Title credit goes to my mom.
This is an original rap that I just wrote about some of my trials in 8th grade:
In Tampa, Florida born and raised
On the playground where I spent most of my days
Chilling out, recess, relaxing all cool
And all shooting some b-ball outside of the school
When a couple of guys, they were up to no good
Started making me think that I should
Try to go find a game of four-square
Cuz the way they be playin don’t really be fair
Yes, playing basketball against the boys in recess was rough, and Sunshine knocked me over whenever he could. But I learned something from my hoodrat days of b-ball with the boys: even if it hurts, get up and act like it doesn’t. I guess that is still my mentality, because that’s what I did today when I had a fall. You’ll here more about the fall, and about Sunshine, later.
I’m sitting here, still reeking of chicken, icing my leg. My elbow is bandaged and my head is throbbing. But nothing hurts as much as my pride. Do you know what “bust cap” means? I didn’t. Here’s the definition, straight out of urban dictionary:
To shoot someone. Usually in a gangsta fashion with your gun sideways in cold blood.
Yo nigga, lets busta cap in those fools.
My vast years of experience walking and/or carrying ice bins have apparently not been enough, because today I slipped on a drain while carrying an ice bin, and went kirsplat, right in front of a ton of chicken eaters and co-workers. I was sprawled out on the ground, ice showering down around me. Everyone stopped to look. One girl I work with was openly laughing at me (don’t worry, I called her out on it). Yeah. I busted a cap today, but it was my knee cap. I kinda wish I’d shot somebody instead.
I also kinda wish that I’d known what “busta cap” meant, before I got home today. Here were some of my ideas:
- To take a golf club to someone’s knee cap (Imma busta cap on you)
- To rip someone’s hat into pieces (Imma bust yo cap)
- To shoot a cap gun at someone? (Imma bust a cap gun at you)
Lets just say that my family laughed at me a little bit for my creativity.
At this point, you are probably thinking, “Wow, 19 years and she hasn’t even learned how to walk.” Valid point, Dear Perfect One Who Never Falls Down, but there is a silver lining. There is a skill that I have been working on since 8th grade, and today I was given an opportunity to exercise it. Let’s get in the Tardis and travel back a few years.
I was one of three girls in my class at Florida College Academy, and I was brace-faced and uniformed. I wasn’t really looking for a boyfriend, and I was really not looking for a boy spend the entire year pretending to be my boyfriend, but that is exactly what I got. Sunshine was bored out of his mind being stuck at the school with virtually no females, so he decided to direct all of his attention towards me. Being the awkward homeschooler that I was/am, I was not appreciative of the unwanted attention from Sunshine, and I didn’t really know how to take it.
Scooting his desk as close to me as possible. Passing me notes. Asking me, repeatedly, loudly, during class, from across the room, if I would be his girlfriend. Staring into my eyes for prolonged periods of time. Worst of all, sometimes, in Spanish class, he would sit ON my desk and sing songs like Mi Corazon of The Gipsy Kings directly to me. That was probably the most traumatizing, because I honestly would have just liked to busta cap on him, but instead I had to just sit there while he sang and the teacher did nothing. Here are some of the lyrics to Mi Corazon, translated for your convenience:
My heart doesn’t cry for you anymore
It just feels the emotion in silence
It’s waiting for you
My heart doesn’t cry for you anymore
It just remains silent
Crying for you
Yeah. So, anyway, I endured a year of the Pretend-You-Arent-Phased-By-His-Obnoxious-And-Meaningless-Flirting-Even-Though-You-Are-Because-You-Are-An-Awkward-Homeschooler-And-Would-Rather-Go-Unnoticed game.
Today, Ronald comes to my register: “Hey…Emma…(Pointing to name tag)…I have a friend named Emma…She’s beautiful…You’re Beautiful too..”
Me: “Thanks, what can I get for you?”
Customer: “Spicy Sandwich”
…The order ends, and it seems harmless enough, but about 8 minutes later, Ronald and his three friends are all saying my name. And I can hear them from their table. But I pretend like I can’t. Eventually, however, it turns into a swelling chorus of my name, being sung across the dining room. I can no longer ignore. I laugh it off and ask them what is up. They never got the sandwich. Great. Eventually, they receive the sandwich and leave me alone.
A few minutes later, Chris asks me, “So, were those like…your brothers…or…your…friends..?”
“No,” I explain, “They were just flirting with me.”
“Oh, wow. Well you seemed really nonchalant about it,” Chris responds.
So, there you go. Sunshine taught me something. Whether you busta cap when you fall down, or you just want to busta cap on someone who is singing your name, just act like it isn’t bothering you, and you’ll be ok.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to respond to a six-page letter now.