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| Get into it... |
“As a matter of fact, go get in the bed - where I can see you.”
As I weighed running for the door, Gerald grabbed my arm and swung me toward the direction he indicated.Then repeatedly smashing his fist against his forehead, all the while never breaking eye contact, he stated, “Rynra, you keep playing with me like I wont fucking smash your head through this wall, so you can say hello to your neighbor’s …bitch get in the be - ”
A loud singular knock interrupted him.
Giving me a look that dared me to scream or give indication of the apartment’s inhabitation, he crept backwards toward the wall, while doing a good job of shielding the majority of the efficiency, and him, from the entrance. The temperature of his stare caused the room's temperature to drop by ten degrees. The click of the lock and creak indicated that it was Chimeze. I neglected to inform Gerald that Chimeze had a key. In the moment he hesitated, I slipped by him - pretty much colliding with Chimeze in the doorway. Out of breath, from my fear blending into the intensity of the situation, I grabbed his arm hoping to stabilize myself and gain a sense of calm.
Grabbing me by the shoulders, firmly, but gently, to stabilize me, “You ok,” Chimeze asked.
Too embarrassed to speak, forgetting the moment, I looked off. Slowly maneuvering my face in his direction and reading my eyes, which I am sure showcased all of my worries, he grabbed my hand and marched me to the main area of the efficiency apartment.
Stepping from behind the wall, to the center of the room “What’s the problem,” Gerald asked in greeting. Before he could issue a response, putting more pressure into gripping Chimeze’s hand while steadily gazing upon the floor, I ended it before it began:
“Thanks for looking after me, while I waited on Chimeze. I appreciate it greatly. I know it was a strain on your schedule, with work and all.”
“You know, I’ve always been willing to do anything for you - from the day I meet you. Nothing’s changed. It was my absolute pleasure,” said Gerald, while staring directly at Chimeze. Smirking, daring him to engage.
Chimeze’s presence emboldened me, and while I wasn’t positive, I felt secure that Gerald wouldn’t violate me in his orb. Walking over to the bed, I grabbed his bag and handed it to him.
“Here you go. I wouldn’t want you to leave anything you might need for work behind.”
“No worries. I know anything of mine is safe here. You, more than anyone else, know what my property means to me,” he replied, unmoving.
Reading between the lines, and getting more frustrated by the moment, Chimeze broke the tension,
“Yeah, I'm here to escort Ryndra to a medical appointment. If she’s late, they wont see her.”
Gerald sat down on the couch, and started rifling through his bag.
“So yeah,” Chimeze continued, “We have to get going.”
“So, doctors see people, after five pm, on Valentine’s Day now,” he rhetorically asked Chimeze. Looking my way, “I always knew you had some amazing medical coverage, Ryn,” he spat, purposefully using the nickname reserved for Chimeze. It was all a cat and mouse game, designed to provoke a confrontation. Moving back to my original place, at Chimeze’s side, I kept my eyes open while gripping Chimeze’s hand, even more tightly than before, while praying it wouldn’t come to that. I loved how Chimeze veiled his anger in service to me. I knew he had plenty of questions, the majority of which I didn’t/couldn’t answer, but that he was doing his part in the united front, in service to me.
“Must be the lady Dr, the what is it called. Chimeze help me out? You’re a murse… I mean nurse,” Gerald faked-corrected himself smirking. Looking up at Chimeze, I tried to mirror his stance and keep my cool; he had a lot of practice-keeping his cool and all. I was seething, and I knew Gerald read the heat like a high end thermometer. Honestly, he only knew that was a “kill button” for Chimeze, because of me; I’m guilty of calling Chimeze a murse, over the phone, with Gerald in the background. A year or so ago, when I made the mistake of flagrantly cheating and folding this drama into my life. All of that lead to this moment, and many others before now.
A lower part of me, my throbbing assets in particular, wanted Chimeze to beat Gerald’s ass in every corner of my apartment. I didn’t care if the shelves came off the wall, and the police were called. I needed the man, who said he was mine, to do his part in reclaiming several pieces of me I felt sure were housed in Gerald’s bag, jumbled together with his work equipment. Considering that it was my behavior that was the cause of everything really, I knew it was a lot to ask - ridiculous to expect - but these were pieces of me that I was sure I would never get back on my own, and reclamation was necessary for Chimeze to have the “all of me” that he claimed he required. However, my common sense portion made me grip Chimeze’s hand, even tighter, hopeful he would sense it as an entreat for him to stay calm. He had no idea how happy I was to see him. How he had saved me...literally from Gerald and my own paralyzing fear of everything. I was hopeful, my pride would allow me to express that to him later, on safer ground.
He had always been disrespectful, fucking Gerald; 47 years and life hadn’t relieved him of his disrespect. At one point, his own mother had chronicled his past; loves, adventures, jobs and brushes with the law - all tainted by a refusal to change a disrespectful nature. At this point, I supposed it never would. I was just hopeful, that he would take his leave, without a dramatic scene. He always claimed to love me, but I knew that the only way he could show that love, in real terms - in real time - would be to use it as fuel to leave and never come back. He knew he wasn’t good for me. Even at his very best, he was not good.
