The Other Side of My Kitchen

by Dazz L. Jackson

  weak smile to form before we both stopped in front of what

  had to be an art classroom. I came to this conclusion because

  there were all sorts bad and good art posted in a display

  window located outside of the classroom. I focused my

  attention on an excellent oil painting of Martin Luther King

  until September decided to speak.

  “It took me two whole days to paint that.”

  “You’re an artist huh?”

  “Everybody is an artist in some form or fashion.” “And an optimist to boot.”

  “I’d like to think so. And you? “What are you Omari?’ “A neutralist, thank you very much.”

  “That sounds about right.”

  “I’m not sure how I should take that, so I’ll just let that

  one slide. So, how long have you been an artist, a teacher, and

  believe it or not September, a wonderful woman.”

  September wasn’t the blushing type; however a sample

  of that unusual smile of hers made its way into our

  conversation. It was enough to remind me of what her smile

  could do to me if I wasn’t prepare for it.

  “Seriously, how long have you been all these things?” “For awhile, thank you.”

  “Let’s not forget that, because there are a lot of

  children who are going to need to be blessed by that smile

  September. And if you ask me, there are a lot of men out here

  who would give anything to have a small part of you in their

  lives.”

  September gave me a peculiar look before she asked,

  “What do you see when you look at me Omari? Seriously,

  what do you see?”

  “What do you think I see September?”

  “You tell me.”

  “I see a caring beautiful woman. Now can I finish with

  my sermon?”

  September smiled and said yes.

  “Where was I? Yeah okay, I understand that you and

  Greg got issues. Unfortunately that’s part of the game. But that

  doesn’t mean you have to continue playing in his arena either,

  you know what I’m saying?”

  “I understand,” September replied before we started

  walking again. “So, are we going get something to eat or what,

  I’m starving?”

  “You name the place, and I’ll get us there.” September’s choice surprised me because I didn’t peg

  her as a vegetarian; I assumed she was one of those non-pork

  eating type. Eventually we landed in a very modest looking

  restaurant where everything on the menu was fit for a king

  who was a rabbit in disguise. Not one to be rude, I ordered

  what she ordered and pretended to like it until she tricked me

  into telling her how I felt about eating a plate full of fried

  lettuce. After that bland culinary experience was over,

  everything else went well because we went tête-à-tête about

  everything under the sun until it was time for us to part. I

  offered to take her home, but she decided on a cab. So we sat

  out in the cold waiting for that cab discussing our opinions on

  a few things before I explained why I had wanted to talk to her

  initially. She seemed disappointed, but explained that it would

  be some time before she could or would talk to Greg. I

  understood this and was about to tell her how much I enjoyed

  her company when she interrupted me and said.

  “You’re a sweet man Omari. Lord knows I wish there

  were more men like you out here. Thanks for letting me talk.” A gentle caring kiss placed cautiously on the top of my

  forehead sent my head to the clouds before the cab whisked

  her away.

  The Virgo affair

  A few months passed and I still hadn’t heard a word form Zackary or Nique for that matter. But I stayed true to my earlier decision by not pursuing either one of them. If they wanted to touch base with me, they knew where I lived and how to contact me. I moved on with my life, after all, I still had Michael and Afeni to drive me crazy.

  I hadn’t heard from September since last we were together, and I wanted to check in on her, but that wasn’t my place. So I decided not to, even if that kiss, her eyes, and everything about her stayed with me like a Sidekick II. I even dreamed about us making love in some out of this world Octavia Butler setting. If that wasn’t bad enough, I kept trying to relive those dreams in my head while in meetings and even on a few dates. It was crazy; then again a part of me enjoyed what I was feeling. Why I didn’t know. What I did know, is if Afeni hadn’t called and asked me out a few times, I think I might have broken down and called September.

  Those dates with Afeni turned into long evenings of dancing and drinking in some of Atlanta’s less popular nightclubs. But we had fun, and it was enough to get my mind off somebody I knew I should not have. The following week it was Michael’s turn to divert my attention elsewhere, and instead of partying, Michael and Marlene tried to improve on my culture by inviting me to a book signing that a friend of Michael’s was having at a local Barnes and Noble.

  Eccentric, fatalistic and just flat out bizarre was the best way to describe the visiting author whose work included such greats as Murder, murder, murder, and rape, rape, rape. Not my cup of tea, but I went anyway just to get out of the house. After the book signing was over, the morbid author invited us to an after party at some swank downtown Atlanta club. Dealing with the byproducts of death while I was in the Army, taught me how to appreciate life and all things alive. I took a rain check and headed home to catch up on some work related reading. I was halfway to a boring and uneventful night when I discovered a familiar looking limousine parked ominously in front of my building. I should have known it was Nique, but for some reason or another I blew off that idea and parked my brand new Super Duty 450 Lariat truck inside the garage and was about to go inside my house when somebody banged on the garage door. I dropped everything and walked over to the wall mounted touch screen monitor to see who had decided to lose their minds.

