What a Sista Should Do (17 page)
I invite him in and tell him to have a seat. He looks worried, but I’m not going to say anything to make him feel at ease.
“Do you want something to drink?” I ask him this hoping that he’ll say yes, because I’m not really ready to start talking.
“No, I’m fine. Is there something bothering you, Taylor? You don’t seem to be yourself.”
This man doesn’t even really know me, but he’s telling me that I’m not myself? How does he know? This could be the real me, and he’s just now finding out. Men, especially black men, are so presumptuous, like I’ve got some type of problem that he can fix.
I sit down on my love seat facing Spencer. I can tell he’s trying to figure me out. Trying to calculate and plan the conversation in his head. This man is definitely all business. He’s sizing me up as if I’m an opponent, just in case I am.
“Spencer, I need to ask you a question.”
“I’m listening.”
“Do you think that this thing between us is going anywhere? Or is this just recreation?”
He smiles as if he’s a little relieved. “You know, I’ve been asking myself the same thing. What do you think it is, Taylor?”
I respond bluntly, “I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking. I’ve been wrong in the past. Dead wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
“Spencer, I need to tell you some things about myself. Things that may change your opinion of me. If, after hearing them, you want to walk out of here and never see me again, I’ll understand. I just don’t feel like wasting my time.”
“I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think.”
“Sweetheart, it’s worse. You know that I have a son. My Joshua is the apple of my eye.”
“A lot of women have children, Taylor. That’s not the end of the world.”
“And that also isn’t the end of my story. My son’s father is married. He was married when I met him, married when I slept with him, and he’s married still.”
He straightens up in the chair. “I don’t know what to say . . .”
“Well, don’t say anything yet, because I’m not finished. The father was a minister at my church, and I’m pretty sure that his marriage has been destroyed.” The words spill from my mouth.
Spencer sits silently with an expression of shock and confusion. I don’t know how to respond to his silence.
I continue boldly: “I’ve told you, and now you know. Do whatever you want with the information.”
“What do you want me to do? Judge you?”
I don’t know how to answer him. I think I do want him to judge me, and harshly at that. I deserve it for what I’ve done. Maybe I don’t deserve to have a good man in my life. I can’t stop thinking about Yvonne lying in that bed.
“You know what, Spencer? I know you’re expecting a date, but I’m not really feeling like going out.”
He looks irritated, but right now I don’t care. I’m probably going to regret this mess later.
“Taylor, on the way down here I was asking myself what I actually see in you. I was questioning my own judgment. You are beautiful, no doubt, but I wonder if there is any more to you than good looks.”
“Spencer, if you’re so concerned about my depth, why do you keep coming back?”
Spencer shakes his head. “I don’t know. I thought that there was something different about you.”
“You thought?” I ask indignantly.
“Yes. But now I’m feeling otherwise. I think you’ve got some man issues, Taylor,” responds Spencer in an all-knowing tone.
“Man issues? Spencer, you don’t even know me all like that,” I spit angrily.
Spencer gives me some attitude of his own. “I don’t need to know you to see that you’ve got some stuff that God needs to work out.”
“Do I? Really? Well, it seems like you’ve got some stuff to work out too, brotha. Especially your lust problem.”
Spencer huffs. “Lust problem?”
“Yes. That’s what I said. The only reason you keep coming here all the way from Toledo is because you think you’re going to get some.”
He chuckles arrogantly. “Is that it? That’s the vibe you’re putting out there? I knew it was something. For a while I was thinking that maybe you were saved, single and a nice change of pace from the sistas back home. But you’ve made it all very clear. If you think that every man out here only wants to take you to bed, then you have bigger problems than I thought. I’m glad you told me early on. Thank you.”
Am I supposed to be offended or start crying? Please. He won’t be the first man to walk out of my door and never come back. Probably won’t be the last. I stand up, walk over to my living room door and open it.
“You showing me the door now?”
“Actually, I’d like to show you the hallway, outside my apartment.”
Spencer frowns and sucks his teeth. “I don’t need this.”
He glares at me as he walks through the doorway. He looks just like a wounded critter. For all their superhero qualities, men are nothing but babies when it comes to being rejected. Whatever the case, I’m just glad he’s leaving.
