Wearing My Halo Tilted

by Stephanie Perry Moore

  “I need to get up,” I said, still quite disappointed in the way my birthday turned out.

  “I’m gonna feed you this morning,” he said, trying to be sweet. “But before I do all that, let’s talk. The girls are still down.”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. He wanted to talk to me? We hadn’t had a heart-to-heart in months.

  “What’s going on with us, Shari?” He was propped up on his elbow, and with his left hand he stroked my eyebrows.

  On my back, I peered over at him. Maybe God does answer prayers. Was he really ready to listen? There was only one way for me to find out.

  The concerned stare in his eye made me believe my husband was truly ready to dig deep down into the root of our problems and try to solve them. Life was beginning to be a lot like the hair I was growing under my chin. I’d shave it the first couple of times, but that wasn’t enough to stop the irritating problem from resurfacing. Before the morning came, little stubbles were coming out again. It wasn’t until I pulled the unwanted hair from the root that I really removed it. Such was the case with my marriage. I needed to get the trouble out of our marriage or at least pull it with the tweezers from the core. Dillon and I needed to dig deep and straighten some of this stuff out so it wouldn’t just keep popping up.

  “I had a talk with Mrs. Kindle the other day,” I said softly.

  “Yeah, your regular lunch,” he cut in, as he smiled.

  Putting my back to him, I said, “I know you don’t like it when I share so much about us.”

  “I understand you need counseling,” he replied, as he turned me back to him. “She’s around you for a reason.”

  “I told her that I was real unhappy.”

  “You told her that?” he said in an upset tone, telling me that he truly did not understand, like I knew he wouldn’t.

  I nodded my head.

  “What did she say?” he asked, a little calmer.

  Reaching for his hand, I said, “That maybe we need to do what you’re willing to do now. Really talk things out. Talk about the stuff that I love, talk about the stuff that I hate, and talk about what I think is ideal for us. Really try to see if we can work through our issues.”

  “Things aren’t that bad, Shari, seriously now. You exaggerate stuff,” he responded, as he ignored my hand and sat up in bed.

  I sat up beside him and spoke with conviction. “Maybe not for you, Dillon, but for me. I don’t know. I just don’t feel loved.”

  As soon as I said that he moved to the edge of the bed and retorted, “I don’t feel loved either. When I come home, what’s supposed to be my castle, it’s a mess. It’s not like you have to keep the girls. They’re in school most of the morning and part of the afternoon. I don’t get here until what—four or five hours after that. And the place is still like a pig’s pen. I have to step over my own clothes. Clean the heck up, girl, if you want me excited to be here.”

  “Do you want to know what I’m thinking or am I just supposed to listen to you?” I asked, trying to hold back my own frustration. “You can tell me what’s wrong and right. But you don’t want it to be a two-way conversation. You bully me with your overpowering demeanor. I’m sick of it.”

  Dillon stood up and peered out the window. He knew I was telling the truth and the brotha’ wouldn’t look at me. He could dish it out, but it was high time he took the criticism as well.

  Sliding nearer to him, I said, “I’m not saying that I’m trying to cast a stone. I’m just trying to tell you that you forgetting my birthday and trying to make it up the way you did is just not enough. You don’t really talk to me to find out what’s going on with me. I don’t feel appreciated either.”

  Dillon turned toward me. He gave me a look like I was lying. It took me no time to give him specifics.

  “Okay, example, you never come in and ask me how my day is. You just run to the girls and see what’s going on with them. Over the last six months, I have planned date nights for us—you don’t even plan one. To me it’s like you’re not trying to put anything into our marriage. You just take it for granted that I’m here. I’m supposed to love you. I just turned thirty and it seems like I’m sixty or something, because we make love, what, maybe once a month? And even when we do it’s not that good.”

  “You trying to humiliate me now, huh?” he said, turning back to the window. “We’re together more than that. And you never complain.”