Jarring me from my thoughts, Gerald swung his backpack in an arc, from the wood flooring, onto his back. Standing up and smoothing down his khakis. Chimeze tensed at this sudden movement, but I only gripped his hand tighter, and tighter still when Gerald quickly, but violently knocked me into my significant other, as he passed me to get to the hallway.
Grabbing the large plastic bag on the doorknob, “Want me to take this out with me, Ryndra,” he asked me pointedly. “I usually take the garbage out for Ryn…” he stated venomously, looking Chimeze, whose hand was turning white from my grip, up and down. Realizing he wasn’t going to get a response, bag in hand, Gerald opened the door saying, “It’s what the man of the house does.”
That was the final straw, and I have no doubt that if he wouldn’t have risked injuring me, due to my tight grip now on his arm and hand along with the door slamming with such finality, Chimeze would have tried to kill Gerald. That would have been a hot mess, garbage all over the floor, neighbors watching through the peephole and the police and a jury watching via the camera trained on my door. I couldn’t risk my lease just to prove a point. Also, Gerald always seemed physically more superior to me and the point, that I wanted to make to Gerald, would fail to be made if he ended up beating Chimeze’s ass. In my hallway, in direct view of a camera my landlord constantly monitors. Hell, I was sure I’d end up homeless on my mother’s couch, with her in my face talking to me like she was Iyanla and I was Debbie Thomas, “Are you aware that your life has become unmanageable. I just got out from up under her house rules a year prior, when I moved out - for the second time - feeling like someone who was fresh out of prison; no job, no prospect, no support, but knowing that I would die before I would go back. My reality wasn’t as dire as all of that; I had a job, career prospects, health insurance and some support but I still wasn’t going back.
“Chi, just chill. He’s gone now,” I reassured my man, as I pulled him to join me at the apartment’s window, looking out onto the street so I could make sure this dude wasn’t lurking in my hallway. We stood there, silently for a minute. When Gerald finally came into view and jay walked to the other side of the avenue, we collectively sighed into one another. Watching Gerald’s further retreat down the street, and into his car; looking to my right at the stiff figure Chimeze cast beside me, I thought about how lucky I was to have someone stand beside me in such a loyal way. Sure, I would have to deal with the normal insults that seem to always pepper the interaction of those who cheat, from their significant other; but who better to prove myself to be better than I was, than to him. I was happier than ever to pull away from him, and head into the kitchen to get his Valentine’s Day gift.
Coming up behind him, I tapped him on his shoulder to get him to turn away from the window to me. When his eyes met mine, I could see the stress creeping it’s way from his forehead to his hands, in a never ending ripple. I knew it was all my fault, this continual exposure to stress, but I wanted to prove his efforts to “love me” right. Ever since he cried at the thought of me leaving him, I felt his genuineness; I couldn’t stand to disappoint him.
I handed over the heart-shaped box of candy, and looked away in an attempt to disguise my excitement. “Open it,” I implored.
I stepped back and watched him examine the box carefully, a little too carefully.
“What are you looking for? It’s candy, not a bomb. Open the box Chimeze…”
“Nahh, you ain't just gone hand off some second hand candy to me and think it’s going to make me feel special. It’s already been opened. Did you think I wouldn’t notice?! Gerald probably gave you this shit,” he stated as he firmly placed the box on the dresser and headed toward the door.
Knowing the candy wasn’t the real gift, and needing him to know that before he walked out the door, box of candy in hand, I sprinted behind him, through the kitchen, through the door, in time to augment his firm stride toward the apartment's exit. “Stop being dramatic, Chi. Open the box. Just open the box and we can hash out whatever it is that is making you insecure…ok? Do it for me. Let's just have a peaceful Valentine’s Day.”
Throwing his hands up, and pivoting to walk back in the direction of the main portion of the efficiency, only to turn to meet me -following him, he bent down to be equal to me in height. Grabbing my face firmly, but not violently enough to leave a mark,
“Peaceful. Fuck do you mean peaceful? How can it be peaceful? After all that…that shit…that shit with that motherfucker being in your house when I got here? I am tired of asking the same question over and over again, when I am pretty sure I know the answer….What was that even about?”
I looked down to buy time, I was trying to get myself out of the habit of answering questions before I was ready/before I had an answer that made sense. After about a minute of hard thought about whether to make something plausible up or to keep it one hundred about Gerald being abusive and stalking me; about feeling powerless to stop it from continuing before my hands being dirtied by pill transaction that could put me in jail for a decade or more at best or have me killed by banks for complicating the business. I looked up and opened my mouth in an attempt to explain, only for the air to be filled by Chimeze’s words instead:
“No…no, no, no…I don’t want to hear shit else from you, Ryndra. That’s all it is...coming out of your mouth…shit!”
