Hollaude....(Trey Songz)

 

   I stared at the picture for about five minutes… I guess this is what my grandmother meant when she had said long ago about "villains playing the victim so well." Back when I first started dating men and sometimes women too, she had warned me to, "be careful with my heart". I'm sure she knew that I protected the physical.

    Tears welled up behind my eyes,not so much because I missed him, though I did,  but more so because I had spent an inordinate amount of time feeling guilty about cheating, when considering how he played me; the only surprise should have been that it happened later versus sooner. Considering he was only giving me the leftovers or what didn’t work on the woman or women that came before me, I was more than justified in how I acted.  I was irritated that… he had infiltrated my world;  I introduced him to my family… my friends… my pets.  There was so much, too much,  that I reserved for him - and only for him… and I was just shocked to find out that he was only worthy of something, that up until now, I was ashamed that I could do - betrayal.  

   He was out here entertaining all types of women, while I staved off the ex-boyfriend before him, the one before him, and the one before him; all asking for second chances.  Men I loved, once upon a time, saying things like, "I miss you so much," or "I understand you're seeing someone, but maybe we could just go out to dinner," sending letters, and gift certificates via Facebook and my mother’s mail box.  Up until Gerald, I returned all gifts, declined all invitations, and met all insults with fire, because as soon as you reject someone they all of a sudden seem to know a lot more about you than they did when they were on that “baby, please” tip.  

   Now, it’s all “So you gonna be with that bitch-ass nurse then,” or “I don’t ever see you posting any pictures with him on Facebook.  Probably because he’s ugly..."  Then, I would laugh and remind "folk" that they should probably work on climbing out of their grandmother’s basement or ask if they had ever taken that parenting class with their baby mama, the one they told me about a few years ago.  They would usually hang up, with force, after hearing what I had to say; but whatever.  As Wesley Snipes, playing Nino Brown once said, "Cancel that bitch!"  Because I am not going to let an outsider "looking in," believe that he can say any old thing to me about what i do or dont have.  I guess that Gerald was just new, and he was doing all of the things my man wasn’t doing. He was older, with the older man finesse. Also, i was living with him, so,  I got caught up, I’ll admit it - but looking at this treachery made me feel just fine about it. 

 "Well, it is what it is.  You get what you give.  Blessed,"  I said, along with the music blaring from my stereo system.

   Who would have thought Gerald’s job might have been to get me away from Chimeze - for my own sake, as well as his.  Chimeze didn’t want the problem of a woman like me knowing about him and his closet full of cheap - but stylish - watches, that he gifted to every woman he came across.  The woman who listened to him talk to her, about other women’s problems - problems he honestly had no business being a party too.  Like the chick who wanted his assistance in getting away from some abuser she chose to date over him.  Based on the timeline, it was clear that his pursuit of this woman paralleled his pursuit of me, but I let it slide.  Or the time I felt so special when he took me to some special restaurant, in the cut, brought me a big-ass chocolate cheesecake, and asked me to be his girlfriend for the third time in 365 days; I had said yes.  But that was before I realized that some other women had taken him there a few months before. 

   Even the fact that he took me home for Thanksgiving seemed suspect.  To be honest, I only pressed him, because I had been taking him around my family for too long to not know any of his.  However, when the day came - I kind of didn’t want to go in.  I had felt nervous and like this just wasn’t the way I wanted to do things.  I wanted him to want me to meet his family.  I didn’t want to force the fact that I was his girlfriend on anyone.  He should be proud of that fact: I’m good-looking, I have my own place instead of gang of kids, and I was good to him.  I don’t live in anyone's Projects, or survive off of subsidies.  It was obvious I was with him because I wanted to be - not because I needed someone to help me.  I think I even fixed is plate, and I don’t fix plates - for anyone. 

    Or that time we were running late to his orientation, some nurse stuff, I fed his ass.  Like I literally put food in that assholes mouth, while he listened to the information he needed to know.  Had me on a University campus, looking like some second wife - right off a boat from some beleaguered African country and he had the nerve to be on someone’s internet talking about me.  He had taken me on some nice dates, but he hadn’t done anything for me that I hadn’t done for him first.  He took me to see "A Raisin In The Sun," on Broadway.  That was exciting and I was head-over-heels, as it is my favorite play, until I found out that he had taken numerous friends to the theater.  I had never taken any of my friends to the theater, but I took him to see "Once" and put him in Orchestra seats, though I had plenty of "friends" who would have loved to have gone.

   Now he’s all playing heartbroken, because I finally treated him like the pawn shop nigga he was. Well, let one of his "friends" help him heal since he had so much to say about me and what I did to him, while I’m sure he told them nothing about his lack of discretion.  Nor, I’m sure, did he tell them that he never had the balls to discuss his problems with me - with me!  I should have kept that 60 inch HDTV that Gerald bought me, instead of returning it at Chimeze’s request.  All I knew was that I was officially done worrying about it or him.  He got what he deserved.   

