by Candice Dow
I mugged at the phone. Who the hell does he think gives a damn how hard he works if he has bad credit? We could have ended the phone call with that statement, but I figured I’d let him finish.
He continued, “You know how y’all do. She just wanted to get married and change me.” He paused. “Why do women do that?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never been married.”
“Yeah, she wanted me to look for another job. She wanted me to go back to school. She wanted everything that I wasn’t.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah I hope you’re not like that.” He sighed. “My mama always said stay away from y’all overly independent women.”
Well, I prayed that he took her advice, because I had plans to stay away from him. When I didn’t respond, he joked. “I’m just playing with you. But that bitch,” he spat out with emphasis, “had the audacity to say she never loved me.”
Just to give him ammunition, I said, “Are you serious?”
Sounding as if he was angry with me, he snapped, “Hell yeah, I’m serious. She said that I wasn’t man enough for her. See, y’all independent women judge a man by the money he makes. If he ain’t making what you make, you figure you can do without him.”
“That’s not true.”
Why did I say that? He ranted for another thirty minutes about why it was true. I just prayed for the right opportunity to get off the phone with the lunatic. He had issues that I was not willing to help resolve. The moment his hysteria subsided, I yawned. “Whew, I have a long day tomorrow.”
His gentle twin returned. “Okay. Well it was good talking to you.”
Talking to me? I was under the impression that he was cursing all women like me. Anyway, I lied, “Yeah, it was good speaking with you, too.”
“Did we make a date for this weekend?”
I stuttered, “Um. I don’t think so.”
“Well, I’ll talk to you tomorrow. We’ll set something up then.”
Steven, speed on. Knowing I’d never talk to this lunatic again, I lied, “Yeah, we’ll talk tomorrow.”
22
SCOOTER
When I should be studying, I’m plotting how I can spend time talking to Taylor. I feel her getting annoyed with the whole situation, but my feelings haven’t changed. I want to explore the possibilities of us. The only thing preventing it is my pity. When I look at Akua, my conscience bothers me. How could I do this?
I walk through the hospital in a daze, wondering when is the appropriate time. Where is the appropriate place? What are the appropriate words? When she talks about our future, I change topics. She turned the radio up to drown the silence as we drove home from work. She folded her arms over her chest. Did she notice a change in me?
I prayed every time she opened her mouth that she’d ask me what was bothering me. Then, I could segue into explaining my unhappiness. Her arrogance wouldn’t let her mind wander into insecure territory. I pulled up to the building, and said, “I need to go to the library. I’ll be back.”
“Okay, bring me something good when you come back.”
“Okay.”
She kissed my cheek and got out. When she opened the car door, I felt the fresh air seep in the car. Before I drove off, I hung my head.
As I yearned to hear Taylor’s voice, I accepted it was never love between Akua and me. I called my mother. “Hey, Ma,” I greeted her.
“Hey, Scooter. How you doing baby?”
I sighed. “Stressed.”
“Oh, baby. It’ll be okay.”
“Yeah. I need a break. Can you do me a favor?”
“What?”
“Act like you need me to come home next weekend. I’m off and Akua’s not. You know how she gets all upset when I come home.”
“Boy, you have more stuff with you.” She sighed. “What do you want me to say?”
“Say that Pop-Pop isn’t doing well and you want me to come see him.”
“Lawd, now you trying to kill my father.”
“Nah, just call the house and ask to speak to me.”
Pretending that she wasn’t on board, she grunted, “Uh-huh.”
“When she says I’m not there, ask her if I said anything about coming home.”
“When do you want me to do this?”
“Now.” She sighed, and I said, “You know I love you, right.”
“All right boy. I don’t know why you want to make me a part of your dirt.”
I chuckled. “It’s not dirt, Ma. I just want to come see you.”
“I’m not a fool. You want to see someone more than me. The question is who.”
“Only you, Ma.”
“Good-bye, boy.”
That was her way of agreeing. Taylor was the next phone call. She answered. “Hey, Scootie.”
“I miss you, Tay-Bae.”
“I miss you, too.”
“I got used to having you put me to sleep at night. It’s killing me not to talk to you at night.”
“So, what are you going to do about that?
“I’m going to figure out what to tell her real soon.”
“What’s real soon?”
“No more than two weeks.”
“I hope so. I don’t know how long I can be the other woman.”
“You’re not the other woman.”
“I feel like the other woman,” she whined.
When I walked in the house, Akua said, “Are you supposed to be going home next weekend?”
“I dunno. My mother asked me something about it. Why?”
“She called a little while ago asking if you were coming home.”
I was grinning on the inside. “I might go. She said my grandfather wasn’t doing well.”
“Yeah, that’s what she said.”
My mother helped me obtain my get-out-of-jail-free card. In nine more days I would see my Tay-Bae three days straight with no interruptions.
23
TAYLOR
My feelings for Scooter were a lot deeper than I’d anticipated. Being with him consumed me. As I sat at my desk, deciphering an escape plan, my cell phone rang.
A foreign voice struggled with English dialect on the other end. “Is this Taylor?”
