Be Still My Heart, Then My Tennis Shoes

Mud-shark [muhd-shahrk] adj. - describing a person of the female gender more apt to be in a relationship with a male of African-American descent.

   There are many things in my high school life I am not proud of. One of them, actually the more notable of them, is that I was a "wigger". It was a low point in my life filled with A Tribe Called Quest, The Autobiography of Malcolm X, and Girbaud overalls. Now, before you turn your nose up and run for the hills, there were many pluses to this niche that I filled.
    First, black guys dug the shit out of me. So, while all my "Metal" and "Punk" friends were having problems after, before, and during school, I was pouring out some 40oz. for the homies. Never mind that I had no dead homies. Never mind that I had no incarcerated homies. Never mind that I really had no "homies" to speak of. These same guys would invite me to incredible parties. When the only white guy walked in, and the record scratched, it would inevitably start back up with some Beastie Boys and everyone shouting and grabbing at my direction to pull me in.
   Second, black girls dug the shit out of me. I was seen as non-threatening, and "down". I could steal a car, drive them and their friends around, and at no time slip and call any of them "bitches". I could come to an Ice Cube show, take them out to eat, and they still wouldn't feel obligated to give me some "punani". I found out a few things from these "dates". Black girls were way more inexperienced than I thought. Black girls had really protective parents, that also tended to hate white people. Black girls had a love/hate relationship with thugs.
   Third, white girls that liked black guys dug the shit out of me. This was awesome. I'm going to stereotype here, so if you have any kind of political correctness that is in danger of being shattered, you have already read too far into this blog. White girls that like black guys were fucking dirty. I mean this in many different ways. Yet, I would like to turn your attention to one of these white girls in particular, her name was Chelsea.
   Towards the end of my senior year she moved down the block from me. She wasn't particularly gorgeous, but she was good looking. In my minds eye I keep picturing her ass. It was like the backside of some human/Clydesdale hybrid. It was fucking incredible. It was the kind of ass that ate up her shorts, and she wore the type of shorts that had no problem being eaten up. She had creamy white skin, that was enhanced by these thighs that only a teenage volleyball player seems to posses. She wore her hair in cornrows, as did every single one of her friends. I knew from the second I saw her that I was hungry. The only problem was her black as coal, 6'2", thug boyfriend.
   His name was Chris. he was a year younger than me and had already dropped out of school. I knew him "well". At the time I had many business endeavours and he happened to be one of my "customers". He liked me enough. I didn't trust him, even that much. He was know for robbin' and stealin'. I tried to never put myself in that position. Notice, the word "tried". I had already become keen to the notion that if you wanted a girl that is in a relationship, you get in good with the boyfriend. So, this is exactly what I did. I am a bad person. Over the next couple weeks I hung out with Chris just enough to hang out with her. He rarely came into my house, and if he did he stood in the front room. Mostly, we hung out at her house, in her bedroom, with her friends.
   "You know, Monica likes you", she whispered to me in a haze of smoke and Old E.
   "Really? That's nice, but I need more", this was my way of being greedy.
   "What do you mean", curiosity always got the best of dumb girls. If it seems that I'm being mean you're going to realize why.
   "I mean, I like more than one girl", planting seeds.
   "Bobby, you're fucking crazy."
   "Crazy for something", looking her up and down for added effect.
   This exchange happens nonchalantly, but every once in a while I would see the glance. I would see the look. I would see that stare, out of the corner of my eye, when she doesn't think I'm looking. Or does she? Then, like a light from only God above, things fell into place.
   "Bobby, I'm going out of town for a few days to visit family", Chris tells me like I'm his confidant.
   "Really, where you going?", seething with naivete.
   "Just to see my grandma New York. I was hoping you'd keep an eye on my girl while I'm gone. Niggas be fucking foaming at the mouth for her. I mean, I can trust her, I just want to make sure no one slips in, ya heard", I'm realizing I can't write slang worth a shit.
   "No problem", really, seriously, no problem.
   Needless to say, it took me two days to convince Chelsea and Monica to go to dinner with me. It took me two minutes into dinner to convince them to drink with me. Oh, the wonders of fake IDs. It took me thirty minutes into dinner to convince them to sleep with me. High school was an easy time. Carefree and wonderful. Fuck it, I thought. I'm almost out of high school. I've been fairly unscathed. I'll take an ass-beaten by a big, fucking black guy. If I say it was for a threesome, my friends will understand.
  
   This was not my first parade.

   We got back to her room and we made ourselves comfortable. It was raining that evening. I remember more than that. They both looked just as good as I imagined. I remember more than that. Her room became a mess, quickly. I remember more than that. They did things, I could tell, they had never done before. I remember more than that. I'll tell you what I do remember.
   Walking out of her house a couple hours later I could see the glow of lights. They seemed to be coming from down by my house. They seemed to be police lights. They seemed to be coming from directly in front of my house. I ran. I ran fast. When people talk about making a b-line, I'm fairly certain they saw me run that day. I ran up towards my front door and saw my mom outside talking to the cops. I took that quick glance at the cop's cars and saw people sitting in the back of said police cars.
   "Son, can you identify a couple people for us?", the cop asked. My mom knew.
   "Sure, what the hell happened", I kind of already knew.
   "Your house was broken into. They didn't manage to get away with anything, but a few items were broken in the chase", cops are so matter of fact. "With the help of your neighbor, who witnessed the whole incident, we were able to apprehend them."
   Out of the back of the car, one of the guys, was none other than Chris. Him and two other guys tried to get away with one speaker, one VCR, one stereo reciever, and my limited edition "New School Green" Filas. They were looking for more. They would have never found it. Basically, if you are critical analysis impaired, he convinced his girlfriend to go to dinner with me. Keep me occupied while he robbed my house.

Two things he didn't count on. Me fucking his girlfriend, and my neighbor being a serious busybody.