   The next few weeks went without a hitch.  Gerald, despite spending a week or so in jail for his assault of my door in November, insisted on maintaining a heavy presence in my life, probably to stave off the inevitability of another man taking his place.  I was as scared as scared can do you, while he was in the big house.  I was scared he was going to get out of there and come and kill me, especially if he was "poked by Pookie in the pokey," like my mother joked.  However, its wondrous what a few nights, on a thin cot, being told when to shit, and watching a little grainy TV with a bunch of other men, who also can't be counted upon to control themselves, can do for a man's attitude.  It’s a shame he was only wasting his time with me, as I had had someone hit me in the past, and I never returned to them.  I don’t do abusive men.  I can’t imagine being sexually attracted to someone who raises their hand to hit me.  It’s like all of the sexual energy that I had once reserved only for him, dried up - so it wasn’t hard not to desire him.

   The hard part was the David Blaine disappearing act that I liked to pull, not the love loss.  Once you hit me, any love I have for you attaches to the same hand raised to hit me: like a magnet.  So he was around, playing the Mr. Bently to my Diddy. Admittedly, I kind of liked it; not carrying boxes, bags, groceries up the six flights of, my walk-up's, stairs and I also loved how he offered me cash, jewels and modern conveniences - though I didn’t accept the car he attempted to give me on my birthday. That was hard, though I don’t drive - nor do I need to; I just felt like considering all that had happened, all that was happening - a car was the least he could do.  The very least.  However, I didn’t take it.  He offered to pay for insurance, license, and registration.  Those things aren’t cheap - not in NYC, but I figured this was just an expensive way of keeping tabs on me.  I wouldn’t be able to stay "lost" for too long, not driving around in a 2013 powder-blue convertible Audi, with everything, but ownership, registered in his name.  My suspicions were confirmed when I asked him to P.I.M.P (Put IT In My Pocket); he didn’t want to do all of that.  I didn’t bother to ask why, because I knew.

Whether he knew it or not, he was on his way out.  I was heading to Cuba to see my grandmother, and when I came back the plan would be in motion - and there wasn’t enough money in the world to change that.

   I rested my eyes, as the car service maneuvered quickly through the traffic to JFK, where my charter flight to Miami, and then on to La Habana, would be waiting.  It had been a long time, and this would be my first time traveling to Cuba, in a number of years, and I would be alone.  It was crazy how the Cuba trip went from being about me and Chimeze to possibly a Gerald and Ryndra thang, to now being about me seeing my grandmother.

   Looking at the claptrap plane sitting before me on the runway had me vexed to the tenth power.  I almost didn’t trust the thing enough to get on it.  The chartered flight was small, and the aircraft looked like I would imagine, if I didn’t know better, the first plane to ever fly did.

    I’ve never been a fan of heights.  The minor turbulence on my last flight to South Carolina had me ready to run up and down the aisle until I saw my niece staring at me, looking scared.  So instead of acting a selfish fool, I just stared back at her with the frozen slight grin; the one crazy people give you before they chop you into pieces and dispose of you in a vat of acid.  However, I reasoned, at five, Brooklyn didn’t have the baggage that would render her terrified by "the face."  Instead she was comforted.  She had no idea that her aunt thought we were living our last moments.  And my mother was staring at me ,from over her shoulder, with the "I will whup yo' ass from one side of the next state we land in - wherever that is - to the other, if you don’t get it together."  "Damned if I do, damned if I don’t," I remember thinking.

     I didn’t want to get on that plane.  I wanted to march up to the front desk, secure my refund and go the hell on home.  However, then I remembered what was waiting for me near my home... Gerald and the possibility of never figuring this mess out enough to rid myself of his depressing presence.  He was always so angry.  Even now, with Chimeze gone and no perceivable threat to whisk me off into the sunset or even snow-set, he was always so angry.  We couldn’t even take a cab six blocks without him bitching at the driver about how he should drive faster, and making me feel like the tension within the cab was sucking up all of the H2o.  I could imagine these Indian, White and African cab drivers thinking, "This is why I don’t pick up black people, it’s always something with them."  After Chimeze’s act up at "Robert,"  a restaurant with a wonderful view and pretty high prices, located over the Museum of Arts and Design, I was 'over' men who couldn’t control their angry in public.  I got us in, at the last minute - for his birthday celebration. 

***

   I was stressed just making the reservations, as I wasn’t sure he would want to go.  It was after all, his birthday, and in my personal opinion that’s the one day in the world when people should be able to "do them" - in every way.  He wanted to go to another restaurant, but I wanted to surprise him - by curating an evening just for him; the way I once upon a time thought he curated an evening for me.  "You are gonna like the place I pick.  Just trust me," I insisted.

