It was Better than Riding the Bus

I hate my sister.

Okay, I really don't hate my sister. I'm not too happy with her right now, but the truth is, I hate myself. Really? I just hate the place I'm in right now. No, not the physical place. I just hate where my life is right now. Twenty nine years old, fired from yet another job, living in a trailer, in a trailer park in Stone Mountain, Georgia with a pickup truck that needs a new water pump and starter.

In short, I'm the failure that Marie says I am. Oh, I hate Marie Richards too. She's my sister's best friend and is going to be the maid of honor at my sister's wedding. And because my dad was diabetic and ate whatever he felt like eating and kept on smoking those nasty ass cigars and drank as much as a case of Buds every night, I get to walk my sister up the aisle. Down the aisle? I have to walk my sister from a tiny, un-air conditioned room to the alter where Delbert, our next door neighbor will marry Cheryl and Tony. I wonder why Marie don't call her brother a loser. God damned asshole's had like twelve jobs in the last three years. And get this; he ain't never worked at none of them long enough get on Unemployment. Good job there Tony.

Marie will be standing there, looking all kind of hot, with her long brown hair and big brown eyes and big pouting lips. Of course, her lips will be smirking at me as I walk with my sister in her white wedding gown. Tony Richards will be smirking too.

White wedding gown; who the fuck does my sister think she's fooling? I guess we're all going to believe my niece or nephew was born five months premature too.

Marie's going to see that I'm there by myself. Because my latest girlfriend decided she was going to go on back to her old boyfriend, the one she left because he was beating her. Which is how I lost my job at the Heritage Country Club.

I was pumping gas into my now broken pickup truck at the Quick Trip when I saw this punk ass mother fucker slap a girl. I don't know what she said or did, but I don't care. You just don't slap a girl.

Anyway, she got pissed off and swung to slap him back. Problem was, you could see the slap coming from a mile away and he easily blocked it and twisted her arm. So, bad enough he slapped her, but now he's got her in some kind of hold, hurting her arm. She's whining and telling him let her go and he's just smirking his face off.

"No, no, no, aw Sugar," I said. "No, no, no. You don't try slapping him like this."

And I slapped the punk ass kid. They were both shocked that I actually dared to slap him. And I made that slap count too. I bet he saw stars. I know he let go of her arm when I slapped him.

"No, no, no," I said to the girl. "Punk ass little pussy? Thinks its okay hit a girl? No, Sweetie, what you do is, step into the punch. Punch, not slap. That way, little cock sucker knows you serious."

My punch actually knocked him on his back. I put my one hundred and eighty four pounds behind the punch. I don't know if it was my punch, or the ground that knocked him out, and I don't care.

I guess Jackie Cooper got my name and address from the police report. Jackie showed up at my trailer the next night, six pack of cheap ass beer in hand. I don't know how she got that beer; she's eighteen years old. At eighteen, she wasn't old enough buy beer and she sure didn't look no twenty one. Twenty one, that's how old you got to be to buy beer in Georgia.

For nine days, I had a steady source of crappy beer and pussy. Really, the beer was better than the pussy. Jackie didn't know how to fuck. She got out her clothes then just lay there, on her back, arms and legs flat on the bed. Blow jobs were disgusting; she wasn't about to put her mouth on that. Pussy eating was just gross; she peed out of that. Up the ass wasn't never going to happen; I really thought she was going to throw up when I suggested ass fucking. Hey, really, she had a nice bubble butt.

But with her big brown eyes and beautiful auburn hair, Jackie Cooper would wipe that God damned smirk right off Marie's face. Then Josh and his daddy, David McAllister saw me working at the Heritage, checking on the sprinkler system. One complaint to the management and I'm out a job. And Jackie's real sorry, she just realizes she really loves Josh; he's her soul mate.

So, here I am, sitting on the steps of my trailer, hating my sister, hating myself, hating my life. Out the corner of my eye, I see a flash of neon blue and can't help but smile.

"Good morning, Miss Althea," I greet the mature black woman as she power-walks our drive.

"Man, boy, you still can't tell time, huh?" the woman flashes me her big smile.

It's a running joke of ours. One evening, I had just got home from my job at a local restaurant. I mean, I was really wiped out. The dishwasher had quit and the other bus boy just didn't bother to show up and there was some Gay Pride thing going on that day and we were slammed. So, I was bussing tables, loading the dishwasher, bussing tables, unloading the dishwasher, bussing tables. And my ass had to be black and blue from all those cocksuckers slapping it as I scrambled around.

