For some reason, it felt like Moms was beatin’ my ass on the strength of all her anger toward Pops. She just snapped, it seems like. For e’ery wrong thing he ever did, it felt like she took that shit out on my ass. I know she was hurt. Hell, I would hear her cryin’ in her room sometimes. And that used to fuck me up, for real. Moms had married Pops when she was like eighteen, then had me three years later. They had been fuckin’ all through high school, and thought they were in love. They probably were. But Pops loved fuckin’ other bitches. I guess I got that shit honest. Anyway, moms knew how Pops got down before she married him. But like so many other broads, she thought she could change him, or that maybe he would change on his own. Well, he didn’t. And eventually, she got tired of beggin’, and cryin’ and arguin’ ’bout his cheatin’. She just gave up, and started creepin’ on his ass, too. They woulda probably still been together, fuckin’ behind each other’s backs if one of Pops’ hoes didn’t come to the house tryna get shit poppin’. That’s when Moms flipped the script and lit chick’s ass up, then packed Pops’ shit and put his ass out. I was thirteen.

Slash! “Nigga, ‘don’t oww, Ma’ me. You wanna fuck. You wanna get that black dick of yours sucked; then, nigga, you can’t stay up in this house. Anything your black ass wants, I get. I work two motherfucking jobs to make sure your black ass has a roof over your head, food in your stomach and high-priced clothes on your motherfucking, ungrateful-ass back, and you can’t even follow my rules. Instead, you FUCK in my house. SNEAK bitches through your window. LET one of your dizzy, whorish, hot-in-the-ass little bitches bust out SIX of my motherfucking windows.”

“I’m sorry, Ma. I’ma…”

Man, listen, I don’t know how long she was beatin’ my ass. But what I do know is, when she finally stopped, a nigga’s arms, ass ’n back was on fire, and there was blood e’erywhere. She stood in the middle of the room, heavin’ and sweatin’, and waitin’. But I was scared as fuck to move.