"Fine," he agreed, and we set a time and date to do "Celebration Chimeze."  I was extremely happy he had agreed, because I was ready to kick the stakes up a notch by taking him somewhere nice.  In order to do that, I had actually taken my mother there a few weeks prior.  She had expressed an interest in going there, and there was no way I could advertise taking Chimeze there or risk him mentioning it to her, without taking her big ole obnoxious booty there first.  "Let’s go in here first."  I directed him to The Sabon shop, about a block away.  We went in and I was hoping he would pick out some things, as I had a gift card for him.  Instead he bitched about the possibility of us being late and losing our reservation.  So we get there, and we are seated at a nicely appointed table, nowhere near a window. 

   I’ll never forget how he grunted a "non-response" and had me running all over that restaurant, in an attempt to get him closer to the window and make everything better.  It didn’t get better.  He was nasty to me, and then I spend my money to pay for the evening that he ruined with his attitude. "It always hurts more when you spend the money; like what right did he have to an attitude, he wasn’t spending money to have a negative time in a beautiful place," I thought to myself.  I regretted asking him what he wanted to drink, as it only added to the expense and the bite of his attitude that night.

***

   And now I found myself trying to figure this all out, alone, with only Gerald's attitude, and potential to be violent, to keep me company.  I decided to sit tight and get on the plane.  I had already told my grandmother that I was coming, and my cousin was going to be waiting for my plane at the airport.  In addition, I would rather crash into the ocean via this rickety-ass plane than spend another unnecessary moment battling with Gerald’s ass.  He needed to go, and for him to go, I had to go.

   I don’t drink, but I had three airplane special complimentary bottles of coconut rum with pineapple juice, as soon as the plane started doing the Harlem Shake.  I couldn’t deal, and my seatmate was looking at me like he didn’t want to look at me, but had to, to ensure I wasn’t doing anything crazy.  Luckily, I didn’t have to watch him play airplane police and vigilante any longer than necessary.  Those drinks knocked me out and kept me still, until we arrived in Miami to switch to a more stable plane.  Luckily, the drinks still had me calm enough to make it to Cuba.

   My cousin was waiting at the bottom of the stairs leading from the plane.  He simultaneously hugged me, while grabbing my carry-on from my hands.  I felt so comfortable and peaceful as Javier assisted me down the last three steps and led me to his car.  He was rolling in a 2014 Mercedes Benz coupe, on an island with a strict embargo that had most people stuck in cars from the 1950’s, so you know he was doing more than well for himself.  I figured I would get to  know more about the person he had become, once I saw how my grandma was living.  I had watched so many people, friends, family and foes back in New York, leave their parents and older relatives who sacrificed for them behind, as soon as they got a taste of a little bit of something. 

"Don’t you dare give me a scarf left behind by one of your Cuban hoes.  You need to institute a 'no scarf left behind' policy for your car, fam," doing a little flirting like I didn’t consider him all that much family.

"Ryn, that’s grandma’s scarf.  You know 'the hoes' don’t get to ride in this," he grinned at me as I struggled to keep the scarf on my head and my glasses on my face.  "You hungry," he asked, looking my skinny frame up and down.  "I know you have to be hungry…"

"J, you have never seen me big, to be looking at me like I’m a Biafra baby on late-night TV.  Stop it."

 "Ryn, I have Facebook," he notified me, with a roll of his eyes.  "I didn’t like you fat though, to look at you I figure you are just about where you need to be to be optimally attractive.  If you weren’t, you would be in the other whip.  I can’t have any undefined women who are uglies/ fatties, rolling with me.  You will mess with my dating pool."

 "I am hungry, but I wanna eat at Grandma’s.  I’m excited to see her.  Lets go there first," I directed."

 "She’s out, handling her business.  So the food might be a while.  Lets just hang out, and when she gets there we will get there too.  Cool?  What," he questioned.  "You didn’t miss me to too?"

"It’s not that, it’s …"

"Look, let’s get food.  Then we can chat.  I know what you want to talk about, but I need food before we get into all of that.  Also, we were really little.  We were kids.  I was a kid.  I’m sorry about all of that.  I didn’t know - and I’m better now.  And nothing is going to stop me from telling you I love you, but not like a cousin.  You aren’t even my real cousin," he said, making a sharp right into a restaurant parking lot.

"I'm happy to see you, though.  You have to know that," he said, opening my door and helping me step onto the road.

"Javier, grandma is gonna have a fit if she senses this.  She’s gonna send you home and I’m gonna be walking all over Cuba to handle this business; and I am sure you're aware I have a lot goin' on.  Can you be a cousin or no?"  He paused and rubbed his head, in a way to not disturb the waved perfection crown of hair. 

"List --"

"Can you do it or not, Javier?"  Let me know, so I can change shoes…"

"I’ll try…."

"Thank -- " was all I got out before he finished with "I’ll try until you handle your business, but agree to come to Vinales.  Just come before you leave.  Stay the night, I’m close to the airport.  Then we can hash this out.  Agree. Then you can eat," he said, rubbing my shoulders too intimately.

I nodded in agreement.  I was hungry, but I knew my Grandma was going to feel him all over me, just like she did when she sent him away the first time.  However, I was grown now, and hopefully all of the man energy circulating around me would throw her off this mess. 

MOOD