3. Rosama
Rosama
My alarm went off at three in the morning. I stopped it quick and looked around the room I was in.
I wasn’t at home, and I had a bitch beside me whose name I didn’t even remember, but the pussy had to be good to knock a nigga out.
I eased outta bed and looked around her dim-lit room for my pants and shoes that were near the door. I put my pants on while she was tossing and turning and made my way out of the room.
She lived in the projects. I should have known by the way she had a nigga sleep in that bed.
As I walked outta the complex doors, the morning air hit me. For it to still be summer, you could already tell that the fall and winter was finna be nasty the way that wind blew.
I made it halfway to my car when I heard my name being yelled.
“Rosama! Rosama!”
I looked up, and it was shorty almost hanging out the window with the blanket wrapped around her.
“Why are you leaving me like this?” she asked.
“Shit, boo, you knew a nigga wasn’t stayin’. I have shit to do.”
“Well, can I see you later?” she asked with a slight smile.
I laughed. “Probably not. I can’t even lie to ya. I don’t even remember your name, mama. The pussy was good tho’!”
She stood up and started yellin’.
“Fuck you then, Rosama! You ain’t shit anyway!”
I laughed as I opened my car door.
“Baby girl, you know you lyin’. You know I'm the richest nigga you eva been with, fuck outta here.”
“FUCK YOU, ROSAMA!”
I hopped in my car and pulled off while she was still yelling out the window.
I wasn’t about to argue with a bitch whose number wasn’t in my phone.
Just like clockwork, at 3:45 my phone started going off. I glanced down at it and saw I had some missed calls and texts from the night before. I had three missed calls from my contact DON’T ANSWER.
I sucked my teeth and kept scrollin’, damn sure wasn’t worried about that call, and called my nigga Dre back.
“Yo, where the fuck you at, nigga?” he answered on the second ring, music already blastin’ in the background like the nigga ain’t been to sleep.
“Just left a shorty’s crib,” I said, laughing a lil’ thinkin’ about how she was hangin’ out the window yellin’.
“Which shorty?”
“Nigga, I don’t even know, some bitch I met at that block party.”
Dre died laughin’. “Nigga, you a whole menace through Brooklyn.”
“Them bird bitches is nothing special. Bitch gonna get mad ‘cause I was leavin’. It’s not my fault they catch feelings after a couple rounds of some good dick.”
“You need Jesus,” he said, still laughin’. “You pullin’ up later? Nem said they got the spot on Norstrand poppin’ tonight.”
“Yeah, I’ma slide. I need to handle some business, but I’ma be through.”
I hung up and merged on the avenue, windows cracked, radio low, mind still stuck on them missed calls. It wasn’t even four in the mornin’ and a bird was already trying to be a lot. I let the music drown that out and kept it movin’.
First stop was up in Flatbush. I picked up my nigga Twan, and we went to hit a lick we’ve been sittin’ on for a minute. Wasn’t nothing major, in and out in like twenty minutes, but that’s extra bread in the pocket before the sun even up, and I ain’t never turned that down.
Once I dropped that nigga off, I went to the gym.
It was still early, and the spot was pretty much empty, with the same regulars that I was always in there with, doing the same routine.
I hit the treadmill first, then the weights, getting my blood pumpin’ and trying to keep my head clear for the day ahead.
I spent about an hour there, slid to my apartment to get changed, and served some junkies in my building. I wanted to chill for a minute, have some time to myself, but Dre was texting about plays, and some bitches at the trap were waiting to serve me.
By the time I stepped outta my crib, Brooklyn was alive. Bitches were walking up and down the sidewalk with their friends. Niggas was on the corner rollin’ dice and trying to catch a shorty in passin'. The old head was sweeping the dirt while talking shit the whole time.
“Yoo!” I yelled out as I headed to my whip. The block already knew it was me. They stopped, looked, and waved or yelled back.
After catchin’ a few more plays, I finally pulled up to the trap. Dre was already outside arguing with somebody on the phone about a re-up like clockwork.
“Nigga, finally,” he said, hangin’ up soon as he saw me. “Thought you fell back asleep.”
“Nah, I had some shit to take care of.” I dapped him up and posted on the stoop next to him.
Bitches start to flock over worse than junkies, like they had a radar on a nigga.
A couple of ‘em sat out there with us, laughin’ at whatever Dre was sayin’, posting for the block to see.
