Daddy Long Stroke

“Whatever, nigga. Punk-ass muhfucka,” I say, laughin’. “That’s why ya outta-shape ass is all outta breath ’n shit.”

“Fuck outta here,” he says, slowin’ down as we get to our gate. “I’m in the best shape of my life. It’s all them damn shots of Henny that got me all fucked up.” He wipes his forehead.

I keep laughin’. “Whatever, yo. I knew I shoulda rolled out wit’ Gee ’n ’em instead of fuckin’ ’round wit’ ya ass.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“This is the final boarding call for all passengers for Continental flight fourteen-thirty-four nonstop to Newark Liberty International Airport,” the attendant announces. We barely make it, handin’ her our tickets. “Enjoy your flight,” she says, smilin’. Mike walks up in front of me while I’m fumblin’ wit’ my shit, tryna keep my iPod and Black Enterprise magazine from fallin’ outta my hand.

As soon as I step on the plane, I shake my head. I can already tell the bitch is packed. Five muthafuckin’ hours packed on a damn plane. I’m glad I got an aisle seat, I think, not payin’ attention to any of the faces in first class. As I’m walkin’ by a seat on my left, I hear, “There goes that fine-ass nigga.”

I look in their direction and grin. “Aye, yo, what’s good?” Chanel hits me wit’ another one of them phoney-ass grins. Her peoples sucks her teeth, turnin’ her head back toward the window. I laugh. “I’ma get at you.”

I hear her say, “Not sittin’ back there in coach, muhfucka.”

When I get to my seat, Gee says, “Damn, nigga, I didn’t think ya’ll was gonna make it.”

“Man, listen,” I say, tryna stuff my carry-on in the overhead compartment. “I didn’t think so either. The muhfuckas at the car rental spot was tryna give us a hard time ’bout some scratch that was already on the shit.” An impatient attendant sees me strugglin’ to get my bag in and comes over to help. She shifts a few things ’round, then gets it in. She slams it shut, walkin’ off. Bitch! I take my seat and buckle up. Twenty minutes later, we’re up in the air. And Mike’s already over in the seat on the right of me wit’ his head pressed up against the window, snorin’. And Gee’s next to me soundin’ like a damn grizzly. I elbow him, then reach over and tap Glenn on his arm. “Yo, shake that nigga.”

I know if I don’t wanna hear that shit the whole flight, no one else does. I put in my earplugs, turn on my iPod, then recline my seat back, closin’ my eyes. I don’t know when I fell off to sleep, but when I woke up, we were an hour from Newark. I look ’round the cabin. Gee and the rest of them niggas are still knocked out, growlin’. Glenn’s mouth is half-open and he is droolin’. I shake my head.

The minute we land, muhfuckas are up scramblin’ tryna gather their shit up. Sounds of cell phones and BlackBerrys bein’ turned on can be heard, includin’ mine. “Yo, ya’ll muhfuckas sounded like a pack of hogs,” I say over to Glenn.

“Man, listen, I was tired as hell. I can’t wait to get home and get up in my bed.”

“Yo, dawg, I’m with you on that,” Mike says. I glance at my watch, standin’ up. It’s almost two-thirty in the afternoon.

“Yo, muhfucka, you were over here snorin’, too,” Gee says, laughin’.

“Fuck outta here. You know damn well that wasn’t me. Not the kid.”

“Yeah, okay. If you say so.”

As soon as the cabin door opens, e’eryone rushes toward the front of the cabin, tryna get the fuck to their next destination. We exit the plane and make our way toward baggage claim. I have my cell up to my ear, listenin’ to my four messages. “Call me. This is Vita.” Delete.

“Hey, sexy. This is Cherry. Hope you had a safe flight back. Can’t wait to see you this week. Hit me up when you can.” Shit, I forgot I was goin’ out there in a few days. Hell, I might as well not even unpack. Thursday I’ll be right back on a plane again. We stop in front of the restrooms. Gee, Mike and Glenn’s asses gotta piss. They ask me to watch their bags. “Yo, I don’t know why you muhfuckas didn’t piss on the plane.” They ig me, walkin’ off.

I listen to my third message. “Alley Cat, what’s good, nigga? It’s ya girl Electra. Holla back, baby.” And just as I’m deletin’ it, Chanel and her peoples come walkin’ outta the women’s bathroom. I grin. Chanel shakes her head, grabbin’ her girl by the arm, yankin’ her over toward me. She yanks her arm back.

“Bitch, don’t be pullin’ on my arm like that.”

“Whatever, ho. You need some dick in ya life and this muthafucka is fine as hell, so stop frontin’,” Chanel says loudly. They step up in my space. “Okay, it’s obvious you checkin’ for my girl, so what’s ya name?”