I just know he heard me and Brice making love the night before the funeral. I told Brice that the walls were too thin, and I knew that Christian’s bed was against the same wall as our bed, but you know Brice. He never takes no for an answer. He said that we would be quiet, but once he started laying it on me with all he had, it was hard to remain quiet. Brice was doing it so good, and it was feeling so good, that for a second I forgot where I was. So I know that Christian heard, and the next morning I felt embarrassed when he said good morning to us. He gave me this smile like “I know what you did last night.” Maybe he didn’t hear, but I think he did. Brice didn’t care. When I mentioned it to him that Christian might have heard, he just laughed and said he got an earful. I swear, sometimes Brice pisses me off so much. I know that it’s bad to say, but he probably wanted him to hear me moan and groan. “Check this out, man. Listen to how I can make my wife beg for it. Listen to her moan as I stick it to her. She can’t get enough of this dick.”
I had all kinds of crazy dreams that night. My last dream, the one that woke me up, was of Christian and me making love. It was so real. I guess I was tired from the previous events and worried about him hearing us that I dreamed Christian had me in his strong arms, making tender, sweet love to me. It’s amazing what a combination of stress and lack of sleep can do.
On the drive back home, they let me sit in the backseat so that I could get some much-needed sleep. They took turns driving. I sat back there and thought for quite a while about my life. Funerals can do that to us; make us think about our own immortality. I listened and observed the only two men in my life. They were so much alike, yet so different. They were like two little boys, laughing and talking as we drove the long road back to North Carolina. I fell asleep shortly after I heard Brice tell Christian that some lady named Tasha had been on base trying to track him down. Brice joked that Christian must have really whipped it on her. Christian laughed at that and asked, “What do you think?” When I woke up again, we were almost home.
If only I had known that the next few months would be like walking on eggshells, I probably would have stayed in Georgia with my mother. Brice was seriously tripping again and taking it out on me. My husband is very competitive. He always has to be the best or he thinks he’s a failure.
I can’t do anything right, let him tell it. Lately, he always has me near tears or crying. Our lovemaking isn’t tender and gentle anymore. It has gotten to the point where I don’t want Brice to touch me because he is always too forceful and aggressive during sex. It’s like he’s taking his anger out on my stuff, and if I protest that just makes it worse for me. Even foreplay, something as simple as touching my breasts, is torture. He will squeeze, pinch, bite, grope and cause me just enough pain to make me pull away. So I cry and try to get him off me, and Brice just pushes me back down, grabs my ass, spreads my legs and plunges it in, all of it, and tells me I am his wife so I had better learn to perform my wifely duties.
Christian knows something is going on, because he is constantly asking me if I’m all right. He says that I look sad sometimes. I tell him that I’m fine, but I need to take care of myself, eat properly and stop burning the candle on both ends. He thinks that school is taking its toll on me. What am I supposed to tell him? “Your best friend is making my life a living hell. He abuses me with his dick.” If only he knew. Maybe he does know—they tell each other everything. School is my salvation. It takes me away from the apartment, gets me around people my age and is a welcome distraction.
In time . . . this all passed and Brice was once again my wonderful husband, treating me like a princess and making plans for our Christmas vacation.
19
Christian
T
ime flies when you’re having fun . . . Yeah, right. It’s almost Christmas again. The malls are already packed to capacity and bustling with shoppers ready to shell out their hard-earned money on some gift that will be shoved into the back of somebody’s closet. Everybody is festive and in good cheer. Give me a break. The children are on their best behavior so that Santa will pay them a visit, and the mistletoe has been hung. Merry Christmas. The true meaning has been lost somewhere. When Moms was alive she made sure I understood the true meaning. She loved Christmas so much.
I don’t know what I’ll do this year. Years past I have gone home with Brice to visit his parents, but I think I’ll be a third wheel this year, with Mia and all. I guess I’ll hang out here and get some rest. I finally got Tasha, much to her displeasure, off my back, and I’m just hanging loose for a while. To get rid of Tasha, I had to completely be a dog and break it down to her, but I have found that some women don’t understand it any other way. The way I broke it down to her, she couldn’t help but get my point. I know that’s brutal, but it’s a fact. I’m taking a much-needed break from women.
