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| Get Into It |
Looking around this room, full of losers; niggas who lived in the projects, probably with their moms, with no real careers, and spent their time beating women and shit-made me want to be doing something else. Anything else, really. "I don’t belong here. This isn’t for me," I thought as I took the opportunity to scroll Ryndra’s Instagram page: “Rynsin.”
It might seem stalker-ish, considering she was the reason for my current predicament; the fines, jail, the abusers program, and a possible felony - if I didn’t handle these things, but this wasn’t more about information gathering than stalking. I don’t have to stalk anyone, much less Ryndra.
As of late,Instagram seemed to be the only way I could see what she was thinking unfiltered, as she never really talked to me anymore: Not about the present, rarely about the past, and never about the future, which was my concern. Since her official breakup with Chimeze, she had been distant and different in a way that I was not fond of.
Grazing at her most recent post; a meme about "trust being like a piece of paper" or something, which she had made about two hours prior, I scanned the caption and hashtags carefully. I needed to make sure that she and that nigga ,Chimeze, weren’t communicating in code. It felt like they were doing that sometimes, but her screams of insistence that they were not, when I crowded her in a corner or when she was showering - I loved scaring her in the shower-reassured me. The fear in her eyes, when I asked combative questions about it, also reassured me - a little. Especially, when she was showering. "She’s a smart cookie," so she knows that I could really hurt her easily and leave very little evidence in the bathtub.
Anyway, I would often check her page, and compare it to his; something like a CSI officer watching terrorists to anticipate their next moves. Chimeze was always throwing "light shade" at her via this application, calling her a psychopath, liar, selfish and delusional – and many other insulting things, but as far as I could see, “Rynsyn” never responded to that Carl Thomas, “I wish I never met her at all” motherfucker.
Personally, I found him quite hilarious, actually, seeing as how he was always arguing with women online, but had nothing to say to me - the man who pretty much took his girlfriend from him in real life. Two years prior to them officially being a couple, I started working on her-over the phone. She had recently lost / was about to lose he place and was tired of living with her mom, so I opened my home up to her. I convinced her by saying, "do what you have to do for you, I am not going to hurt you. You know me. Don’t you?" She initially came to stay because it was easier for her to get to work. It was awesome seeing her every day, and even though I had a girlfriend, I would drop in to satiate my need to see her daily. Chimeze had no idea, because I told her he would insist she leave, and from what she had disclosed, he didn’t have any alternative places for her to stay:
"If you don’t want to return home, don’t tell him the complete situation. Make up a story. Don’t you have lesbian friends, from that women’s college. Say you're crashing with one of them. You don’t wanna mess up your LSAT situation," I reminded her. That seemed to get her attention.
"You're right. I'll handle it," she responded. Like the soldier I knew her to be. That’s why I liked her so much. Especially back then, she was so much easier to move.
She followed through with my order, because I never even met Chimeze while she stayed at my house. I remember thinking how strange that was. I would never let any girlfriend of mine live somewhere I never stepped inside of, but he was African and you know those Africans live and value differently. So...whatever. Once she moved in, he didn’t call her that often, and they went from weekly "date nights" to what seemed like monthly phone calls. Personally, I was cool with the detrition, as Chimeze’s stepping out of the picture meant I didn’t have to forcefully push him out of the picture - as went the original plan.
Even after our four month hiatus, where Noella, my girlfriend, found out the "girl I was helping out", might be her "girlfriend-in-law" and Ryndra left,I still kept an eye on her Once I worked it all out with Noella, I still continued to kept an eye on Ryndra. When she popped up again for the abortion money, I had my in; I couldn’t believe Chimeze let her come to me alone.Honestly, I don’t think he liked her that much, if he did he wouldn’t have made it so easy for me to access her. When he finally did run into me,months after the fact, he was always polite and I was always in control; of Ryndra and of his punk ass. Similar to how it is now.
Refreshing the screen brought up another, more recent, post from Ryndra. She had posted a picture of the expensive blender I bought for her, with the caption:
"no matter what he does, I don’t care hashtags: #hebetter #IwantwhatIwant #simpass #youcantfixthis #womanbeaterthings."
