Land of the Snakes... (J. Cole , Bornsinner)

 

As soon as I hit the red button, I immediately feel bad for doing so. It’s just I can’t get in the mood; learning a new skill, working two jobs and keeping up with my regular activities (the gym, doctors’ appointments, family shit) has me tired as shit. Just thinking about my Valentine’s Day plan, makes me feel all-the-way better about rejecting the call. When he peeps my effort, it will make up for all of the disappointment I’ve caused, as well as my current absences. I’ll make up for it on Valentine’s Day tomorrow.

“Hello…  Hello...?”  yelled Chimeze through my phone.  

            Completely unaware that I’d accidentally activated the ‘call answer’ key, thinking I was hearing something in the background, I moved more purposefully, scanning the avenues in all directions.  It felt like a set up, but I was set to run.  “Hello... Hello…?  HE-LL-O…? I can hear you Wrynra…  Stop playing games-Answer me dammit!” Recognition had me nearly dropping my purse to the ground, as I tried to continue walking, maintain a fast pace, while using the dim light to search, the prohibitively large black leather purse, for my black smartphone, finding the task imposssible.  However, Chimeze kept yelling out.  “Wrynra, if I have to hang up this phone and leave work in the morning angry… understand, that’s not what you want.”  Shit, I thought…  I need to find this phone.  I yelled into the bag, “Hold on for a second Meze’, I am having technical difficulties!”

“What technical difficulties, your mouth on another dick?” he replied.  “That seems to be your main difficulty!  Where is this fucking place?!  Yeah, Gravesend!  That’s it!  Sounds like Gravesend traffic in the background!  Gerald with you?” he asked yelling.  “Hey Gerald, still getting better blow jobs than me from MY Girlfriend?!  My cheatin’-ass bitch of a girlfriend?!…” 

             He knows that I hate when he calls me a bitch.  Especially when, in this moment, he’s acting more the part than I.  While he continued this rant, I counted down backwards… purposefully and slowly 4…. 3….. 2….. 1….  Deep breath out — to expel negative energy (a trick posted up by some soul searching self-proclaimed insta-guru on Instagram ) — reminding myself about the trip I had scrimped, saved and planned for the following New Year’s eve and Valentine’s day – the trip I planned on surprising him with when he came over the following evening.  The trip that would show him that, despite the cheating incident a few months prior, he retained all my love and loyalty.  That unlike most cheaters, I appreciated his resilience through my shame.  This mental recap reminded me why I wasn’t getting on the subway, in the direction of  his hospital, to show him The BITCH- he seemed insistent on conjuring.

             Instead, I concentrated and let his voice guide me to my smart device. Locating it in the pouch , inside the purse, designed specifically to hold smart phones, and speaking directly into the receiver hurriedly,“Babe, listen to me… can you hear me?”  Registering a snort, I continued, “I am heading home.  I am literally ten minutes away.  Let me walk home safely, get to bed, and tomorrow- when you are better rested- and not at work…”  I figured those nosey, fat bitches, he worked with had something to do with the energizer battery now in his back, always saying some slick shit to get him going.  “We can talk about whatever you want.  I am just so tired.  I had a hard day and the Lupus is…” (I hate to lie on Lupus like that but… he was working on bringing her up too).

“It’s cool, but we will talk tomorrow Ryn,” he said, cutting me short.  “Take tonight, but rest well because I’m not stupid, and I’m not going to continue to allow you to treat me like I am. The last time, I let you roam about unchecked on, you cheated.I wont make that mistake again”

His last statement echoed in my head over and over, as I reached my buildings avenue and followed behind me as I climbed up the final landing – of my 6-story walk-up, opening the door to the dark ahead.

             Waking up early to give my bones time to awaken and to feed my spirit by watching the sun rise in the right most corner of my windows facing the West, something I never wake up with time enough to do.  However, today, I could make time.Today, I was off, from everything; school, dealing and braiding hair.  And even though my reason for initially paying Luana  450.00 to teach me the last skill set was soon to be non-existent, I may continue.  There’s something meditative about hair braiding; it gives me a break from everything, while satisfying my need to multitask by allowing me to make additional income,  giving me alone time – time to think.  Pouring the water, steaming hot from the kettle, into the bowl of oatmeal, thinking about continuing my side gig, maybe on a lesser scale with my time allocated more in favor of my relationships and school.  Grabbing my credit card, I clicked on a few dialogue boxes, left open from the day before - double-checked the purchasing price, dates, times and locations - then I entered the data and pressed send.  I ate my oatmeal seasoned with fresh peaches, while checking the confirmation and printing everything out
.

              Dressing quickly, and smartly against the February wind chill, I grabbed my keys and hurried out the door.  While Chimeze never mentioned when he would be stopping by today, I knew it would probably be earlier than later, considering I didn’t call him when I woke.  That was enough to arouse his suspicion.  And it’s now 2pm - 14 hours in to the biggest romantic American holiday of the year - and I haven’t heard a peep from him; not a call, an email, nor a text.  I quickly pulled up his Instagram page to make sure we were still cool - a lock sign, with a message saying “no posts,” complimented by  an indication of 2000+ posts and 500 or so followers, would be a sure sign that last night had ruffled his feathers enough to cancel Valentine’s Day - for he and I at least.