Speaking of Mia and Brice, I think they need some time away. Whenever I go over there, there is always tension in the air. Sometimes I think Mia is afraid of him. I feel sorry for her because Brice is always riding her about something. Lately it’s her cooking. When he walks through the door, dinner has to be on the table. I was having dinner with them the other evening and he literally had her in tears because the chicken was too tough. Mia was sitting at the table, trying her best to hold back the tears, but Brice was relentless. He kept riding her until she broke down. When she ran out of the room, he kept right on talking like nothing had happened. I love the man, but Brice can be a mean son of a bitch sometimes. He can be cold. I mean, that’s not some hoochie that he picked up on the street. That’s his wife he’s dogging like that.
Hey, but what can I say? Absolutely nothing. He is the one married to her. I can’t interfere in my man’s affairs. He wears the pants in that household. But now, if it were me, I would treat Mia with respect. He still doesn’t realize how lucky he is. Brice is spoiled. Always has been. His Moms did that, and he has always thought he deserved everything he received like it was his right or something.
The girl loves the man. She must, to put up with all his bullshit. Don’t get me wrong—Brice is my partner—but wrong is wrong. Did I say that? I think a little bit of Mia is starting to rub off on me.
I know Mia was all excited because they were going home for Christmas. She’s like a little girl sometimes. They are going to stay at Brice’s parents. She was asking me what I thought he wanted for a Christmas gift and then she surprised me by asking me what I wanted. Mia said, “Christian, I love you like a brother. I have to get you something really special as well. I consider you my friend too, not just Brice’s.” I told her anything she chose would be great. She just smiled secretly.
20
Brice
Y
ou don’t have to tell me . . . I know that I’ve been a total ass, to put it mildly, for the last few months. Ever since we returned after Mia’s uncle’s funeral, I have been this way. When I should have been supportive and comforting Mia, I was doing the opposite. But I couldn’t help myself. It was like that line Flip Wilson made famous in the early seventies . . .
“The devil made me do it.”
I know that’s a sorry excuse, but when I’m unhappy or stressed it’s like I don’t want anyone else to be happy, either. Since things were not going my way at work, I treated Mia like shit for two months. I don’t know why she hasn’t left my ass by now. I don’t deserve her; I know that.Yet she still loves me and tries so hard to make things right and be the good little wife.
Such simple things please my wife. When I told her that we were going home for Christmas break, she was ecstatic. We need to get away and just chill. Mia will be on Christmas break from her studies, and I need a few days myself. We saw the folks briefly when we were home last time, but our main focus was on Mia’s family. Moms can’t wait to see us, and I’m sure she will put some meat on Mia’s frame and bug her about having some grandchildren before she is too old to enjoy them.
I tried to talk Christian into coming also, but he said that he would be a third wheel. He knows Moms and Daddy love him like a son, but he thinks he will interfere with me and Mia. I don’t know what’s going on with him lately. I don’t understand him. He told me that he is going to cool it with the “dating game” for a while.
I asked, “So what exactly does that mean—you’re going to cool it?”
Christian responded, “Man, I’m sick of playing the game. I’m burnt out. I wanna chill for a minute. Get my head together. Is anything wrong with that?”
I shook my head, but still didn’t know where he was coming from, so I asked, “What brought all this on?”
“I don’t know. Man, I’m thirty-one, almost thirty-two years old and still out there with my main purpose being to have fun and get some pussy. There has to be more to life than that.” He laughed. “Maybe I’ll meet a nice lady and settle down, like you, and have a couple of rug rats who look just like their old man.”
“No, my man ain’t talking about settling down. Not you.”
“Well, things change. I’ve changed. I don’t know man . . . there has to be more to life.”
“Well, just do what you have to do. I got your back.”