Frantically looking around, for what I wasn’t sure, he locked his eyes on a crystal vase; an heirloom passed down to me by my great grandmother, that was passed down to her by her great grandmother; more than likely taken as secret payment from a plantation owner. My eyes grew wide anticipating his next move where his arm seemed to extend, more than normal, for him to grab it, lift it over his head and smash it on my hard wood floor into an uncountable number of pieces. I’m not big on things, but the shock of this uncharacteristic behavior, on his part, blew me away. I turned to stop
him from leaving again, only to see the heel of his boot and the slam of the door behind him.
I thought about running after him, but gathered my phone to call him; using the house phone (whose number wasn’t familiar to him) my heart skipped when he answered:
“Hello, Nurse Chindu speaking.”
Surprised at how calm he was, considering the destruction he exhibited just a moment ago, I barely managed to stutter. “You know who this is Meze. Come back, right now, so we can talk about this…so you can …” Looking around my floor covered in slivers of glass, impeding my movement in flip-flops, I indignantly cried “Clean this glass up off my floor. How could you do this. This isn’t like you at all. You know better…”
“Oh? So it’s a problem when I do something to your things, but when that nigga shatters you like the glass you are looking at on the floor, it’s just another day,” he said cutting me off.
“Meze. Just hear me out. Can you just come back up and open the candy? Please, just this one thing. One last thing and I wont ask for anything else, I promise.”
I heard some heavy breathing coming from his end of the line. I narrowed my eyes, thinking about what I could do to punish him for what he did. That was my family’s lamp! I thought violently.
“I am not coming back up there. You think I am stupid, you probably already called the police. Fuck you!... and fuck that second hand candy you shiesty, cheating bitch. Fuck your rabbit! Fuck your turtles! Fuck your entire existence; I hope that motherfucker comes back to your house to kill you! Call me again, and I’ll call him to make sure it happens...” It sounded like he dropped the phone down, as I could hear the music playing muffled in the background for two additional minutes, post the hate-filled sign-off, before I heard, what I assumed to be him, fumbling with it and the click that indicated the call had ended.
“Fuck him,” I exclaimed, throwing my phone somewhere into the dark recesses of my apartment, “Fuck him! Fuck him! Fuck him!” I repeated it over and over, until I was sure the expletive reached every corner of the apartment - all four of them. Then I called him back, when he didn’t answer I called again, and again, and again and again and again; until he blocked me, I think that’s what the forwarding to voicemail after two rings means. Then I called from my cell phone, unblocked, half expecting to be met with a mean, inflammatory message; filled with him calling me all sorts of bitches and creative expletives. I braced myself for it, only to be met with the forward to google voice after the first failed call. I tried again, blocking the number, only to be met by the “your ass is blocked from calling this number” indicator immediately.
In an attempt to gain some stability, I slid my ass backwards to meet the wall, only to feel something poking me; reaching around and half expecting to pull back a glass shard covered in blood, I instead touched the box of candy. Picking it up, I used the wall to brace my lift up and turned on the lights. It got dark so quickly I thought, looking over at the clock and realizing two whole hours had passed since Chimeze left. I grabbed the box, opening it roughly. Tasting one of the chocolates, I rolled my eyes and spat the remainder of it into the garbage can. It was horrible, thank goodness no one bought the candy for me, they certainly would have gotten an earful about how if this represented the trajectory of our relationship, we should end it immediately. When I picked it out, I thought it was a winner.
Sighing the defeat that the whole day warranted, I pushed through the complicated setup to rescue the boarding passes to Cuba, Zanzibar and Guadeloupe; as well as the Henessy Tour ticket, then I dumped the box, and the remaining contents, in the trash.
We had known each other for a while, and he had done so much for me; I wanted him to travel to one or all of these places with me. Now it seemed like the only traveling Chimeze and I would be doing would be away from each other….
I felt extinguished, like my inner light had had been extinguished. Sliding back down to the floor, kicking glass shads out of the way, as best I could; I rested my back against the wall. For a quick second I thought about calling Gerald, maybe if he knew he had all of my attention things could be normal, better and less violent. The sting of my left ass cheek startled me to reality. Rubbing, seeking out the glass shard that I had failed to sweep away with my feet, pulling back fingers covered in a fair amount of pink blood, I realized that this injury wasn’t caused by any glass from Chimeze's episode, but Gerald’s earlier episode of violence.
Grabbing some gauze and paper towels, I applied padding to the wound, grabbed my things and mapped my way to the hospital.
Walking toward the bus stop, I realized I didn’t have the where- withal for public transport, I stepped into the street to hail a cab. Once that problem was solved, I tackled the next one what to tell the doctors, who would surely ask me about the interesting placement of my latest injury. My retainer of control over my life was too important to just say what was; talking about Chimeze was a no go. He just exploded from the frustration of dealing with me, my cheating, my problems, my poor decision making since. Any utterance of Gerald’s violence was out of the question, as it would only place him on the road to jail, for what I was sure would be a negligible amount of time, and me on a countdown to attempting a new place before he got out and killed me for my nerve. It was too unpredictable…
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| MOOD |
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I totally appreciate this :-)