When it Hurts...(Avant)

Get into it

     The hospital and all of the questions that come with seeking help were just as expected.

Did an animal do this to you? 

Were you assaulted? 

HIV postive?

The questions flew every which way and I answered the last one with a vacant zombie headshake indicating "no."

     After that, I was happy to let them think they were talking in another language ; one that was over my head. I waited two hours to see these doctors and the experience was like being hungry and waiting an extra long time for food; the indignity of the wait just erases your need. After a few more questions, directives and some poking and prodding, they disinfected me and literaly stiched my ass up before sending my on my way, accompanied by anti-inflammation medication and the instruction to, “try to , you know, stay off your ass!” doctor one said, with a slight chuckle. Another one cautioned me to “ice the area  and try to lay on your belly…just for the next few days…ok?” I reassured them that I could and would follow their directions, while leaning into the the double doors that would lead me to the main exit.

     The cold air hitting my face ,upon exiting the hospital, reminded me how grateful I was to be alive. In all of the domestic violence propaganda, they say the violence intensifies and grows, but I knew that wasn’t true. At least in my case it wasn’t. The violence ebbed and flowed. Some days it was non-existent, some days, like today, it was an inconvenient painful warning , while other days it was a near death experience : wholly dependent upon the placement of a blow. The only consistency was the sadness that accompanied the violence or  even the appreciation of the lack of violence, which only reminded me that violence could be happening but wasn’t.

    I thought about calling the police. Making a report or something. I had the paperwork and I was in an area I was sure they would take my claims very seriously. However, just like any other time U thought about calling the police, I began to second guess my instincts. We all know snitching begets stitches, some of which I already had, and maybe some retaliatory snitching. I couldn’t afford to tell the police about this man laying his hands, feet and teeth on me,  as it could lead to him telling on me for working with Philemon, distributing pills. If not that, it was almost a manufacture guarantee that  my tax free hair braiding enterprise would a come up. 

  Thinking on it, I couldn’t afford the problems that would come with all of that, and now that Chimeze was gone…what would it hurt to just go along with Gerald’s idea of romance? I’d be a liar if I claimed I didn’t believe Gerald loved me . He did a lot for me during that “gap year” between my GRE’s and the time I attended my first class. No one made an impact quite like he had bu giving me a place to stay, paying for my books and I could never forget him filling in the gap between the tuition and the minimal amount financial aid was willing to pay for my first semester.” Or how when I first started to lose my heaaring, he suggested and offered to pay the two thousand dollars for the ASL classes in full.Without him, where would I be?” I wondered out loud…If he would keep his hands to himself, maybe we could get back to where we were...

   For whatever it was worth, I could never forget that Chimeze walked out on me. What’s even worse is this wasn’t even the first time he has done so. Just or unjust: right or wrong, I knew he left and dissed everything I held dear. Though Chimeze had done a lot for me as well, enough that the past year had left me wondering to whom my loyalty belonged more than ever. Gerald or Chimeze? 

  It wasn't all about the money, but everything other than the money was deeper and more of a mess to de-tangle weigh. Thinking about the shit too hard always left me mentally exhausted and void of answers.So I tried to avoid getting stuck and thinking about it. With Chimeze gone, what was the point anyway. There was no real choice anymore. To keep moving, I thought about my niece, my younger cousins; all of the people whose life trajectories seemed dependent upon me figuring this out. 

Admitedly, I was really tired of the stalking. I was tired of the violence. I was especially tired of yelling and screaming  episodes with Chimeze; that was never us or anything like the relationship I’d always imagined for us. Sometimes I would sit and try to pinpoint the moment we became as dysfunctional as all of that. We always joked about my loud ass ghetto neighbors; fucking and fighting. Now that was us, minus the sex.As far as Gerald, I could surrender to his  attention, as long as it was what he defined it to be vs the song of manipulation accompanied by instruments of stalking and violence that it manifested as.

 

   Walking against the wind, I spoke into it, “he doesn’t love me”. Tears streamed down my face, because the words felt like the truest thing all day and seemed to apply to both Gerald and Chimeze. The sting of making two wrong and unnecessary choices weighed on me.Lost in my thoughts, I looked up for a familiar street sign. Recognizing that I had already reached the lower east side, I decided to continue to walk home instead of taking on the unnecessary expense of a cab. 

