All Stories, General Fiction

Hey Girl by Frederick K Foote

Mary & the Player

Hey, girl, I got to ask you something. Why was you just with that no account, broke ass, nappy headed, scrawny, low life, little Nigger?

Look at me now. I got money in the bank. I got a brand-new Escalade. I’m pressed and dressed and a Nigger with whom nobody in their right mind will mess. So, why ain’t you over here by my side drinking my liquor and setting in my new ride?

No offense brother man, but you a Nigger with a grasping look of ownership in his eyes.  You got that, “I possess you,” bad breath.  You got that property-possession funk under your arms and between your legs. You got them, “I’m going to hold you till I break you because I own you,” hands. You look like you want to wear me on your sleeve and wipe your ass with me when you’re through.  And you through when you find something new. You just the kind of Nigger I can do without.

Fuck you, ho. I don’t need or want your skank black ass.

You lie. You want me, and your mother and your brother do too. Now, just a word to the wise. One more spiteful word to me from your sassy fat lips and only one of us will walk out this place.  Look at me, now. Look at me hard. I’m the Nigger that’s not in her right mind. Try me or deny me. It’s on you.

Mary & the Lover

Hey, girl, if you was mine I’d put a ring on it. I would love you like no one’s ever loved you before. I would give you my life and love for your sweet jellyroll. I would work my fingers to the bone to give you what your heart desires. I would love you better than Ruby Dee and Ossie Davis. With me, you would be ridin on a lifelong Love Express.

Nigger, please, get up off those bended knees. Life would be real short with you. You a suffocating overcoat, a smothering embrace that eventually leads to disgrace when you find that I’m not your barefoot kitchen doll, your sycophant, or your sex fantasy.  You got that Deadly Love where you end up killing everybody around you because you disappointed your fairy tale ain’t real.

My man loves to see me coming but he ain’t sad to see me go. You ain’t him.

Well, the hell with you. Shit, you probably gay and your pussy ain’t no good anyway.

Gay! Gay, I’m more than gay. I’m delighted to not have to be up around your sick, sorry ass.  I will read you in the headlines, “Heartbroken Nigger kills wife and two kids.”

Mary & The Pimp

Hey sister, where’s your mister? What’s a fine thing like you doin out here on your lonesome?  You was walkin like you lookin for some action and satisfaction.  Sister, I got somethin that will make you forget about men and boys and their cockeyed toys. Come lie with me and fly with me and I will set your soul free.

Dear Sister, a line is a line, and a hustle is a hustle no matter if the jive ass delivering it be in pants or panties. If you can’t be original and you can’t be real, you the one need someone to set you free and that someone ain’t me.

Cunt, you ain’t shit! I wouldn’t spit on you if your pussy was on fire.

What? What did you say? I can’t hear you. Step over this way. Come on now. Come closer. Don’t be afraid just come whisper in my ear like the sweet, dear sister that you are. Dear heart, why you running like a deer? Come back, fleet sister, I just want to free your soul.

Mary & the Preacher

Sister, sister, have you found Christ?  Sister, have you been reborn into that holy salvation that is Heaven on Earth? Are you one with Jesus? Do you–

Have you seen him? I will be one with him if I can find his narrow ass. That Nigger always a day late and a dollar short. I don’t know why I put up with his lazy, nomad, slick talking self.

What? What? What did you say? Are you high?

Short Nigger. Nappy hair. About so high. Hangs, hangs with The Twelve Blind Boys that be singing backup.

What? Are you serious? Jesus don’t look-

I got to step. But, if you see him tell him Magdalene is looking for his sorry ass. Wait, wait a minute. Wait a minute. I remember they supposed to be singing downtown on The Mound about now.

Sister, you talking all crazy. Ain’t nobody but pimps, hustlers, whores, and the deluded gonna be at that seditious, salacious, slanderous rap concert on the Mound.

 Sure you right.  He do hang with the low-lifes.  And, still, he is the best thing in my life.   I got to get in the wind cause my sometime man do put on a pretty good show every now and again.

Mary and Jesus

Hey girl, where you been?

Busy as a bee. See that player in the Escalade? He followed me here. See the lover man in the rose-colored glasses? He slipped down here looking for me.  See the scared looking sister with the razor in her shoe? I led her here too.  And the preacher over there scowling at you? That’s my work in the flesh.

Magda, you a mess and then some. Get on up here on the stage. Etta, Aretha, Odette, Nina, Mavis, and Mahalia are waiting for your black ass.

 I’m ready. Give me a hand up. Let’s light this mother up to night.


Frederick K Foote

Banner Image: Soweto gospel choir – google images

1 thought on “Hey Girl by Frederick K Foote”

  1. Hi Fred,
    I have been enjoying all your recent stories.
    How they are perceived comes more from the reader than the writer. The scenarios that you have written can be read and questioned or savoured and considered to what they mean to the individual person.
    Consideration can be a teaching, but this idea, many miss and they confuse this with preaching!
    I loved the ‘Mary And The Lover’ segment.


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