She lost all her manners and formalities. Everyone in the room could feel the tension.
Even Mitch looked stunned and clueless.
All of that was confusing as hell to me-compounded with the fact that (up close) she had the nerve to be pretty-exceptionally pretty at that. “You pretty bitch,” I said in my mind.
I had to break Cruella Deville’s invasive stare and the tension in the room. I said to her:
“Hi, I’m Angie,” I riffed, with almost embarrassed giggle and smile-as if to say…”uhhh…what’s going on here”—and as if she didn’t remember I was the girl, with the baby, from across the street of the church who, every Sunday or Wednesday church let out-her “baby” was over there up in my face or at my door.
The tension was ripped-muscle tight. Mitch was standing there not knowing what to do or say.
I reached my hand out to shake hers and although it felt like she would rather bite it, she obliged:
“Hello to you, Angie,” she said-softly but gripped and bounced my hand mid-waist-south as if in her mind, she said (like the big Russian in the “Rocky” movie): “Iiiii mussstt bwwwake you…”
The Bitch was intense.
She continued to stare with that same look of familiarity, happy to have finally gotten to meet me face to face but for reasons other than wine and spirits.
“Do I know you? Have we met somewhere before?”…was sarcastically at the tip of my mind and tongue-at this lady who knew exactly who I was, and exactly how she was going to treat me long before I even hit the door.
She KNEW she was going to be rude to me.
She KNEW she was going to hurt me.
She KNEW that when Mitch asked if his ‘girlfriend’ could come to dinner, she KNEW it was going to be me.
She just WANTED to enact her plan in my face.
There I stood, feeling ten ways awkward as if I was in the middle of a movie scene and my name was Carrie, getting elected prom queen only to stand in the perfect position for pigs blood.
Mitch, his sister, the cousin and girlfriend, and the stepfather gave audience as if they were eating popcorn and waiting to see what was about to happen next. Everybody was stunned. I mean…EVERYBODY.
She then mechanically looked over at her husband, and back over at Mitch then said to him calm but firmly: “Mitch…I am going to take Miss Angie…home.”
She said it like that was the final answer so Mitch dared not ask, in this particular moment-any questions. In this part of the movie, I was Miss Sofia, she was “Mister,” and Mitch was “Harpo”
And ‘Mister’ looked at ‘Harpo’ and said: “Harpo, don’t you move one step…”
In this real-life moment, she turned to look at Mitch as if to say the same damned thing.
The imaginary popcorn was being chewed on.
Eyes were bucking from left to right.
All those happy smiles and pleasure-to-meets from the audience turned to looks of empathy from everyone in the room except her Cruella Deville-ass.
Speaking of which, “Miss Angie?” What the hell?
I hadn’t being referred to as “Miss Angie” since I was a little girl way back my innocent years. “Miss Angie” was a title I earned being called amongst my peers’ parents-simply because I was the favorite of all my peer’s friends and the friend of all friends.
In their parent’s eyes, I was the animated one, the talented one, the well-spoken one, the bright one, the one light-years ahead of my time-theeeee one to be around. I was a total Queen Bee. Every parent wanted some of “me” to rub off on their kid.
This, however, wasn’t that, at ALL.
In my mother’s friend’s eyes, I earned being called “Miss Angie” because I got my period at age ten, and from that point on and into my early teen years; my body took on a life all its own. It would fascinate my mother’s male and female friends alike, to the point where the constant subject was the fact that I still had a baby face and the babbling about voice of a child, but my body spoke an altogether different language. My face, age and voice had a ways to go to catch up to my body and my conversation. My peers were little girls. I was a little lady, like a man could be a man-child. And because of that, they all called me: “Miss Angie” for all abovementioned reasons.
But no, Cruella DeVille wasn’t about that life. That didn’t have shit to do with her use of “Miss Angie.”
So, standing there in the middle of this slow-motion locomotive commotion picture; I knew that when Mitch’s mom referred to me as such, especially without having knowing me as a child, in her eyes and in her mind; the use of “Miss Angie” was her way of communicating to me-a problem.
She was the one who drew first blood and stung, first-and nice and calmly proceeded to say:
“Mitch. You are going to stay here…while I am going to ride with Joseph to take Miss Angie home,” she buzzed.
Mitch stuck his chest out:
“Why? Why? Why does she have to go home?” yelled Mitch.
You could hear a pin drop.
The stepfather prepared himself to be the designated driver while Cruella prepared herself to ride shotgun-probably with one-too.
Never in my life had I experienced such an oxymoron: a polite kind of rudeness. Whatever emotion Cruella was feeling, regardless with dinner already cooked and ready to serve, she could not fake the formality for even an hour. She fucking refused to.
I was insulted and felt as disrespected just as much as I was hurt and embarrassed.
At that moment, I could only imagine what it must be like for the mother of some tall athletic muscled-bound boy being man-handled by the police, only to find out after the beating-that he was merely some thirteen year-old that was going on about his little, big day and then came this wolf in beats clothing.
She didn’t care about my imagination, my thoughts, my conversation, my table manners, my charm, my stomach-nothing. Not even how crazy her son was about me. She just wanted my coat on, my purse on shoulder and me-out of her fucking house.
While putting on her gloves and coat, she turned to me and said:
“Okay, Miss Angie, are you ready sweetie?” looking at my baby face as if she was addressing the child in me–who had the nerve to have a baby, herself. I could feel her roll her eyes as she turned to grab her coat.
I looked over at her husband and he quickly looked down to the floor.
I looked over at Mitch’s sister, the cousin, and the girlfriend-they turned away and looked at the floor, too.
Everybody was really embarrassed for me.
I looked over at Mitch and he was frowned up, swollen and angry like some thirteen year-old boy, yet, he knew that his grown ass was about to retire right upstairs to his bedroom of his mommie’s house-right after dinner.
So badly, I wanted to throw egg in her face, reverse roles and say, calmly: “Mitch:
- go upstairs
- get your shit and
- let’s go.”
The problem was, I didn’t drive over-I took a cab. And the plan was for Mitch to grab his stepdad’s car to drive me home—after dinner.
The other problem was, even if I did drive and do that; that would’ve meant that I would have had to be more committed to Mitch than I was emotionally and mentally prepared for, and I wasn’t. Because this was just months off the heels of Remy’s death that I was not healed from, still sore about, and working hard to get over.
I was pissed + powerless at the same damned time.
Instead, I said:
“Uh…Nice meeting everyone,” I said to my audience-who was still looking at the front door floor.
In unison, everyone said one word that I couldn’t quite make out-something that sounded like: “bye” and “nice meeting you,” at the same time.
The entire ride home, Cruella did not say anything to me.
She only asked and wanted to know two things-that pretty much sounded rhetorical (as far as I was concerned):
- a) “How long have you and Mitch been seeing each other?” and
- b) “When are you available so that I can talk to you and him together?”
I politely ignored this polite-rude bitch while sitting in the back of her mobile establishment. The adult Queen Bee had spread her wings-ready to sting.
I was done with her at this point already, and had been shown that she already did care shit about me. She thought I was gonna give her the opportunity and permission to disrespect me a second time? I’m grown. He’s grown. We’re not 16 year old kids. Fuck outta here. “So bitch don’t ask me any questions-don’t run your mouth-just run me home,” said my body-language, with my coat on, purse on my shoulder, and legs crossed-sitting in that back seat picking with my nails.
I just wanted out of that car.
I didn’t give a damn that she could tell that I was purposely ignoring her-either.
I was so hurt and feeling countless ways to stupid and child-like all over again-with my grown ass.
