So, the next morning, when I woke up on the edge of my bed - apparently, I had fallen asleep in a sitting position - pretty much everything was packed. 'Thank god,' was my first morning thought; just thinking about doing all that was done alone, made me ridiculously tired.
I knew that I couldn’t have counted on using Gerald to help me, as he did everything half-assed, and the very last thing I needed to happen was for me to move, get to my new space and unpack a plethora of broken items-which I was positive would be the outcome of getting any help from him.
'Did he 'low key' want these things to fall on my head and kill me in my sleep…' I wondered aloud, as I removed the brackets - ineptly installed by him - barely holding my shelves to the wall. Unlike me, he sucked at construction, there was nothing that he had put together, in this apartment, done properly…not one thing. Looking around, the only things securely and expertly done, were the things I had focused on.
‘Why was I with him at all,” I asked myself again, aloud. 'Oh, yeah…the sex,' I remembered. 'That and his seemingly compassionate nature. That was why. As he was not helpful with real life stuff. Like I said, he consistently did a half-assed job at everything I asked him to do for me. Maybe he figured our relationship was on the rocks anyway, so he decided to do just enough to last for a short period of time; if things fell apart, and he was around, he would fix it. If not…fuck me.
‘Whatever. Fuck him too…fuck him to highest place one can be fucked,’ I thought, a little too bitterly. At least everything was packed, even if it was in preparation for a move that I wasn’t even sure was going to happen; at least I was making strides toward a goal. ‘It was going to suck leaving this place…kind of,’ I thought, looking arund my studio filled with boxes and a bed. I had hoped to do a lot more here than I had actually accomplished. This was supposed to be a home, but became more of a stopover.
I caught a glimpse of my hair in the mirror, looking crazy: not the Afrocentric, refined crazy either. It was begging for assistance. I looked for my brush - didn’t find it. Next I looked for the next best thing - didn’t find that either. After more than a bit of looking, thinking and opening a few of the ‘just packed’ boxes, I realized I had packed my combs, brushes, hair supplies and many other things I needed - away. Like an idiot, I didn’t listen to Aural when she said “don’t forget to list and label what’s in the boxes, R.” Thinking that I knew better...
As a result, I didn’t know what was in what box. Before it seemed like there weren’t enough boxes to pack everything up, and now there were boxes everywhere, boxes piled to the point of blocking the TV. Boxes, with everything I enjoyed, mysteriously packed away.
I couldn’t bare the thought of undoing all that Aural and I had accomplished the night before, so I did the next best thing, I fired up my computer and printed out every real estate listing that I could afford, in Manhattan, and just in case I managed to burn through 700 listings, I printed out everything I could find, in my range, in Brooklyn, Staten Island and even The Bronx and Queens. "I hate Queens! Its almost far enough that it doesn't count'
‘If I really have to move to the dirty ass Bronx I am just going to shoot him and go to jail,’ I thought while the last of the 89 pages finished printing. Maybe I should have left everything on the computer, to save paper-but it's so much easier to go line by line productively with a printout.
By the next morning, I was scheduled to look at 6 apartments, 2 coops and 3 condos; all in Manhattan throughout the day. I changed my outfit three times; I didn’t want to look so laid back that the realtor didn’t take me seriously, nor did I want to look so wealthy that they would try to ‘take me for my paper.’ I just knew that I couldn’t really afford to go any higher than the original asking price, of 300,000 for the condo. However, I would have to make one of these eleven options work as staying here wasn’t an option. Walking into the weed-choked hallway, and down 6 flights of stairs convinced me that while 3000,000 seemed like a tired amount to spend-looking at my once beloved hardwood flooring, that that project ‘nigga roach’ had dragged me ‘every which way’ on, was even more tired.
I was surprised that my face wasn’t indentured into the floor, considering how hard he mushed my face into it.
I resolved to find a new spot. One that he would never have access to. As I stepped into the spring air, I looked around nervously. I was worried he would be waiting around, outside my building, trying to catch up with me or something; he had done it before, but his showing up like that still made me nervous.
Honestly I couldn’t remember how it felt to be at peace in my own place, or even in the places around my place. His presence polluted everything; in addition to his constant calling; on both my house and cell phones, deluge of stupid emails, and the corresponding threats via text, when I failed to respond to the emails, to the showing up unannounced when I neglected the texts about the emails…
I was mentally and physically exhausted. This was the shit I knew for sure. The closer I got to the bus that would get me to the realtor, the more resolute I got about things. When I found my new spot, he would never be allowed over. I wanted to forget what had happened. I needed to remember every single bit of it, so I wouldn’t slip up, feel lonely and ask him to come help me with something:
“Yeah, I know you can't find the box containing your pots, pans, or even the dishes…” he started off casually. “That’s why I brought a few things over from my moms house, to tide you over - you know, fill the gap.”
