Read Online Cheaters by Eric Jerome Dickey - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Eric Jerome Dickey
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ever said to me, I’ve yet to hear her say she was sorry. It’s always me apologizing to her.
I said, “You okay?”
Karen was solemn. “Just sensitive about a thing or two.”
More silence breezed by.
Karen’s voice softened when she asked me, “You okay?”
I surrendered a smile. “Just sensitive about a thing or two.”
The side of the album ended, so I scooted to the stereo and turned it over. Put the needle on side two.
Stupidest sista with a degree.
I didn’t have
common sense.
I’d been poked in my eye with a blazing nail. All I did was give her the same hostile love, point out her faults, and that wanna-be Erykah Badu heifer folded like a cheap picnic table.
It wasn’t our first time going at it like that, and it probably wouldn’t be our last. To tell the truth, to me it was childish. Sort of the way rugrats in school go at it, swear they’ll never be friends again, but by recess they are buddy-buddy. That’s why an hour later it was business as usual and we were watching videos on BET, laughing, yawning.
Then we were calling hogs.
I woke up in the middle of the night to the irritating sound of the scratched album repeating the same lyric:
Roller coaster of love. Say wha— Roller coaster of love. Say wha—
My bladder screamed like a monkey set on fire. I pulled the comforter off my head, used the edge of the sofa to pull myself up.
Karen was sprawled out on the sofa, hugging my body-length pillow, her dark shoulder-length mane tangled and in her face.
Tammy was across the room on the carpet, in the fetal position, a psychedelic scarf covering her long brown weave with the golden streaks, my plaid Mexican blanket pulled up over her chest.
I tipped over, clicked the record player off, squeezed my legs tight, staggered to the bathroom, and relieved myself in the dark.
With the sound of my liquids breaking water I was dizzy,
but I mumbled to myself, “The next time things are gonna be different for me. Fuck trust. Play the game the way they play the game. Play the players before I get played. From now on, heads I win, tails they lose.”
6 Stephan
Eager. Sitting out on my car, underneath a Valentine’s moon, I had been waiting almost an hour. I’d just paced up and down Town and Country Road, the private avenue inside the beige stucco condominiums called Phillips Meadow, when Brittany’s red Capri hummed around the corner. Her drop top was down. Hair bouncing when she screeched into Phillips Meadows, ran a stop sign, and hit the speed bumps full force. I’d been beginning to wonder if she’d be able to make it, if she couldn’t get away.
She parked in space 260, my extra spot that was underneath the pine trees and wealth of greenery that crept up the hill toward the 60 freeway, right behind my Mustang’s spot in my carport. She smiled and sang, “Sorry it took so long.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “You’re looking good.”
“Thank you. Happy Valentine’s Day.”
“It is now.”
Trying to catch Brittany was like trying to capture the wind with a net. Me and Brit had a one-on-one relationship back in the day, only I made a bad choice and fucked that up. She has a man, but from time to time she’s mine.
Brittany’s skin is the color of a new penny, dark freckles under her light brown eyes; she’s my height with her heels on.
She rustled around in her car, stepped out barefoot, threw her hose on the front seat, then put her sling-back shoes on. She moved like she was hungry for attention. I was famished. My soul was anticipating, getting aroused
with the thoughts of poetic intimacy and middle of the night conversation. She gave me a deep, brief kiss, then caressed my crotch.
“Put your top up.” I nodded at her car.
“Can’t stay.”
“What’s up?”
“Tony wants me to follow him to Santa Ana so he can drop his car off at his sister’s. He caught me off guard, and I couldn’t think of an excuse.”
“Santa Ana? All the way to Orange
I said, “You okay?”
Karen was solemn. “Just sensitive about a thing or two.”
More silence breezed by.
Karen’s voice softened when she asked me, “You okay?”
I surrendered a smile. “Just sensitive about a thing or two.”
The side of the album ended, so I scooted to the stereo and turned it over. Put the needle on side two.
Stupidest sista with a degree.
I didn’t have
common sense.
I’d been poked in my eye with a blazing nail. All I did was give her the same hostile love, point out her faults, and that wanna-be Erykah Badu heifer folded like a cheap picnic table.
It wasn’t our first time going at it like that, and it probably wouldn’t be our last. To tell the truth, to me it was childish. Sort of the way rugrats in school go at it, swear they’ll never be friends again, but by recess they are buddy-buddy. That’s why an hour later it was business as usual and we were watching videos on BET, laughing, yawning.
Then we were calling hogs.
I woke up in the middle of the night to the irritating sound of the scratched album repeating the same lyric:
Roller coaster of love. Say wha— Roller coaster of love. Say wha—
My bladder screamed like a monkey set on fire. I pulled the comforter off my head, used the edge of the sofa to pull myself up.
Karen was sprawled out on the sofa, hugging my body-length pillow, her dark shoulder-length mane tangled and in her face.
Tammy was across the room on the carpet, in the fetal position, a psychedelic scarf covering her long brown weave with the golden streaks, my plaid Mexican blanket pulled up over her chest.
I tipped over, clicked the record player off, squeezed my legs tight, staggered to the bathroom, and relieved myself in the dark.
With the sound of my liquids breaking water I was dizzy,
but I mumbled to myself, “The next time things are gonna be different for me. Fuck trust. Play the game the way they play the game. Play the players before I get played. From now on, heads I win, tails they lose.”
6 Stephan
Eager. Sitting out on my car, underneath a Valentine’s moon, I had been waiting almost an hour. I’d just paced up and down Town and Country Road, the private avenue inside the beige stucco condominiums called Phillips Meadow, when Brittany’s red Capri hummed around the corner. Her drop top was down. Hair bouncing when she screeched into Phillips Meadows, ran a stop sign, and hit the speed bumps full force. I’d been beginning to wonder if she’d be able to make it, if she couldn’t get away.
She parked in space 260, my extra spot that was underneath the pine trees and wealth of greenery that crept up the hill toward the 60 freeway, right behind my Mustang’s spot in my carport. She smiled and sang, “Sorry it took so long.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “You’re looking good.”
“Thank you. Happy Valentine’s Day.”
“It is now.”
Trying to catch Brittany was like trying to capture the wind with a net. Me and Brit had a one-on-one relationship back in the day, only I made a bad choice and fucked that up. She has a man, but from time to time she’s mine.
Brittany’s skin is the color of a new penny, dark freckles under her light brown eyes; she’s my height with her heels on.
She rustled around in her car, stepped out barefoot, threw her hose on the front seat, then put her sling-back shoes on. She moved like she was hungry for attention. I was famished. My soul was anticipating, getting aroused
with the thoughts of poetic intimacy and middle of the night conversation. She gave me a deep, brief kiss, then caressed my crotch.
“Put your top up.” I nodded at her car.
“Can’t stay.”
“What’s up?”
“Tony wants me to follow him to Santa Ana so he can drop his car off at his sister’s. He caught me off guard, and I couldn’t think of an excuse.”
“Santa Ana? All the way to Orange
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