from her place in between Ruby’s thighs while Ruby sat in a beach chair out on the patio.
Monique wiped Ruby’s wetness from her face with a pink beach towel, opened up the sliding glass door and marched into the house, angry and naked. Ruby took a puff on her blunt, and blew circles into the air before she yelled for Monique to come back.
“Mo, come here. I’m sorry.”
Ten minutes later, Monique appeared on the patio fully dressed in a sexy, tight-fitting pair of Gap jeans, a white button-down shirt from the Gap as well, with a cute pair of Gucci stiletto sandals to match the Gucci hobo bag dangling from her wrist.
“You need me to bring something back? I’m driving to the city,” Monique asked Ruby, not bothering to make eye contact.
“I’m sorry, Mo. I’m just stressed a little, you know?” Ruby replied, pleading for forgiveness with her eyes.
“Yeah, I know. Do you need anything?” Monique asked again, not willing to forgive Ruby that easily.
“When you coming back?” Ruby asked her, now seeing her through a weed-filled daze. Monique just shook her head.
“I’ll be back by midnight.”
“Bring me back some cheesecake from Juniors.”
Monique drove Ruby’s Sterling into the city. She knew in order to get Ruby’s attention back on their love life she’d have to get rid of whatever it was that got in the way. What got in the way was Stone. Monique felt for the nickel-plated .45 in her Gucci bag as she drove the two-hour drive into Brooklyn. While driving, she half listened to the New Edition tape that was playing. She loved the sound of Johnny Gill’s voice when he sang “Can You Stand The Rain.”
When Monique reached the dark, grimy streets of Brownsville, she drove to Rockaway and Dumont where Stone usually hung out. There were groups of hustlers and stick up kids standing on the corners. Some waved to Monique and some just stared at the Sterling as it drove by. Everyone knew Ruby drove the Sterling, but the mirror-tinted windows blocked anyone from seeing Monique driving it. She looked in front of a brightly lit liquor store and in front of a few bodegas and couldn’t find Stone.
Monique then drove to the block she hated going to: Mother Gaston Boulevard and Sutter Avenue. Stone usually hung out up there, either at the gas station or on the opposite corner. He wasn’t there, either. Driving around her birthplace, her native Brownsville, Monique looked at the neighborhood like an outsider. She could not believe the decaying, dilapidated houses were occupied by human beings. Living in the Hamptons made her beloved Brownsville leave a bad taste in her mouth.
She could not believe she felt this way. What was wrong with her? This is where she was from. This place made her who she was, and she loved who she was. She inhaled deeply in thought. I love the ville. If it ain’t rough it ain’t right.
Monique drove to what was said to be the most dangerous projects in the ville, Brownsville Houses. She drove around the projects looking for Stone, but still didn’t see him. She noticed groups of young men sitting on benches with boom boxes blasting the latest hip-hop joints. The neighborhood was noisy with music and hustlers yelling, “I got those red tops over here!” You could hear mothers yelling to their kids to come in the house. Groups of extension-wearing young girls with big, gold earrings and bangles walked around the projects, flirting with much older men. Some were looking for their baby fathers for money or trying to catch them messing with some other girl.
Monique smiled at what used to be her way of living. She felt a sense of pride now. Places like Brownsville make a person appreciate the little things in life. People who live in the Hamptons and other suburban getaways don’t know what it’s like to be dirt poor, and would kill themselves if they ever had to go through it. People in Brownsville are survivors. That’s what Monique was, a survivor.
Monique stopped at a
Monique wiped Ruby’s wetness from her face with a pink beach towel, opened up the sliding glass door and marched into the house, angry and naked. Ruby took a puff on her blunt, and blew circles into the air before she yelled for Monique to come back.
“Mo, come here. I’m sorry.”
Ten minutes later, Monique appeared on the patio fully dressed in a sexy, tight-fitting pair of Gap jeans, a white button-down shirt from the Gap as well, with a cute pair of Gucci stiletto sandals to match the Gucci hobo bag dangling from her wrist.
“You need me to bring something back? I’m driving to the city,” Monique asked Ruby, not bothering to make eye contact.
“I’m sorry, Mo. I’m just stressed a little, you know?” Ruby replied, pleading for forgiveness with her eyes.
“Yeah, I know. Do you need anything?” Monique asked again, not willing to forgive Ruby that easily.
“When you coming back?” Ruby asked her, now seeing her through a weed-filled daze. Monique just shook her head.
“I’ll be back by midnight.”
“Bring me back some cheesecake from Juniors.”
Monique drove Ruby’s Sterling into the city. She knew in order to get Ruby’s attention back on their love life she’d have to get rid of whatever it was that got in the way. What got in the way was Stone. Monique felt for the nickel-plated .45 in her Gucci bag as she drove the two-hour drive into Brooklyn. While driving, she half listened to the New Edition tape that was playing. She loved the sound of Johnny Gill’s voice when he sang “Can You Stand The Rain.”
When Monique reached the dark, grimy streets of Brownsville, she drove to Rockaway and Dumont where Stone usually hung out. There were groups of hustlers and stick up kids standing on the corners. Some waved to Monique and some just stared at the Sterling as it drove by. Everyone knew Ruby drove the Sterling, but the mirror-tinted windows blocked anyone from seeing Monique driving it. She looked in front of a brightly lit liquor store and in front of a few bodegas and couldn’t find Stone.
Monique then drove to the block she hated going to: Mother Gaston Boulevard and Sutter Avenue. Stone usually hung out up there, either at the gas station or on the opposite corner. He wasn’t there, either. Driving around her birthplace, her native Brownsville, Monique looked at the neighborhood like an outsider. She could not believe the decaying, dilapidated houses were occupied by human beings. Living in the Hamptons made her beloved Brownsville leave a bad taste in her mouth.
She could not believe she felt this way. What was wrong with her? This is where she was from. This place made her who she was, and she loved who she was. She inhaled deeply in thought. I love the ville. If it ain’t rough it ain’t right.
Monique drove to what was said to be the most dangerous projects in the ville, Brownsville Houses. She drove around the projects looking for Stone, but still didn’t see him. She noticed groups of young men sitting on benches with boom boxes blasting the latest hip-hop joints. The neighborhood was noisy with music and hustlers yelling, “I got those red tops over here!” You could hear mothers yelling to their kids to come in the house. Groups of extension-wearing young girls with big, gold earrings and bangles walked around the projects, flirting with much older men. Some were looking for their baby fathers for money or trying to catch them messing with some other girl.
Monique smiled at what used to be her way of living. She felt a sense of pride now. Places like Brownsville make a person appreciate the little things in life. People who live in the Hamptons and other suburban getaways don’t know what it’s like to be dirt poor, and would kill themselves if they ever had to go through it. People in Brownsville are survivors. That’s what Monique was, a survivor.
Monique stopped at a
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