Miss Althea walked by, heading toward the kiosk of mailboxes and I tiredly said 'Good morning' to her. She stopped, looked at me and asked me, straight-faced if all white people had trouble telling time. She had on a purple blouse and bright yellow shorts, showing off some very nice legs that evening. I smiled and said I only had trouble when there were beautiful women around.

So, I said 'Good morning, Miss Althea' even though it was closer to six in the evening. When she made her comment about me not being able to tell time, I reminded her, I only had trouble when beautiful women were around.

On her second loop of our trailer park, Miss Althea stopped and asked me what was wrong. I looked at her for a moment.

"Boy, it is all over that handsome face of yours," she said. "Got the weight of the world on them shoulders. Now, you tell this beautiful black woman what's got you all wore down."

So I did. And I left nothing out. Lost yet another job, lost yet another girlfriend, truck wasn't running, was going to have to take a Greyhound back to Louisiana for my sister's wedding, was going to have to face my old girlfriend, the whole reason I'd left West Monroe in the first damned place, had just enough money to take Greyhound to Louisiana, but not enough to take Greyhound back to Stone Mountain.

"That it?" she smiled. "What's in the cup?"

"Don't know what you'd call it. I guess a screwed up screwdriver," I said.

Sandra, an old girlfriend, the one right before the one before Jackie had left a six pack of diet orange soda in my fridge. And I had some bottom shelf whiskey; think it was Melanie had drank that. I didn't even have beer in the trailer. So I just mixed diet orange soda and whiskey in a big plastic cup.

"Give me a bit," Miss Althea demanded.

I handed her the cup. With a smile, she took a big old gulp of my drink and handed me the cup back. Then she patted my cheek like a grandmother would and told me it was my lucky day.

"I know you can't tell time, boy," she said, getting to her feet. "But hope you can tell days. Need mark this day on your calendar there. This is your lucky day."

She walked away, much more briskly than before. Those legs of hers were really pumping as she strolled. I have no idea how old Miss Althea is; probably in her late fifties or even early sixties, but she is one put together black woman. And she always wears bright colored clothing. She wants you to see her, to pay attention to her.

About thirty minutes later, I was putting the finishing touches on my dinner. There was this hard knock on my door and I wondered who it could be. I knew it wasn't Jacki; she had this stupid knock of two times, then a pause and two more times. This was just three hard slaps on the thin door. Really, just about anyone could kick in my door; it's this cheap ass door.

Anyway, I opened it up and there was this black guy smiling at me.

"You Trey?" he asked me, sticking out his hand.

That's me. I'm Walter Edward Lott the Third. My dad was Walter Edward Lott, Jr. Everyone called him 'Buzzy' and call me 'Trey.'

"Yep," I said and shook his hand.

I don't know why I shook his hand, other than he had it out and I didn't want to be a dick. Anyway, I shook his hand and then he got this funny look on his face. He sniffed the air, looking around. Then he looked past me into my trailer.

"What's that I'm smelling?" he asked.

"Dinner, red beans and rice," I said.

"Come on!" he said. "How you make it?"

So I told him I soak them overnight, with about a tablespoon of baking soda in the water. Someone said that takes the fart out them beans. I don't know if that's true; baking soda or not, I still get the farts pretty bad with them.

"Rinse them off, put them in a pot with enough water cover them, fry up some bacon and onions and some sausage in a cast iron skillet and add them in," I said as he came into my kitchen.

Uh huh, uh huh," he said, taking the lid off my beans and looking in on them. "And how you do your rice?"

"Little bit of bacon grease and some onion tops," I said. "And that skillet I done the sausage in? I make me some cornbread go with it."

We sat down and had us some red beans and rice and some cornbread. He looked like he wanted some more, but come on, man, I don't know when my next check's coming in. I need to eat, just like the next guy does.

"By the way, who are you?" I finally got around to asking him.

He looked at me really funny, then just bust out laughing. Really, he was slapping my table, he was laughing so hard.

"Aw, shit man!" he laughed. "Man, I'm Jerome."

I didn't know any Jerome so I just looked at him. He laughed again and brought his plate to the sink.

"Miss Althea's my momma," he said. "She called me, told me give you a job."

