by Renee Tyler
After my attempt to hide out in the bathroom as long as possible, I find Charity and Marcus perched on the bench at the foot of my bed with their arms crossed.
“Come on, ya’ll cut it out. I’m not about to slit my wrist or anything.” I walk across my room and snatch my lotion off my dresser, then plop down in the middle of them. I begin to put on this new fresh scent lotion that I fell in love with. I swear, this lotion puts me in a happy place, though lately that place has been short lived. I’d been trying to do things that brought me joy. I couldn’t believe how bad I felt over a man that I’d only known a few months, and had an even shorter sexual relationship with. I’d never mourned the loss of Shane. With him, I just grieved the loss of familiarity.
Ah, Shane; the man that I was still allowing to affect my new beginning. The man who was blowing up my phone that night because he just had to tell me how he won at the casino, but didn’t take a drink. That’s what caused Troy to find out my secret. Shane felt he’d reached some type of breakthrough, when he shouldn’t have been in the casino at all. Shane didn’t even realize that he was in the pattern of his typical behavior. Though he was talking to his therapist, he still refused to take his medication, saying he doesn’t like the way it makes him feel.
Shane thought my annoyance with him the next day came from him gambling, when I could care less; his gambling wasn’t my problem anymore. I was pissed because I didn’t have anyone else besides myself to blame for ruining my relationship. I was trying to build something good with a true good guy. I wanted to pity myself and blame someone else. Since Shane was already an asshole to me so many times before, it seemed befitting that he’d play the role of asshole in this as well.
Troy deserved so much better than my omission of a very important fact. I knew Troy wasn’t the side dude type of man. He wasn’t the guy that chased other men’s’ girls. That’s the only type of man that would be okay with me still being married and talking to my ex. Things may have even played out differently if Shane’s name and number hadn’t been blaring across my screen not once, but several times until Troy turned my phone off. I knew that wouldn’t bode well. It seemed I wasn’t over him and he wasn’t over me, that maybe we’d been working on rekindling. What man would continue to pursue what he perceived as a dead end?
“So L’oriel, you’re going to sit your ass here and pretend you shouldn’t be packing? I thought we were all driving to Detroit so you could sign your divorce papers,” Charity says into her phone as she types. Suddenly, she abruptly quits typing; when some type of realization hits her, she stands up immediately. “You changed your mind, you’re getting back with Shane!” she gasped. That causes Marcus to stand and stare down at me as, if I’d had some type of repugnant carcinoma coming out the side of my face.
“Come on, don’t look at me like that ya’ll. I’m signing my papers. It just doesn’t feel as good as I thought it would.”
Marcus gave me full-on stink face. “What do you mean it doesn’t feel as good as you thought? Girl, did you forget what that man has put you through? I told you to quit talking to him. I swear, he has some weird voodoo hold on you. You need to make sure he doesn’t have your hair in a freezer some damn where.” Charity, not speaking a word, goes in my closet and pulls out my Damier Graphite canvas Louis Vuitton 55 Keepall Bandouliere, which reminded me of Troy. He didn’t say that he didn’t like my duffle bag, but he’d replaced it along with gifting me an entire matching set of Louis Vuitton luggage when he had my house furnished. I found the set sitting in the middle of my bedroom floor. When I’d finally gotten over the shock of him furnishing my house exactly how I’d described it to him over the phone, I went into my bedroom to find that the exact way I’d described as well complete with a cream fabric-upholstered headboard and matching bench at the foot of the new king sized bed, with a matching cream and gold comforter and pillows.
Though I didn’t desire for Troy to furnish my home, I was so touched by the fact that he’d listened to me—truly listened enough to visualize my vision exactly the way I saw it. The Louis Vuitton luggage was all him though. I’d never seen Louis Vuitton luggage before, let alone thought to ask for it, especially in grey and black. I wasn’t even aware that was an option.
Charity began filling the bag with my clothes, not even bothering to ask me what I wanted to take. I didn’t care anyway; I really didn’t feel like packing.
“I haven’t forgot. It’s just like kicking or punching someone who can’t fight back. It doesn’t seem as fulfilling with him going through so much. I mean, he just got over an overdose that I feel partially to blame for.” Charity dropped my bag, causing me to look up at her.