"This bitch…," I said aloud, forgetting where I was for a moment.
"Is everything alright?" the program leader asked, glancing my way while stirring her tea anxiously.
"Yes, ma’am. Everything is wonderful. I was just reading this line for this voice over audition I have to do. I hate that word, and never use it, but they pay well…," I stated evenly with a smile, while thinking, "nosey bitch."
I fought not to roll my eyes, as she shot me an understanding smile and headed to the middle of the room to take attendance.
Looking at my phone made me squeeze it tightly, thinking of how I would put that same pressure on Ryndra’s arm later tonight - when I saw her. "How dare she do this to me? I am not Chimeze, I am not the one to taunt online. She has it coming." Satisfied with my plan for punishing her for this transgression, I looked up, smiled at the counselor and straightened myself out for the class festivities; saying, "present" when the name Gerald Peter’s was called, and nodding at all of the 'fake sob stories' of my fellow DV deviants.
Counselor: …And how did that make you feel, Bob?
Bob: I felt betrayed and enraged. She fuckin' played with my emotions. I’m out here sellin' -
Bob looked around the room, and the counselor urged him on, "It’s okay. This isn’t that type of place. Feel free to talk freely."
Bob: Yeah, so I’m out here sellin' cocaine, standin' on corners in the snow to provide and whatnot. And this…this bitch was cheatin' on me with the neighbor! A motherfucker in a wheelchair! A nigga that only gets one check a month! You damn right I put her in a coma! Hopefully she'll wake up and be in a wheelchair right along with that motherfucker. And they can live in his apartment. It's accessible!
I looked around and a lot of the men were nodding in agreement with Bob’s story. I agreed too, that bitch got what was coming to her. If it were me, she would have probably died. However, I knew enough not to show any emotion about it. Fuck what that counselor said, I knew she was taking notes on who was saying what. Good luck to Bob having any of his felonies/misdemeanors removed after saying that. "Don’t be free here," I reminded myself – in my mind.
"Gerald Peters," called out the counselor. "You never speak much. Why don’t you tell us a little about yourself and why you are here?"
"Well," I stated evenly, "I think this whole effort…," I indicated the rooms entirety by opening my hands outwardly from my body, "is a wasted one. No one is going to learn anything here. I could be somewhere working on my next film or something useful. So, I am not feeling this 'waste of time'. That’s all. As far as the "why" behind my presence, it was a misunderstanding and I handled it wrong."
I sounded sincere enough for the counselor to check me off as having had participated for the day and move on to her next victim. However, what had happened wasn’t a misunderstanding at all. I was just tired of Ryndra bitching about me 'beating up on her' or telling me that we couldn’t be more than friends because of "how we started." That was code for, 'she didn’t want Chimeze to be hurt.' Every time she said anything that made me feel like she was still considering Chimeze’s 'bitch ass' over me, made me want to throttle her into submission.
That’s what you do when dogs act up. You correct them. I remembered one of my ex-girlfriends had a dog, named, 'Crooked' who would just do whatever it wanted, whenever it wanted. I cant stand when animals don’t obey. One day I was walking him and he had the nerve to rush at another dog on the dog path. I dragged him into a bush, using his leash, and stomped the "willfulness" out of him. I was so tired afterwards that when I let too much of the chain slack, Crooked bounded out of my sight. I found out later, when I arrived at my girl’s, that he had run to his original owners home. I smiled at the thought that I beat him so badly he wanted to go back to the future. He wanted to forget who he belonged to, because he belonged to someone who belonged to me... He walked into the apartment without looking at me. As a matter of fact, the dog avoided me as much as he could and never jumped on the table, or shat on the floor when in my presence. "What did you do to him," my girlfriend asked. I replied, "What, nothing…" and stared at her until she looked away. That's why I liked her, she let me have my way - to have me.
