Blackhumouristpress's Blog

December 9, 2014

A Kidney Don’t Mean Beans

Filed under: humor,humour,Short Story — blackhumouristpress @ 7:26 am
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Terrance not Terry was listening to Kenny G. on the way to Midway Airport in Chicago. The official story was that he was on his way to visit a client in Fargo, North Dakota but actually he was on his way to see his girlfriend in Memphis, Tennessee. Terrance’s wife didn’t stop to think that in Fargo, North Dakota, there probably wasn’t a great need for hair care products for black women in such a homogenous part of the country. All Lanita knew was that her husband traveled a lot for work leaving her to raise their two children for the most part.

As Terrance was listening to the whiny soprano saxophone music that would fit well to soft porn on Cinemax, the thought popped into his head that possibly he forgot to turn off the computer in the living room before leaving home. On the screen would have been his email messages to his girlfriend Chiquita in Memphis. Lanita, the wife, knew nothing of Chiquita the girlfriend. Terrance looked at the digital display on the dashboard. The flight was to depart at 12:35pm it was 10:55am. Terrance thought that he might have logged off but then again maybe not. He had been on the phone arguing with Chiquita about paying bills for her that her ex-husband should have been playing and may have forgotten to log off of his email account. Terrance was also a bit put off that he donated one of his kidneys to Chiquita and she had only thanked him initially and then never discussed it again. Terrance expected more gratitude from his girlfriend.   Spoiled, kept women don’t usually lavish praise on their sugar daddies for going overboard. It’s part of the game. You take care of me and I will provide some ass. Or something close to that.             It had been three months since he learned that he was a match for Chiquita whose kidneys were failing. Terrance never hesitated. When Lanita saw the scar on her husband’s body, she asked him what happened.

“Well… When I was in Arkansas some time back on a sales call, a big pit-bull came right at me. I ran my ass towards a fence and climbed as fast as I could, slipped at the top and snagged my side on top of the fence. It was just a few stitches… I’m tough, I can handle it.”

Terrance exited Lake Shore Drive heading south and immediately tried to enter going north so that he could get back to his condo overlooking Lake Michigan and ensure that his email was in fact logged off. Terrance sped in his late model Jaguar like a state trooper in high pursuit. About a block ahead, it looked to Terrance like people sitting across all lanes of the highway. He wasn’t imagining things, there were people sitting in the road. As he pulled up, there were young artsy looking people, mostly white but some blacks and other people of color. Some were chanting, “can’t breathe”. A few were banging drums. One loud, white young man with snarled rat’s nest of braids under a bandana, wrapped within an American flag, was ranting into a bullhorn.

“They send young men to fight for freedom on the other end of the world when we don’t even have freedom here in this country. African-Americans are being massacred by the law, a law that doesn’t protect us. This big brother shit and heavy handed, racist system has got to stop now, people!”

As the saying goes, he was preaching to the choir. Nobody disagreed with him or the megaphone message. Terrance was trapped with cars ahead of him and behind him. He began to panic about the thought of his wife coming home and finding out about the kidney donation, the girlfriend in Memphis and so on. Terrance walked up to the skinny young man and tried to get them to move by making up a plausible story.

“Hey man… I don’t want y’all to stop what you’re doing and as a black man, I appreciate your attention to this sad situation but the thing is right now my wife is bout to have a baby and any minute she bout to drop… You dig? I need to git through and git my wife to the hospital… The water broke… Baby is coming… I need to git home now.”

The ranting young man hugged Terrance as he was speaking. Terrance wanted to punch the man in the face but didn’t.

“Life is a beautiful thing, man. It’s sad that your son will be born into this world, this country and have to worry about being jailed, shot at by gangs or cops. I feel for you, man.”

Terrance took the arms of the young man off of him and spoke more firmly.

“I ain’t havin a boy. It’s a girl and my wife bout to trip if I don’t git her to the hospital…”

Terrance ripped the megaphone from the young man and pled his case to the crowd. The group of subversives, anarchists, nihilists, communists and trust funders all looked at the black man in a nice suit and collectively decided that Terrance was not the type they were fighting for. A rich black man in a really nice suit next to a really expensive car struck the crowd as if Terrance was an Uncle Tom, sellout. The group was not interested in moving for him even if his wife was going into labor. Terrance became honest with the crowd.

“When y’all finally own something one day, you gonna want that protected. You gonna want protection. When a cop stop you, they ain’t never no reason to resist arrest whether you feel justified in selling single cigarettes on the street or walking up the middle of a busy street after stealing a blunt. Get you Johnny Cochrane and plead yo case in court. That’s how the world works and it ain’t gonna change. Y’all agree with each other on what’s wrong with society but these people in these cars need to be somewhere right now. Right now they hate y’all and they wish to hell y’all git arrested and I agree with them. Now imma tell you that if y’all don’t move the fuck out the road now, you gone git hit by my automobile… I hope you can understand the fucking words coming out my mouth.”

Cars moved enough in front of Terrance so that he could drive to the front and play a game of chicken with the protestors. Terrance blared on his horn and inched forward until someone whipped a can of paint at his window. Things got ugly after that. Terrance was arrested and bonded out by his wife. Lanita gripped the wheel of her car and said nothing to Terrance. The silence concerned him. Terrance asked if everything was okay. It was a silly question.  Things had come unraveled in their married life. Lanita not only read the emails regarding their relationship but found pictures of her husband and some white woman with a ridiculous name like “Chiquita”. What Lanita didn’t know was that Chiquita was a former stripper who could do interesting things with a banana and her vagina. Chiquita wasn’t Latino and didn’t particularly like bananas.

“Baby… You gonna git tired and you gonna need to rest. When that happens, you gonna wish all you lost was your kidney…”

And so they went home. You use your imagination as to what happened next. The end…

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