Triangle Pt.1

I've decided that I will be posting some of my short stories up on here.
In reference to the list of things that I'd like to accomplish, this short story is on the list.
I've been working on this one for a while, so hopefully, if you (meaning whoever is reading this right now) start to light a fire up under my arse, I'll actually finish it and be proud of the outcome.

So yeah. Here's the basic gist of the story. There's this guy named Brian with a particular problem. There are three girls in his life: Mya, Gabrielle and Lauren. His problem is actually deciding which one he wants to pursue a relationship with. Drama and hilarity ensues.

I'll be installing updates when I get about 4 or 5 responses. Let me know what you think!

Mya

I deeply exhale and try to find a chink in her armor. “Alright, okay. So, what if you were the president’s wife? Would you still hate America, considering your position? And be for real now, don’t just start talking nonsense.”

Mya’s voice rings out clearly over the cell phone connection, amid the sonic confusion that is my household. “Brian, there is no way I would be the wife of the president of this messed up country. The day that fried chicken is considered more than an African American obsession will be the day that I will say that this country is actually the quote-unquote ‘Land of the Free’. Actually, no, I take that back. The day that a nappy headed hood-rat from 16^th Ave is nationally declared Miss America is the day that this country will receive any kind of thank you from me. And we both know that that day will not arrive any time soon.”

Pausing to think, I ask her, “So seeing as how you hate America so much, why won’t you move to Haiti or Africa? I’m sure that they would --”

“You must be out of your mind! You know for damned sure I’m not going to no damned Third World Country! Picture me going somewhere, eating rice and bean for a living. Boy, please. You trippin’. This diva is not the one.”

Laughing, I respond, “You’re messed up, you know that right? You’re a messed up person.”

She giggles in the way only she can. “I know. And that’s why you love me.”

I want to respond in a way that can reiterate what she just said to me without it sounding too mushy, but that’s damned near impossible. Honestly, mushy courses through my veins.

So I go for a neutral response, or at least my definition of neutrality.

“Actually, I love that junk your got sitting your back better. You know I can’t say no to a fine behind.”

She laughs in that way that seems to say, ‘I know you love me, and I also know how awkward it is to tell me. For now, I’ll accept your admiration of my hind parts, but know this: I expect you to tell me some time in the near future.’

I love hearing her laughter. There is just something about it that is so…fulfilling…real…joyous. She doesn’t laugh to be polite, or waste a perfectly fine chuckle. When she laughs, it is indefinitely a good thing. I don’t even think she can giggle, the way most people do. She enjoys laughing. And me, being the encouraging person that I am, purposely search for reasons to make her laugh. I feel better about myself when I make her laugh. So then I laugh.

Mya and I have a weird kind of relationship, like “Love and Basketball”, minus the sex and sports. We’ve been friends since high school, and we still have a close connection. I don’t think that there is a topic that we can’t talk about, or at least haven’t talked about, from sex to pizza toppings to gender issues and abroad. As a matter of fact, since we’ve graduated, I dare to say that our relationship has gotten stronger. I can’t really vouch for her, because I don’t know what’s in her head, but I think (in a moment of inebriated honesty) I love her and she loves me. I think that if we had the chance, we would most definitely pursue a relationship that would last pretty long. But, alas, I go to school in New York, and she’s back home in Pennsylvania. Besides, I was there for her last long distance relationship with this muscled jerk-off back in high school. Let’s just say that she’s kinda scarred.

So, for now, we’re limited to telephone calls at night and instant messaging during the day. I want her badly, way beyond the realm of friendship. You know how they say that absence makes the heart grow fonder? That might be why I’ve been really missing her lately. Maybe it’s homesickness. Maybe it’s horniness. I don’t know what it is. Mya has been the best friend to me from the moment we met in high school up to this very day. Musiq Soulchild said it the best way, “She’s got Book Intelligence, Street Common Sense, and ain’t down for the bullshit.” I trust her with more of me than any other person I know. I find myself always wanting more of her around me. Which can probably explain why I’ve been thinking about marrying this girl. Not seriously, just thinking about it, allowing the thought to dance around my head for a little bit.

“Hey! Hey Brian! You won’t believe what I just found out!”

“What?”

“He is not the father!”

“Who isn’t the father? What are you talking about?”

“The Maury Show! Quick, turn the TV on, she’s about to throw the chair at the audience! Quick, quick, turn it on!”

Yeah. I love the hell outta this girl.