Feeling rather cautious, I wrote down the number and said. “Yes. May I ask who I’m speaking with?”
“Randall. I got the message you leave at subway station.”
Not in the mood for games, I snapped, “What?”
“I see you picture. You pretty.”
I frowned and tried to imagine who’d want to play games with me in the middle of the day. Trying not to draw attention to myself, I whispered, “Who the hell is this?”
“Randall. I got you message.”
It was not the time or day to mess with me. Still whispering, I said, “Don’t play with me, I didn’t leave you a message.”
I slammed the phone shut. Just as I got back to writing down a note, the phone rang again. I sucked my teeth. “Hello.”
Another foreigner, a different number. “I would like to speak to Tyler.”
I sighed. “Do you mean Taylor?”
He spelled it. “T-A-Y-L-O-R. Tyler.”
“This is Taylor. Can I help you?”
“I’m calling to help you.”
Anxiety boiled inside of me. I closed my eyes and prayed this was a silly prank. “Who is this?”
“Jean Claude. I got the message you leave at the subway station.”
I hung up. The two calls had to be connected. On a separate sheet of paper, I wrote down both names and numbers.
Blocking my number, I dialed the first number. A receptionist answered. “Pepsi. How may I direct your call?”
I shrugged my shoulders and looked around as if someone were watching through my window. “Um, I’m looking for Randall.”
“Do you have an extension?”
I huffed. “You know what. Never mind.”
I put my phone on silent, left it in my office and went into the library to finish some reading
. When I returned, the voice mail light blinked on my cell phone. Seven messages, all from different guys talking about some sign. One claimed I left a sign at his apartment complex. Another claimed it was CVS. Another claimed it was at the Greenbelt Metro station. Another said it was at Union Station. These weren’t connected. There was obviously a sign posted with my information on it. Why was I the brunt of someone’s cruel joke? My eyes watered as I listened to the messages on my cell phone. What have I ever done to anyone? Who would know all this information about me?
My phone rang and startled me. Another strange number. Another strange man.
I called Courtney. My voice trembled as I told her about the calls. We didn’t know who would do something like this. She kidded. “Maybe it’s KuKu.”
“Courtney. Now is not the time for Akua jokes.”
“Shit, I’ain joking. She’s the only person that would want to hurt you.” She laughed. “You said they’re all foreigners. They’re probably her cousins.”
I can count on Courtney to add some comic relief to the worst situation. I chuckled. “I don’t know. This shit is crazy.”
My cell phone rang. I whined, “Court. It’s another unknown number.”
“Answer it! Answer it! Ask him where he got the number from.”
I picked up. “Hello.”
Finally an accent that I understood filtered through the phone. “Hello, can I please speak to Taylor?”
“Yes, may I ask who’s speaking?”
“My name is Leonard. I saw the sign you posted.”
His humble tone said that he sincerely wanted to speak to Taylor. I sighed. “Leonard, where did you see this sign and what did it say?”
“It was in my apartment complex.”
“Where do you live?”
“In Glen Arden Apartments.”
I mumbled, “Oh my God.”
Courtney yelled in my other ear, “What did he say?”
Holding one phone with my neck and shoulder, I massaged my temples. “Leonard, I didn’t put that sign up. Can you please tell me what it said?”
“I figured you were too pretty to do that, but I figured I’d call anyway. The sign says that you’re looking for a monogamous relationship with a good man. It says only serious inquiries. It has all your numbers on there.”
Again, I mumbled, “Oh my God.”
Courtney was on the other end. “What did he say?” As if I was going to answer, she shouted, “Taylor! Taylor!”
Who would be so cruel?
“And there was a picture of you,” Leonard said.
I shouted. “A picture?”
Courtney shouted, “What?” Just as he began to describe the outfit I was wearing in the picture, Courtney solved the case. “It was Over Dat Ho!”
He continued, “It looks like you’re on a boat or something.”
It was the same picture I’d e-mailed to Steven. I dropped my forehead into the palm of my hand. How did I take such a simple thing for granted? I sighed. “Leonard. Thank you. If you see any more signs, can you please take them down?”
He agreed. When I hung up the phone, I returned to Courtney’s ranting on the other end.
As if I was supposed to be relaying each sentence to her, she snapped, “Did you hear me calling you? What did he say?”
The whole thing was too far-fetched to believe. I shook my head before I spoke. She impatiently shouted, “What did he say?”
“Girl, that bastard posted up signs with my picture and all my numbers.”
“Oh my God.”
“I don’t believe this shit.” My eyes flooded.
“I know. This shit is spooky.”
“I know. I’m scared.”
“Does he know your address?”
“No. Thank God.”
I plugged my phone number into Google to see if my address would come up. It appeared to be safe from that angle. I searched my name. Only public court files appeared. I talked her through my searches. When I was done, I said, “I couldn’t find anything that would lead to my house.”
“Good thing we were able to remove our info from Zaba Search.com.”
I huffed. “You ain’t lying.”
She searched and came to the same conclusion. “I can’t find anything, but you never know.”
