tisha from the blade
lancaster to fig at 1am after a crash
she was a black prostitute in tight red shorts on a nowhere road in bullshit lancaster a quarter mile from an empty walmart
she had pinged me right after i charged my tesla and turned the app back on
it was 1am
the stars were bright
when i turned a corner, i saw three lancaster cop cars surrounding an old ford taurus crashed against one of the many parking lot light poles
young black guy on the curb with his hands in his long thick braids
a minute later, i spotted her standing on the gravel walking away from it all and after rolling down my window i called out
yo tisha! im your uber!
she crossed the desert road and got in while yapping on the phone.
120th and fig? i asked, confirming the $110 ride i would be paid less than half for driving her a little over an hour thru the crescent moonlight and away from the hot scene, back home to south central
yes GO nigga! she barked, slapping the back of my headrest
obedient, i darted into the darkness.
she was 21, native, knew all the streets, didnt have a man, was turned off by sex, and from what i could gather, borderline homeless; crashing with this one or that one, friends, mens, depends.
after ten minutes i know most of my passengers stories. with her, it was easier because she did, not, give, a damn
tisha reeked of stale tobacco and coconut oil. had a faint accent from the islands but swore she aint never been nowhere outside la
dark skinned, beautiful, but something had stolen her youth. looked 35. she talked to her mom first, then her girl and then me
motherfucker said, get out, switch seats with me and tell ‘em you was driving, she reported on speakerphone to her mother who replied after each complaint with lord jesus
i took my phone off its holder and frantically but stealthily searched for a way to record this angel from above, but i was speeding and all i could do was turn on my camera, select video and record my knee. all i wanted was the audio.
but it didnt record. so i strained to commit to memory the modern way she described things
i gave up on that too and just leaned back and tried not to fall in love with young tisha as she told me everything
her man was from texas, tall, strong, shiny jewelry around his thugged out tatted up neck, but he possessed a temper which she said was fine with because she got bipolar too. nothing new.
she said if a man treat her right she’d give him everything. even if she only had a penny. but he was always angry and insatiably searching for something, and frustrated that he couldnt make real money due to his past and poor choices.
like what led him to lancaster that school night.
a few months ago, he had slipped into her instagram DMs randomly, flattered her, bought some sexy things off her amazon wishlist, which she modeled for him as they sexted on whatsapp
he moved out here but immediately lost his charm
after a piece i said nigga, what DO you want?
i dont need to be dicked down erry night, but it’s nice to have a brothers face all on me. this negro don’t hug on me, kiss me, fuck me, lick me or get a room with me. narry a fingering since he been out here. it’s always, i gotta do this, can you cash app me a dime for this, why you work so much?
BECAUSE I BE PAYING FOR YOUR RAGGEDY ASS ERRYDAY
tonight he come up to the blade and say, get in, we going to a party. i think do he want to pimp me? finally nigga! lets get this! but i get in and theres a white bitch in the front seat sucking on a sorry blunt. i say who bitch this? he say, nevermind get in. we go to the 110 and i say nuh uh. stop here. lemme run the track while its hot. but he say, shut up. shut up? what this white bitch doing to you?
was it a set up? were they trying to have a threesome with you? was he scheming to use you for something? i asked, brimming with questions.
oh god, i do not know, she said. that girl said nothing! it was awkward as fuck. i sat in the back and watched her get up close to him like she his bitch. i said, guurrrrrl.
tisha then demonstrated how close she was to him by doing it to me and she noticed me flinch and sat back.
she inhaled a long drag on her vape and said, so i kept my black ass quiet because if i was finna fight that bitch right there, we would have wrecked on the freeway. so i just smoked my own blunt and didn’t share and i texted my girl and then i guess i went to sleep because right before we crashed something told me to wake up and i woke up and BAM! that mothafucka hit a mothafuckin pole. dumb nigga.
earlier i handed her a bottle of water and now that it was empty she was squeezing it making crazy plastic sounds. as we drove through the dark hills of canyon country on the 14, i thought what if she bipolar slits my throat and tries to steal my Y but then realizes she doesn’t know how to start it?
then i thought, use your imagination for positive things dummy. but it was a struggle, lemme tell you.
the only thing i told that dumb bitch before i fell asleep, she contunued, was you best take your legs off the dashboard because in a crash your passenger princess ass be paralyzed. and sho nuff blonde bitch be howling when we hit that pole.
WHERE MY WEED, WHERE MY WEED? her man asked, once he woke up and saw what he had done
apparently he had just bought an eighth and didnt want the cops to find it before he did
just an eighth? i wondered out loud, doing everything i could to let her know i was on her side. thats all? had he been drinking?
no. he don’t drink. he dont do shit ‘cept talk about what he gonna do.
then why was he worried about so little pot?
because this trifling fool was on parole and has two strikes and that white chickenhead was talkin’ bout some mess that didnt concern me so i got my phone, called my uber, and got to steppin’.
im too cute for this.
do you have another blunt, i asked her?
just this here, she said holding up her vape
if you roll down the window you can smoke it, i said at the rear view mirror. you been through it. but i gotta tell you, someones looking out for you because i gotta be the only uber way out here who actually wants to be going to LA at 1 am. from a crime scene.
oh you stay in la?
hollywood
my niiiggggga, she said and blew a stream of smoke out of the tinted window there in the back.
what was she thinking?
what was i thinking?
as we kept driving, she said her legs were hurting. i dug around in the square compartment that teslas have, where the gear shift would have been in the olden days. they are deep and light up when you push the button to open it.
in there i had tootsie rolls, my house key, jack-in-the-box napkins, ketchup packets, and a half bottle of “headache relief,” my final purchase from the 99 cent store.
you can have the whole bottle, i said, then mansplained what endorphins are and why the fact that she was only now hurting meant her body felt safe enough to take care of it instead of masking the pain.
sloppy. all these niggas be sloppy, she said, staring out into nothing
this other man want to be my pimp. i say go on then, but he really a drug dealer. he aint gotta go out there and nearly get run over in long beach, he aint gotta be getting chased by crack heads and gangsters on western
why are these people chasing you? i asked.
to prove you need a pimp. because if i had one he’d bust they heads and say, stay away from my ho before i take yo hos.
so this man want me in his room with him at 11, but i say you should be out on fig with me at 11. thats the time to make money, not sleep. he always be sleepy!
lord jesus, i heard on the phone.
didnt know mom was back on speaker.
if he’s a drug dealer, why doesn’t he snort a little coke to stay up? i asked her, hyperfocused on their relationship. i wondered which of the endless run-down motel rooms on figueroa she had to beg a man with a pocket full of drugs to help her turn tricks
because he sells it.
i know, but why wouldnt he pinch to get the night rolling? does he never do the drugs he sells? i asked
yeah, he had just done some molly after i woke up around 5, thats why he was sleepy and sweet but dumb
damn i love ecstasy, i sighed
me too, she said
jesus, the phone squawked