  I shook my head with disgust, and said, “Alright, sometimes maybe it might be twice in one month, and I might not say anything bad about it, but that still proves my point. It’s not even enough and I don’t complain, because I don’t want to hurt your feelings. But don’t you think I’m disappointed when it’s over as quickly as it began. You’re a selfish lover.”

  He stormed to our bathroom. I wasn’t out to tear him down. And I surely knew I wasn’t without fault. But I could admit when I was wrong. He needed to hear me out. I wasn’t yelling. He had to know how I felt about him, darn it.

  Sitting beside him on the edge of our Jacuzzi tub, I said, “I think you look like a big slob sometimes. And I’m not trying to be mean, but you can’t even wear any of those clothes in your closet. You’ve gone from a size thirty-six to a forty-two. I’m a tiny girl. I want a good lookin’ brotha’, not Fat Albert.”

  Walking over to the shower and looking into one of our many mirrors, he said, “I’m running every morning. I’m working on my weight. I even watch what I eat so it’s not like I’m not trying to do anything about that. But what about you? You’ve got three rolls in your back.”

  “I didn’t even know you noticed. And I only have one left, thank you kindly. Plus, I had a baby. What is your excuse?” I asked to be vindictive.

  He was right though, so I couldn’t be too mad at him for telling the truth. I had gained some weight in my tummy and my back. I had a double chin, almost, and in addition, I had hair under it. If my current changing body was an indication of what I had to look forward to as I grew older, I was going to hate myself.

  “You’re completely unattractive,” he told me bluntly, as he grabbed the side of my waist. “And your nagging doesn’t make me feel attracted to you either.”

  “You’re saying my body and my mouth is the reason why you’re not trying to jump my bones every single week, or better still, every other night like I would hope?” I asked. “I’ll take your constructive criticism. Maybe I’ll try to do something about it.”

  “I’m just saying, Shari. Don’t think that I’m the only one that’s changed, because you are dramatically different too. You write this book, but we don’t see any income from it. I gotta work overtime in football. Coach is always giving me something to do. Most of the time I think you’re mad at me because I come home late or whatever. I’m trying to do what I can to help coach win so next season we’ll have a chance at the national championship. Do you even remember what the athletic director said at the end of last season?” Dillon uttered in frustration, as he bent down over his dirty sink that I hadn’t cleaned yet.

  I remembered for sure. After the team went 7-6 the last two years, the athletic director told the head coach that they’d better win at least eight games this year or he’d fire the whole staff. For that reason alone I hated his profession. There was no loyalty or stability in coaching.

  He looked at me through the mirror, and said, “If I’m fired what will we do then? NCAA coaching jobs are hard to come by, especially for black coaches.”

  I hated to admit it, but he was dead on. Shoot. Approximately eighty-five football scholarships are given out per school, with about sixty-five of those going to black players. Yet, Division I schools averaged two black coaches out of a staff of twelve or sometimes fourteen. Pitiful. In my opinion, black boys needed to protest or go to historically black colleges. They’d make the necessary changes then.

  After waiting for me to give an answer, he said, “You can’t support us. You can’t even support yourself.”

  He said that las
t comment sort of under his breath, but I heard him. Any other day that little crack might have hurt my feelings, but not this time. My career was doing better and so were my emotions.

  Jumping on his back, I playfully taunted, “I’m glad you mentioned that because I’m about to get seventy-five-hundred dollars from this production company that is turning Luv Right or Git Left into a play! And in addition to that, my agent wants me to go on tour with the book for the summer. How do you feel about that?”

  Sliding me off him, he said hastily, “Go on tour with the book where? For how long? And who’s gonna keep the kids? No, you can’t do that. I know you told her no!”

  Overall, Dillon was a good husband where the finances were concerned. He never badgered me about how much money I spent. He just asked that I keep the checkbook balanced. It definitely felt like his money was mine.

