There’s always some foolishness involved somewhere. No matter how good you’ve tried to be or how well you’ve tried to straighten your priorities, there’s always something.
For instance, I took an entire year to focus on me and my life’s work. No relationships for me. The last one gave the impression that he cared, but he wandered about his life aimlessly and, well, I was trying to steady my aim. The one before him was only meant for fun, but then he started to become affectionate. Then I learned, unwillingly, that he was lying to me about things I had not asked about. Before him, I was interested and so was he, but he wanted to take ownership of me though he’d go weeks without returning my calls.
I’d had enough! I was still on strike until the day He walked in. A few weeks later he said he loved me. It would be all well and good if his female roommate didn’t exist. Hey, at least he told me about her, right?
I love how intimate our time is together. The laughs, the closeness is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. However, there’s a huge cloud that looms and I simply cannot. Cannot what?
He’s shared some of that intimacy with her at some point, I know. Do they still share it? The arrangement is for financial purposes, I know, but I. Just. Can. Not.
Her time was coming to a close once again. She placed her pen on the desk and closed her notebook. For a few precious moments and in a notebook page’s worth of carefully chosen words she released all of the cares of the previous weeks. The weight had been temporarily lifted until it was time for another ink fix. No matter how many times other humans expressed their love for her, nothing could top her sacred hideout in her notebook.
Opening her tired, heavy eyes, she took in the view of the ceiling. He told her that he loved her without any prompting. Did he really mean it? Maybe. All she knew was that her brain was in overdrive trying to figure out a more ideal scenario and her heart was unwilling to to be vulnerable to foolishness once more.
He asked to join her at her favorite hangout spot. The place was her home away from home. She knew his name, his passwords, date of birth and other vital information, all of it given freely. Perhaps extending an invitation wasn’t the worst thing she could do. She’d opened up more sensitive places already.
She glanced at the time. How much of it did she have to waste? She almost wished he would lie to her because as much as she desired the truth, it would be so much easier to drop him if he were a liar. Life was so much simpler when all she had to worry about was being tired from working all of the time. Now, her psyche was being put to work.
It was so offensive it made her cry. She’d wondered if buttermilk could really go bad. Now she knew the answer for sure. Though some things were rotted and fermented to desired states for consumption, there were some already sour that could spoil even more. So much for the buttermilk pound cake she planned.
She hated the cleanup required after frying food. Cleaning up and disposing of the leftover cooking grease was enough to deter her from doing it on a regular basis. The Brothers Johnson’s Strawberry Letter 23 playing in the background in harmony with the sizzling catfish grease coupled with the smell of hot sauce, collard greens, and cornbread took her to a place she rarely revisited. She inhaled and remembered back home. Nothing like the warmth of the kitchen to take her there to water her roots.
She could feel her soul lifting from her body. Every one of her senses was on guard awaiting the next assault. He told her he’d leave her something to talk about; her mind would be blown. She’d be questioning her experience for times to come. He had penetrated and eviscerated her mental capacity, as promised.
She’d been here for years; dare she leave now? Her tears had flooded the house in which they lived, yet she stayed afloat due to the life-preservers known as her children. She’d had a mind to set the place on fire, but salt around the house did the trick. He had caused enough fires, so now he could burn in them. She was gone.
Urban book oasis. Stephen Browder. 5-star author. One of the most downloaded on Amazon. Specializing in African American Contemporary Fiction, urban psych thrillers, and mysteries with a predominantly black cast of characters.