When he saw the annoyance on my face, he had a mini outburst:
“What!? Did you think I was going to keep buying food, when my mom cooks…when you cook? I am not Chimeze, Ryndra.”
I looked at him, finally showing just how exhausted I was with his backward logic and everything that was him - maybe for the first time.
“Why are you looking at me like that? Are you looking at me like that because I refuse to be your chauffeur and buy you overpriced fare - all over Manhattan - like his ass used too?”
That wasn’t it. He knew that wasn’t it. He just wanted to see if he could get me riled up over Chimeze, but it wasn’t going to work; It had stopped working a while ago, and it wasn’t going to start working again now. My feelings about Chimeze might be a concern of his, but they were none of his business.
I just continued to ignore his prodding and stare vacantly at the box. He saw me staring, and picked it up, placing it atop a few of my boxes as to have easier access to the things inside.
Using his keys, he
sliced the one strips of tape holding the flaps together. Then he
started pulling out zip lock containers- telling me what kind of
food each one contained - 20 in total. I was just in a daze, wondering
‘how the hell will that all fit in my fridge?”
Next came a small set of table ware, 2 pots and one pan and his trademarked, but tired witticism: “you know…until you find yours... Maybe while you're looking for those , you may find your pussy. who knows?”
I knew it was coming, because we hadn't sex in months. The first dry spell came after I admitted to Chimezie I had cheated on him. I wanted to hold true to my promise not to do so again. I did. Even though Gerald wouldn't go away, and he was very good in bed, I never slept with him.No matter what:
We went to the movies, ate dinner , I even had him help with laundry ...I let him come around, so he wouldn't get any ideas as he had actually threatened to hurt Chimezie once and I couldn't allow that to happen. So I became friends with the monster in an attempt to control it, until I could figure it all out , but things didn't work out that way. Chimezie thought I was still cheating and used my attempts at protection as a reason to leave-devastating me in many ways, though I couldn't show it.
I wanted to just create a spectacular scene by telling him the real reason all of the pots, pans, and cutlery were packed away. I couldn’t imagine he wasn’t aware that I wasn’t interested in cooking for him…I had never been interested. I just needed something to do after Chimeze left. I had stopped really taking care of myself at that point,stopped eating and let the depression take over.
I so desperately needed something to occupy myself. Considering he was stalking me all the time, therapy wasn’t an option - but since I love to eat - and cooking can be done at home, I decided to give it a whirl.
I really got into it and started cooking, baking, braising, boiling things I thought I would really like: oxtail, rice and peas, stewed chicken, seafood gumbo, chili, paprika chicken, lamb, meatballs, jerk chicken, friend chicken, cobblers, cakes, cookies and pies. I had even honed in on my own special collard greens recipe and got the mac and cheese to taste like my moms.
However, Gerald seemed to get the wrong impression. He thought this was for and about him, but it wasn’t. He thought it was bringing us closer, but it wasn’t. I merely liked to cook, and since he was around, so I fed him. I wouldn't just cook for me and not feed whomever was in the house.He had happened to be in the house and at one point, i cant remember when that point stopped, I cared for him..
However, he rewarded my kindness with unkind words, embarrassing behavior in public, and private, but prevalent abuse, at home. He made me skittish to the point that I was jumping when I heard loud sounds.
He couldn’t help himself. I never forget when he took me to this really nice party at a banquet hall, some place in Brooklyn. I was all dressed up, full face of makeup, with my hair done; and he gripped my leg hard enough to rip my stockings and leave a red imprint.
All because he had yelled at me and I jerked noticeably enough for our table mates to notice:
“Why would you do that? Why would you fucking do that?”
His green eyes flashed and I remember waking up the next morning on the floor, next to the blowup mattress - naked and bruised.
I didn’t want to cook shit else for him. I just wanted to start over . I wanted to start better and Aural had given me every confidence that I could...Even if Chimeze wanted me to die for hurting his feelings, and I was loathe to disappoint him ; I wasn't going to let Gerald kill me to satisfy Chimezie's need for revenge.
I was ready to really take the next step...why not use this as a spring board to something really different and interesting. I had a list of amenities that i would need. Something with high security, because though I hate to admit it, i am a drug dealer. Maybe a parking lot for my semi-new car, I didn't want Gerald to try to damage it, should he find out about it. I wanted a pool , but mostly I wanted to own it. I thought long and hard that, as I settled into the waiting area at Brown,Harris and Stevens.
It had always been my dream to own something , before thirty, which was coming up. Something manageable, I never wanted a house. Houses are for families; people with children. That was one thing this incident had taught me for sure. I was pretty certain that I didn't want any children.
Especially after what had happened only 6 months ago...
what had happened showed me why I had no business using sex as revenge. Why the loss of Chimezie shouldn't have led me to fall victim to Gerald's kind words and advances again:
"It's fine...we will always use protection...It will help relieve your stress Ryndra,. You dont need to feel this way...I can help you feel better. let me help you."
MOOD
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I totally appreciate this :-)