Here I was, good-and-plenty into my twenties-Mitch kicking the door down behind me, yet, I was feeling like some hurt and chastised teenager sitting in the back of my boyfriend’s parent’s car after having being caught making out.
To add insult to injury, I was more than “grown,” I was real grown-with my own responsibilities and apartment-yet, sitting in the backseat wondering where the hell Cruella was having her husband drop me off at-not having gathered that bit of information about me (seeing as though we did not get that chance to sit down and talk it over at dinner).
Without saying one word and as if she and her eyes had already been there before; Cruella had the stepfather pull on the street of my mother’s house that sat across the street from the church where they all attended. I figured that for many months and Sundays after church, her eyes must have followed Mitch many-a-afternoons running across the street to my mom’s house, ringing the doorbell for me to come downstairs to talk to him on the porch. She had been watching us sit on that porch for a long time, probably watching Mitch blushing and smiling like he couldn’t get enough of me. He was so smitten back then, too.
I know she hated the sight of that. She probably would have blown her ruffled embroidered hanky if she knew that since then-by this time-I had my own apartment that Mitch also contributed to. We now sit on my porch, to my own two-family apartment house, biiiitch.
Riding shotgun and as if she held a loaded and smoking one, she instructed by pointing her husband to pull directly into my mother’s driveway-with a vengeance-just like she pointed in that direction already many-a-Sunday and Wednesdays with her eyes. She thought she was busting open a secret. But I was on to it-on to her thinking. She wanted me to recollect my memory of her being that very same beautiful, “Dominique Devereaux”-like woman that would stand out from the church crowd letting out-and looking up at me and Lucky on the balcony and other times, down on the front porch.
She wanted me to feel the force of her knowing just who I was so much so that I could tell that she fantasized about this-our whole [finally meeting eye to eye]-just so she could shun me, shove me in the car and drive me to where her eyes would be meeting mine most probably on the following upcoming Sunday or Wednesday.
She was transmitting so much nonverbal communication that my synapses was in overdrive.
When the car stopped, she turned on the inside light and prepared to turn her body around to me to say something again, but by the time she could say more, ‘More’ had ejected the door, and my right foot was out and on the ground about as quickly as I stood looking at her shotgun seat.
If looks could kill. I looked at her and wanted to say “bitch…if anything, you’ll need to be getting along with ME-not me, YOU.”
Instead, I said, “Thank you much-thank you both” I said-crisply-as I fully exited with my grown ass.
I was over it at this point and considering how she played me. I made a decision to never give a fuck about it, or be interested in her-ever. I had enough hold on Mitch that didn’t need her acceptance in order for me and Mitch to be. If anything, she needed my acceptance in order to not have a rift between she and her son. As far as I was concerned, I owed this churchy, judgy bitch nothing. Not one thing. She had no right to treat me that way. I had done nothing to her.
Like her, I had feelings. I was a human being.
Like her daughter, I was someone’s daughter.
Like her, despite the fact that she didn’t like it, I was someone’s young mother.
I hated her. I just HATED her. Because, in addition to fears of letting down my mom, dad, aunties and people routing for me in life; it was judgmental people like her that made it so easy for me to make an appointment and break Remy’s heart-being straddled about being so young and having yet, another child.
She didn’t know my story. She had no interest in knowing my story. She only had interest in methodically, hurting and embarrassing me. Period.
And considering her pre-judging me, if any opportunity to learn more about me, it would have been at that dinner table or somewhere else in that house. She blew that.
She had the wrong son’s girlfriend to fuck with in that kind of way. I had heard tale of wayyy too many “mom-in-law / boyfriend’s mama” stories to let her even THINK she could start in with me with that kind of establishment of power used on a little queen bee bitch like me. Those kinds of games can only be run on the girlfriend or wife who wasn’t as adored and wanted by the hubby or boyfriend. That certainly wasn’t the case with Mitch.
“Bitch you don’t have shit to say to me. I’m grown and so is your son,” I said in my head-to whatever it was she turned on that light and prepared her lips to part and say after the words “Angie, I’m going to talk to you and Mit..”
I was pissed. That was a complete and utter culture shock to me.
When I stuck the key into my mother’s door, it seemed like the push, pushed tears to my eyes. I was too mad and dared them to fall fast-trying to catch up with my beating heart. My feelings were so hurt. When I got safely into the house and closed the door, I placed my foot on the first step to head upstairs. My tears were fighting to be free.
It actually had nothing to do with Mitch-or any feeling about where he and I would stand, because not even his mother could peel him off of me-I was confident in that fact. But my mind couldn’t help but for a second, replace Mitch with Rem…or some man that I really loved and really wanted to be with.
I couldn’t imagine being treated that way by the mother of a man that I loved. Mitch was not that man in my heart, eyes, and mind yet, but my feelings about it could not be immediately dismissed. I would never get serious or monogamous with a man whose mother didn’t like me unless she was on her dying bed or unless he was an independent and strong a manly man as was Rem. Other than that, no. My rule. All bets are off.
Before I could get into my mother’s house good, Mitch was ringing the telephone.
“Hello?” I said.
“Angie, I’m-I’m so-so sorry. I don’t have any words to say but that Iiii..” he said.
“Don’t worry Mitch. It’s okay. I’ll be okay.”
“How are you feeling?” he asked, concerned about my feelings.
“I’m feeling kind of bad,” I returned.
“Actually-that really hurt me. I’ve never been treated that way in my lifetime and I didn’t appreciate it-at all,” I replied, with the tears still in my eyes.
I just sat on the phone, quiet because there was nothing much else I could say.
Mitch began to cry and that made my tears fall down with his.
He kept apologizing and replaying New Edition “Can You Stand the Rain” –seriously trying hard to sing it to me. I could relate because I remember what it was like singing to Rem. I remember what it was like singing for somebody that you love.
Somewhere in my mind, hurt feelings and softened heart; I received Mitch trying to serenade me-secretly entertaining the thought that this perhaps was another “Ghost’ moment: Rem serenading me this time-speaking to me through the lyrics and using Mitch to talk to me like Whoopi to Molly.
It was a cute moment between Mitch and me.
I guessed, hoping that at some point in these rewinds, I would eventually let out that laughter that was under my breath and behind my tears the whole time. He sounded horrible, sort of like he knew he was sounding good but out of love and sentiment; I’d better not disturb his groove this time-because he was really trying to make me feel every word.
“BWHAAHAAAAA! Bless your heart Mitch!” I laughed out-I couldn’t help it.
“Oh shut up! You love it!” he replied.
“You like it!” he corrected himself.
I continued to giggle.
It got quiet for a few seconds.
“Angie, may I ask you a question?” whispered Mitch.
“Sure, what’s up?” I probed, whispering back.
“Do you love me?” he asked-curiously-innocently-hopefully.
“Well, I could love you. I’ve grown well past liking you. I have a fondness for you,” I replied.
“Oh, because I’ve always loved you-I thought you would flat out just say ‘yes,’ “ he laughed.
I laughed with him-it was cute.
“Since the word ‘love’ is the key word right now, I could tell you that I love you more than anyone I know or have in my life right now. No one could like…come before you right now,” I offered-secretly knowing that the one man that could, and did, was never coming back to me.
“Even Remedy?” he asked-knowing that answer already, but was still hopeful.
I got quiet for a second:
“Mitch…Rem got killed a few months ago,” I revealed.
“Killlllled?” asked Mitch-empathetically-innocently-curiously.
“Yeah, killed, just: killed. Snuffed…lights out,” I replied, snapping my fingers just-like-that.