I slam the door and crumple into a little ball on the floor. I’m trying to pretend like Spencer’s words haven’t hurt me, but they have.
Lord, what is wrong with me? Maybe I’m not ready to be anyone’s wife or anyone’s girlfriend. Jesus, show me Your will for my life. If You want me to be alone, I’ll accept that. I’ll serve You and raise my son with Your help. But, Lord, if that be Your will, take this lonely feeling away from me. You said that You’d never put more on me than I can bear. I don’t know if I can bear being lonely for the rest of my life. Lord, please speak to me.
Pam
G
retchen is throwing one of her signature temper tantrums in the middle of my kitchen. Of course, I’m not going to acquiesce and give her the Popsicle, but her actions are intriguing to me. Usually, I just ignore her little tirades, but today she’s making a whole lot of sense to me.
I wish I could be just like a big baby myself and act out exactly how I’m feeling. I mean, why can’t I just throw a fit when I’m tired or hungry? How about when I get angry? Can I start throwing stuff around the room and kicking folk in their shins? It seems to work for Gretchen. She isn’t ever stressed-out after one of her episodes.
Too bad I’m a grown-up and I’m expected to act civilized. Troy for one should be glad that I care what people think of me, because some days I feel like going off on him. Today is one of those days.
Troy didn’t bring his sorry behind in this house until three in the morning. For some reason, he thinks I don’t know. As soon as he opened our bedroom door, I could smell the stench of alcohol, weed and God knows what else. He didn’t even change his clothes before he fell into bed.
I haven’t said anything about it this morning. I’m still trying to choose my words. I know that Troy was drunk and that he was probably screwing one of those little heifers that he calls protégées.
Now I feel like breaking my foot off in his behind. But I can’t do that. I’m all grown up, and there are more constructive ways to handle my anger, right? Troy plops down at the kitchen table, looking as if he’s expecting something. Breakfast maybe? He looks a little green around the gills, so obviously his night of rabble-rousing is taking effect. I hand him a glass of juice.
“Troy, don’t you think you’re too old for this mess?” I ask nonchalantly. I brace myself for his weak excuses.
“Too old for what?”
“Too old to be hanging out and getting drunk with a bunch of teenagers.”
“Getting drunk? I may have had a couple of glasses of champagne, but I don’t consider that getting drunk.”
I shake my head furiously. I can’t believe he’s sitting up here lying to me. I’ve been with this man long enough to know when he’s lying. Sure enough, he’s drumming his fingers on the table. That’s how I can tell. Drum, drum, drum.
“Troy, do not try to play me! You could barely make it to the bed last night. That takes a lot more than a couple of glasses of champagne.”
“Oh, so you think I’m lying now?”
I don’t respond to his question. I pour myself a glass of juice and drink it slowly. Maybe it’s just my imagination, but Troy looks plain old nervous. I don’t know what he’s nervous about. He’s a grown man, and I’m not his mama. I can’t send him to hell either.
“You just think I’m out there like that, Pam? I guess you think I’m sleeping around too.”
Now, this I can’t resist. “Are you?”
“No, Pam. I’m insulted that you would think that. Why would I cheat on you?”
“I don’t know, Troy, but I don’t put anything past you, that’s for sure.”
Now he’s the one looking indignant.
“Why? Just because I’m not one of those hypocrites sitting up there in church every week? Huh? Well, I’ma tell you something. Most of y’all ain’t nothing but a bunch of hypocrites.”
“Here you go.”
“Naw, here you go, Pam. You always assume the worst of me! I’m supposed to be your husband, and you act like I’m the devil or something.”
I look to see if the girls are out of earshot. I hate for them to hear me and Troy argue.
In a softer voice I continue, “Well, it wouldn’t hurt you to come to church sometimes. You know, do something with me and your daughters for a change.”
“Just like it wouldn’t hurt you to come to one of my shows, or cook me something for a change. I do remember your cooking, Pam. Do you even realize how you’ve neglected me since you decided to be a church lady? You want me to come to church, well, it goes both ways, Pam.”
I finish swallowing the last of my juice because I don’t know how to respond. In a way he’s right. I’m not the most supportive wife, especially when it comes to this music thing. I just don’t like the environment of those shows. Who wants to sit in a smoke-filled room listening to loud rap songs about nothing? But I do not neglect him. Troy is just spoiled.