As would Ryndra... eventually. Though she wasn’t wholeheartedly interested in reconciling. Not really. I thought of the time I asked her to put up a few pictures on Instagram of us - seeing as though she had none. All she had up were pictures of her and Chimeze, who was long gone; she compromised by taking his pictures down - at my insistence. I had to push her around a little and do some yelling, but "so what," I thought "Fuck those old irrelevant memories, make new ones with me." She had this printed picture of them at some haunted house thing. I remember tearing it into tiny pieces and making her swallow it. I reminded her about how this picture represented the same day he was late for her hospital visit, the one he agreed to attend that day Yet somehow,he was super late even though they made plans to be there , because he decided , at the last minute, to do something with his mother. Furthermore , he didn't even call her to let her know his plans had changed; leaving her planned surgery up in the air-as they couldn't perform it without someone being there to drive her home. Luckily her mother stuck around or she would have had to cancel a medical procedure she had planned months in advance, because of his neglect, I reminded her
"Fuck that nigga", I thought as I rubbed her back a few minutes later and said I was sorry, and I was, but I was only doing what was necessary: to help rid her of the memories that were holding her back from being great with me. "He didn't give a fuck about her-not really. I know I would have been there-on time-no excuses needed"
Yet, even when reminded of all of his "fuck ups"; him talking to his 'friends' about her, arguing about stupidity, never expressing himself, being hot headed etc.... she couldn’t forget the good memories with him…or wouldn’t make new memories with me. It’s all the same in my opinion; I tried to take her to the mall - the one that she went to with Chimeze - and she would refuse. I offered to take her to the movies, and she would refuse to go with me - but then go with a friend of hers to see the movie I recommended. I would overhear her talking to her home girls (some bitches in Boston, that I never met), on the phone, about vacation planning. Meanwhile, she cancelled our plans to go to Cuba and Cancun for the holiday. That’s where she was now, with her sickly grandmother and cousin. That’s what she had told me. However, I knew she was lying - yet another reason to apply a little more pressure to her.
I knew better, as the letter her grandmother wrote her; the one hidden under the stove - where someone like me would never look - but did, said that her grandmother was trying to save her from some 'dark force' and insisted she come alone. Upon finding that, I went on a rampage and tore the house up looking for letters and anything that would give me clues to the inner workings of Ryndra’s brain. I found all of these letters to Chimeze, I laughed at her 'sorries' and long-form explanations. I had spoken to him a few times - over the phone. That nigga was so scared of me that he would accept my calls at his job. I even recorded him, just so I could see Ryndra’s face when I got to the part where Chimeze referred to her as a 'lying bitch' and got all emotional with me about his distrust of Ryndra. 'really, my nigga?" i thought.'who does that?", I asked myself every time I thought about those phone calls.
I had to hold my laughter back, while seriously boring holes into Ryndra, daring her to show any emotion regarding Chimeze’s disrespect. She knew the consequence if she did. She didn’t. I was happy to see she was learning. I laughed at the "return to sender" stamp on the envelopes. "Looks like he didn’t even open them," I thought while I grinded my teeth at the notion that Ryndra would lie to me and cancel something for us under the direction of someone other than me. I had never met her grandmother, but I already didn’t like her. Hopefully, Ryndra would show her grandmother all the love she had for her during this vacation, because there wouldn’t be another. No more vacations, visits, phone calls or even letters.
When Ryndra got back, I would take over getting the mail. She didn’t like walking up and down the six flights of stairs anyway. And it would give me a reason to be around more often. If she protested, I was sure her mailbox would break, which meant that all mail would have to be picked up at the post office until it was repaired-which would take a long time because her landlord wasn’t all that efficient. Of course, I would also handle the post office duties for her, in addition to handling the business of discarding any mail she didn't need to see. Just like I handled the placement of her journal right back where I found it,after reading it, so it would 'look' undisturbed and she would keep writing her 'plans' down.
This was how I found out about her meeting with a domestic violence counselor at a coffee shop on 116th. Mist Coffee shop. She had written about being excited to "finally sit down and talk to someone about thoughts of leaving safely." I noted the date. I also had a techie friend clone her phone, so I could be aware of any 'change of plans' she received via text. That day, I ran a little late getting to her house, and she spoke a little too harshly to me. I suppose she thought the domestic violence counselor would give her some answers that day. She was wrong, I was the only correct answer.