  Nique was dressed fashionably, from her head to her toes. Her hair was longer and her hips seemed a little smaller, other than that she was still an attractive young lady that didn’t appear pregnant. But looks could be deceiving; some women could be late in their pregnancy and still look normal. Olivia didn’t blow up on me until the sixth month and she was carrying twins. I needed closure on this situation so I tapped on the touch screen and accessed the software that controlled my entire house. If this was going to be a knockdown dragged out fight, I was going to take a shower and get comfortable first. I instructed the computer to start my shower, warm the house, and play some music before I finally opened the garage door.

  “Got a new truck I see,” she asked after noticing my new toy.

  “Needed the armor.”

  “I take it you didn’t see the limo?” Nique asked with her hands placed firmly on her hips.

  “Saw it, didn’t know it was you though,” I said before I turned and went inside.

  Nique followed before the sensors in the garage detected the lack of life and silently closed the garage door behind us. A moment or two later, I was on my way to a hot and steamy shower when Boney informed me that there was a call coming in from Cadenza. I thought about taking it in the shower, but decided not to. If Nique was pregnant, our unborn child was sure to sense my lack of respect. I allowed my answering machine to take the call while I jumped into the shower.

  Feeling fresh and clean, I got dressed and joined Nique in the kitchen. I fixed myself a drink and offered her some fat free butter pecan ice cream.

  "Do I look fat or something?"

  "I didn't say you were fat. Do you feel fat?"

  "Fuck you, aw'ight."
<
br />   "That's what got us in this mess in the first place," I sighed before I took a sip of my scotch. "So where have you've been lately. Better yet, why haven't you returned any of my calls Nique?"

  Nique gave me a frustrated look before she replied, "I called you back."

  “You never called."

  “I called, you were never home."

  "I just recently changed my home number, so you never called here."

  "I'm here now, so you can stop tripping."

  "Did it ever dawn on you that maybe I was worried about you Nique?”

  “I have a hard time believing…”

  “Stop, don’t even go there. I mean did it dawn on you that just maybe I cared enough about you to be concerned?"

  "That's not how it sounded the last time we talked. In fact I didn't think you wanted anything to do with me."

  "Granted I didn't say all the right things, but try and put your self in my situation."

  "A successful single Black man who’s afraid to commit because of a previously failed relationship, that’s an easy one."

  “If only it was that simple."

  "Did I mention he was dogged the hell out in that relationship?"

  That remark hit a sensitive nerve, and I wasn't man enough to counter it. Instead I allowed it to pass me by. "Do you feel better now?"

  "Truthfully? Yeah, I feel damn good. How bout you?"

  “Couldn't be any better.”

  “Anyway I came here to tell you that you don't hafta worry about me having your baby.”

  “Okay, so what changed?”

  “Damn, I figured you'd be happy.”

  “You don’t know what I’m feeling right now.”

  “Anyway, it’s only one less mouth to feed. Right, Omari,” Nique replied with pain in her voice.

  I have always assumed that at one point in the heart of all lovers, he or she would have to deal with the distastefulness of some of their ill-timed actions toward the other. Some of these events are well thought-out adventures; some just happened carelessly. Nevertheless, there is always a steep price to pay. It was just a matter of time before nature, reality, and karma caught up with them.

  Nique and I knowingly bonded on a drama filled night that would have been interpreted by the sane as a headache waiting to happen. In spite of this I needed her love that night, so we made love or we loved each other’s bodies. Lovers do those sorts of instinctive things so that they can become lovers. I understood this rationale, but the price of indulgence was a little too high even for me.

  "So you made the decision to abort the baby without me?"

  "What are you talking about? This is my body and I'll do with it what I see fit."

  “I see, so you came here and said what was needed to be said right?"

  Appearing determined, Nique rubbed her eyes as if the sight of me pained her, "Is that all you hafta say to me Omari?”

  “What else is there to say Nique? I mean like you just said, it’s your body.” I responded as an unfamiliar sense of guilt started to take root inside my conscious unconsciousness. That part of me that made me a man was under attack, and I didn’t know how to defend myself with class or dignity.

  I wasn’t one of those hit and run types. If I did it, I dealt with it, no matter what it was. An unplanned pregnancy from a woman that had an addiction issue; a challenge yes, but when the smoked cleared, I would have been there for that child. That’s what pleasers do, they please, which means Nique slept with me without really knowing what and who I was. She had read the entire book, but in the end, the only thing that meant anything to her was the cover.

  “What’s done is done right? So I guess you can move on knowing you did the right thing.” I said as tears of disappointment threaten to expose me. I fought them back and said, “You should leave now…and I mean now!”

  Nique’s heart might have wanted to say something to explain how she truly felt, but her ego, her pain, and her disappointment in me kept her from being honest. I sensed this the moment she cut her eyes and left me standing in my kitchen wondering where in the hell did I go wrong with her. A few minutes after she left, I was out in my garden smoking my last joint while sipping on some Johnnie Walker hoping the answers to this and many other questions would somehow find me through all the haze.