   I didn’t realize what a horrible idea this was until I an into some particularly aggressive bums on 82^nd street. “Aye bitch, give me some money!” ,  A rattily dressed bum snarled, from behind a bottle of booze , while elbowing his bum compatriot in the side. Rolling my eyes in response to his directive, in an exaggerated manner he could see and feel; I  instead picked up my pace. he didn’t take to kindly to this response. His counter , came in the form of a blow of the bottle against my left side, which sent me reeling into the side of the closest building. After retching up all of the medicine , that was supposed to provide comfort for the remaining thirty semi odd blocks, I looked around anxiously for the thrower of the bottle. He had abandoned his initial spot and I saw what I thought was him retreating down 83^rd st, going west toward second avenue. 

   I mustered up all of my remaining adrenaline and sis an injured but quick gallop toward him. Feeling me in pursuit he sped up. My inner harlemite was disinterested in letting anyone get away with pitching a bottle at me, I gathered speed also. I had already taken quite a few ‘l’s” in the past 24 hours, and my pride couldn’t stand another. When he looked back, I realized that I wasn’t chasing the bum who had most likely thrown the bottle, but had managed to latch my eyes on the friend who had initially egged him on. My rage was unconcerned; you know what they say about the company you keep and its role in determining you fate. I figured this homie would just have to feel the teeth of that lesson to today. I needed to release my frustration, and how dare he stand beside someone who would dare to throw a bottle and run anyway. "Fuck you", i yelled toward him, Extending my right arm, I managed to grip his grubby shirt tail. He made the mistake of looking back, which tripped him up. He fell forward , and still holding onto his shirt I fell onto him. Gathering myself, I sat on his back  and held the back of his head so that it sat firmly in the concrete. Mushing his face into the gradient, then pulling him back, I turned his body  so that he faced me, I straddled him and pulled  back to deliever the most powerful pimp slap that I  could. Before my hand connected to his face, he suddenly started to foam at the mouth and shake, similar to what  people do when they are having a seizure.

   It’s almost like cold water had been thrown on me. Taking in my surroundings; the private coops and well lit streets of this wealthy part of Manhattan- where no one was afraid to “snitch”, I realized that my “frustration release” had the potential to put me in jail; maybe even for life. I looked at him solemnly, pulled myself backwards into to standing position- while he continued to bleed and convulse in his personal pool of foam. I walked backwards, looking around for cameras and people too nosy for their own good. thank goodness I didn’t see any-for them and for me. At the corner of second ave, I saw a payphone. Dial-ling 'nine-one-one', with the intention of letting them know about my victim, without letting them know that the victim was mine, I was met by a tinny voice stating, “this is a non working payphone”. I took this as a sign , that maybe that bum just wasn’t my business after all. I didn’t want my empathy to land me behind bars, so I hailed the first cab I saw, got in. In it's shadowy confines, i grasped about my bag for my rewards credit card, the one that gave me points and made the extra expense of cab rides neglible, when I felt the cab shift in its entirety.The motion came from outside of the cab. Looking through the glass seperator, to the side of the cab where the driver sits, I saw a familiar hand reach in from the outside with a wad of cash . Suddenly, the back door opened and I recognized who the arm belonged to...Gerald.

 

Surprised, but surprisingly unfrightened, i stepped out of the cab. High off the meds, i suppose, I stepped up to him -to a point where  if I had moved an inch closer-my toes would have been atop his toes. All in his face, I provocatively whispered, “what are you doing here? what the fuck do you want?” when he neglected to answer, I continued, “Didn’t my boyfriend direct you to leave me alone? Didn’t I ask you , not once, not twice, but numerous times to leave me alone? For the final time, I appreciate the money, the place to stay , the back rubs and the wonderful sex... but for all of that, I can’t love anyone who would hurt me the way you have over the past few months. How could you expect me too? You have just hurt, way more than you have helped. In this moment, you are a horrible man. I am just getting back from the hospital. I had to get stitches! I can’t fucking sit down, there is a peice of my body is is no longer functioning because of you, but you don’t understand why I don’t want to be with you -right? Bottom. Line.:  No one wants a motherfucker who scares them! ”

He opened his mouth to speak, but I wasn’t ready to give him a turn. “You are scary Gerald! “ You hurt me here”, I said, point my finger to my heart. “And here too…here worst of all”, I said, pointing at my head. “Go home Gerald. Take your sorry ass home…”

Gerald didn’t attempt to talk again, but he  also didn’t look in the direction of the street or the subway. Instead, he just followed me, in my building and up to my apartment. I was never a speedy mover when it came to my walkup. Add in the meds, and apparently I move super slow.

