By: Ebrahim Aseem
Author of the book, “Why Men Cheat on Loyal Women”
“He cheated! So I gave his cheating ass herpes, Rosaria confessed to India, snapping her neck as she spoke. “I did it to avenge him cheating on my twin sister & making her a single mother! Oh, didn’t think I saw the pregnancy test result you stuffed in your empty hot chips bag? You always were the book smart twin who lacked street smarts. So you think my advice is whack & I’m full of lies? Well you got your secret-agent-bae sitting in his Audi clueless that you’re pregnant by a nigga with herpes!”
“Whack!” was the sound India’s hand-made as she slapped the taste out of her twin sister’s mouth.
Anthony hopped out his car, ran to India & bear hugged her as she fought kicking & screaming. Anthony couldn’t hear any of the conversation, until he opened his car door to grab India. He could barely make out what she was screaming as he pulled her away, but it sounded like, “…you poison! What did you do? You poison! What did you…” but he wasn’t fully sure.
As a Navy SEAL, Anthony has developed a machine like flight-or-flight response mechanism to dramatic events. It require zero thought & allowed him to run 100% off of instinct. He grabbed India, secured her in the car & closed her door. Next, he picked up Rosaria, lifted her over his shoulders, carried her into her apartment & locked her door. Finally, he trotted down the steps, secured the perimeter, hopped in his car & drove off.
Cynthia’s husband Morland walked through the door holding a huge shovel in his left hand and a pale ale in his right. His usual pale, Irish hands were pinkish red.
“No!” Cynthia screamed, cuddling her pet dog in her arms. “Don’t hurt Fluffy!”
“I’m tired off competing with that little bitch,” Morland yelled, ripping the dog from her arms. “Enough is enough”
Morland grabbed his big, white fluffy Samoyed with his right hand, dropped the shovel & ripped off his pants-belt with his left hand.
“I’m gonna show both of you who’s hefe around here,” Morland yelled, as his pants dropped down to his ankles.
Cynthia’s eyes opened wide, anticipating what she was about to witness.
“Are you ok?” Anthony asked India as he drove, keeping his eyes on the road.
“I’m so sorry,” India wept. “The last thing I wanted was to involve you in my drama. I can understand if you never want to speak to me again, but…”
“Never speak to you again?” he asked, glancing over at her, ‘why would you say a thing like that?”
“I just didn’t want you to see that side of me,” she cried. “I have a side to me that, when people cross me, it comes pouring out. I try to keep my temper at bay, but it seems like the harder I try the more people hurt me. Sometimes I feel cursed, like…”
“Babe, quit talking that nonsense,” Anthony demanded assertively. ‘Now you’re going to listen to what the hell I have to say. I wanted to tell you all of this when I admitted to you my addiction earlier, but your rude ass just INSISTED on interrupting me.”
India stopped crying & looked at Anthony with a look, as if to say, “negro, who the hell do you think you’re talking to?” But instead of saying it with her lips, she kept them shut & said it with her eyes. After all, the rudest temper in the world was no match for a Nvay SEAL with a trunk full of semi-automatic weapons.
“Well, I’m going to say it now,” he continued, with his eyes on the road, “I told you how I’ve been celibate ever since I broke up with my fiancée, but what I didn’t get to say is why she never became my wife. We were supposed to have an arranged marriage.”
“Arranged marriage?” India asked. “where the hell are you from that they still arranging marriages, Zumunda?”
India laughed. Anthony glanced at her with a straight face.
“Oh, my smart mouth is out the bag now, I might as well use it,” she sassed.
“I’m from Columbus, Ohio,” Anthony corrected, “but in the armed forced, arranged marriages is a thing, especially the higher up you rank. They like to see you are stable & can be trusted to keep your jimmy out of wives of your superior officers. Look, it never happened. I refused to go through with it.”
“If it was such a problem to you, why propose to her in the first place,” India asked.
“Because I love my country & I’d do anything for her,” Anthony answered. “You gotta understand, I never had faith in marriage. To me, it was a career move. That was drilled into me from birth & it’s what I had to believe. Seeing your father kissing on every woman except your mother will lead you to that heartless conclusion.”
“Calling lead,” a voice coming from Anthony’s car said.
“Milk,” Anthony corrected.
“Did your car just talk?” India asked with a worried look on her face.
‘You’re hearing things,” Anthony responded, with his eyes on the road, “back to my father. There he is, bringing random women in our home, kissing them in front of me while my mother is drunk or sleep, & that’s supposed to be a what marriage looks like? No fuckin’ way. Not for me. I agreed to the arrangement, because it was good for my career, not because I found some princess bride.”
“So why call it off?” India asked.
“Black women & their sassy attitudes are too difficult, thus unmarriable,” Anthony replied.
“Um, excuse me,” India sassed, running her fingers through her kinky curls.
“That’s what my father used to always tell me,” Anthony explained.
“Well, your father came from a Black woman,” India asserted, “how can he hate Black women when his mother is one?”
“Because, he hated his mother,” Anthony answered, “& everything associated with how he was raised. He group up poor, so he married into wealth. He grew up getting spanked, so he raised me as a time-out-baby. He grew up sassed & yelled at for every little mistake he made as a child, so when he grew up, he dating everything but Black women.”
