2. Noree Marcell
Tonight was definitely one for the books, but my poor little legs were on fire from all the walking we’d done.
My little sister, Nourah, and I had gone to see our favorite artist, Ozy Love.
It was the last concert of his tour, and it had been worth every bit of the walking, standing, screaming, and singing I did.
My ass was exhausted and ready to shower, hop in bed, and not be bothered for at least three damn days.
“When I say that was the best concert, hands down, I really mean that shit. That man is so fucking fine. Oh my God! And I really enjoyed my birthday.”
I walked into my apartment holding a bouquet of flowers in one hand and balloons in the other.
“Oh, shit,” I mumbled, kicking off my heels and nearly tripping over them.
“What happened?” Nourah asked, concern filling her voice as I headed toward my sectional and set everything down, immediately freeing my arms.
“You already know my clumsy ass almost fell, just like when we were at the concert. I don’t know who told me to try standing up in that chair, but Ozy jumped down from the stage, and I lost it.”
“Sis, forget you almost falling. That man got punched right in front of us, then turned around and told that man he should’ve been fucking his wife better.” Nourah screamed with laughter. “I know his management somewhere throwing up right now.”
I shook my head, laughing as I rubbed the ball of my aching foot.
“He is a damn fool. Fine as hell, but a fool.”
“Uh-huh. You wasn’t calling him no fool when he walked past our section. Your mouth was hanging open so wide, I could’ve tossed popcorn in it.”
“Girrrlll! My mouth was not open.”
“Ree Ree, you almost climbed over three people trying to touch that man.”
She burst out laughing, and honestly, so did I just thinking about it. Then, I playfully rolled my eyes even though she couldn’t see me.
“Whatever. How far are you from your house?”
I heard her shuffling around in the background. “My bad, girl. My damn phone fell, but I’m about six minutes away.”
“Good, ’cause I’m about to shower and lay it on down.”
“Unt-uh. You need to take one more birthday shot, sis. Cheers to you stepping into your dirty thirty-first birthday, and cheers to more life, abundance, and…” She paused.
“I forgot to mention that I entered us in the Weekend with Ozy contest. You never know, one of us could get chosen, so take a shot for that too!”
“What?” I stopped walking. “Nourah, what did you submit?”
“My information,” she replied.
“Your information?”
“Yup! And yours.” She said.
“Nourah!”
“What? I used that picture from your birthday shoot last year. The one in the brown dress where your titties was sitting up like two bunk beds.”
“My titties are always sitting up. That does not narrow it down.”
She laughed. “You looked good. Stop panicking.”
“I’m not panicking. I just don’t understand why you would enter me into something without asking.”
“Because had I asked, you would’ve said no.”
My mouth opened, but nothing came out because she wasn’t wrong.
“You got me there, bitch.” I laughed as I headed toward the kitchen, walking slow as hell because my lower back was aching.
See, I was curvier than most, but still a bad bitch, nonetheless. It had taken me a while to grow into my confidence, but I honestly felt like I was in a good space.
I worked out when I could, and no, I wasn’t about to sit up there and lie like I was some gym rat.
Oh, no ma’am.
I did my crunches and sit-ups and had been getting ten thousand steps in every few days. I was almost fifteen pounds lighter, this ass sat up nice, and my hair, nails, and makeup stayed on point.
I was happy with my job, my bank account was sitting pretty, and shit was just…good.
“But really, though? You didn’t!” I squealed, finally reaching my minibar.
I placed my phone on the counter, switched it to speaker, then grabbed a glass from the cabinet.
I was sure she was on the other end nodding and cheesing hard as hell.
“And did. Listen, sis, you don’t take enough chances for me.
We only have one life to live, and with how talented you are, I just…
” She paused. “I really want you to be around one of your biggest inspirations. Your voice, girl? It’s angelic.
I know you only sing and write songs for fun now, but this could help put you where you’ve always wanted to be. ”
I paused with the bottle in my hand and sighed.
Nourah had always been my biggest fan when it came to my singing, but I honestly felt like that ship had sailed.
Singing didn’t pay my bills.
I had spent years trying to be seen. I went to open mic nights, signed up for karaoke contests, recorded myself singing covers, and even shot my own music videos with money straight out of my pockets.
Nothing ever came from it besides shares, reposts, and a bunch of compliments. I didn’t make any money off it, blow up, or none of that. I tried…but it is what it is.
