Show and Tell Read Free Page B

is real excited to have you back this semester.”
    My smile this time is a little more genuine.
    â€œI’ll have to remind Cameron to invite you to the wedding. We’re all going.”
    I freeze. Say what? Say who? “The wedding? You . . . you’re talking about Cameron’s wedding?”
    Delaney nodded, causing her bright red pageboy to swing back and forth past her round cheeks. “The first one was cancelled because Serena’s mother was sick.”
    My heart is racing like crazy and I feel excitement fill me. I try not to show it as I casually flip through the manual. “When’s the wedding?” I ask, sounding like I’m bored. Humph. Bored my ass.
    â€œIt’s in April.”
    Five whole months away.
    â€œI hope I get to go,” I lie with a straight face. Fuck it.
    â€œWell, I better get back to work.” With one last wave, Delaney is gone.
    I snatch up the phone and dial Cristal back.
    â€œLowe, Ingram, and Banks.”
    â€œCristal, girl, guess what?” My excitement made me loud as hell on the phone.
    The line went dead.
    Now is not the time for payback. I dial her ass right back. “Lowe, Ingram, and Banks.”
    â€œYou feel better now?” I snap.
    â€œLots. Thank you very much.”
    â€œ Anyway . Cameron didn’t get married in December—”
    â€œWhat!”
    â€œThey postponed the wedding.” My damn hands are shaking.
    â€œOh-oh.”
    I nodded. “Oh-oh is right. Oh it . . . is . . . on. Trust.”

Chapter Three
    Dom

    â€œI’m Dom, and I can’t be nobody but Dom until the day I die. Fuck it.”

    I ’m a junkie. Whether I’m snortin’ a bag of dope or not I will always be a junkie. An addict. A dope fiend. A head.
    Yeah, I did rehab. I laid on the couch and let some shrink help me figure out why I even started with drugs. I moved out of the projects. I got off the stripper pole. I cut all ties with Diane (my mother who didn’t deserve to be called Mama) who was—is—an abusive, weed smokin’, manipulative, money-hungry bitch. (Fuck it, that bitch done called me much worse.) I got an honest job that don’t make shit. I have a better relationship with my daughter.
    I been through a lot. I’m not makin’ excuses, I’m just statin’ fuckin’ fact.
    I’ve done a lot. Again no excuses. Fact.
    My journal is full and it’s funny ’cause I never thought my ass would ever read outside of school or flippin’ through some fuckin’ magazine or some shit, but here I am writin’. Tellin’ my own stories. Healin’ myself through a pen and pad. I even told my drug counselor that I might write a book one day but my life ain’t over yet. Maybe when I’m old with gray hairs on my pussy I’ll sit back and really recollect on everythin’ I’ve done. Things I have to forgive or be forgiven for.
    The death of my ex in a car wreck after we argued.
    The way I started to fuck my kid’s head up talkin’ down to her the way Diane shit me up.
    The bullshit I pulled on Alizé. Yeah, I was fucked up for fuckin’ her man behind her back and tellin’ his no good ass how she was cheatin’ on him. Sometimes I still can hear the sound of her bone breakin’ and her cry that gave me chills. Even though I helped the police catch Rah, Alizé still won’t fuck with me. She ain’t been to the apartment to visit since I moved in. I can’t say that I blame her but I ain’t kissin’ her motherfuckin’ ass either.
    I still got Moët and Cristal and dem bitches help keep me straight.
    Livin’ in Livingston in that fancy apartment is different from my days in the projects. It helps keep me clean and away from them people who ain’t want shit ’cept for me to get high with ’em. It’s hard enough goin’ to that area everyday to work here at the daycare center. I love