  But I was sick and tired of him saying that I couldn’t take care of myself. Though he was right; I couldn’t. I wanted more for me. I had two girls for goodness sake. How in the world was I going to dig deep and tell them that they could be all that they wanted to be? I was settling for less in my own life. I wanted to spiff up my career a notch. I had to take opportunities when they came, and Dillon surely wasn’t holding me here. Actually, the conversation confirmed that I needed a break from him. He was too controlling.

  “I didn’t give her an answer earlier. But now I’ve decided I’m going on the tour,” I said boldly, as I turned on the shower for it to steam up so I could get in it.

  I could tell by his stern body language that he wasn’t in agreement with me. I didn’t care though. Nothing was holding me back now.

  He quickly turned the water off. “Girl, we got two young babies. I’m working a full-time job. You’re trying to take them on tour with you to some play? I’ve been to them plays with you. There’s too much going on night after night. No, you’re not going to be on the road like that. Not my wife, not my kids. That’s that. You need to call whoever you need to call back and tell them the answer is . . .”

  He rolled his eyes and looked at me so that I could finish his statement, but I couldn’t finish it because the answer he wanted me to give to Tina was not the one she was going to receive. I had made up my mind. I was sick of him.

  Yeah, he was the head in this relationship, but he wasn’t acting like someone worth following. Therefore, in my mind he had defaulted his right to tell me what the heck to do. If I was wrong, I was just going to have to deal with it, but I kind of felt like I was right. Though I couldn’t tell Tina yes. I didn’t know what in the world I was gonna do with my girls, because I agreed with Dillon on one thing. Out on the road, living out of a suitcase, and jumping from hotel-to-hotel was not good for the girls. We were probably traveling on a bus and that was no place for toddlers. I needed to come up with a solid plan.

  Dillon went over to the closet and started throwing dirty clothes out into the hallway. “See this is what I’m talkin’ about. You talkin’ about going out on the road and you can’t even do your job here. There is nothing for me to put on. I’m really sick of this, Shari.”

  He went into our bedroom and pulled out three drawers and started throwing shirts on the floor. He was ticking me off because now he was messing all that up, as if I needed more work. He was showing me more and more that we couldn’t be in the same space right now.

  He was right. I wasn’t a tidy maid or anything. It wasn’t nasty, but it was cluttered and unorganized. Yeah, I needed to dust and clean, but with two young ones pulling on my arms and then trying to finish a book, I just couldn’t get any housework done.

  He needed to be me for a week, for a day, shoot for a couple of minutes! Then he could see I had it hard. All he had to do was sit around a boardroom most of the off season, drinking loads of coffee with boring white men, and strategizing about how they’d win a darn football game or two.

  “Can you buy me some more briefs? All my underwear got holes in them. I know we ain’t that piss-poor broke,” Dillon ranted with three badly torn pair in his hands.

  I knew he was madder about the fact that I was willing to go on the book tour than he was about not being able to find clothes, because as soon as I walked over to his underwear drawer I found three pairs that were wearable. They had little stains here and there that didn’t come out with the Clorox, but they certainly weren’t as bad as the other three he found that I needed to completely discard. Plus, the stains were his problem. He was just as bad as the girls. The joker needed to wipe better. Really, it was probably dirt from his workouts. And since I let the dirt sit for a while before I actually washed loads, when I got to it, most times, it was hard for the dirt to be lifted. Dang. I had to do better. Maybe a break would refresh us both.

  “I’m serious,” he said, as he took the three pairs from my hand. “You don’t need to do that play. I know I give you a hard time about not working and all. I’m sorry, because you do have a job. You got those girls and this is summertime, you know. Write another book from home. No matter what happens to my job, we’ll be alright.”

  Unwavering, I looked over at him, and said, “I don’t know if we’re gonna be alright and I’m really kind of tired of just settling. I’m gonna go on the tour.”

  “No, you’re not!” he said in the harsh tone I hated, just knowing that I was gonna take his fussing.

