Adventures With My BFF The Whore

“Trina, we’re walking over blood.”

“Yeah, I know, just don’t think about it.”

Here we are, a 180 pound, 15-year-old white girl, (me) and a 200 pound, 15-year-old, black girl, walking deep in the heart of a bad neighborhood at midnight. Luckily, back in 1993 I could sometimes pass for a pale mexican, with dark lipstick, and beanie hat–this had been beneficial a few times. Plus I’d have Trina throw out a few chica’s my way, to lessen any doubt a cracker hater might be having in our vicinity.

Why are we walking the blood stained streets where we could lose our lives any second?

Trina wants to meet a boy. Trina is always meeting a boy.

He’s not even a boy. This guy is in his early 20’s, and she asked me to come with her to stop her from doing anything stupid. The truth is, I don’t have that kind of power over her. The real reason I’m tagging along is simply because I didn’t have anything better to do, and maybe a small part of me craved a bit of adventure. I’ve never been in therapy, so I can’t say for sure. (Am I the only one slightly weirded out by the fact that in the word THERAPY is RAPY which could be pronounced RAPEY, which then could be read as THE RAPEY. Okay, ignore this, I’m babbling.)

We took a bus to our current location, and now we’re forced to walk the rest of the way to what I’m hoping is not a crack house, because we’ve walked by three already. Trust me.

Trina met this guy at a bus stop a few days ago, and now here we are, one of us thinking this is how it all ends, and the other wondering if they should give it up tonight, or wait another couple of days.

“I wonder when I should get him sprung on my goodies.” Trina says, as we walk through the deteriorating city.

Yep, I knew it.

When we get to the house, we find ourselves walking through serious foliage to get to the backyard. Why the backyard? I wish I knew, this was the instruction Trina was given over the phone. Did he have a baby mama asleep in the house? (You’d be surprised) Perhaps cutting up some serious foliage inside and they didn’t want to share. I don’t know, and I didn’t care. I was getting big stranger-danger vibes, and wanted to leave as soon as I saw him AND his cousin.

Trina whispers to me, “He has someone for you.”

No, thanks. Not interested. My goodies are not up for springing. I want my mommy. Let’s get the hell outta here.

She then leaves me, and walks her fire starter thighs over to a darkened corner with her fellow. Trina may be a big girl, but she never had a problem gaining the interest of the opposite sex. Her, I’m fine as fuck attitude is what got her a new guy at every bus stop. It might also have been the I’ll do anybody vibe, whatever the case, I got phone calls from her on the daily about new males, who deemed her skeetworthy.

I can’t see them very well in the dark, but I can tell their bodies are mashed together in some way on a wooden bench. Awkward. I’m cold, standing in the dark, and now a very large man, who looks like he’s in his thirties, is inching towards me. Shit.

“Hey girl…”

“No. Don’t even bother. I’m here for my friend, and I’ll be standing right here until she’s done doing whatever.”

“Okay, that’s coo, that’s coo.”

And yes, coo. Not, cool.

I have no idea how long I was standing there when Trina finally emerged from her dark corner of shame.

“Can we go now?” I ask.

“Yeah, we have to hurry to catch the last bus anyway.”

Not until we’re on the bus do I ask if she did anything stupid.

“Kinda,” she says. “He’s gonna meet me at the park next to my house tomorrow.”

“So you can finish whatever it is you started.”

“Pretty much.”

He will soon be added to her list of sexual partners during her 15th year of life.

I was hoping we would be alone on our bus ride, but there is a group of five guys all the way to the back. Trina and I are sitting at the front, right next to the lady bus driver. The guys start getting loud, and talking a lot of shit. I glanced once towards them, and Trina quickly nudged my arm.

“Don’t even look. Ignore them.”

The comedians in the back had started to call me a pumpkin, and then elaborated on their observation. I can’t lie, they spoke the truth. I had been wearing an admittedly, awful, blinding, orange T-shirt. People have said worse, and they were most likely high, so I didn’t feel any kind of way about it. As long as they were not trying to stab us to death, I was totally fine with the tearing down of my self-esteem. Please Lord, let the only thing they rip into be my emotional well-being, but make them leave my internal organs intact. Amen. 

I only put the shirt on in the first place because Trina said it looked good on me. It was the first and last time I had worn it. I gave it to Trina afterwards, since she liked it so damn much. Personally, I don’t believe anyone looks good in orange. It’s an eyesore and is only acceptable on Halloween and in construction sites. But I digress. 

The bus driver, Miriam, struck up a conversation with us to distract us from the crackheads. Miriam started getting very deep, and going on about the meaning of life. She was awesome.

“You know, every night I look out this front window, and think about how the world is much bigger than what I see through this glass.”

Trina and I just look at each other.

Miriam goes on to say, “Just by looking at me, you wouldn’t be able to guess what I do when I’m not driving this bus, but you have to expand your mind. You can’t let less than desirable circumstances dictate the outcome of your future. You can’t let anyone, or anything stop you from getting what you want.” After a pause, “Oh, I study law, by the way.”

I’ve never forgotten her.

Miriam didn’t have a penis, so Trina could only tell you that the bus had a driver, and…that’s about it.

We made it back to Trina’s house safe and sound. Her mom was working a graveyard shift, and my parents thought I was having an innocent, sweet, sleepover. Hi, mom!

Definitions:

Cracker- White person

Chica- Spanish for young girl or girl

Sprung- Obsessed; in love with; crushing on

Goodies- Vagina

Baby Mama Mother of one’s child

Fire Starter Thighs- Big Ol’ thighs rubbing together

Skeetworthy- Worthy of having, let’s say, messy sex with

PS- I feel the need to remind everyone the focus of this website is humor/satire, so getting your panties in a bunch about calling my friend a whore, or getting into some kind of whore/slut debate is completely unnecessary. Relax, it’s a humor essay.

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9 thoughts on “Adventures With My BFF The Whore

  1. If that’s a humour essay based on real life sweetie then you must have walked round with your heart in your mouth half the time. It would be nice to know you’re still friends with Trina but have at least given up walking her to meet her ‘dates’.That’s if she still survives after taking chances like that. At least you have and are here to write about it Chica.
    Hugs

    • Yes, it was all real. Many people have done absurd things, or had absurd things happen to them, and if they write, they turn these life experiences into humor. It’s that simple. I remained friends with her for another 16 years, until I moved to another state.

  2. Most enjoyable. I remember being a teenage girl too… and I had a friend like that too! I never walked through blood with her, but she told me stories that changed my hair from straight to curly! 🙂

    • Glad you enjoyed! Be thankful you didn’t have to walk through drug deals gone wrong. I had absurd, crazy times with her, that many years later definitely make me laugh.

  3. “she asked me to come with her to stop her from doing anything stupid.” Sounds like you failed a touch there. But, I really felt like I was there with you. And your awesomely slutty friend.

    • I’m sure you mean “failed” in the nicest possible way. Especially since it pretty much takes a magic wand to control what another person does. She was deep into her ways, plus I was 15, I sure didn’t have any wisdom that would stop her in her tracks. Hope you enjoyed my absurd slice of life. 🙂

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