I can’t put my finger on it, but something is definitely bugging Christian. I have known him too long not to know that something is up. He can be so secretive at times, but in time, like always, he will let me know what’s up when he’s ready.
I am seriously thinking about starting our family. Mia is almost through with getting her degree, and now would be the perfect time to bring a baby into our family circle. She can take a few years off to raise our son before starting her teaching career. I know it will be a son because real men produce sons. We didn’t discuss children before we married, but there were a lot of things that we didn’t discuss. I have always wanted two boys to carry on the family name. Mia, I’m sure she wants a little girl to dress up and spoil. Regardless, though, I think it’s time. Mia is always telling me how bored she is because she doesn’t do anything but go to school and come home. A baby will keep her occupied. Daddy used to joke that the best way to keep a woman was bare-foot and pregnant. It’s ironic that they could have only one child—me. If Moms were capable, I may have had a house full of brothers and sisters.
We leave for Georgia in a few days. Maybe I’ll bring up the pregnancy issue at that time. Who knows, maybe we will begin our family in Georgia.
21
Mia
I
should have known that everything was going too perfectly. Lately, nothing seems to work out for me. We were packed, excited and ready to begin our vacation, but the Marines want to own a black man. My man anyway. They called, and Brice is on some trip . . . Translation, he will meet me in Georgia at his parents’ house once he has finished. I was so pissed. Brice was like, “Damn, get over it, baby. You don’t complain when the Marines pay the bills, put food on the table or pay for your education.”
We were finally getting along again and now this. We desperately needed this time away together. Brice kept reminding me that he would be away only a few days. I told him that I would stay at home with my mama until he arrived, but he stated that his Moms was expecting us and he wanted me there. Brice always wants something from me but is never willing to give anything back in return. I am so sick of his shit. I really am.
As much as I hate to admit it, I realize, Brice controls me and everything about me. He controls when I eat, where I go, how I dress, when we screw, how we screw and on and on and on. He probably thinks I would stop breathing if he told me to. He informed me the other day that I needed to gain a few pounds because I was getting too skinny. Brice said that he liked a woman with some meat on her bones. I started to tell him that I wouldn’t have lost weight if he weren’t driving me out of my damn mind. But no, I just left it alone in order to maintain the peace. Also, I find that I curse more and more, and Brice can curse like a soldier, excuse the pun, but he can’t stand it if I curse.
Did I tell you that when he is out of town on a trip, he calls me every night to check on me, not to say hello, but to check on me? I have to be in and answer his call. I can’t go out with anyone other than Christian. I’ve accepted the fact that Christian is my babysitter. I know he comes over all the time to watch me, but he’s cool. Actually, we have a lot in common and he always has me laughing. We watch horror movies, quote the lines before they even say them, eat ice cream out of the same container and have a great time.
One time Brice called while I was still at the library studying, and he almost had a fit. After that he started accusing me of screwing around on him. Brice went on and on so that I finally had to hang up on him. He kept calling back, cursing and shouting, until I eventually unplugged the phone. When he arrived home, he didn’t mention his behavior or apologize. After that, Christian, my sitter, was around even more.
I know. I know. I’m sounding and acting like a complete fool. Any other strong, black female—and I am a strong, black female—would have set him straight or left his ass by now. Don’t you think I know that? But I love him. I know it sounds so corny and so typical, but I do. Deep down, under all of his macho shit, Brice is a good man, and regardless of all the shit he puts me through, he loves me. I know he hasn’t screwed anyone else, he provides for us, he takes care of me, and when he makes love to me, if he isn’t upset, he makes me feel like the most loved woman in the world. So I think that I can put up with his mess. Anyway, he acts stupid only when he’s stressed out about something or other. He just got his much-wanted and well-deserved promotion, so he’ll be happy for a while. When he’s happy, I’m happy. That’s the problem with so many marriages. At the first sign of trouble, the parties are in divorce court. No one tries to work things out anymore. Well, I took my vows seriously. For better or for worse.