  Whatever, I thought, as I looked at him with empathy. I was so fed up with the Negro before me that I could have cut him. Maybe I just had to show him with my actions. He wasn’t hearing my words. Yup. Someway, somehow, I was going to have to show him.

  “Hey, Shari,” Tina said to me through the receiver, after I dialed her number early-Saturday morning. “Tell me the good news, lady. You’re going on tour, right?”

  I actually had no idea what I was going to do. I just told her that I would call since she told me I had to. I certainly couldn’t let her down, but now she was putting the pressure on. She needed me to go on this trip and it wasn’t just for her benefit. I had benefits too. But my husband said no and in no uncertain terms meant no. What in the heck was I going to do?

  When I delayed in responding, she said, “I’ve been praying for you. And I can’t really say God has told me to tell you this or that, but I just feel led to say you need to finally make a commitment to you. If going on tour for the whole summer is too much to commit to, then we can try two weeks at a time. Neither party should care. I mean, the publishing company will still benefit from the books that you sell and they won’t have to pay expenses if you’re not traveling. And Trey, the play guy, he’s gonna benefit from whatever books are sold, whenever they are. So that’s money you didn’t have. So why not take a few baby steps before you walk totally? Tr y it. Say yes. I’ve seen you in action. You can’t be scared of the public.”

  “No, no, no,” I said, cutting in and defending myself. “The public is my best mode of selling.”

  “Then what’s the hold up? I know you’ve got your man in check just like I’ve got mine,” Tina responded, sternly. Everyone knew she wore the pants in her nine year marriage. She had helped her husband build up his bookstore empire. I think at last count they had nine stores in the midwestern and eastern region. Their goal was to add one every year. Their bookstores were doing exceptionally well, because with other black-owned chains struggling, and in some cases shutting down, they were expanding. She was a marketing genius. If she said I needed to be on this tour, I needed to take heed and be there.

  The words, “Yeah, I’m going,” just sort of slipped out. “Two weeks is good for me to commit to in the beginning. Thanks, Tina.”

  “Okay, girl. Well, I gotta go. Stanley and I are headed over to his store. I’ll talk to you Monday morning and give you the details. But you need to plan to fly out on Wednesday.”

  The next thing I knew, I was sitting there in my office going ballistic. Everything was pushed up. I thought I’d have more time. I was trying to figure out what in the heck I was gonna do with my kids. Not
to mention, I needed a way to get Dillon to believe this was his idea, so that he wouldn’t be pissed I went against his wishes in the first place.

  “Hey, there!” my dad said in a zany voice from my garage door as it opened.

  “Y’all better start locking these doors,” my mom said in a thwarted motherly tone.

  “Where’s Dillon? I don’t see his car,” my dad said, talking normal as I heard him walk toward the front of the house, where my office was located.

  “I don’t know,” I said in a smug tone, not wanting to go there with my nosy folks.

  “Uh-oh. He might be under the doghouse.” My dad laughed as he entered my office.

  I couldn’t believe my dad was a superintendent. Let my grandparents tell it, he barely got out of school himself. He was such a big jokester. I didn’t need him being sarcastic. However, I couldn’t push the wrong buttons with my folks and I needed them to buy into what I was about to do.

  So I hugged my daddy, and said, “What’s going on?”

  “Hey there, cuz. What’s up with you two?” my dad asked, as he planted a kiss on my cheek.

  I released him from the secure embrace and lied. “Things are cool, Dad.”

  The glare he gave me told me he didn’t buy what I was saying. My mom knew Dillon and I had issues. She always shared all my business with my dad. So I knew she’d tell him whatever she thought she knew. And that always irked me.

  He wasn’t in any position to give me advice. He cheated on my mom when I was in high school and college. Though they got things back on track, he knew I was like him. If my daddy could fall into temptation, it was probably in my blood to do the same.

  I could never cheat on Dillon. It would be over. And as much drama as I had to go through with one husband. Another man probably wouldn’t make it any better.