She logged on to the Maryland Judiciary Case Search to check his record. She hissed, “This shit is so crazy.” She mumbled, “I’ll be damned.”
“What? What do you see?”
“Why have two other women charged that lunatic with harassment?” She paused. “Girl. It’s a damn good thing you didn’t go out with him.”
“Tell me about it.”
“One woman charged him with stalking her. The other stated he’d threatened her numerous times. Both have restraining orders against him.” My breath got shorter and shorter as she read the files.
“I’m scared,” I whined.
“You can stay with us until this dies down.”
There was no one for me to call for help. The guy I’m claiming as my man is too far away. I felt helpless and lonely. Tears began to roll down my face. I sniffed. “Okay, I’ll come to your house after work.”
24
SCOOTER
As Taylor sniffed in my ear, I felt I couldn’t cheat her any longer. I’d been out of the house longer than expected and I opted to deal with the punishment. I turned my car off and leaned back in the seat, listening to my damsel in distress and all I could offer were verbal condolences. She deserved more. She was worth more.
An obligation to Taylor loomed over my head as I crept into the apartment. The light from the bedroom guided my steps to confession. I stood in the doorway and studied her intensity as she read. For fear of not knowing how to began, I asked, “What are you doing?”
She looked up from the medical book. “What you should be doing.”
Her sly comment confirmed my decision. As she dropped her head and returned to studying, she said, “So where the hell you been?”
My hand grasped the doorknob. I took a deep breath and said, “We need to talk.”
“Not tonight.” She twirled her neck. “Some of us are actually passionate about what we do. I have to study. We can talk tomorrow.”
Waving me away, she flung her hand impatiently. As I half turned out of the bedroom, my heart skipped a beat. It will never be the right time. Standing several feet away from her, I blurted out, “Akua, I don’t know about us anymore.”
She looked up from her book and squinted. “What did you say?”
“I’m not sure about us anymore.”
Maybe I was thinking these words and not speaking. She frowned. “You what?”
“I don’t know if I want to be in this relationship anymore.”
Her face froze. She twirled her eyes in her head. Her mouth twitched. Her nose flared. She massaged her neck. The metamorphosis occurring in her expressions scared me. As I waited for the words to penetrate, my eyes demanded, say something.
Finally, like I’d startled her, she screamed, “Ahhhhhhhhhhh!!!”
The 8 X 10 inch picture of us on the nightstand flew across the room, barely missing my head. The sound of it hitting the door and glass shattering caused me to jump into the hallway. She hopped off of the bed and ran after me. She swung wildly in the air. As I tried to grab her arms, I noticed blood gushing from her feet.
“Akua, baby. Wait. Baby.”
As she smacked me in the face, she yelled, “Don’t friggin’ ‘baby’ me.”
Simultaneously blocking her blows and attempting to restrain her, I spoke softly, “Shhh. Calm down. You’re bleeding.”
She squirmed away from me. “I knew it. I knew it.”
“Akua, you’re bleeding. Wait.”
She hit me and yelled, “How could you do this to me? Why?”
I promised myself that I would never hurt anyone like Taylor did me when we were younger. I never wanted to inflict this type of pain on anyone. I hung my head and let her wail on me until she got
tired. By the time the struggle ended, it looked like a massacre had occurred on our beige carpet. She wept.
All I could say was, “Your feet, Ku. We have to take you to the hospital.”
She rocked on the floor, holding her foot in her hand. Blood poured through her fingers and she cried. “Don’t take me to the hospital. Don’t touch me. I hate you!”
I sniffed back my tears. “I know you hate me. I’m sorry. Please, let me take you to the hospital.” I grabbed a towel. “Let me wrap your feet up.”
“Get off of me. You don’t know what you’re doing.”
I struggled to wrap her feet. With her adrenaline level elevated, she couldn’t feel the pain of the multiple deep cuts in her feet. I winced. How could I do this to her? I sighed. “If you don’t want me to take you, can I call the ambulance?”
She whimpered, “No, don’t call the ambulance. I don’t want to go to the hospital like this.”
“I know, but you have to go.”
When I attempted to stand, she dug her fingers into my biceps. “I should spit on you.”
My sympathetic expression transformed. “Akua, I know you’re upset and all.” I demanded, “Don’t spit on me.”
As much as it hurt me to hurt her, I would have fought her over spitting on me. Her eyes lowered and she wept. Was she crying because she loved me or because she wasn’t in control of the situation? As blood continued to splatter from her feet, I decided to call the ambulance.
Following an ambulance was definitely not how I expected to spend my evening. I’d hoped we could talk about where we went wrong and how we could move on as friends. This was clearly not how it had played out in my mind.
Luckily, Akua went in there announcing that she was a resident at the hospital. Her arrogance got us in and out. Both of her feet were bandaged and she was to stay off of her feet for three days. As she rolled out in a wheelchair, I thought about not being able to visit Taylor this weekend. I tried to fight the selfish thought.
Akua was cordial up until the nurse closed the passenger side door. When I sat in the car, she rolled her eyes. “I hate you.”
“I know. I hoped that we could settle this peacefully.”