Here I am, combing through Mid-town, after combing through Uptown and Downtown respectively, for some candy that looks respectable; nice packaging, but chocolates cheap enough to chuck/save for later in the fridge.  Finally I located a shelf  housing a few interesting candies, mid-reach to the back of the shelf to get an untouched product, a voice interrupted me,

“Need some help there?”

               I ignored him, probably an overeager store associate looking for a promotion to a customer service position, hoping that he would be gone by the time I turned to pay for my items.  No such luck, as I pretty much turned away from the shelf full of product into Gerald, a relentless ex-lover and sometimes current friend.

              Unfortunately, I still hadn’t broken the habit of confiding and consulting him on my business, a habit that led to me sinking into a double life a few months prior.  I ended up lying to conceal my deception; one involving a lesbian, her mother and a project apartment when the real story was that Gerald, standing before me now in all his older male omnipresent smugness, finally meeting me after a two year phone-friendship, equipped with the knowledge that I had just lost my apartment (after a protracted court battle), and maintained a terse ‘barely civil’ relationship with my mother, offered me the opportunity to not live with my mother while looking for another, more suitable, scenario.  “Just come stay with me.  I won’t bite…I work all the time anyway, you wouldn’t be in the way,” he said.

The story was long, and almost ended not so happily with me losing my boyfriend, best friend, and the man with the closest chance to being my future husband.  Even though Gerald insisted we stay in contact, my greetings’ tone reflected my dismay.

            “None from you.  Considering our last interaction, the one that had me kicking you out of the stairwell of my apartment, I would think you wouldn’t need clarity on that, ” I reminded.

Rushing to the aisle, sectioned off by canned goods, a maze of sorts with the end being a smiling cashier, with him following closely behind me.  So close that if he spoke, microscopic portions of his spittle would land on my nape hairs.  Knowing he wanted to talk, knowing there would be a scene if he didn’t get to talk, I let him follow me to a less populous portion of the store.

Leisurely, examining a child’s toy,“Didn’t you agree to pick up the phone ,whenever I called, the last time I came to see about you?”, he asked.

“Yes," I replied, "But you know that was just to get you out of my hallway.  How could I possibly answer the phone whenever you call?  You know I have a boyfriend.”
             

Looking around the store, walking one aisle over - causing me to now follow him - he calmly retorted,

“Ah yes, a boyfriend.  The same one from before.  The one you cheated on because his presence colored you unsatisfied, unhappy, in my home, eventually in my bed and ultimately with me - in my bed." Rubbing the underside of my arm, he continued, “I need to see you tonight. Make it happen…or I’ll show up.”

***

I knew he could show up.  I also knew he would show up, but the reality was as much as Gerald enjoyed the stalkers rush, he equally enjoyed the mind game rush more.











 Finally home, removing the middle circular insets of chocolates from the box and replacing them with carefully folded fans, made of my morning printouts, I decided it wasn’t quite right.  Tearing the paper out of the box, a few of the chocolates fell on the floor.  Out of respect for the five-second rule, my hand dove to pick them up.  Placing them to the side indefinitely, I removed the plastic insert of the candy box, careful not to spill anymore, placing the print outs, now folded flat, on the inside of the heart shaped box.  Then moving backwards, in order, I reset the box in its entirety, minus the top and the soiled candies.  Thinking about it a little more, I wiped the previously discarded candies off and placed them back in.  It just didn't look right without them; the real gift was the paperwork – I probably wouldn't have had to remember to tell him not to eat the middle candies, as I couldn't recall Chimeze being a big chocolate fan anyway. Placing the candy diversion somewhere reachable, but out of the way,I began organizing my thoughts while dialing Gerald’s number.

  


“Hello?", answered a more feminine voice than expected.There was a long pause followed by another way more masculine and familiar “Hello.”

“Gerald, why are you fucking with me?  First at the store and now you see my number, you know it's me motherfucker, but you decide to play games…what in the entire fuck," I complained.

For an older man, Gerald could be extremely funny, but his uncanny ability to sound like whole other people (women, men, children, foreigners, anything one could fathom) by changing his voice, seemed extremely threatening- when turned on me. I knew he was joking - but only partially.  Hating another woman answering his phone felt like a threat and  impacted me as such, I took a deep breath and began re-arranging my modular couch, only to put it back in its beginning spot, where it looked best - after all.

         Sitting down on the couch, surveying the cleanliness of my living space, before continuing in the most menacing voice I could muster, “Don't follow me out in public anymore.  It makes me uncomfortable and it would unsettle anyone.  But you know this.  I know you know this.  What happened to the space you agreed to give me to figure out what's best for me?  Remember that?  When you said, ‘take whatever time you need, I won't intrude, -but if you need me, just call.’  Remember that?" 

