SUMMER NIGHTS

1

June, 2001-

This gotta be the worst fuckin summer ever, I swear ta God!

I was so damn mad at my Momma!

Yeah, I understand I've been actin up, but that don't give her the fuckin right to send me way across the world to another country; another continent for that matter.

I'own speak a lick of French and I love Baltimore.

My city.

The one I was born and raised in, but she insisted on sending me all the way to Sarcelles, France to be with my Daddy.

A daddy I'own even know like that.

Maybe they think I'm stupid or something, but I have a good memory. They can't tell me anything different from what I remember when I was like 8 or 9: 

Momma and Daddy were downstairs fighting again, but this time was different.

I woke up to a bunch of yelling

It was nothin new, but out of all the other times, I'own know why I chose this night to stand at the top of the stairs at the end of the hallway to listen. 

That's when I heard him tell her, "I can't do this no more Tasha! I'ma be straight witchu, a'ight! Yeah, she pregnant."

I couldn't see nothin, but when I think back, I'm sure the next thing I heard was Momma hitting Daddy as hard as she could as she expressed her disgust for him. I'm sure she wasn't hurtin' him, so he let her punch and hit her frustrations out. She demanded to know how it happened, something I'm sure she regretted. 

He went on to tell her about how he slept with some woman on one of his business trips to Paris. From the sound of things going on downstairs, Momma was beyond livid and she made it known.

Needless to say, she ended up kicking Daddy out of the house. After that, I'd get calls from him throughout the year, but those became more far and few in-between. As the years went by, his calls dwindled down from weekly to only holidays or special occasions. I used  to look forward to those calls, but as I got older, I despised him more and more for it. 

I felt like he ain't really even care for me like that. He was with his new family back in Sarcelles, apparently where his new chick was originally from, and I felt like I was the throw-away. 

I related how I was feelin' to how you get a bomb ass toy, you know, the one you always wanted; the one you begged and pleaded your parents to get after watching that same commercial in-between each commercial break when you watching your favorite cartoon? You finally get the toy, but Christmas time come around and they promotin' a new toy; something bigger and badder than the original one you would've given your left kidney for and your parents got you. So then, you beg and plead for this one. Of course they give it to you for Christmas, and that previous toy you always wanted becomes insignificant; a throw-away, forgotten item. 

Well, that's how my ass felt. I felt like my Daddy found something shinier to play with. Not only did he find something shinier to play with, but his new shiny thing and him had a baby, and guess what? I'm the old toy.

With all that bein' said, I'm sure you can understand now, why I hate Momma. 

...

I was at the airport and it had already been a whole hour past the time Daddy was supposed to pick me up. I was waiting with one of those airport security people by the lobby near the exit. We sat together and he was tryna ask me questions, but I wasn't understandin' shit he was askin' me. I'm sure he finally came to the conclusion that I couldn't speak his language when I kept replyin' with', "I'own know what you sayin'. I only speak English."  The third time I said it, he nodded his head, looking sympathetic at me and said in a thick ass accent, "Oki, I understand petite beauté."