What About Your Friends...(TLC)

b

 Get Into it... 

   I thought of my grandmother, what I could do to apologize to her, and Chimeze, in general,  the whole plane ride.  Chimeze was extremely problematic; prideful, ignorant, impatient and a mysoginist, on his best day. 

‘Though I suppose he would fancy himself a progressive….LOL.  Those types always do…,’ I thought whimsically to myself, while gathering my items and preparing to deplane the flight that I had switched to - on the way from Cuba - in Miami.  It was suppose to be a straight flight, but... I didn’t want to risk being met by Gerald at the airport.  At least I’ll have the hour or so on public transit to think – without interruption or just some time to not to consider the requests of others.

   This year, and the few instances where  I have had time alone, had taught me just how precious ‘time alone’ could be;  how much I need it.  I was barely able to think with Gerald around; I swear he talks a lot about ‘a bunch of nothing’-just  to keep me from having a moment - or even thoughts - to myself that he isn’t privy to.  Finding time alone; to think clearly, 'to be' clearly and hopefully respond to the need for action was rare - and becoming rarer by the day.  I rubbed my face, thinking about how I had failed to make the most of this time I had had on the plane…

   I grabbed up my empty pringles container; I loath people who don’t think they are required to do their part, by cleaning up their own mess.  The last three years of watching Gerald piss in plastic containers - to avoid going to the bathroom ten feet away, throw things out of car windows - both stationary and in motion - were wearing on me.  It made me want to do everything I could to minimize my environmental impact, since his was so big…

   He would always talk - with pride - about his cleanliness, especially when finding fault with that of my home.  He would decry its dissary and lecture me about the possibility of me encouraging a roach infestation.  Whenever he said that, and he said it often, I would fight to hold back my laughter, as anyone who had spoken to me ,recently, knew that he was the roach infestation.

   I would have laughed if I wasn’t aware of how unwise of a chess move that could be; after all, I had stopped cooking, which meant none of the dirty dishes accumulating in the sink were of my making.  Not one of those plates in the sink were mine at all!  I barely had any food in the house, to be making a mess with.

   In November of last year I had actually packed up almost every single item in the kitchen, bedroom and bathroom.  I had also selectively packed many personal items - in addition to every additional set of sheets that weren’t being used on my bed.  Anything I didn’t need, and some of what I did, were packed.

   And when I say packed I don’t mean ‘placed in a box’ packed.  I mean one of my closest friends, Aural Smartson; someone whom I considered a  certified packer exordinare after she completed three moves, spanning four states, in two years - at the age of 25 - came to my home and helped me pack:
“You’re moving away from this situation,” she said, referencing my newfound terse relationship with my landlord.

   That was such a shame to me.  I took it as a personal failing; my landlords and I were so close  when I moved in - about 16 months prior - but, I suppose the idea that I had invited a ‘man man’ into their building, who subsequently destroyed my door, their property - which cost them money; changed things.

   I looked out the window, hoping to avoid Aurals eyes - and the question
.
"Yes, you are moving on from this - and him…" she said staring at my back.  I could feel her eyes boring through my head, bouncing off the moon to reflect at me.

“That needs to end; figure out a way to end this or you are going to lose my friendship; I wont watch you stand still in a hurricane, while making excuses for standing still, while your grave is dug around you - by it.”


   I opened my mouth to dispute this description of events:
“If they would just fix the door, maybe I could --"

"Just what, Ryndra…Actually, no…enough. That’s a tired-ass excuse and you know it!  If the landlord would only fix the door, Gerald almost pushed in - with 2 minutes of pressure - what would you do?  Stay here?”
 
   I turned away from the window to face her, thinking about denying that, in that moment, she had read my mind.  However, I didn’t get a chance, before she continued:

"That’s a stupid idea, it's beneath you…. Look, if no one else'll say it - you know I will.  This is a wonderful studio, considering the hardwood floors…considering how you have fixed it up.  Its really a beautiful space, but you can move somewhere else and make a new space beautiful…I know the rent here is low, and you wanted to bide your time, save and buy something....and you will.  Just…Just, maybe not for a little while longer."

She placed some items in a box, and finding an overlarge T-shirt, balled it up - ready to trash it, until I interrupted her stride - to the trash:

“That’s not his, its Chimeze’s …”

“Oh,” she said, before unfurling it, refolding it and placing it in the box she was working on packing. 
“Don’t let this studio turn into a cheap casket Ryndra; dead women don’t get to own property…and if he finds the money you’ve hidden here - he will just use it to seduce another women into his fucked up world.  And then you will have not only fucked up your life, but will have financed the ‘fucking up’ of another person's life...”

   The air was thick, as I considered, for the one hundredth time, dying behind this.  I hadn't really thought about it since Chimeze’s accident.  I was so worried about him for a while that I forgot this was an all-around dangerous situation.  I guess the recent series of flares, which often felt like a ‘lead-up’ to death, distracted me from the reality...

"I swear Ryndra, if you don't move - I am going to --"

“Stop being my friend, I know… I know…. However, you should KNOW - that sentiment is not very sisterly.  Did they teach you that version of sisterhood at Wellesley, Aural?"

“Well, I didn’t know the ‘B’ in Barnard stood for ‘Bitches who get beat upside the head,’ and even if you inist on it, it wouldn’t be very sisterly off me to allow you to follow through with this idea - this very bad idea.”

 I looked away , smirking. I know I shouldn’t laugh, but she was funny, even when insulting me.

“Samuel thinks it’s a bad idea too, Ryndra.  When my cousin told me he liked you, and flew you to D.C to chill with him, I was hyped because I thought - I THOUGHT - he had lucked up on a smart, bold, educated woman…. Now I know otherwise.  Now he knows otherwise.

   Little did she know, I really didn’t give a fuck what Samuel or anyone else, not in my immediate circle, thought about me -for being in my situation. I only went to visit him because, he was available to visit and somewhat interesting. However, the more I heard about his thoughts-regarding my personal business-the less interesting he became.  However, though I hadn’t asked for help unpacking, as much as I had asked for help with packing - I didn’t want to say anything that could possibly mess up the progress of the current events, so I attempted to placate her:

“I'm working on something; it's a process really… I've been making moves, but the idea is coming together like a puzzle; you put it together - pice by piece - little by little - until it's all one big ‘piece,’ obvious to all,” I clapped my hands together for significance's sake.  I like to add a little flair to my ‘smart talk.’

Unimpressed, Aural made a request I should have anticipated:

“Well... tell me about the pieces that are almost complete - tell me about the edges, the partials of your puzzle.”

   I looked away again, looking for something to do - to buy some time to deliver a decent answer to that question.  Unphased,Aural continued:

“Oh, I can see a piece of your puzzle without any assistance from you.” 

“Really,” I asked, rhetorically - dragging my L’s.

“Really,” Aural deadpanned.

“Well, please help me advance its completion bae," I goaded her, using a recently coined social media term that I knew she despised.

   Unmoved, she smiled, “Yes.  It’s a huge piece.  A cornerstone, really… This puzzle will never be complete until you do this part.”

“And what is that,” I asked, though I was pretty sure I already knew what she was going to say.

   Closing the two lids to the last box, she had been working on, and taping it firmly shut before ripping off the excess with her teeth.  She walked over to me and purposely bumped me so I wouldn’t miss her double entendre/demand: "MOVE," she exclaimed, before gathering her winter coat and moving out the door, while I stood as still as a statue, watching her leave.  

Honestly,I don’t even remember how long it took me to lock the door behind her or even how long I stood there...




 

MOOD