“I remember clearly” he replied flippantly.  “But that was then and this is now.  I simply changed my mind.  Kind of like you did when you decided to build a relationship with me, while still ensconced in the original one with Chimeze.  Or when you changed your mind again and went back to him.  Told him whatever, to get back in his good graces and thought, THOUGHT you could just discard me.  You thought you could just leave me behind, like the little dogs people buy for their children, and end up caring for entirely on their own, then giving them up to some shelter when it becomes too much of an inconvenience…Fuck outta here...  All the way the fuck out of here.  I'm no ones inconvenience, I've been too good to yo' ass… Too good!”

         Hearing the sharpened hurt in his tone, and while partially understanding its source, I fully didn't want him coming over and ruining the moment I had plotted, planned, saved and learned a whole new skill to produce.  In an attempt to massage his ego, breaking his train of thought, I stated, “I would never abandon you in such a way.  I could never forget how you looked out for me, when I had nowhere to be, that easy.  It's just, despite Chimeze and I’s issues… I love him very much.  He was there for me first, in smaller ways that add up.  I can't just --

“You can't what,” he asked, interrupting,, then a few seconds later,answering his own setup of a question followed with, “Oh, you can't leave the nigga who call themselves your boyfriend for self, without explanation, even though that same nigga let you languish for self, to the point of hopelessness. 

Everything got real quiet on my end.  He was too deep in my head.

“Now I know everything wasn't all the way cleared out on my end.  Odella and I, being a unit for almost two years, prior to you and I meeting - in person, were pretty solid... She wasn't the love of my life, but we built something dependable and I wasn't going to knock that down. Not for for you. Not without knowing you were all the way for -me.  I ended up leaving her for you, and I can't believe you would settle for a nigga who elevates you, at most, to second behind some fat, slovenly, dependent, unambitious, unattractive type who lives with her mother. “, Gerald said. Figuratively slapping me, by Bringing up some intimate details from Chimeze and I's  past, details  that I forgot I even mentioned.

 Attempting to regain control I softly stated, “Gerald, you know he was the first person to take the time out and take me to the hospital when I fell ill. He sat with me the entire time.  I can't help but appreciate his effort.  And there were many more efforts such as these    that —

Cutting me off, and clapping his hands, applause style for emphasis, open and shut, with each fallout of my name, 

“Wrynra, Wrynra, Wrynra... You are even easier than I thought.  Simple as fuck to please.  All a nigga has to do is be humane to gain points with you, huh?  A hospital visit?  Who wouldn't visit you in the hospital?  If you had told me what was up, back then, I would have stopped by to see about you.  Why is that special?  It's something any halfway decent person would do.  You're too fine to be so simple, honey.  Listen; was he still dating that fat smelly broad when he came to visit you in the hospital?  He probably blew a kiss to that bitch through the phone, right before stepping over your rooms threshold…”

 

         The buzz of my intercom let me know I had a guest.  The six flights of my walk-up only took an average person, three minutes to conquer; Chimeze sprinted up them shits, like Usain bolt, and cut that time in fifths. And the downside of him having a key, to my apartment, meant I could only loosely control his access via the front door.  Meaning: once he was up, he was up.   

I knew I had to cut my phone conversation short before I, or someone else, let my bell's ringer up or even pressed the talk then listen button, as the answer , by design, would blare through my efficiency apartment and to the other end of my phone conversation– in Gravesend, Brooklyn. Which would be disastrous, as nothing could prevent  Gerald from coming over, if he thought Chimeze was over.
 

Cutting my mental debate short, Gerald spoke deliberately,  “I take back what I said earlier about seeing about you today.  Handle your business, but you think on our conversation.  You always talk about keeping it one hundred; well, add that shit on up. Take a tally, using counters if you must, and see who’s really giving you that hundred percentage you talk about so much.” 

No sooner than I heard the click in my ear, indicating the call's end, did I press the door button, buzzing the door open for whomever it was who rung my bell downstairs.


          Only after hearing a knock at the door, did I wonder if Gerald took back his threat of showing up because technically he was already here…  Well, growing up scared of everything taught me that fear was paralysing; so fuck being scared to answer my own door.

         If it was Gerald on the other side, Lord knows he wouldn't have a problem camping out, for days if necessary, as he didn’t earlier; following me earlier throughout the store, or that panther like stalking shit he did when I had a neurology class group meeting, in the Starbucks on Morning-side Heights.  In hindsight, analyzing those incidents, made me positive it was him I saw in the ,passenger side , mirror of Chimeze's blue BMW S5- as we pulled out from  the Whole Foods on Manhattan's Upper West Side’s parking lot. 

           I thought about calling the police, but I knew that move would only complicate matters further.  Stuffing my keys in my pocket, tucking my cell in the space between my butt and my panties, in case I had to make a run for it, I grabbed one of my metal loft strand crutches, that last served me when I underwent a foot surgery that only served to indicate I needed a different type of surgery.  I leveraged it against the door of the bathroom and peeked through the fireproof door's peephole…as

MOOD