I could tell that he wanted to ask more questions-namely: “how?” but I always had a way about me that could communicate to you, just how far you could go with me-with questions.
(Ongoing dead silence).
He moved on to the next question.
“Angie, may I ask you a question?”
“Sure Mitch. What?” I tuned in.
“That’s who you loved-all the time, didn’t you?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I replied-simply.
“Did you feel anything for me at all? I mean like, it felt like you did. It seemed like you always liked me too-years ago,” he said.
I replied: “Yeah, I always thought you were sooooooooo super gorgeous. You’re one of the prettiest men I’ve ever seen. You are a sight to behold (and hold onto),” I laughed.
“It’s just that all the years that we’ve known each other, the timing was bad. I was always involved with someone emotionally or in a relationship already.”
“Who were you in a relationship and emotionally involved with the night we had sex?” he challenged.
I laughed so hard.
“Actually Remedy and I had been very close for years, but around the time you and I had sex that night, we were more than friends but we hadn’t had sex yet. I hadn’t had sex in a while around that time actually, and…there you were,” I said, like: “viola!”
“Oh, so you just used me for sex?” he asked.
“No Mitch. No. I was just emotionally involved with someone else-well let me not say emotionally-at that time. But, mentally, I was into Remedy at that time. And then our relationship took off to a level all its own,” I explained.
“Wow, that hurts to hear,” he replied.
“I mean, we are being honest with one another tonight. It’s not like you didn’t know what my feelings were for him. I don’t think any of us had any secrets, Mitch.” I replied-simply.
“Yeah, I guess. I guess you’re right. I mean, I didn’t want to actually hear you say something like that, though. It just sounds…I don’t know. Maybe something you should’ve kept secret-like how you felt about him,” he explained.
“But you asked! I feel that I was still fair to you-I was good to you. You were much too sweet to me for me not to-or to just completely disregard you,” I expressed.
“Let’s look on the bright side here. You and Remy are born exactly one apart-both, right up on Valentine’s Day. Lucky me, huh?” I joked.
“Nah.. Unlucky me. You weren’t sleeping with me though. It was like, you had me to a point where-even though we spent a lot of time together, you had me feeling like I had better not touch you. You are a funny kind of girl like that. Like, after a while, I started feeling like that bomb ass sex we had that night was a dream…like…it was some entity, but not really you, especially how we didn’t pick up after that night-you just went cold on that.”
“I guess I expected more, after that night,” he explained.
“Yeah,” I simply returned.
“There’s no sense in asking if you enjoyed it because I know you did-you were so horny. You were giving me all that pussy. I was loving that shit, too. I had never fucked a girl like that in my life! And I never been with a girl that knew what she wanted and turned her man on in ways that made him do and say things he never thought he would have. It was incredible and you were loving that shit, too. I thought I was a new man after that night,” he laughed aloud.
“Hence, why your mom hates me! Who were you caught telling this same thing too?”
“Nobody! Seriously!” he laughed.
“So, since I haven’t been giving you any…I know your fine ass has been getting you some from somewhere. Don’t act like you’ve been marking your calendar down in red X’s waiting on me.”
He came on out with it.
“Well I had met this girl that I was messing around with for a couple months. She attends the college over there near where your apartment is. Nothing serious, but she was a convenience…Just like I was to you!” he turned up the tone in his voice.
I cut the noise like the orchestrator of this crescendo.
After a few seconds of pausing I spoke.
“What’s her major?” I asked.
“Mortuary Science,” he replied.
“She sees dead people, huh?” I said.
That was pretty interesting, considering the fact I had just lost my Remy. It was so coincidental that I quickly entertained the thought that this was perhaps another “Ghost” of a moment. Of allllll majors, Mitch would meet a girl majoring in death, who too, was about to cause a whole lot of destruction in our lives.
“You like her?” I asked.
“Yeah, I like her but I don’t love her and I don’t want to be her man or anything like that. I’ve been trying to make that happen with you, but you won’t let me in,” he confessed.
I paused for a moment to allow in-an awkward silence so that I could pretend to be a woman who had boiled a rabbit in their kitchen: “And your mom won’t let me in!” I said really fast-laughing and catching him off guard.
He burst into laughter in a higher octave.
“That was crazy,” he said.
“Your fuckin’ mom is crazy,” I wiggled my head as if worms were coming out of my body.
“That was just…a little too abrupt but subtle, yet intense,” I said.
He then began to tell me stories about how his birth father messed her up pretty bad and all kinds of stories of old-I guess trying to sum up why she was the cautious, untrusting Cruella Deville that she was. I didn’t care to take any of it in to change my mind about her, but I listened on.
At the first pause in his breath I interrupted:
“At any rate-how many others?” I asked.
“Other what?” he asked-thinking I was talking about his mom.
“Other girls you’re screwing around with-that like to play with dead bodies and all,” I answered sarcastically.
He laughed and replied:
“Well, just a of couple girls-I dated-not sexing them or anything like that though.
“Mmm-k. So…let’s talk about your lil’ girlfriend that you are fucking. Do you see her a lot?” I asked.
“No, I don’t see her regularly. She has a roommate and I creep over there from time to time.
She likes me a lot. A whole lot actually. So…I do fuck her sometimes, but she knows that I have a girlfriend, and she knows her name too,” he said-immaturely-as if he was smiling but with his hands behind his back, holding a secret.
“Oh yeah, what’d you tell her your girlfriend’s name was?” I asked.
“ ‘Angie,’ “ the one with all that good lovin’ she won’t give to me and plays me like a fool. I keep running back to her every chance I get-just to be up under her…” he said, seriously.
It was so cute.
“Oh, that was your description of your girlfriend to your ‘girlfriend?’ ” I said with a smile.
He ignored my question and continued:
“She’s beautiful, she’s mysterious, she’s sensual, she’s sexy, her body’s so supple and feels like heeeeeeeeaven.”
He continued “Gorgeous tits. She’s got some good pussy and she knows how to use that motherfucker. Best head a man never had. Boy I tell ‘ya! Sweet and innocent yet turns into a devil in bed-you know-the juicy stuff,” he laughed aloud again.
“Wowwwww. She sounds really smart and intelligent! Just the kind you take home to your mom and say: ‘Hey mom. We’re riding off into the sunset tomorrow! You’re invited to tag along for the festivities if you wanna!” I replied-laughing.
We both laughed uncontrollably.
The laughter died down:
“Oh, okay, so just to be clear, that’s your version of the girlfriend that you love so much and want to be up under? Look’s like we have to change all that then,” I said serious but jokingly.
“No. No. No. No! I was just playing. I was just playing! You know I was. I mean ‘cause you ‘aint all that!” he laughed.
I kept quiet during his laughter so as to get his attention.
“Well, I must admit. Your girlfriend’s got me a lil’ horny and I’m sitting here with my hands in my panties. Why don’t you help me out with giving me your version of all that good lovin’ that she gives you…” I chuckled, as if I was nudging him with a tight fist and tight lips.
“You know-so…I can lay here and share it with you,” I said-seductively.
“Listen to you. Just…using me—aGAIN!” he laughed.
Over time, Mitch had been staying with me a lot more than before in between my moods, he was bouncing between both College Girl’s and Cruella’s house where I would drop him off either place, actually.