I caught her when she was boarding the cross town bus. She looked right at me, dead in my eyes, and didn’t respond to my hand motion for her to de-board the bus and come to me. Instead she stayed on the bus and watched me as it floated toward the west side.
The shock on her face, when I followed her into the coffee shop filled me with glee. I smiled at her, unnerving her. She tried to leave the coffee shop and go elsewhere, but I was right on her heels:
"Why are you following me, Gerald? I asked you to leave me alone," she sneered in a low voice.
"I told you I was coming to get a few of my items from your house today. You saw me at the bus stop, correct?" I stated evenly.
"I saw you, but I have other things to do today. Important things to do today. Time-sensitive things! You said you would pick your things up earlier – at 9am!"
"Well, shit changes, Ryndra! I had to do something for -"
"Look, I really don’t care about all of that, with those people. You said you would be here at 9am, as of 9am all of your things were placed in a plastic bag – and set out in the hallway. You can go to my apartment landing and collect them."
"Like the garbage…you set my stuff out, like you do garbage?" Immediately lowering my voice, recognizing that I was in public, I held in my rage though I was steaming. Usually I let off steam by punching someone or something. That wasn’t an option at the moment, so I grinded my teeth and stared at the bitch menacingly.
In response she turned on her heels and stomped back into the coffee shop and sat down at a table with another young woman, the domestic violence counselor I suppose. I stayed at the window, staring at her - to make her uncomfortable, texting her to break her concentration and eventually I sent her a text saying:
"I’ll see you when you get home."
Then I hopped on the train and headed back out to Graves-end. I'm sure she was up all night, worrying that I would come in, finish off the door and her - that’s where I wanted her. From that point on, I always checked her journal whenever I could. From her writing, I felt her resigning herself to the situation. Chimeze was gone and she couldn’t afford to move anywhere better, so she felt like giving in to me. Furthermore, if she did happen to move, I would move my efforts to wherever she landed. Just like I found her at the rooming house, I was confident I could again find her wherever she went next. Eventually, she would do exactly as asked and she wouldn’t have to be made. I didn’t like 'making' her do things, but if she would just do it 'my way', when asked, I wouldn’t have to put pressure on her.
She didn’t mention that or any other domestic violence counselor again. When I checked her voicemail, the domestic violence center indicated that she hadn’t responded to their request to pair her with a new counselor. "Mission accomplished," I thought. All those counseling sessions would do is frustrate her, which in turn would frustrate me, and then I would - in response - have to apply some pressure to her-to calm her down. If they left her alone we could get to a better place, I assured myself, deleting the message.
I growled lightly, to let out some of my frustration, so I didn’t show out. I couldn’t do what I wanted to, which was turn over the chairs and stalk out. I was mandated to attend this weekly meeting for domestic abusers; it was a significant part of the plea deal I took - to avoid spending one more day in jail. I never wanted to be locked in a cage, being told when to shit - with a shitter attached to my bed, by some unloved looking woman in a uniform. The idea forced me to take some calming breathes and check my watch. Those women, thinking their badges made them a match for me…they probably had a dude just like me at home - getting them together as I did Ryndra, daily.
Those eight days in that hell, with women who didn’t know their place, 'midgets with breasts,' gang members, con artists, dope addicts and all types of men, rat droppings, dim lighting, crap food, one tv - with no cable service, and ultimately no way to reach Ryndra - to tell her how sorry I was, how much I missed her or to ask what I needed to do to fix the mess I made, was something I would absolutely avoid in the future. I wondered if she changed her number, or worse case; what if she moved before I was released? What if I never saw her again? Those were the thoughts that ran through my head, in heavy rotation, like a funk flex bomb drop, 24/7-all eight days of my imprisonment.
Checking my watch, I thought, "twenty minutes left…good. I can make that," taking another deep breath. Bob was talking again...
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| MOOD |
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