"Oh!" I said.

"Anyway, my Roey be here 'bout ten get you," Jerome said, again holding out his hand. "I just come by, you know, do us a little interview, but shit! I can tell you know how cook so he job's yours."

"Oh," I said again.

"Shit, man! Don't even know me and let me come up on in your place and eat your food," he said as he left my trailer. "Ten tomorrow, hear?"

He was wearing jeans and a tee shirt, so I wore jeans and a tee shirt. Roey was on time and smiled as I got into her car. I don't know one rap artist from another and I don't know who she was listening to, but it was shit as far as I'm concerned. Booming and thudding and just all kind of noise. Really, I think it's kind of insulting to call them artists.

Roey was cute. She had straight black hair that hung down to her round shoulders. Her face was round, her arms were round, her boobs, both of them were big and round. They looked huge in her tight tee shirt. Her ass looked huge and round in her jeans.

I don't know shit about women and bodies and body mass index and all that shit. I'm sure on some kind of scale, Roey was probably way overweight. But it looked damned good on her. She filled out her tee shirt really nice and filled out them jeans really nice.

Jackie had complained about being too fat. She was just about skin and bones but she said she was too fat. Sandra had said she was fat, and yeah, she was fat. That's why she drank that nasty diet orange stuff.

Really, the only woman I ever met said she wasn't fat was Marie. In Marie's eyes, she's perfect.

Anyway, Roey drove us to this popular soul food restaurant in Tucker, Georgia. I knew about the place but had never ate there. Over her music, some guy bitching about the women in his life, over what sounded like an artillery range at an Army base, Roey let me know it had been letting Miss Althea take a sip of my drink had got me the job interview with Jerome.

"Wasn't no sip; woman took about half the cup," I laughed.

But the fact that I didn't act all stupid about sharing my drink with a black woman sealed the deal with Miss Althea. I didn't tell Roey, but I figured all the alcohol in the cup would kill whatever germs I had and whatever germs Miss Althea had. So, why act all stupid about sharing my drink? It was a nasty drink anyway.

At the restaurant, I was introduced to Jerome's brother, Jules. That man never heard about smiling. He just told me I needed to get my ass moving; we had about forty five minutes before people started coming in and ain't one of them going give a fuck it's my first day there.

Jules and I cooked while Jerome and Roey kept the plates coming out of the kitchen and coming back into the kitchen and into the dishwasher. And the whole time, Jules kept yelling at me to hurry the fuck up; people was hungry and they needed to eat.

I was one tired ass white boy when Roey drove me on back to my trailer. I was even too tired to want her to turn off that shit she called music.

I was really surprised when Roey told me she'd be picking me up tomorrow. Shit, listening to Jules, I didn't do shit right whole time we was there. Roey must have seen it on my face; she gave me this big old smile.

I made myself another screwed up screwdriver and sat on the steps outside my trailer. Miss Althea came by, pumping them beautiful black legs in a bright orange pair of shorts. Hose shorts did not go with that Pepto-Bismol pink shirt she was wearing, but Miss Althea did not give a crap. She flashed me a beautiful smile when I told her 'good morning' and kept on going.

"You save me some of that drink, hear?" she said as she pumped them legs past me.

On her next go-round, Miss Althea stopped and grabbed my cup. She drank about half of my drink before giving me my cup back. Then he asked me how my day had gone. Her big smile got even bigger when I told her how hard Jules had worked my ass.

"He's the oldest," Miss Althea told me. "So, he's got it in his head, he don't do everything just right? Well, then everybody going suffer. And it going be all his fault; give me some more that drink."

I let her finish the drink. She patted my cheek again and walked off, swinging her arms and pumping those legs. If Jules and Jerome are her boys, then Miss Althea's got to be older than my mom. And my mom don't look half as good as Miss Althea.

The next morning, I could hear Roey coming up the drive before I saw her car. I wonder how my Pantera would sound coming out her speakers. I bet 'Walk' would really kick. Or would sound really rough.

On the way to the restaurant, Roey told me I didn't need to worry about how I was getting to New Orleans; she was my ride. I stared at her, not really sure I understood what she was saying.

"What? Problem?" she asked, really nasty like when I didn't say anything.

"Why am I going to New Orleans?" I asked her.

"Shit! Your sister's wedding?" she asked.