“Okay, then, Troy. If you come to church this Sunday, I promise to be at your next show. How’s that?”
“Pam, you just don’t get it, do you?” He stands up. “This ain’t about tit for tat. This is about you supporting the man that’s taking care of you. You should want to come to my shows. It shouldn’t be about making no deals.”
He’s right. I don’t get it, and I don’t get him. How anyone could live their life, day in and day out, knowing that they’re going to hell is beyond my comprehension. Troy grabs his keys and walks into the living room as if he’s one hundred percent. Yeah, he’s a hundred percent all right. A hundred percent from the devil.
I follow him into the living room. “So have you decided what you’re going to do about your little tour?”
“My little tour is still on,” replies Troy sarcastically.
“So it’s just forget about me and forget about this baby.”
He looks away from me before he answers. “I don’t know, Pam.”
Before I even realize what I’m doing, I’m tossing dishes. Troy looks back at me, like I’ve lost my mind. He would be almost right in thinking that, because I feel like I
am
losing my mind. Strangely enough, though, my yelling, screaming, throwing tirade is somewhat liberating. Yep, Gretchen’s got it right. Everybody needs a tantrum now and then.
Yvonne
I
can feel everyone’s eyes on me as I enter the church. I expected it and prepared myself. Folk thought I was going to clam up like a turtle in its shell after Luke beat me. I admit, for a little while I wanted to hide away from the world, but I just couldn’t do it. I’m hurting, but I’m still alive. And I’m not afraid of Luke.
I’ve been away for four weeks, and I’ve barely healed, but I just can’t stay out of the house of the Lord. Luke broke two of my ribs, so it’s hard to breathe. I’m moving slowly, trying not to overexert myself. I hold on to the back of each pew as I work my way up the aisle. I don’t see who I’m looking for, though.
As soon as I was discharged from the hospital, I got offers from everyone to come and stay with them. I’ll be a monkey’s uncle if I let that man scare me into living as somebody’s unwanted guest. Folk mean well, but when it really comes down to it, nobody loves a houseguest forever. I almost accepted Pam’s offer, though. She was so sincere with it, and I know she’s got the space.
There’s Taylor and her little boy. When she sees me, she looks shocked, then she gives me the faintest of smiles. She tries to wipe them away quickly, but I see the tears in her eyes. Taylor’s son, Joshua, is smiling at me too. If he isn’t the spitting image of Luke! It’s funny the things that you can overlook if you’re not paying attention.
I’m glad when service finally starts. The choir’s singing is blocking out the sound of the whispering gossips. Besides, I already know what they’ve been saying about Taylor. They call her a home wrecker. But can you wreck something that’s already broken? Me and Luke ain’t been right for a long time. Our mess started long before Taylor stepped onto the scene. It took a two-week hospital stay for me to finally admit that to myself.
It’s a shame that Taylor and Luke did what they did, but I ought to be thanking her for giving me a much-needed wake-up call.
I’m rocking back and forth in my seat with my arms wrapped tight in a good hug. Sometimes you’ve got to hug yourself. I close my eyes and let the Spirit of the Lord embrace me too. His presence is here today, just where I needed it to be.
I said that I’m not afraid of Luke, but deep down I guess I am. But what else can I do but live? I can’t be going around all worried. What kind of life would that be?
When I open my eyes, there are quite a few people kneeling at the altar. I hadn’t even heard Pastor make the altar call. Is that Pam lying on her face? Yes, it is. I guess things aren’t quite right with Troy yet.
Taylor stands up and grabs my hand. She’s pulling me toward the front of the church. It is my first instinct to refuse, because I don’t want everyone looking at me, and I don’t want to go to the altar with her. When I realize that Taylor’s focus is on Pam, I change my mind. Out of all my so-called friends in this church, Pam has really been the one to see after me.
Taylor and I kneel down next to Pam and do what comes natural to praying women. We pray. Pam’s sobs have so much pain behind them. I had no idea she was hurting like this. It seems like just yesterday she was testifying about financial freedom. Sometimes money isn’t enough, though. It’s probably not even what she was asking God for.