Nigga-Not-Today

“Imma fuck these Manhattanville niggas up” announced Jamahl, slamming his fist on top of the washing machine before him.  As he stormed out of the laundry mat, he cursed vociferously, furiously muttering to himself.  In the corner of his eyes, he could see a Grandmother with her young granddaughter, each with identical looks of horror plastered on their faces.  He was dimly aware of the Twenty-Something staring blankly at him, a tome with the enormous words “Atlas Shrugged” on his lap.  He nearly stepped on the fingers of the Toddler who had been playing with a toy fire truck on the suds-encrusted floor. Desperately, the boy’s mother picked him up, her face set in the grim expression of one who is used to such happenings.

“Imma fuck them niggas UP!!” Jamahl spat again, wheeling onto Amsterdam Avenue, with the long strides of the determined. His mind whirred aimlessly, circuitously replaying that scene which had so stoked his ire. He had gone to Mr. New York’s Laundry as he had done every Sunday.  His clothes had been in a final spin when, upon turning from the machine, he had noticed that his laundry basket was being fucked with.

The basket had been conspicuously placed in the middle of the floor of the narrow establishment.  It had been avoided by the Grandmother and granddaughter, who had squeezed their way by it.  The Twenty-Something, who carried his clothes in a suitcase slung on his back, had gingerly stepped over it, placing his book on the counter to make the Herculean straddle. The Toddler had come dangerously close to smashing the fire truck into the basket several times, but always managed to avoid such an epic collision. 

After 35 minutes of quiescence, a tall man, whose brooding eyes at once signaled danger and deep sadness walked down the floor of Mr. New York’s.  He gracefully lifted the hamper to get by it, placing it in the corner of the laundry mat, out of the way.

“Hey, what you doin?!” demanded Jahmahl, his high pitched nasal voice splitting the hum of the washers and dryers.

“Nigga, not today,” replied the man, his glance barely registering Jamahl’s presence.

“Don’t TOUCH MY SHIT!” Jamahl trumpeted, squaring the shoulders of his miniature frame in preparation for battle.

A flash of fire sparked in the eyes of the tall man, like flint striking a rock. Smoothly he replied “Shut up man, and stop frontin.’ You know where you is? Remember who you talkin’ to.”

As the plastic chair sailed through air towards the tall man, the Grandmother shrieked. With the grace of a gymnast, the tall man grabbed the projectile hurling toward him.  With feline agility, he covered the distance between him and Jamahl.  He beat the smaller man with feral intensity, punctuating each blow inflicted by the chair with the words “Nigga-Not-Today.”

The beating was over nearly as suddenly as it had begun. The tall man calmly turned to the dryer, and casually placed his clothes into his laundry bag.  He calmly tepped over Jahmal, who remained on the ground shouting venomously about what he would do to the taller man once he rolled in with his crew. The tall man didn’t even look back as he left the laundry mat.

Standing up finally, Jahmal felt a wave of anger and humiliation wash over him. Rage birthed of wounded pride coursed through him as he noticed the laundry mat stood arrested in place, staring at him with dull incredulity. As they observed the crazed look in his eyes, they began to bustle.  The Toddler resumed to the tortuous route of the fire engine under the supervision of his mother.  The wary Grandmother began folding clothes with one eye permanently fixed on Jahmal. The Twenty-Something objectively studied his novel.

It wasn’t until he was 5 blocks away that Jamahl remembered his clothes in the laundry mat. A sliver of remorse made its way past his indignant fury. His mother, whom he lived with, depended on him to do the laundry on weekends. She would be severely disappointed in him if he so much as lost an article of clothing, let alone the entire batch.

“I ain’t goin’ back,” he groaned to himself, though he had already turned around.  This was going to be a long day.