So we’re in the drive-thru at McDonalds’ and, having a background in law, somehow, the conversation inevitably turns to crime and punishment. “Babe?” he asks, “if I went to jail, would you visit me?”
Silence.
What an odd question. I don’t know what to say.
My pause makes him uncomfortable. So I answer. Then, he pauses. I can tell he’s dissatisfied with my answer. Now we’re both silent.
Twenty minutes prior, we sweated out the sheets and decided to go on a Micky D’s run. Sweat induces hunger. Or something like that. Or not. Anyhow, I know that if I want my knees up to my chest again between now and morning, I’d better provide a better answer, fast.
“Well, it depends on what you do,” I say.
More silence.
This answer doesn’t seem to help the situation.
So I rethink it since it seems neither reassuring nor guaranteed to get me back in first position and since I want desperately to get back into first position, I give in.
“Yeah, babe,” I say and I kiss him right before the lady hands us my #15 and his #5. I know the worst of it is over because he kisses me back.
Make no mistake. He’s not my “babe” and I’m not his. We just say that when we’re…well, you know. In the real world (i.e. between the hours of dawn and dusk) we’re not much of anything to each other, the realization of which suddenly moves me to anger. WTF?!?! Visit him in jail? So he expects loyalty from me? He doesn’t even answer my fucking text messages! He’s got some nerve! (He’s also got some good…which is the only reason I allow him to “stick around” (pun intended)).
So we pull out of the drive-thru and the anger subsides, replaced by worry. Does he intend on breaking the law anytime soon? I think. And more important: He’s gonna start answering my text messages more timely since I said ‘yes’?
Truth be told, I like to pretend as if I’m picky or that I have really high standards, but really, my standards are few. As a matter of fact, I really only have two. You must be (1) law- (2) abiding.
In my late teens and early 20’s , when I dealt with shady characters, that might have been a fair question to ask. To which i would reply: “You won’t get a visit, but you might get a letter.” At that age I was thinking, Eh, what’s the harm in a sending a single 100-150 word letter on lined notebook paper whose ending would read something like, “Well, we had fun, but seeing as though you ran afoul of the law (again), the judge thought you ought to spend more quality time with the likes of Twan, Dae-Dae & Hal since you all have so much in common. Anyhow, I’ll miss you, so sorry things didn’t work out, love always, me.”?
But that was then and this is now.
Yeah, I might say “Oh, sure, babe,” but I what I really mean is “Loyalty? Ride? Die? Who? Me? Negative!”
Read my lips: That’s…not…my…life.
(and neither is this nor this)
When it comes to loyalty, blind or otherwise, I / am / not / the / one. I’m certain that when God, or the universe, or whoever you believe in, was distributing positive attributes, I got brains, good looks, a big mouth, and super parallel parking abilities, but I did not get loyalty. You see, I’m the type of person who when things get hot, I run; you in trouble, I don’t know you; shit hit the fan, I’ll snitch. And they don’t even have to threaten to subject me to waterboarding. Yep. Surprise! If it’s between you and me, I’m gonna pick me. Sorry (not really). Sacrifice is not in my vocabulary (okay, obviously it is. I just said it). What I mean to say is sacrifice, on my part, is something only members of a very small clan—my family—are entitled to, not people whose sole purpose in (my) life is to help me work up an appetite for McDonalds’ at 1:30 a.m. Unfortunately, the possibility of death, dying, or spinal cord injury, rarely factors into the equation when I am buying condoms at CVS. I’m old fashioned and that’s just not my idea of romance.
Oh, and when it comes to jail, I have a straight foward policy: No thanks, I’ll pass. I happen to like Calvin Klein underwear, shampoo that actually gets sudsy, and lotion from Bath & Body Works. Prison is not an option. I’ve seen all six seasons of OZ so I’m somewhat of an expert in penology: Jail sucks and I have no intentions of ever making an appearance. Now, when molesting Idris Elba in my dreams becomes illegal, I’ll gladly serve each and every day of that sentence. But until then, again, I’ll pass.
Bottom line is this: No. I don’t ride for my ___, I won’t die for my____, and I’m damn sure not willing to miss out on Facebook or the last season of the Office for my ____. For me, loyalty, if it comes at all, doesn’t come cheap. If I’m gonna ride, die, lie, or fry for you, what you gonna do for me?
(I’ll give you a hint: you can start by answerin’ my damn text messages.)
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