"No, Sir." ...an excerpt

ex·cerpt

  [n. ek-surpt; v. ik-surpt, ek-surpt]  Show IPA

–noun

1.

a passage or quotation taken or selected from a book,document, film, or the like; extract.

This is an excerpt  from a book that I'm writing. The characters have no names as of yet, but they have personalities. I don't know the setting just yet, but they all have homes. I don't know the ending, I don't know the beginning, but it's narrated by four females. Best friends. Sisters. It's a work in progress...ENJOY.

       "I like you," he said. "You cute and you read books. Er'time I see you, you got a different book in yo hand. You gotta be reading like one a day or some shit like that. All different colors."
       I think to myself: the books aren't differently colored, you idiot, just the covers. I take the covers off so idiots like you don't disturb me on the train asking if I like whatever book I'm reading and if I read any other books by whatever author, and blah, blah, blah. But I just smile.

       "Ain't too many youngin's round here that do that," he continued. "They prolly don't even know where the library and shit at," he laughed to himself. I kept walking.

       "Why you always do that?"
       "Do what?"

       "Don't say nothing. I mean you speak and all sometimes, and you wave er now and den (occasionally), but your voice is so beautiful, you should speak more often. It's like you be making love to my ears." Guess that was his way of complimenting me.        "It's not you," I said. "I just speak all day at work. Sometimes it's just nice to be quiet and listen," I choked out, trying to keep a smile in my voice so he wasn't offended.

       We're now walking at a brisk pace. I travel the same way to and from work everyday. I could probably walk this path with my eyes closed. I'm not really into routines, people watch you, you know. So, sometimes I come home a little earlier, a little later, or get dropped off - gotta keep 'em guessing. My grandmother told me this a long time ago - to switch it up sometimes. And her words came to life that night someone broke into our house when I was 14.
        Our screen door needed to be fix, the lock was broken, and Nanny would put a flower pot in the corner of the door just in the right spot, enough to keep the wind from catching the door and break the glass, she would say. I guess we didn't get it fixed quickly enough because when we came home after our pastor's 10th anniversary celebration, someone had moved the pot, opened the unlocked screen door, kicked the front door in and ransacked our home. And when they were done, they put the pot right back in it's spot, like nothing ever happened. It wasnt the first time in life I felt violated, but definitely the first time I fainted. Guess we were being watched.

       This young man would be around sometimes, sometimes not. One could assume he didn't live around here. I never paid him any mind, for real. Didn't seem like too much of a threat. He said just enough for me to know of him, but not enough to seem harassing.
       "You know, er'time I'm out here, I see you walking home in yo lil' business suits wit yo nice legs showin, dey nice too, and yo lil' heels and briefcase. You must work downtown and shit. Downtown got nothing but suits, ties and squares in the pocket."

       "I do," I said, turning the corner to my block.
       "Guess you into guys with the same image then, huh? A Nigga like me don't stand a chance"

I laughed. "I dont have a preference. As long as they are easy on the eyes, have a sense of humor and can hold a conversation, I'll consider them. You'd be surprised how many can't even fit that description."

       "So that Nigga that be dropping you off and picking you up sometimes must be like that cause he ain't never got no suit on, even when you do. I can dig it, though. Either way I still don't have a chance. I'm not like them niggas downtown, and I'm not him."
       A flash of Prince Charming & I making love consumed my mind for a moment. Passionate, hard-core love-making. The kind you'd be embarrassed if your momma knew that you reached that climax before wedlock. And then the guy in front of me, his words snapped me backed to reality.

       "I ain't seen him or his car around he lately. He fucking up?"

       What the hell. This fool been watching me for real!

       "Nice chatting with you," I said, as I opened the gate to my house. And I did to him exactly what he thought I would do, not give him a chance.
        Not even five minutes later, I'm out my clothes and into a Michael Kors jogging suit ready to walk the dog. I grab my keys, grab my iPod, grab the leash, and I'm out. Keeping with the routine I try not to keep, Boss and I lightly jog down our block and hit the corner on our way to the park. Today, I feel good, so our light jog is more of a slow run today. You're laughing, but there's a difference. The sun is now setting, it's beautiful. Rays are slicing the cumulus clouds like grandma's Thanksgiving ham and the sky is a purplish-reddish-pinkish hue. It's like a work of art. God is truly majestic, I whisper. 
Boss and I have ran the entire park, twice, and are now walking home. It's only like a half a mile. Both of us dreaming of lots of water, a meal, and the sectional in the living room.  The sky is now shades of blue, every one out the Crayola box. I can literally see the night shooing the day into rest in a manly way, gently, yet stern enough for the day to subside like a faithful wife.
        I turn the corner for my street street, surprisingly, no one's out. No kids, no teens, no police, no one.
       "One more block and we're there, Boss! Let's race! Shit, hold on, my laces are undone." I slide the loop of his leash on the fence of a corner house - an alley separates this one from the next block of houses. I bend to tie my shoe and when I stand again, there he is, this Nigga. Boss is at attention, straight posture, ears pulled back, ready to strike at my command. I quickly secure my stance and draw back my right fist, all in a swift move.
       "Whoa, whoa, whoa, Downtown! Sheesh! Instead of calling him, Lil Killa, I should start calling you that. You got some fight in you, I like that shit."

       "You scared the fuck out of me!"
       "You scared the fuck out of me," he mocked. "Man, I love you're voice. You so artaclict."
       "Articulate," I corrected, trying my best not to sound condescending.

       "Yea, ar-tic-u-late. I thought I won't gon make it for a minute. Damn.   Can I ask you a question?"
       "Shoot," I said, reaching for Boss' leash.
       "I hope I don't have too," he whispered as he cocked his gun underneath his hoodie. I froze.               "You're not gonna make me use this, are you?"