Years passed, the passion faded, and eventually, I left that dream where it was.
Now, I worked at a private early-learning academy, teaching children between the ages of four and six. I had started there years ago as a teacher’s aide and eventually worked my way up to having my own classroom.
It wasn’t singing, but I loved working with children. The position paid my bills, funded my lifestyle, and gave me a sense of purpose. As a single woman with no children of my own, I was content with the life I’d built.
“Nourah…” I sighed.
She cut me off. “I know you don’t like talking about it, so I’ma leave it alone. Just know that gift of yours is special.”
“Okay.” I nodded, soaking in her words. “Well, I appreciate that, annnd…” I poured my shot. “I have my drink ready, so thank you again for celebrating with me. Turn uppp!”
“Yes, bitch! Turn uppp!” she shouted through the phone.
I downed the shot of Cazadores Reposado, and it burned immediately.
Nourah and I were only three and a half years apart, but we were close as hell. She was a little slimmer than me, with smooth caramel skin that she got from our mama, while my brown skin came from our daddy. One thing our mama had given us both, though, was a whole lot of fluffiness.
Thick thighs, figure-eight bodies, and high cheekbones.
Nourah was a straight shooter. She never held back and could be a little rough around the edges, but underneath all that mouth, she was a sweetie.
Me? I was, simply put, a sweetie with just a small sprinkle of feistiness.
She hated that I sometimes shut down or allowed people to walk over me, but I was a work in progress.
We both loved getting our hair done, and you could catch us in a buss-down middle part or a side-part lace wig, but my all-time favorite was a sleek bun.
Nourah hated buns. She said they made her feel like she was back in the ninth grade, which always cracked me up.
I thought they were classy and fit my chubby face just right.
I was tatted the fuck up because I liked expressing myself that way, while Nourah only had one on her arm and said it hurt so bad she was one and done.
I was shorter at five-five, while she stood at five-eight, looking like a whole model. That was my bookie butt until the end of time.
We were two peas in a pod and would do just about anything for each other.
“Whew!”
I placed my hand over my mouth to keep it down because, honestly, I was all tapped out on liquor. We had been drinking before the concert and had a few more drinks once we got inside.
“That’s my last damn shot.”
I put the top back on the bottle, returned it to its spot, and placed the glass in the sink.
Nourah yawned.
“Okay, I just got home. Let me get up in here and lay it on down. I have to clock in at eight in the damn morning. Hopefully, I hear my alarm, but that’s the benefit of working from home. I be lying, saying I’m having technical difficulties,” she admitted, and we both laughed.
“I’m right behind you, trust me. Goodnight, boo. I’ma call you on your lunch break tomorrow. Ree-Ree with the good coochie is officially signing off.”
“Girl, get off my phone.” Nourah laughed harder.
“Love youuuu.” I said.
“Love you too sis!”
We ended the call, and I smiled to myself before pulling up Ozy Love’s Instagram page.
I clicked through his story and saw him booed up with Ginger. She was leaned against him with one hand spread across his chest while he looked into the camera.
I started to exit the app, but the next slide loaded before I could.
WEEKEND WITH OZY WINNERS ANNOUNCED TOMORROW.
A video of Ozy filled the screen. He was backstage, an ice pack pressed against his jaw, but somehow, the man still looked good enough to eat for breakfast, lunch, and dinner!
“Good luck to everybody who entered,” he said, staring directly into the camera as I headed for my room.
I watched the video twice.
Then a third time.
“Mmm.” I locked my phone. “Now, you know you’re not that man’s type. Get those thoughts out of your head. And that contest?” I shook my head. “Girl, you’re not winning that either.”
I tossed my phone onto the bed before heading into my closet to undress.
A few minutes later, I stood completely naked in front of my bathroom mirror while the shower water warmed.
I placed my hair in my bonnet and took a good look at myself.
My love life was nonexistent. I would’ve loved to come home and be laid up with my man right about now, but I was tired of being hurt, played with, lied to, and friend-zoned.
Being single was a choice I had made and one I had to stand on.
I released a breath and smiled softly at my reflection. “Happy birthday, girl.”
I stepped into the shower and made it quick since I had already bathed before the concert.
Once I got out and slipped into my comfortable silk pajamas, it was lights out.