Mitch and I got started off at a weird emotional and mental moment of my life where the physical happened, yet my mental and emotional was elsewhere, although the moment seemed like it was with him. That caused more confusion than anything-for the both of us, really. But we were always candid and honest with one another. It was weird. At anytime, if our spirits aligned; we would be prepared to unite. But for me, at this time, that boy had too much going on in all the wrong areas. As for myself, I wasn’t sure of what it was I wanted: in life, relationships or otherwise. This girlfriend just wanted to live one day at a time: uninterrupted. Mitch enabled me to have that option if there was to be anything between us at all.
I had been working securities and operations at a major bank-third-shift from 8:30 at night until 4:30 in the morning, so whatever Mitch wanted to do in those hours was his for the taking-pretty much no different than it was when I was with Rem and even after Rem died.
Most nights when he wouldn’t be at Cruella’s or College Girl’s’ house, he would stay home-at my house.
At my job, we couldn’t have electronic devices in the vault at any time. In case of emergency, the phone on the wall’s number was given to us. Especially because of the 3rd shift hours, it was rare that the phone on the wall would ever ring.
I would walk in some days and get little sticky notes around my work area stating that a girl named Carmen would call but left no message or phone number but would say that she would call back. That was weird…
It was standard protocol to not give any information or the shift that an employee worked whenever someone would call, so she most probably thought that I worked standard day-shift or second-shift hours.
One day, she finally left a phone number. It sat on top of the five or six sticky-notes that I let build up.
I decided to give the phone number a call during one of my breaks one day:
“Hi, this is Angie and I’m returning your phone call. I’ve heard that you had been trying to get in touch with me? Who is this?” I asked the woman on the other end.
I was almost like she sat up on her hind legs like a junkyard guard dog:
“I’m Mitch’s girlfriend. I go to “State College. I’m Mitch’s girlfriend” she repeated and challenged.
I laughed as if to say: “The nerve…you’re kidding me…”
She didn’t know who she was fucking with:
“Oh…I know who you are-the Mortuary Science girl. I’ve dropped him off over to your apartment on campus and then you eventually moved to the off-campus apartment complex over there near the um…“State College” I said, condescendingly.
“Yeah.” She replied.
“So you are the one girl that lived both these places right? I mean…we gotta get all these girlfriends in order, right” I said, condescendingly but really confirming (for me) that this was indeed the (one) “girlfriend”—and that there wasn’t two.
“Yes!” she challenged.
“Well, behind this phone, I’m girlfriend number ONE. And Mitch probably told you already, he and I have been… on-again-off-again for like…ever,” I said, waving my hand with my eyes in my head-as if I was some ditsy broad with the mental level of a 5th grader only capable of writing “Do you like me? Yes or no” check box kinds of letters to boys at school.
Sooo…how can I help you?” I snapped back into character and asked, intelligently.
“Well, he and I are on. So, I guess you guys are supposed to be off right now…” she asked and said in the same tone.
I gave her a long dead silence.
After enough torture and probably sounding like Paul McCartney talking to Michael Jackson at the end of the “Girl Is Mine,” song I replied:
“Is that what he said?”
“Well, he said that you and he are so on again-off-again, all the time,” she snapped.
“Let me rephrase my question,” I exerted.
Like a bitch in her other personality, I spoke slowly:
“Is that what he told you about the and now?” I asked, probably sounding like the student head of the debate class.
She could not answer. And I sure as hell knew that he would not have said anything like that to her. She jumped back in with a suggestion:
“Can you come over to my house so that he could be forced to make a choice? Maybe in doing so, we can both be clear on who is ‘on-again’ with him,” she said sarcastically and as if she using both index and middle fingers to make quotations while she held her ear to the phone with her shoulder.
The nerve of this bitch. I’ve shared a dude or two in my day and was quite the kind, respectful, and cooperative other girlfriend-never challenging and aggressive. How dare she! Where’s my respect, bitch?…You’re fucking my man, already. I’m not fucking your man,” I thought.
She didn’t know who she was fucking with. There were never any secrets in my house:
“Ohhhh okay. I see. So, in doing so, I would probably be doing you the favor-to ease your heart huh?…Because like I said: I know everything I need to know about you-down to where you live and how you two have fucked. When all is said and done, that’s mine. Always has been. The only reason you get any time is because I allow him, because I have always done my thing and so has he, actually. So, I would be doing you the favor…right?” I reiterated-and demanded to know.
She handed the long dead silence back to me-yet, she was tortured (and cornered).
I took a deep sigh so as to let her know that I was getting annoyed (and bored), so I said, condescendingly:
“Well…let me get back to work,” I said-nonchalantly, and as if hanging that phone up in her ear was the equivalent of rubbing it underneath her nose.
I needed to leave her hungry and not feed into the curiosity that she needed squashed in order to settle her heart.
“No! Don’t go. Um, can you stop over here tonight-because he’s supposed to come over here this evening…so…can you?” she asked.
“Welp. Bad night. I’m staying here through to the middle of the night,” I said-not wanting her to know that I worked third shift,” I continued:
“If I come there tonight, it won’t be until about five or five-thirty in the morning,” I replied.
She must have felt dead stiff. She got silent as if I dampened her spirits or something.
“Checking for pulse-what’s the problem? You don’t know of any other day or time that your ‘on-again’ man is going to be with you?” I said-with my ear holding the phone to my shoulder, both index and middle fingers making quotations.
I rubbed it in:
“You can’t pin-point that? I wonder why. Oh, you’re on the phone with the reason why you can’t. Because all that would be up to me…you see…I control that,” I chuckled.
Mind-fucking her to death. She was getting on my nerves.
If only she knew how exhausted I was, but quite used to girls flip-flopping over Mitch’s good looks, she would understand how much she was annoying me and wasting my time.
With all the information I had given her, and none of hers coming as a surprise to me; if she were smart, she would have taken her losses as well as him “as-is.” Because if there was any tug-o-war to be had, I had the tug and she had the war: fighting a losing battle with her god damned self.
As far as Mitch would be concerned, not only had he and I discussed Ms. “OnAgain” in such grave detail; but my openness (that he considered indifference) in our relationship as a whole, would totally make him wonder when did I start caring that much to show up and blow up his spot in such a manner. It would totally confuse him.
I knew everything, already. So, I had no benefit in this mess-at all.
I couldn’t believe it. I knew that I had feelings for Mitch, but going through this kind of thing over him never crossed my mind-ever. I never had to. But I could tell that this girl was about to be a serious problem. I laughed to myself: “Mitch?”
I mean, don’t get me wrong. In any woman’s eyes-if anything he lacked in: money, a good job, responsibilities, or anything else it took to separate the men from the boys; he most certainly owned in model-good looks, great athletic body, and a head full of gorgeous hair that would make a bitch roll her eyes, scalp and slap him. But fighting for him or over him seemed like a joke to me-when I never had much fight in me for him-for myself from the start. I was spoken for.
So I was always chill.
But I obliged. Oh…what the hell. (I laughed to myself).
She set it up for five-thirty in the morning.
I put in a last minute call to the down homies that lived closest to me and MedSchool.
That turned out to be my friends Raquel, Posh and her sister Dawn wanted to tag along.
I showed up with my friends just in case something jumped off—considering the fact she had a roommate (that she neglected to mention, not knowing that Mitch had already told me that too, little did Ms. “OnAgain” know).
I knocked lightly at the door.
She opened, surprised to see four girls.
Her eyes began to buck from left to right uncontrollably, trying to process which of us could be “Angie.”
I broke it all up and held my hand out to hers:
“Hello. Hello…Hello to you. I am Angie,” I said, giving her a custom Asian one-nod head bow as a curtsy.
Her expression changed when I smiled, condescendingly.
