Hey, Rabbit,

Happy birthday.

DA Negus will be in chirping range in about a week or so. 

Then I can just say what I’m feeling, instead of trying to think about what to say and how to write it.

So, I’m adopting another baby. I’ll tell you about it when I get home. 

Sydney, it’s been like five months since we left the ring. 

I see him at breakfast and dinner, but I ain’t really talkin’ to Byous since we left Chaxiraxi station. 

I’m mad at him, ‘cause I was wrong and owe him an apology. 

I threw my new pimp cup from the last station’s coffee bar at him and got all up in his face for not defending his space. 

So, what had happened was:

I was feeling some kinda way after all these singers kicked him out of his suite.

All month, if he wasn’t out with his pod on the barge’s superstructure welding and fixing shit or smashing rocks and snowballs in our path on the fall, he was down in engineering with the Mechanic, Olùkọ́lé. 

She never comes up. 

I never go down there. 

The rats are as big as pitbull dogs and her house cats are the size of puma. 

Anywho, he was slippin’ out all quiet to go work, like he was tippin’ out to cheat on me or something. I caught him this morning on his way out and asked him what’s up. 

A couple of days ago, the pod synched on a song, got to dancing and singing, some ole churchy, housey, amapiano joint, “Spirit, move me. Spirit, teach me. Spirit, lead me…”  

Four hundred and eighty five big ass robots dancing on line round the habitat ring. Everybody on the boat, in the club, everybody on the station, his Therapists Erika and them dancing Mexis, just losin’ their minds. I swear, I thought I saw the farm animals dancin’ on time.

We flashed about a quarter of a lightyear and Tolo had to drive back to our contract scheduled station. Byous was a little annoyed. 

When we landed, I went looking for him. 

I didn’t know he has this massive private suite on the station! It’s gorgeous. All curvy and warm and touchable. Soft warm light. Real wood, stone and stuff. He calls it a warren. Says, “Me and the pod built it out. It’s a place for the furniture and our favorite toys and tools. I guess. I’m almost never there.” 

Rabbit, Huge soaking tub, live fireplaces, small library, cute twentieth century collection of stuff, fully staffed. 

All these closets full of shit chicks left behind like flags on the moon between leftover building parts, old cargo containers and all these gorgeous submersible vehicles as view ports between them. 

I walked back to his room and there were all these women curled up in his bed, gazing out over the resort garden. 

Habitat domes are decorators’ new rage out here. This one has a colonnade of twenty foot round, hundred foot tall diamond encrusted columns surrounding the entry to the casino supports artificial atmosphere layer that mimics Earth weather.

Because of the mist from the waterfall facades there are only a few places in the Casino with uninterrupted views of the outer walk of the habitat ring, or take in the replica of a twenty first century lodge on the slope of a volcano housing our crew quarters. I can stick my hand out over the balcony and touch the falling water

After I got over the view, I stomped out mad as fuck at one of Kumnandi’s backup singers.  Dakini Sisters, three big sexy, cold black coffee brown Gbẹnagbẹna hussies in his bed with the ship’s mechanic, curled up around each other, and made up to look like me, got my attention singing, “Ooh Tolo, I hope you brought enough coffee for all…

Oh. Dang! You da real thang.

You smell just like I imagined he would after… …Ooh. You’re the real Martha. Hi! I’m…” I left barking, “I know who you are, Msaki Dakini. I love your Aquanote and Braids covers. 

Bye!”  

On my way out the door, Kumnandi, the station’s headline singer yells at me, “He ain’t here. He just walked in, dropped his stuff right there, and said. Yeah! I ain’t fuckin’ none of y’all and walked out.” It must’ve been twelve of these sparkly, glittering almost naked glamor dolls rolling their heads, eyes and necks, sighing, “like I wanna fuck his ole ass, anyway.” At least two of them whined, “Fuck him! He can’t even remember my name.”  

I thought I’d find him in the food court, but nothing.

Anywho, he was slippin’ out all quiet to go work, like he was tippin’ out to cheat on me or something. I caught him this morning on his way out and asked him what’s up. 

Niggah shrugged, saying, “Yeah! So, we kicked some shit loose on the habitat ring, practicing for the Funk Parade and decided instead of just fixing it, to just do the whole damned thing right. 

We all caught the groove, fell into a zone and flashed to where we’d be if this was a straight fall. Besides, I didn’t want to interrupt my cousin’s sinfully decadent celebrations, just to sit in my room lookin’ out the window.

We were like half an hour late docking. 

Shit cost me like a shittonne of glitter. 

I hate glitter!” 

So, I’m like, “Kumnandi and Dakini Sisters are your furniture? Niggah. What?” 

“Just the Sisters, Umma Heyboo. I mean Kumnandi. Yeah. She hates me.” He laughed that he didn’t feel like sleeping in the box of kittens, so he stayed in his Dory. “Yeah! I guess. I’ll kick them out if you want to spend some time alone before we leave.” 

Demanding, “But what about you?”  

“He says, “I like your hair, Meg.” And walked out.

I say thank you, before catching my reflection in the porthole. 

I wasn’t even thinkin. 

My hair was all shriveled and drawn up into this nappy little afro puff. 

I had just finished washing it after a swim. 

I was gonna blow dry it straight.

I threw my brand new diamond encrusted iced coffee tumbler and cracked it on his big knotty head. 

They put my name on it in rose pink diamonds right there.  

I got one for you too. We was gone be twins. 

I think I’m just confessing my feelings and stuff I can’t say to the Khamyla, Inxusa, ‘cause they might have to increase Byous’ restraint level or something.

Love you

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