    Putting my key in the lock, I turned to him, “listen, I don’t want you in my house…I need my space, tonight, more than ever. Are you going to give it to me or what?” , I directed.

 “Listen... Ryndra, don’t even start that , ‘I am going to call the police’ shit again. I just need to stay here for the night. It’s too late to travel all the way back to Graves-end. I have an early job. Just let me stay for the night and I will permanently get out of your hair.”

I saw him searching my face, so looked down.

 Come on... let me rub your back. You can remember the good times, and I will be gone by daybreak, I promise…”

 

   I was tired and really didn’t have the energy to argue about any of this. I knew that if I walked in the house, he would probably just walk in behind me.For good measure,  I repeated myself, “Are you going to give me my space or what?” He didn’t answer, until with a sigh I turned back toward my door, opened it and stepped inside. He answered by pushing past me to also step inside. Convincing myself that it was far too late for there to be anything but peaceful interaction i relented.I privately rolled my eyes and placed my key on it’s designated hook. Then I went into the bathroom and closed the door. I sat on the toilet, not to use it but to think. The toilet is a great place to think, when you live in an efficiency apartment that seems to be taken up, in it’s entirety , by unwanted, unneeded and uninvited company. Out of habit, I washed my hands at the sink and reminded myself that it was only for one night. “One more night.” I said resolutely to the image in the mirror.

Startled by a firm tap on the door, I was reminded of Geralds presence.

“Listen, do you want me to run a bath for you Ryn?”, he asked from the other side of the door.

His use of my nickname, particularly under the circumstances, both devastated and reminded of my earlier interaction with my now ex boyfriend. Though he had never run a bath for me or rubbed my back, the way Gerald often did -in a not so distant past, I still found myself wishing he would.It all reminded me that our estrangement was totally preventable; if only he had opened up more...none of this had to even happen.

“Don’t call me that”, I called back through the door.

“What? I can’t call you Ryn?” , he chuckled. If you think a nickname is more sacred than your…

“Gerald”, I said firmly, stopping his speech from going any further. “If you are going to disrespect me or make me uncomfortable, you can always just leave. Just fucking go!”

“Just go? Just go…you thinking you can just tell me to go? I fucking made you!" Leaning on the door, I felt his punch of a  punctuation when he exclaimed “go!” while simultaneously punching the door. I was shook, but decided that there was no harm in standing my ground-for once.

   Grabbing the door open, I surprised him and pushed him backwards out of my way.”I said if you were going to disrespect me, that you could leave” I walked through the house and grabbed everything he had entered with or somehow left behind during a prior visit. His possessions in hand, and him following me on my heels,  I pivoted to meet him. Dumping the pile of clothing and personal items into his hands, I said, “I meant that shit! Get the fuck out of my house or I will be calling the police!”

    Dropping his items on the couch, he took a deferential stance; hands in the air he faced me, “I am sorry you feel disrespected. There is no need to call anyone. If you want me to leave I can leave, but I think we should just both lay down and relax. I am going to crash on the couch. Why don’t you get in the bed and relax. It’s cool, see” he stated, as he lowered himself to the couch like he promised. 

   Not wanting to argue, I got in the bed as instructed. Usually, the idea of someone coming into my home , telling me what to do and how to it would set me –all the way off. However, tonight, I felt quite unlike me . It hadn’t even been a good 28 hours and already I really missed Chimeze. I didn’t miss him for any other reason than I felt like a piece of me was missing. That was probably why I got so testy with Gerald a few minutes earlier. Normally, I wouldn’t dare to test the levels of his temper. The biting wasn’t even the worst of it. The idea that he would disappear, as he had promised earlier lulled me to sleep. I was tired. of him and of being awake.

MOOD