“Well, um I’m Carmen-nice meeting you Angie,” she said-looking defeated while standing there.
She then signaled us into the living room where her roommate stood with a surprised look on her face, yet, ready for the drama.
Ms. “OnAgain” spearheaded the d-line to the bedroom door. I was behind her. Dawn, Raquel and Posh were right behind me while the roommate stayed off to the side in the little hallway by that bedroom door.
Ms. “OnAgain” pushed the bedroom door open to Mitch’s fine ass laying there looking like a specimen carved out of some bitch’s dream.
Damn he looked good: eye-lashes shining, eye-brows shining, hair shining, skin glistening-laying there snoring like some fit cartoon lad.
His mouth was slightly open with his hands clutching the pillow behind his head as if he was posing for a sleep commercial or print ad for a high-end men’s magazine.
He was so damned fine. Mitch could turn a heterosexual man on and make a bull-dagger want to give him some pussy-even in his sleep.
I chuckled somewhat, while shaking my head.
Carmen snatched the covers back from him then tapped him on his forehead.
Dick and balls-everywhere.
He opened his eyes and looked Carmen, then at me.
He was startled. He sat his naked ass up on the bed and then grabbed for the sheets like a bitch:
“I must be dreaming! I must be dreaming!” he kept repeating as he wiped the sandman out his eyes.
I turned around to look at my friends-trying to see their reaction on their faces and to see if they too, got a glimpse of Mitch’s naked ass. Their faces told me they she did. Dawn was the funniest of ‘em all. Her mouth spewed the sound: “Mmmmmmm” while she placed the palm of her hand over mouth and rested her fingers on the side of her face.
I giggled a lil’ bit.
I turned back to look at Mitch’s bloodshot red eyes. I had never seen him like that before. Ever. He looked like good-looking trash. In that instant, he started to look like leather. His skin was red.
He continued to reach all over the bed and down to the floor trying to grab every inch of cloth he could gather as if he was about to get the ass-whipping of his life.
Ms. “On Again” obviously didn’t expect that kind of response and fear from him either.
She began to yell like a crazy woman but really trying to diffuse the situation and anything he would be able to say next, but he wasn’t having it. He wanted to be heard:
“Damn I don’t believe this. Carmen I already know this is all you guys’ doing!” he yelled-pointing at Carmen and stretching his head in the direction of the bedroom door; knowing that if my friends were inside, Carmen’s roommate was sure as hell near.
He then looked at me and explained:
“Angie, she set this up like this so I could be in the bed with no clothes on!” he kept repeating, while looking around for his clothes, while still trying to cover himself up at the same time.
I stood there watching him and shaking my head at this mess.
He found all his clothes and began putting them on stitch by stitch; all the while explaining how the whole setup was orchestrated that led him to being laid out in this manner.
“Angie, I was drunk when I came over here and she was trying to fuck so I could be caught like this. I wasn’t even trying to fuck her,” he explained.
Ms. “OnAgain” lost her mind at that point.
She started to yell and throw anything she could find in that room-at him.
“Alright, that’s it-let’s go,” I said-snapping my fingers.
He wasn’t ready to let me off the hook either, though.
He wanted his questions answered right then and there-like he needed a witness:
“Nah, that’s a trick. You don’t want me there. The shit you be doing…You don’t really want to be with me Angie, so, I don’t know why you standing there snapping your fingers like all is well and good and I’m about to just go home to some loving home and it’s all like that!” he yelled out.
I stood there and stared at him-speechless.
This ended up being to his benefit. Not Carmen’s. Not mine. He took full advantage of it, too.
“I’m not going anywhere if things are going to be like they have been. I’m telling you that right here and right now,” he said to me-in all seriousness.
“Fuck you then! Fuck you!” Carmen kept repeating.
“Fuck ‘are you talking about? I don’t need you. I’m not staying here either! I don’t want to stay here!” defended Mitch-looking at her as if she was not even in the running or an option to consider.
He turned and looked at me with a look of a thousand questions written all over his face.
Just like that moment I would have owed it to him to be more committed had I asked him to pack his shit and leave with me at his mom’s house that day, here, standing in his lil’ girlfriend’s apartment, I was afraid to promise him that things would change because I knew that he would hold me to it. But at the same time, I still wanted to embarrass Ms. “OnAgain”-to let her know that she didn’t win.
Besides, he did mean more to me than my pride and inability to promise, or her defeat.
Still, I knew that regardless my whatever my decision would be, I had a few seconds to make it and whatever it would be, it was going to change life “as was” between Mitch and me for better or for worse-because he had witnesses. And egos and hearts were involved.
I remained quiet.
That pissed him off even more-so he began to yell louder at me. “YOU are the one that had better make a decision right now, Angie!”
MedSchool was pissed. Because the plan, her plan, was for him to decide to send me hauling ass so that she could lay back down with her man, honey!
Unfortunately, he had already stated that regardless what my answer would be, she wasn’t about to get what she wanted out of this lil’ setup.
Knowing that + with Rem being gone and my having no one, unlike Mitch did, the ball was in his court on more levels than one. I made due with knowing that Carmen wasn’t going to get the results she wanted and Mitch feeling like I didn’t care either way, I too, had some leverage in this.
So I turned and looked at my friends: “Come on y’all let’s go home. Girls I’m tired. I’m not dealing with this,” I said.
We began to walk out of the room.
Mitch was trampling behind us as we began to walk to the back of the building where my car was parked.
Ms. “OnAgain” started screaming again-sounding defeated and stupid as hell.
All three of my friends, myself and Mitch were all out of her house finally-yet going two separate ways: me and the homies: around the back of the building to get in the car.
And Mitch-out on the main residential area of the street, walking. Mitch was athletic as fuck. Although he was walking, he was so agile and quick-that from the time I would have dropped my three friends off, on foot, he was the type that would have made it to my house already, anyway–beating me there.
But he didn’t have to do all that.
By the time I pulled out and around to the front of the building, I saw him walking across the street towards the bus stop. My heart couldn’t do him like that-leave him hanging this way…to hell with an ego, pride and friends looking on.
From the outside looking in-in my friend’s eyes; it looked as though my trifling boyfriend was busted cheating yet, from the inside-they had no idea of the complexity or openness in mine and Mitch’s relationship and that he wasn’t technically “busted” or “busted cheating” per se.’
I rolled with my truth and my boyfriend’s feelings-fuck ego.
I pulled over to him. He started right in on me-preparing to thwart whatever scolding he thought I pulled over to give him:
“Angie. I’m not dealing with this shit. So if you pulled over to…”
I interrupted him:
“Mitch, no-we can both deal with it. You can come home,” I said.
He stood there, refusing to budge. That was not good enough an answer for him.
“Mitch, things will be different-seriously okay-I’m sorry,” I explained.
He stood there looking at me like trying to see if he could see the truth written on my forehead or no. I felt bad. He was so exhausted. Exhausted of the moment and exhausted of me and this half-assed thing we had. After enough convincing him things would be different, he climbed into the back seat of the car. We pulled off into that sunset Carmen wanted—with my honey.
I dropped my friends off then headed back to my house. I mean: our house…
When we got in, we laughed over the situation while I mimicked his naked ass caught dead in the act. Mitch’s laughed dwindled down to all seriousness:
“I meant what I said Angie. I love it that we can laugh and talk over stuff like we do and all, because that’s how couples are supposed to be. I mean, I tell you everything-like we are homies and shit. And while that’s all fine and good, I’m not going to have you reduce me to that homie/lover/friend status. Because if I let you have your way-we’ll be in here like roommates…shit…pretty much like we have been. I won’t stand for that one more day Angie and I mean it. Either I’m in-all the way, or I’m out,” said Mitch-putting his walking foot for a vehicle down.
