Blowed (part 1)

First let me give you an explanation of the title. Blowed is a term that me and my boys used to use to express shock, surprise or disgust. It’s like if someone did something outrageous, we would say “that nigga is blowing me” or “Don’t blow me.” I don’t know if everybody said this, but back in 94 – 95 being blowed was a constant state for my crew. Also please excuse the excessive use of the word "nigga." That's just how we talked back then. And now on to the story…

Kareem called me from his dorm at Norfolk State late one night in 1994.

Kareem: “Yo, Son, we going to Freaknik. You wanna roll?”.

Me: “When is it? This weekend?”

Kareem: “Yeah, that nigga Earl gonna come up to VA and scoop me and then we riding out”

And that was how the adventure started. Little did I know that this April weekend would turn out to be one of the most blowed experiences I had up until that point in my life. I promptly called my part time job and told them I wouldn’t be coming back in until Monday and planned out the wardrobe. I called my sister and asked if we could crash in her living room. She was a senior at Spelman at the time and shacking up with her boyfriend in Doraville. She was cool with it so everything was set up. Kareem and Earl would come get me Thursday night and we would take the 3 ½ hour ride from Savannah to Atlanta and my first Freaknik.

I sat up playing Bill Walsh college football on the Sega Genesis while I waited for these fools to come pick me up. The itinerary didn’t really make sense to me, but who was I to question. Earl was going to drive from North Carolina to Virginia to pick up Kareem and then come all the way back down to Savannah to get me. But whatever, I wasn’t driving. I was just excited to go. As 9:00 PM morphed into 2:00 AM, I came to the realization that these niggaz was going to be majorly late. So I went to sleep. When I woke up at 10:00 in the morning and they still weren’t there, I resigned myself to the idea that they might not show up. I took a shower and threw on the Hilfiger shirt and the Polo shorts and zoned out to the Price is Right. Just as Bob Barker was revealing the second showcase, I heard a horn honking and pulsating bass coming from outside. I looked up and saw a Montero in the driveway. I grabbed my bag and headed outside, but Kareem met me at the door.

Kareem: Yo, these niggaz is blowing me! Earl showed up 5 hours late and then his ride broke down.

Me: Who’s the other cat?

Kareem: That’s my roomdawg, Dmitri. This is his truck.

Me: Is he cool? He ain’t gonna cause no problems in my sisters crib, is he?

Kareem: Nah, he straight. You need to watch out for that nigga Earl. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with him, but he acting unstable as hell.

Me: Aiight, I’ll keep my eye out for the bullshit.

We made our way to the truck and I said my what’s ups to the fellas. I had never met Dmitri (who by the way wanted to be called “Meat.” Fuck that shit, I aint calling no dude “Meat”) and I only had hung out with Earl once or twice before. I wasn’t uncomfortable because they were Kareem’s friends and me and him had been cool since the 7th grade when he stole my pencils out of my book bag in chorus class. We piled in the Montero and headed towards Atlanta. There wasn’t much talking on the ride there, and what little conversation there was was drowned out by Dmitri’s 15 inch woofers. About half way there, Earl asked Dmitri to turn down the music because he had something to say to us.

Earl: Fellas, I just wanna tell you that I appreciate your fellowship this weekend. I’ve been going through some stuff.

Kareem and I looked at each other with the “this nigga is about to blow us” look on our faces. I motioned for Kareem to light the blunt as Earl continued.

Earl: I was driving down the highway after basic training (he was a Marine) and almost died. A deer ran out in the road and I swerved to avoid it. I hit the guard rail and the car flipped 13 times. I counted before I blacked out. (I grabbed the blunt from Kareem, cuz this nigga was talking some bullshit.) I woke up in the hospital 3 days later without a scratch, but I seen the light.

Kareem: Nigga, stop lying!!!

Me: (instigating as usual) For real??? That must have been scary.

Dmitri: Damn!

Earl: Yeah, I was drunk as hell. I had drank some golden grain and couldn’t see where I was going. I almost went to jail but they lost my blood test.

By this point I could no longer keep a straight face and I joined Kareem and Dmitri in derisive laughter. Earl took that shit personally and retreated into solitude.

Earl: I don’t care if you don’t believe me. It’s all true.

Dmitri turned the music back up as we blazed the weed. Earl pouted for the rest of the ride until we hit Atlanta. A couple hours later we arrived at my sister’s apartment to drop off our bags, pick up her spare key and raid her liquor supply. We were still underage and even though we could get drinks whenever we wanted, it was easier to take hers. Kareem and Dmitri had the hookup with some VA girls so we made plans to meet them downtown. It was around this time that Earl started to blow the scene again. Perhaps he had an aversion to women, but he acted a damn fool.

Earl: Why we gonna hook up with chicks you already know? We supposed to be hanging with just the fellas.

Kareem: Shut up, nigga! We aint gonna hang with them all night. Just have dinner and then hit the town.

Earl: I don’t know, it just don’t make sense to me, but if you guys insist…

Kareem: We insist, muhfucka! Now stop your bitchin’

And that was that, for the time being, at least. We drove to the Marta Station and took the train to Underground Atlanta. Once downtown, we took in the sights of Atlanta and more importantly, the bevy of young and beautiful Black women. After walking around for awhile using corny pick up lines, we went to the Sizzler to get up with the ladies. The setup was perfect, 4 guys and 4 girls. If that wasn’t a perfect recipe for a hook up, I don’t know what was. We flirted and conversed until our table was ready. Once we sat down, 7 of us placed our orders, the lone holdout being Earl. Apparently, he didn’t want to eat at Sizzler so he wasn’t going to order. This nigga sat there eating bread and drinking water, while the rest of us chowed down on steak and skrimps. It wouldn’t have been so bad but he kept looking longingly at our food. He was hungry as a hostage but we were not about to let this clown nigga get a solitary bite of our food. We should have known at this point that we were going to be blowed for the rest of the trip, but we gave that nigga Earl a second chance to redeem himself. Unfortunately, it didn’t go down like that.

TO BE CONTINUED

It was written…