you'll be well taken care of.”
Poetry pursed her lips. “You talking about sex, and I'm talking about money. And you may as well get your mind out of the gutter, because you ain't getting none of this booty no time soon.”
“For real?” I said with a shocked look on my face. “You seriously ain't gon' give me none? You were so willin' to earlier, and now you done already changed your mind?”
“I wasn't going to give you none earlier. I was just messing with you. Wanted you to see what you were missing out on, and I guess it worked. If you had opted to do it, I would have changed my mind and left.”
“See, you be playin' too much. How you gon' get naked in front of me, then not be willin' to up the goods? You know I want some of that pretty pussy and that shit did look good.”
Poetry blushed, then pushed me back as I tried to move closer to her. I grabbed her waist and pulled her close to me. “Let's go back to my apartment so I can hit that,” I said. “You know you want to feel me, don't you?”
Poetry pulled away from me and shook her head. “Uh, no. I told you you weren't getting none, especially how you played me. It's going to be a loooong time before we get down like that. I hope you're willing to wait.”
“Wait for what? I'm horny as hell right now!” I grabbed my crotch. “You would be so wrong for makin' me wait.”
Poetry shrugged. “Sorry. But you played yourself today. And if you want to go back to your place and get served by that stripper-looking chick, go right ahead.”
After Poetry turning me down, it wasn't like the thought of being with Jenay hadn't crossed my mind. But I was enjoying my time with Poetry, and when she laid her head across my lap, I really felt comfortable.