We were sitting on the bed: he-at the side of it, me-legs folded, in the middle of it.
After he said what he said, I sat my back up straight and saluted him.
He laughed so hard.
I agreed to be a little more attentive and Mitch really deserved it.
He didn’t ask for anything too much. He always wanted our relationship to be exclusive and I know that if I treated Mitch like half the man that I did Rem; he would feel whole. And I knew this.
Days since his naked night, Mitch and me began behaving like two people in a relationship who lived together and had respect for each other, and their relationship. We started dating all over again, talking all over again and really liking each other as a couple.
It was sweet.
When he worked, he would write his whole work schedule for the week and tape it to the fridge.
When I worked from 8p to 4:30a he was in before I left, home throughout the night, and had the house clean and spotless.
Often times he would cook if I didn’t have the time too.
We were loving this new step in the relationship-playing house and such.
When he went out to play basketball, he would tape a note to the fridge so that when I got back in, I could know where to find him. But on the inside, those funky ass basketball sneakers had to sit out on the balcony the moment he walked into the house. All else was welcome and fair-game.
By this time, he would turn over-not just half-but his entire check to me and allow me to ration it out to him and whatever we needed for the household. He really wanted to make this happen-the right way.
It was golden.
I was loving him day by day for more than just his man-goddess good looks, he had become my equal.
In the meantime and in between time, yes, I still had to put up with Carmen’s deranged ass.
Turns out, while snooping through Mitch’s belongings at her house the day that she got my work number, she also jotted down my home number as well.
I guess coming to the realization that Mitch and I took away her “onagain,” status, she was set off.
This time around, she decided to bring her madness to my home rather than my job-by calling and playing on the phone.
Rather than leaving a voice message, she would call back to back, sitting there-breathing hard and watching the “Color Purple” like it was a current box-office smash that she could not stop watching. It was weird.
I ignored all her calls to my home-by not calling her back.
That must have annoyed her because she started calling my job again, asking for me at various times.
Sticky notes would be left for me some times, other times she would call at a good time, and when I would get to the phone-she would hang up on me.
That girl was crazy and methodical.
The code of the bank for incoming calls for anyone calling the phone on the wall was-if the person wasn’t at work on that shift or whatever, the answer was to always be: “He/she is not able to come to the phone right now, may I tell him/her who called?”
In order for her to catch me at work-still not having knowledge of what hours I worked exactly, she must’ve called all around the clock until she got it right.
I knew that I was in for something bizarre and soon to come. It was all just a matter of time, I could tell.
Her calls to my home started getting creative after a while.
Rather than just popping in ole “Color Purple” and holding the phone; she resorted to eating, drinking, gulping and burping-like nothing. It would be calm and cool as if she had called to talk to her home girl and was having a meal during a conversation.
Mitch and I would fall out laughing.
Sometimes we would be out on our dates-rushing to get home to see what was next with this girl. It was a cross between annoying and entertaining because it was unheard of-the shit she was doing. It had gotten to the point where, I knew that if I did not confront her, she would do this forever-making it apart of her day like washing her ass was apart of her day. I could tell. She did not mind harassing me. It took nothing away from her or tampered with her spirit or anything foolish to philosophical. It seemed to feed her and give her energy.
I had Mitch on phone freeze. I asked him not to answer the phone while I was there and especially if I wasn’t there, just so I could see how long this would go on. It would also let me know if he was calling her or creeping by her house too. I’m a woman-so I know how women think. The only thing this bitch wanted was a little bit of attention from Mitch, and the moment she got it, even if for an hour; I knew she would calm down-at least for a while. I could tell that she was crazy enough about Mitch to break her calling pattern for as long as he could sell her on some “reason” for being with me until he was free to ride off into the sunset with her-like she dreamed of. But even if he could sell her on something like that, I knew that the calls would start up again anyway.
I know women. I know their moves.
She was too messy and any thing he could do to tame her would definitely be short-lived.
I knew her moves too, by now.
But just like I know women, I know men.
Little did he know, her crazy consistency actually saved him, because if he did creep over to her house or talk to her; he wasn’t smart enough to tell her to keep up her crazy ass pattern. He wasn’t methodical enough to do that kind of coaching. All he knew was that she was messy-period-so she got no play on the side after the cat was officially out the bag because he was at least smart enough to know that if for no other reason; she would love to have something over his head at this point. And because he did not want to lose me, the way I was blowing his mind in our relationship at this time; he would not have dared pulled that bullshit-at least not with her messy ass.
Those emotional messy chicks are a wife and steady’s dream. They tell everything. If wasn’t for them; half of the sneaky stuff that men do would never be found out. It’s those cooperative, quiet ones that roll with it all, and go for the ride that are the tough nuts to crack. You pretty much have to roll up on them and catch them in the act. But those hush-mouth ones are few and far between and most men who step out aren’t smart enough to know how to pick those kinds-that’s why they always get busted: out hoping they picked
out some exotic bird yet wind up picking those singing canary’s instead. And Carmen was just that.
The phone games kept going.
I couldn’t take it anymore after one night in particular. She played on the phone some much that day that she had me walking around the house biting my bottom lip, brows frowned and my nostrils spread so wide-they were about to bust. I couldn’t wait for Mitch to step out for the night so that I could get at her.
The moment he closed the door I called her back, immediately:
“Carmen. Don’t ever do what you keep doing again. Ever…” I said to her.
Ah. Just what she needed. She inhaled that like she was ingesting food.
She had been dying to get a pulse-it was like it breathed life into her.
She began screaming like a mad woman: “You don’t call me and tell me what not to do! I’m kicking your ass the next time I see you anyway!”
“Next time?” I asked.
“Yeah, next time-I see you!” she asserted.
I spoke calmly:
“Well, Carmen I don’t sleep too well on threats. And you sound like you mean business about it. So I think you need to be getting this off of your chest tonight-am I right? Do you feel like kicking my ass tonight? Would you like my address to come kick my ass?” I asked her.
“I already know it! I already know your damned address!” she bragged; reciting my address then describing my house and how I’d park my car.
I was livid.
I walked out to the balcony past Mitch’s funky basketball sneakers then peeked over to make sure my usual porch full-of-homies next door were still outside.
They thought they owned the street and would block-watch the vicinity at all times of the day. They would never allow someone who didn’t live there, roll up with some drama. Oh hell no.
I couldn’t believe that this girl was this crazy about Mitch.
I had never experienced something like this in my life. But what I did know was that she had to get dealt with as soon as possible. Her pursuit in harassing me was relentless and it never tire her out. She needed something she could sink her teeth into.
I then said to her:
“Well, I guess I’ll wait on you to get here with your bad ass. What time should I expect you?” I challenged.
“Oh I’ll be there! I’ll be there!” she yelled.
“Oh okay. So let me get this right. I oblige you-by coming to grab my boyfriend out of your bed and you won’t return the favor by telling me what time you’re coming to kick my ass? Oh, how unfair is that?” I said-sarcastically.
She hung up on me.
I paced the floor and walked out to the balcony back and forth for about an hour.
“Everything alright up there Miss Lady?” asked one of the homies.
“Yeah, I’m alright-I’m looking for some trouble-doesn’t look like they want any though,” I said, leaning over the balcony some.
“Nah. No trouble going down over here. If we don’t start none-it won’t be none, ya’heard?” said the shortest one-standing up like he was the tallest one.