"Oh! No, no, West Monroe," I said. "Get on I twenty and head west."

"West Monroe; that anywhere near New Orleans?" she asked me as we hustled to the back door of the restaurant.

Again, Jules rode my ass like I was a bicycle. Really, I needed this job or I'd knocked the shit out of him. Calling me the laziest ass white mother fucker he ever met was just unnecessary as far as I'm concerned.

"So, you got a problem me going with you to, where the fuck was that again?" Roey asked as we went back to my trailer.

"West Monroe, and you kidding, right? I'm going have a problem showing up with one beautiful ass black girl?" I asked her.

"I know that's right," she smiled.

Then she kissed me. I'm tired, I stink from onions and pork and cooking grease and Roey leaned over, that shit she calls music just pounding away and kisses me.

She got my dick hard. I can smell the food and her sweat and that lotion she keeps smearing on her hands and she's got really soft, full lips and a soft fat tongue.

"See you on tomorrow," she said, pushing me away.

Damn it! I was inches away from grabbing one of them big titties of hers. As I'm getting out her car, I can see those nipples just about poking through her tee shirt.

I've never been with a black woman. I don't got a problem with that whole black and white thing; I've just never done it. I've never beat my meat looking at interracial porn on my computer. It's not because of any kind of prejudice. I've just really never thought about it.

I knew my mother would have a huge problem with it. And so would my Uncle Dwight.

To Roey's face? Both my mom and Uncle Dwight would be sweet as pie. And the minute her back was turned, my mom and Uncle Dwight would be 'N word' this and 'N word' that. And telling me how embarrassed they were that I'd brought an N word to my sister's wedding, my own sister's wedding, didn't I have any sense of right and wrong in me?

Really, I've been a disappointment to my mom from the minute I shit my first diaper. And my Uncle Dwight's a big asshole too. He's headed for an early grave just like my dad. You'd think watching his older brother go through the shit my dad went through would straighten Uncle Dwight out, but nope. I'll probably be walking my cousin Valerie up the aisle too.

I took a shower; damn I stunk. My hands really stunk. Onions are hard to clean out of your skin. And, still smelling my hands, I fired up my computer and pulled up some interracial porn.

Thanks to porn, I had a pretty good idea what Roey's titties would look like, had a pretty good idea of what her lips would look like if I ever got her to blow me. Damn, the one clip I watched of this white guy pounding this gorgeous black girl's ass had my dick so hard it hurt.

The stories left me kind of cold, though. Wasn't none of it about two people being attracted to each other because of who they were? These cute little blondes were attracted to the boys only because they were black and had really big black cocks. That was the whole thing; they wanted to fuck them just because they were black and had big cocks.

Same thing with the white guys. They only saw the women as black and needed to fuck them just because they were black. I mean, really, I understand, looking at some girl and finding her attractive, but just because they're attractive on the outside don't mean shit. Jackie was cute, Marie was hot, but Jackie didn't know how to fuck, and Marie is one ugly bitch on the inside.

On Friday, I reminded Jerome that I was going need next Friday and Saturday off. He just shook his head and kept rolling up the forks and knives in paper napkins.

"Got Junior coming in," Jules said.

"That little n---a going get his hands dirty?" Jerome said.

"Just because the boy in college," Jules yelled.

I got my ass into the kitchen; I didn't know if Jerome and Jules were going come to blows over this shit. Either one of them started swinging, I wasn't going be in the middle of it.

"Just need keep your shit out my face, all I got to say," Jules was muttering.

I guess I was standing too still for his liking because he started yelling at me. I hustled; I mean, shit, I already had the black eyed peas done, the trays of cornbread was ready to go in the oven, the mustard greens were cooking down. We was just waiting on him get the chicken done, slice up the pork roast.

"So, where we going on our first date?" Roey asked as we pulled out of the parking lot.

"Anywhere they don't play rap music," I thought.

My trailer's got two bathrooms, but only one hot water heater. Next time, I ain't going be no gentleman. Roey used up every last drop of hot water taking her shower. Obviously, no one taught her the White Boy way of taking a shower. You get in, you turn it on and get your body and hair wet, then turn the shower off. You lather up your hair, you lather up your body, you get some shampoo on your dick and beat off. Then you turn the shower back on and rinse off.

That way, you got enough hot water to run the dishwasher, or run a load of towels in the washer.