Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"Who da fuck is banging on my fucking door?" I grumbled, angrily.
These fuckers stay fucking up my mood. I was just laying down on my bed smoking a blunt and watching White Chicks when this fucker behind the door interrupted.
"Why are you banging on my door?" I asked before swinging the door open.
My eyes connect with my mother's. She has food in one hand and the other on her hip.
I look at her face to see her irritated eyes staring back at mine.
'What the fuck did I do now?' I thought, mentally sighing.
"Nigga, why the fuck you ain't answer my calls? I call to bring ya sorry ass some food," she grumbled, pushing past me.
She walked to the dining room and put down the food. I traveled behind her, my earlier anger gone at the smell of food.
"So you gon' ignore me now? First, you don't answer ya phone, and now you are being disrespectful? Who raised you?" she asked, shaking her head.
"Ma, my phone was on silent I was watching-"
"I don't give a fuck. Egypt I haven't seen you since I got here and you gon' use the TV as an excuse?!" she questioned, yelling.
"I'm sorry Ma. I'll make it up to you." I said, hugging her, kissing her forehead.
"Whatever, sit down and eat this fucking food I made you," she demanded, sitting down.
I hated that my mom was right. She doesn't live here in Arizona and she came to see my first last football game.
"What have you been doing these last couple of days?" She asked, opening the styrofoam box.
"I've been chilling, getting ready for the ball game. What you have been doing Ma?" I asked, grabbing a pop out of the bag.
"Damn, you graduating college, even though it took you more than four damn years," she complained, ignoring my first question.
"Ma, I told you why I did the shit. And why you ain't answer my first question?"
"I don't gotta explain shit to you, especially when you'n care in the first place."
I deadpanned her and said, "But I asked so I do care."
She shrugged me off ignoring what I said. I always wonder if this is my real Ma.
I tried to ask her more questions, wondering how the flight was or what she planned to do while she was here. But she continued to eat, ignoring me.
We were both finished with half of our plate when my Ma said, "When you last talked to ya dad?"
I sighed, but this time I decided to ignore her, dismissing her question.