“Yeah-I hear you. I know better,” I said to him.
“Where’d your dude go? Is he coming right back?” he yelled up.
“He stepped out for a little while this evening-he’ll be back shortly, though.” I replied.
“Well, we’ll be out here all night-you’re good,” he assured me.
“I know you guys run this. I just looked over the balcony to make sure you were out here,” I replied.
“You got that right. If we weren’t outside, we’re right inside looking outside, too. Too many of us live here,” he replied.
“I know. Thanks, love. Talk to you soon,” I yelled back down to them.
Still, no pulse from MedSchool.
My pulse however, started to slow down.
It was almost as if she could feel me resting.
She called to let me know that the threat still stood.
That angered me even more.
My body then went into fight or flight mode.
I was about ready to kill this girl.
To do her one better, I promised to pay her the visit this time.
Immediately ran out the house, jumped into the car and headed straight to hers. I wanted no conversation, no explanations-I just wanted to light into her like the capital letter ‘T.’
I walked up to her back window and yelled her name.
I could see her silhouette walking back and forth really fast, like some crazy woman.
I stood out there for a few minutes-just watching her and, she said nothing. She just kept pacing back and forth like she was in a hurry and had forgotten her keys.
I yelled her name again-then waited a few minutes. Her shadow stood still.
I then walked off and drove corner to get something to snack on and then called her.
Without even knowing who was on the other end of the phone as yet, she picked it up and yelled: “I’m ready for you now! I am ready for your ass!”
She sounded wayyyyy too ready for me this time.
So I drove around the corner to pick up Dawn and her sister Posh.
I then swung by to grab my friend Raquel.
We sat in the car laughing about all Carmen’s antics and about how she would call the house watching “Color Purple-” I guess wanting me to enjoy it with her.
When we pulled up to the back of her apartment, she was outside with a parking lot full of about fifteen college nerds-trying to look like they were all tough but looking more like some defunct cornball one-hit wonder-looking rock band.
They were so laughable.
At any minute, it looked like they would be pulling out pencils and compasses; swinging them about in mid air in an attempt to puncture me and run.
Carmen was the only one moving. She was standing at the edge of the parking lot rocking side to side looking like some crazy woman.
The look in her crazy ass stretched out eyes as she stood there with her fists balled up and breathing all hard as if I had really done something to her-totally pissed me off-all over again.
If I had on a belt, I would have just taken it off and started whipping her ass with it because she needed one-just like that.
All this, over a man-she just had way too much emotion and fight in her, over a situation that favored her nowhere. She should have just bowed out gracefully.
I was ready to kick her ass on that-alone.
The thought of that alone sent me blasting off on this dumb broad.
I just lit into her like that capital letter “T”-turned sideways.
Swiftly, with my bottom lip folded as if I was about to walk up on her and whip her ass with that belt. I rushed up on her to grab her and body-slam her ass straight to the gravel. But right before I could, she sprayed mace somewhere in between that time. We both started coughing but she did not get it in my eyes.
She was like a raging bull with the mad strength of a violent mentally-ill person.
“This dumb broad must’ve been in love with Mitch,” I though to myself while managing to get her into a full-nelson.
Firmly with both hands I grabbed her by the back of her hair; I pressed my knees into her back then bucked her face-down into the rocks and gravel and treating her like the wild animal she had been behaving like.
I could hear her fighting for air and trying to get from beneath my hold on her. I wiggled her face into that damn gravel and dirt more.
I then kneed her in the back, released her hands while holding onto the back of her hair for support-to keep wiping and banging her face into the dirt. She was rising up like the fucking Incredible Hulk. I then held a big chunk of her hair with my left hand-and with my body weight and knees firmly into her back; I started giving her blows in her back and ribs with my right hand.
“Calm your ass down bitch!” I grunted over and over with each blow.
She began to lay there-calming down but wiggling like some injured dog while trying to free herself from me. I then climbed back on her and grabbed her hair by the roots-even tighter. The way she was screaming, I could tell she was tender-headed. Ooh I could feel her pain-especially with my knees in that upper back. With her hands free-all she could do was trying and swing on me-backwards but it was so ineffective. She was tiring her self out.
We were fighting with two different kinds of energy.
I couldn’t believe it.
She was so angry and mad over Mitch.
Me-I was angry that I had this crazy whore in my life this way with all this crap and it boiled down to this in order to get her out of it.
As she surrendered, and everything started to calm down, I could hear my girls yelling: “I got the mace!”
I began to let her up slowly. I know that scalp and head was throbbing. That face, back and ribs had to be sore as hell. I could feel her pain. I beat the shit out of that girl like I was wrestling a wild boar.
When I let her all the way up , she started screaming and ranting with her shirt open-titties everywhere. I looked down and mine and they were just as exposed.
I guessed somewhere while she was buried, she must have gotten a hold of my shirt and ripped it open.
I let her scream like a banshee while we both stood feet away from one another trying to fix our shirts good enough to go at it again.
When she dropped her hands and continued standing there, I went on and started walking to my car. My girls were behind me. All of a sudden, I heard the pitter-patter of feet rustling in the gravel. Carmen was coming at me like a Tasmanian devil with some kind of night stick in her hand. My victory stroll turned into a victory run when I saw that stick in the hands of a crazy woman coming towards me-who had no weapons to fight back with and no defense with the exception of Raquel, Posh and Dawn’s mace-fetching asses.
Thank God Carmen’s side was encompassed with nerds.
No way in hell was I going to let that mentally-ill broad run up on me with a stick in her hand, hearing voices in her head-telling her to fuck up my face.
Posh and I got into the front seat at the same time. Dawn and Raquel made their way to the back seat. While in and laughing, all we could see was Carmen’s deranged ass poking the stick in the window screaming: “I want to kill you! I want to kill you!” repeatedly-as if it was really her man that I was sleeping with.
As if it was her phone that I constantly played on-night and day.
As if it was her job I was calling-playing on the phone.
It was crazy. The whole thing was surreal-and kept me in a state of shock with voices in my head saying: “All this, over Mitch?”
We laughed while she banged the tip of the billy club to the window of my car like it was her index finger: “I’m gonna kill you bitch. I am gonna kill you!”
When she said that-it pissed me off because I needed to finish her off.
I can’t take being threatened and I didn’t have any plans on having to put up with her after tonight.
I could tell there was no way she was going to stop harassing me anytime soon, even after ass-whipping number one and this ass-whipping number two I had on deck for her for when I stepped out of the car. I wanted to stick sparks to her so badly but with the damage I was going to do to her this time, it sure as hell would have brought out her defunct rock band-and my back up wasn’t worth shit, if that was to happen.
I rolled the window down some to make a deal with her:
“Carmen, why don’t you put the stick away so that we could fight heads up, ‘cause I’m about to beat your ass like the rabid animal you are!” I folded my lips and grunted.
“Bitch I want you dead! I want you dead!” was all I could hear her saying.
She annoyed me. She had entirely too much passion for the passion that she wasn’t getting. This girl had no self-respect or pride. This was weird to me.
I laughed and cut the engine on and yelled out the window:
“If you really want it-you will put that night-stick down ‘cause I’m ready to get out of this car and go bezerk on your ass!” I asserted.
She held onto it tightly-standing there with it by her side.
Like a rabid dog, I stared her in the eyes and teased her:
“What’s the matter? I cut you off right at the part where you were trying to show Mitch you could hang in the bedroom, like how he told you how I put it down?” I laughed and began to drive slowly.
