The Ex Chronicles
Page 23
The house was a nice brick bungalow, with red awnings, reminding me of Aunt Mary’s home. Usually the sight of that house would give me a warm feeling. I did feel warm, all right. “The car keys.”
He looked confused. “Keys?”
“The car keys,” I said, with a bit more force as I slowed the car to a stop and mashed hard on the break. He lurched forward. I narrowed my eyes and flexed my fingers. “Get out.”
He looked at me with pleading eyes. “Diane.”
“Keys,” I said and watched him ease out of the car keeping his eyes on my hands. Before he closed the door, he rummaged in his pocket and tossed the keys on the seat. I picked up the keys and fingered them. He wouldn’t need them anymore. I placed them in my pocket.
Outside, Johnathan limped toward the Escalade as if to protect it. The rain continued to fall.
My heart raced as rage threatened to overtake me. I couldn’t see anything for a moment. But when my vision cleared, I lifted my foot off the brake and returned it to the gas. He saw me coming and hobbled over to the front porch. I drove up on the grass and stopped. I put the car in park and gunned the engine.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Johnathan said.
I cut the engine and popped the trunk to get my tire iron. He saw the instrument in my hand and I could see the panic on his face.
“Stop playing, Diane.”
“I got a game for you.” I took a power swing and heard the sound of glass breaking.
“Oh shit,” Johnathan said and stumbled up the porch.
Next, I turned my fury on the headlights. Batter up!
“You must be out of your damn mind. Don’t let me have to come down…”
I turned to face him. “Come on.” I smiled and began to approach.
“Go on now. You play too much.”
Returning my focus to the car, I and took the sharp edge of the tire iron and ran it lengthwise along the sides.
“I’m calling the police.”
I moved toward him and he hopped closer to the door. Adrenalin ran through my body like an electrical current. “Call the police. Maybe I’ll get a female cop who’ll hold your ass while I beat it.”
The door to the house swung open and a woman came out the door. She placed both hands on her hips. “Oh, no. You gonna have to take that shit someplace else.”
I tried to focus on the woman. I could hear her voice, but I didn’t comprehend her meaning.
Johnathan turned to the woman and held up his hands, motioning her back in the door. “I’ll take care of this, baby.”
No, he didn’t just call this woman, baby. My eyes locked on her. I tightened my grip on the tire iron.
A steady drizzle wet the pavement.
“You can’t be doing this in front of my house. I have neighbors.”
“I told you I would take care of this,” Johnathan repeated.
“I didn’t sign up for this ghetto shit,” she said, raising her voice an octave higher than before.
“Go inside and just let me talk to my wife.”
“You can have him.” My anger had bubbled over into words. “I can have all of his belongings, including his dirty drawers back here in fifteen minutes.”
“He can’t stay here,” her words rang out.
The shock in his eyes was matched by the delight in mine.
“What?” Johnathan said.
“Listen, Johnny. We had some fun, but I’m not looking for all this drama. I don’t need no broke down man. You need to go home with your wife.”
He looked from her face to my smile. He knew he couldn’t come home with me. That bridge had been blown up and now lay burning. Johnathan limped down the porch toward me. “Can we talk about this?”
In that moment, I realized I was done. I looked at my 2000 Civic, the smashed windows, the car’s long scratches and dents. I felt bad, but not for long as I climbed in my Escalade. It still had that new car smell. There was no reason to destroy a new car I was paying for. I took out my key and started the engine. The car seemed to welcome me as I settled into the leather seat. I pressed a button and the seat adjusted forward. Another button began to warm my seat. I adjusted my mirrors and backed out of the drive. The woman’s door closed, leaving Johnathan standing on the walkway.
“You gonna just leave me, Diane. How am I gonna get home?” I heard him scream.
I rolled down the window. “Call Tyrone,” I sang out the chorus from a popular Erika Badu song.
Heading back toward Michigan Avenue, I pushed the radio button. As the lightning flashed, I heard a familiar oldies beat and I began to bounce along with it. Johnny Mathis was singing, “I can see clearly now the rain is gone.” and I joined in for the chorus. Throwing my head back, I sang, “It’s gonna be a bright, bright, bright sunshiny day.”
Karen E. Williams is an author and avid reader. Her short stories have been twice selected by the Cranbrook Writers Guild. She is a graduate of the University of Michigan.
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