“Sounds like he hates himself more than he hates Black women,” India said.
“He doesn’t hate Black women,” Anthony corrected, “he just doesn’t feel they are wife material. ‘Black women don’t know how to treat a man like a man. They want to wear the pants, bring home the bacon & fry it in a pan they bought with their own hard-earned money, because they are too independent to let a man provide for them. Black women speak, even when not spoken to. Black women always throw in their two cents, even if that’s the last two cents their broke ass has, because Black women would rather go broke & look good, than ask anyone for help, knowing damn well she needs it.
Black women shake their head when they talk & shake their ass when they walk. Black women call their sons little man, but talk to their men like he’s a boy. Black women have $2 dollars in the bank while wearing $200 on their heads, knowing damn well her hair under her expensive weave is shorter than her patience.
Black women & their sassy attitudes would make for amazing drill sergeants, but horrible wives. Black women are weak, broken & unsuitable for matrimony. This is what my Black father has taught me all my life about Black women, Latin women & all women of color, which is why he arranged for me to marry a woman who resembles Snow White.
I love my father. It’s because of him I’m a legacy in the most powerful Navy on the planet, but the night before my wedding I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t take that self hating manifesto he’d spew not just to me, but to my younger brother, & our three sisters. So, in front of my bride-to-be, my mother, my brother, my sister & his old navy buddies, I told him this,
‘Black women & their SASSY attitudes are too difficult & unmarriable to you, but those same Black women made your sorry ass. A Black woman birthed you, fed you, wiped your snotty nose when you cried to her after the bullies at school fed you a fist full of teeth. A Black woman taught you to stand up to that bully & always carry yourself with confidence. A Black woman raised you, with little help & little things for herself. All she had she gave to you. You were here prince, & you have the nerve to treat her less than the queen she is?
A Black woman taught you who you are, the son of Marcus Garvey, the father of Hip-Hop, soul, rock, inventions, technology, swagger-laced-bravado, the creator of the mean mug ever child of every race wears when they want the world to know they are not to be fucked with.
A Black woman loved you, when the world murdered you weaponless, stripped you of your culture & land, treated you less than a man, & you say she’s not befitting of a ring, because speaking her mind & saying what’s on it isn’t the tune you want her to sing?
A Black woman fought for you, when you were on the selling block, she fought for you when all the teachers said you were attention deficit, she continues to fight for you & ride for you, yelling Black Live matter, as your guts get splattered on the pavement, crooked cops reaching in your murdered corps to pull out your organs, but you feel his daughter would make a better wife than your own?
A black woman is not sassy, smart mouthed nor too difficult, she is a puzzle you can’t peace, because you lack the cognitive ability to crack her enigma. A Black woman is not submissive to you, simply because she refuses to be led by a follower, who sags because all the other niggas are doing it, who claims the name of his block, a block he doesn’t own, & has no property on, because all the other niggas are doing it, who disrespects his own women to the rhythm of a over-bassed beat, hoe is her name, bitch is her name, THOT is her name, because all you see when she catches your eye is her ass, breasts & that hole between her thighs, but
to your surprise, without your support, still, she rises. A Black woman birthed this whole world. This whole human race, because there is no Black, no White, no Hispanic in spirit, spirits can not hold the weight nor tangibility of a race, or gender, spirits are transparent. The only race is the one we all run, every soul, as one, to chase our twin flame up & down this universe. So, if I want to marry a Puerto Rican, an Indian, an Asian, an Italian or a Black woman, I will, because I don’t marry a woman’s race, I marry her soul. Hers & mine become one & form a new. Neo. One.
Father, I’m done. I will not marry this woman for the reason you want me to. That is not love, that is hate. When I do marry, it will be, because I can’t stand breathing another without being yoked to the one I live for, my future wife. Your temper, your attitude, your smart mouth, your skin, none of that is a problem to me, you are not a problem to me, you are my solution. You are my rib. You are my everything,”
India wiped her tear laced eyes & tried to speak, but she couldn’t. All she could do is stare in the eyes of the man who she felt was too good to be true just hours ago.
“I love you,” he told her, glancing deep into her eyes.
“I love you too,” she finally blurted out.
Anthony pulled his car to the side of the road & kissed her deeply. They kissed for 40 seconds, until her phone rang. It was her sister.
“Tell Anthony you are pregant! Else I will!” Roasaria’s text read.
India threw her phone in the back seat.
“How much do you love me?” she asked Anthony.
“I love you more than Kanye loves Kanye,” Anthony said with a smile.
India hesitated asking her next question. Finally, she found the nerve to let the words out.
“Would you kill for me?” India asked him.
“In a heartbeat,” Anthony responded with no hesitation. “Who do you want me to kill?”
India reached into the backseat, grabbed her phone, scrolled through it, & turned it around so Anthony could see her phone screen…
To be continued…..
Read episode #4 now => http://wp.me/sT7Bl-bib004
This is a fictional, weekly web-story, based on true events, written by:
By: Ebrahim Aseem
Author of the book, “Why Men Cheat on Loyal Women”
Motivational #SpeakLife vidoes: Youtube.com/RealNewsmagazine