She was listening intently-like a dog being tamed by a trainer:
“Sweetie I could send Mitch packing and ship him over here to you for six months and you would never get him like I got him. You’re wasting your time and your energy, all this crazy mad passion and anger. Have some self-respect. He does not want you. You need to be thanking me for the time that you did spend with him. Get over it,” I simply said.
Pointing my two fingers, reminiscent of “Celie” in her obviously favorite movie- “The Color Purple.”
I joked and mimicked:
“Everything you done-done-done already been done to you!”
It caught Dawn, Posh and Raquel totally off guard. The whole car shook with laughter but it took my spell off of Carmen. She began to yell instantaneously like a dog barking at someone for pissing where she thought she marked her spot.
I refused to put up with her silliness and craziness any further.
I drove off, leaving dust from the rocks and gravel in her crazy ass face.
“All this shit over Mitch?” I said aloud-after the voices.
“I mean seriously man-it’s not that serious. For no man-especially a man who told you that he didn’t want you anymore right in another woman’s face. It all should have ended right there. That crazy bitch has been watching too many movies! You see how she came to life when I hit her with the Celie smack down,” I laughed.
We all busted out into laughter. My girls (even with all their lame ass background help) always loved my humor among other things, namely: my advice, my conversation, my company and my cool head and maturity-yet, tonight was something they had never seen or heard tale of-from me. Everybody was pretty shocked-including me.
Hell, first time for everything.
I looked at it like this: Carmen didn’t get tired. And her antics were NOT doing to be deterred by simply ignoring her. It was obvious to me that she was getting no more play from “our” boyfriend and equally-wasn’t afraid of me. I had to slip some action to her to at least let her think about her next antic because thus far, MedSchool was on autopilot and stopping no time soon.
When I got in the house
SNEAK PEEK FROM THE UPCOMING/NEXT EXCERPT:
Mitch was also sneaking around with other girls.
At one point, he was seeing some girl who would give him money all the time.
He was running through holding down jobs like tennis rackets, and if it wasn’t for my nagging him about getting one; he wouldn’t have worked at all. The check-kiting schemes were much too easy, fun, and kept him fly.
The times that he did work, it would only be because he did not want to look like a total loser in my eyes. But then the lazier he got, the more the check-kiting schemes picked up.
And after a while of being fed all the “ooh’s” and “ahh’s” about his good looks and body, he started actually getting paid on that alone-which was really pumping him up.
At this point into Mitch’s mess, I didn’t even give a damn.
As long as he contributed to the household-I did not care. His worse nightmare had come true and he didn’t even notice: that dreaded friend/roommate status-the one that he (at one time) “would be damned” that I reduced him too. He had damned himself-and didn’t even notice.
From the outside in-it could easily looked as though I was pimping him out. He didn’t notice that either. I began to treat him more like an agent and business partner than an adorer and his woman. He was too busy being trifling to notice that too-yet, he thought he was running game on me, the world and all the girls-all from being told he was cute: one time too many.
The girl who was giving him the most money had offered to take him to dinner and out to a concert one night. It was me that helped him get dressed and even allowed her to pick him up from “my” house (now)…
She thought she was big pimping and getting her ego inflated because she knew that she was picking him up and dropping him off at his girlfriend’s house. She had never seen me, and I had never seen her.
I knew that she was an overweight girl who lived in a prominent part of town with her rich parents (said my client: Mitch).
Her parents probably spoiled her to death because she was a fatty who probably put ranch dressing on everything she ate (says Mitch’s agent: Me).
I’m a woman and I know how women think. Considering the part of town Mitch and I lived in, I know that she probably thought that if his fine ass was dating her (well-to-do ass), that I was probably some big fat, nappy-head welfare broad, sitting in the house on the couch watching soap-operas all day, drinking forty ounces and smoking weed all night. But she was badly mistaken. I was about my shit, sis.
From the stories Mitch would tell me, she was quite fly at the mouth and thought she was balling out of control: fucking some broad’s man who (she thought) was probably getting used (just like he was using her). She had the game all twisted and she was badly mistaken (twice). She thought she was playing me, but it me was who was playing her. And as long as I never let her see me-the show could go on. I never wanted to blow his cover by making myself be seen, because I knew that if she saw me, by comparison (to his description of her); she would know (for sure) that Mitch was using her-and in (literal) deed, yes…he was.
Correction: we were.
We were using her ass.
He cut the heart, she cut the check.
If my roommate/homie/lover/friend wanted to pay for his room and board-he knew what he had to do.
The night of the concert, she brought his trifling ass home, pissy-drunk.
When I heard them pull up in that cute little pretty car with the quiet engine, I did what I would always do when she would come by to pick up my man…and leave with my man…and bring my man back: I stood at the balcony screen door at just enough distance where, from her view, she could not see me. But from my view, I could see her: Stuffed in that car looking as though the daily routine to get in it, was to have mom and dad stuff her there and then kick her with their feet-kind of like how you would stuff bags of clothes in some storage closet-until those shits fit in.
Normally I would have looked at a girl like her and said: “Awww… Bless her heart” but considering the circumstances from which she was in my view: fuck her upside down triangle built knock-knee’d ass and that cholesterol laden heart of hers.
I stood back watching her twist herself to get out of the little car.
It was a sight to see. She was drunk (and tall ass hell too); stumbling even before going to the passenger side to pull Mitch’s drunk ass out-to help him across the street to the house.
It took them forever. They both looked drunken a mess out there.
She got that clown up to the porch and rang the doorbell as if she was delivering goodies-except, she ran to get back into her little car. I wasn’t going to miss her stuff herself back into the car for nothing in the world.
I let his drunk ass stand, sit, kneel (or whatever position she left him in), until I could watch her walk back to her car to see just how she actually got her big, tall body back into that little bitty car. I was dying to see how this all goes down.
And yes, she was twisting, turning and wiggling her way in-all the while, I was standing back in the dark at the balcony screen door; kicking my right foot back and forth in the air, as if I was stuffing bags into a tight storage closet. I was laughing my ass off.
When she maneuvered herself into the car and put on her seat belt to drive off, I ran down the steps, turned the porch light on and opened to door to Mitch’s drunk ass standing there leaning up against the door hinges looking all red and leathery.
I didn’t understand this drunk shit. It was mad weird to me: How he could be out and aways from home getting this drunk and how she could even hop into her car and drive.
I slapped his face:
THE ABOVE-POSTED EXCERPTS ARE FROM THE NOT YET PUBLISHED PREQUEL / BOOK 2 “Angie Situation” series/trilogy
BOOK 1- PUBLISHED:
TABLE of CONTENTS
- The Roots of Picked Fruit 17
- The Precocious Ripening 33
- Ripe & Ready. Gangs, Bangs & Pangs 39
- The Queen Bee in Me 63
- Another Level. Blossoming. Beautiful. 80
- TGGF, Male Model & Me 101
- TGGF & Me 112
- Divorcing Dad 124
- You Know Who 130
- First Flings First 139
- In the Lion’s Den 170
- Cold Shoulders and Frozen Dancing Feet 195
- Pills & Frills 204
- You Know What: I Told You So 209
- Dichotomies & Dazes 228
- Situations, Decisions & Transitions 241
- Up, Out & Away 244
MEET the AUTHOR Q & A 254
READING GROUP GUIDE 257
SNEAK PEEK into book2 (“Angie Situation NAIVETE’” )’s CHAPTER ONE 260
OTHER BOOKS BY ANGELA SHERICE 269
ABOUT the AUTHOR 270
Media Maestro .
Writing Rhinoceros .