  Looking To Be Right

  I was drunk out of my mind as Gnarls Barkley filled my eardrums with blue funk, and thoughts of emotional suicide. The blurred road up ahead started to swerve in and out of my line of sight, so I pulled over on the side because I already felt dead inside. Besides, who was I to take somebody else for a long dirt ride. That numbing thought and many others crowded my mind as guilt and shame looked inside me for more to drain. I fought back and screamed that I had been framed, but there I was alone with my shame.

  My MDA was tethered to me like an umbilical cord, so I decided to try and call somebody for some much needed help. Michael and Marlene where probably transfixed inside the hypnotic cove of sleeping while in love, and probably didn’t even hear my call for help. Cece or Sharon would have been here to help me without giving it a second thought; however I didn’t feel like being chastised for the next few days, scratched them off the list. Afeni was next, however her phone rang and rang until her answer machine did its robotic thing and said she wasn’t at home. Disappointed, scared and lost, I thought about calling Nique for assistance, but an image of our dead baby shook its head no before I broke down in tears.

  It’s been about a week, maybe two since my talk with Nique. Her lasting impression on me was let personal freedom ring, and fuck all of the emotional baggage that I was left to deal with. As a result my well-organized life took a left turn into emotional obscurity. I dealt with this insidious transition by drinking and getting high on the daily. My indulgence in self-pity hadn’t affected my professional life, but it was just a matter of time and I knew it. Like a drowning man in stuck in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean during hurricane season, I decided to call my next heartbreak. Of course she didn’t know this, but she agreed to be just that by answering her phone.

  “Hey September it’s me Omari.”

  “It’s late, something wrong?”

  “No, yes, no.”

  “Which one is it Omari?”

  “The second one,” I said with a bowed head. “I see, so where are you?”

  “On the side of the road drunk out of my mind. Look I

  didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “That’s not true is it?”

  “I don’t know, I just needed somebody to come and

  get me out of this situation that’s all.”

  “You have other friend’s right?”

  “True but…”

  “Then why are you calling me?”

  “Like I said before.”

  “C’mon Omari, is that all that you want from me?” “Yes, no, yes…”

  “Stop fighting yourself and listen closely to what I

  have to offer,” She said with a stern voice.

  “I’m here, I’m here.”

  “Before I come to you, before I heal your

  wounds…that is what you want from me right?” Caught off guard by September’s frankness, “I just wanted a ride home that’s all.”

  “You’re a wealthy man Omari, which means you have many other options to solve that problem. C’mon, let’s be real here.”

  “True, I have been thinking about you.”

  “And I of you…so what’s next Omari?”

  After hearing that, I scratched my head and asked, “What were you going to say before I cut you off September?”

  “If I decide to do this with you, you must value that all I want in return is your understanding, because I’m still weak and extremely susceptible right now. Do you understand what that means to a woman?”

  “Yes, I understand.”

  “Good, so please be honest with me, and I shall do the same with you.”

  Afraid and feeling unworthy, I was about to han
g up when these words rolled out of my mouth. “I’m calling because I don’t have anybody else to call.”

  “I see, so what’s the name of that road your on Omari?”

  September pulled up next to my brand new muscular truck in an Aquarius blue Volkswagen Beetle a few minutes after we got off of the phone. From the moment she agreed to rescue me, I felt embarrassed and uncomfortable because I smelled and looked like a damn drunk. I was so embarrassed by my present state, I even considered not getting out of my truck, but just the sight of her as she exited her Beetle suggested that maybe there was hope for me after all. I don’t know why or how I came to this foolish conclusion, but I felt a sense of anticipation and a force of positive energy that motivated me to disregard the rules associated with induced embarrassment.

  “Are you okay?” she asked before our eyes joined. The moment was punctuated by the Gnarls Barkley’s hit song St. Elsewhere. It crept upon us like a purple black cloud heavy with rain.

  “Shouldn’t be, but now that you’re here, I feel a lot better, thanks for coming.”

  “You’re welcome, so do you want to get out of that beastly truck of yours, or am I going to have to use a hydraulic spreader to get you out of there.”

  “I didn’t think one of those could fit in a purse.”

  “You’re right, that’s why I keep one in the auto for occasions like this,” September said with a crippling smile.

  “I’ve always wanted one of those things,” I said after I made my exit.

  “That’s an easy fix. Join your local fire department.”

  “Not that bad.”

  “Been there, done that. Thank you very much.”

  “I thought you were a school teacher?”

  “I am, but when I lived in London I was a fire fighter. A fierce one at that, but that’s another story. We should go, you agree?”

  Hearing a glimpse of September’s past tickled me enough to want to hear more. I locked up the truck and followed her to the car while asking all sorts of probing questions. Before we left, she hushed me by turning up the volume inside her car. Twenty minutes later we arrived at a small cottage styled home that was located deep inside one of the roughest parts of Atlanta. Most of the surroundings homes appeared shabby and neglected, however September’s house with all of its artificial lighting ablaze, made it easy for me to appreciate the multicolored lilies that adorn the entire front of the house. The bright colors and aromas soothed me just as my garden tended to do.