This light-skinned bitch who be around a lot hopped in my whip after a minute—a nigga don't even gotta explain what was finna happen.
We pulled off, and around twenty minutes later I was dropping her back off with a dap and was back on the stoop like I never left.
My day moved the way it was supposed to. Money was steady coming in. Niggas pulled up, needed shit handled. I would put my people on it for a price and kept it pushing .
Whole time, DON’T ANSWER was still calling my damn phone like she lost her mind—I still wasn’t picking up.
Around noon, my phone rang. I was scared to look, but this time it was for business, a drop that needed to happen out in the Bronx. I was just out there the other night, but for the amount of money, I didn’t mind going back.
I hopped up off the stoop and told Dre I would be back around the way later, then hopped in my whip and pulled off.
Traffic wasn’t too bad getting out there. I vibed to Dave East, lit my blunt, and handled business on my phone when the car in front of me stopped short outta nowhere, and I clipped the back of it before I could even hit the brakes right.
“Fuck!” I said under my breath and followed the car in front of me, pulling over to the side.
I threw the car in park and hopped out quick with an attitude, ready to talk a nigga down for not paying the fuck attention, when the driver's door on the other car opened and out stepped a shorty who looked like she was ready to catch a body over a bumper.
She had this look on her face. Mean, ready, unbothered. She walked up on me like she didn’t care how big I was compared to her.
“What the fuck were you doin’?!” she asked while checking her car first, then she looked me up and down.
“Nah, I'm good, ma. My bad, I ain’t mean to hit you.” I walked over and looked at our cars. It was a lil’ ass scuff on her bumper, nothing that I couldn’t handle.
“Your bad? You almost sent me through the windshield.”
“Man, cut that shit out, shorty. You barely got touched,” I said, trying to keep from smiling . “But my bad, for real though.”
She sucked her teeth, arms crossed, still looking at me like she was deciding whether she wanted to fight or not.
And I ain’t gonna lie, something bout her had me stuck.
Wasn’t even about how she looked, even though she was bad, no cap.
Slim thick, brown skin, long black hair.
Her style was untouchable. I never seen a bitch around Brooklyn dress like her.
But I could tell she wasn’t no soft bitch. I might be able to have her wrapped around my finger, but it was going to take some work.
“You from around here?” I asked.
“Why? You tryna follow me home?” she shot back.
I laughed for real that time. “Nah, ma. I was tryna get your number so I could make sure you was good after this—make sure you’re taken care of.”
She looked at me sideways like she was trying to find the catch in it. “I'm good. I don’t need you to check on me.”
I raised my hands in the air. “Aye, okay. My fault for carin’. That’s just the type of nigga I am.” I started back toward my car, leaving her standing there watchin’ me. I knew what I was doin’. She was a fly chick, and I’ma fly ass nigga. I could tell she didn’t chase, and I didn’t either.
“Wait,” she said quick, like it slipped out before she could stop it.
I turned back around, and she was standing there with her arms still crossed, but her face didn’t have the same edge to it anymore.
“Was you at a block party around here the other night?”
I nodded. “I was.”
“I see you,” she said low. “You bumped into me.”
I shook my head. “Looks like I been tryin’ to get your attention.”
She gave me a slight smile and walked over to me with her hand out.
“What?”
She rolled her eyes. “Give me your phone.”
I unlocked it and passed it to her. She typed her number and saved it.
“I'm Nylah,” she said as she handed my phone back to me.
“I'm Rosama…”
She smiled, and without another word, she walked back to her car like the whole thing didn’t mean shit to her.
I hopped in my car, watched her pull off, and sat there for a second after staring at her name in my phone. I couldn’t explain it, but something about that lil’ interaction had my mind stuck the whole rest of the drop and the whole ride back to Brooklyn.
When pulled back up on the block, Dre was still on the stoop, but a few of our partnas was out there with him.
I hopped out my car, lighting my blunt.
“Damn nigga, what happened to you? I had to hit a few licks for you.”
I dapped my niggas up as I walked up the steps and took a seat on the ledge.
“I think I just met my wife.”
Dre turned around and looked at me.
“Nigga, you sound crazy as hell. What the fuck are you talkin’ about?”
“You heard me… I just met my wife.”
Dre laughed. He just didn’t understand, but I could already see it.