“L’oriel. You can’t be serious. Do you know you have absolutely nothing to do with Shane’s drug use? L’oriel, do you really believe you had something to do with that? Is that why you’ve been talking to him? You feel guilty?”
I nodded and played with the bottom of my terry cloth shower wrap. I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I had absolutely no interest in going back to Shane, but it just didn’t feel good. He was struggling, and I seemed to be flourishing in my new environment. I didn’t have the heart to turn away from him when he seemed to need me.
“What about when his crazy ass was punching and kicking on you? L’oriel, you have to let go of this battered woman’s syndrome,” Marcus chimed in, interrupting my thoughts. “You know what, L’oriel? You’re focusing too much on relationships. You really should be focused on yourself. You’ve gotten sidetracked. When we first meet you, you were so determined to start a life for yourself without relying on a man. In such a short time, you’ve dropped your independent attitude and became totally dependent on someone else for your happiness.”
“You and Charity told me I should take his gifts.” Marcus blew out an exaggerated breath.
“L’oriel, accepting gifts or help doesn’t make you any less independent. I’m talking about you sitting around here moping and not even packing for filing for a divorce from someone who treated you horribly. You need to end your marriage, move on. QUIT TALKING TO SHANE! If things work out with Troy, fine. If not, move on. You can’t halt your life because your relationship didn’t turn out the way you thought.” Charity grabs my hands and pulls me up. “Come on Laurie. Get dressed, so we can head out.” When I let my arms dangle lifelessly at my side with my shoulders still slumped, Marcus smacks me on my butt. I give a slight yelp.
“Girl, if you don’t get that fabulous ass in high gear. I’m going to bop you over your head.”
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Charity and Marcus are in the front seat of Marcus’ Audi A4, chattering a mile a minute about who they’re going to see once we get back in Detroit. I don’t know any of these people they’re talking about, so I drown them out. I have on my Pink hooded sweatshirt. It’s zipped all the way up. The hood’s drawstrings are pulled as tight as they can go around my head, and I have a blanket across my lap. Marcus has the air conditioner on frostbite. He says it’s just to keep him awake. He knows Charity and I will be out shortly. I can’t even argue with logic. If I’m not driving, I’m no good in a car. After I repeatedly remind him to wake one of us up or pull over if he gets too sleepy, I put my earbuds in and put my Kanye playlist on random. Ironically, it starts off with ‘Stronger.’
When I wake, Kanye is telling me “Fuck arguing harvesting the feelings, I'd rather be by my fucking self. Till about 2 A.M. and I call back and I hang up and start to blame myself
somebody help.” I pull my earbuds out and see Charity has taken over driving, and has Smoky Norful’s ‘Still Say Thank You’ playing rather loudly. I couldn’t help but chuckle. This is quite the contrast to what I was listening to. Charity has it turned up loud enough that I’m surprised I didn’t hear it over my own music. She has one arm raised in praise. Charity is the funniest; this girl can go from cursing you out to praising God in a Nano second. She’s turned the air down, and now has the car at a comfortable temperature. I bet she and Marcus had an argu
ment about it, and she now needed Jesus. When she notices me moving around in the backseat taking my hood off, she turns down the music.
“Hey, Sleepy head. Girl, you’ve been sleep almost the whole trip. You’ve got some chicken and fries in the container beside you. We tried to wake you when we stopped, but you were out cold.” Now suddenly smelling the food after she’s mentioned it, my stomach instantly feels empty. I open the container and pull out a piece of chicken.
“Where are we?” I ask, biting into the chicken that though it’s cold is quite tasty.
“Girl, Michigan,” she says, laughing at my shocked face through the rearview mirror.
“Are you serious? I slept the whole way here?” I can’t believe I’ve slept at complete 12 hours. I hadn’t been sleeping very well at night, but I didn’t think I was that tired. I’ve suddenly lost my appetite again. I didn’t mean to have my friends drive the entire way here.
“Char. I’m sorry, it wasn’t my intention to have you guys drive all the way. Do you need a break now? I can take over.” She shakes her head.
“Girl no, it’s no problem. I figured this is probably really emotional for you. You’re officially ending what’s been familiar to you.”
I quietly contemplate on me ending the familiarity of my relationship with Shane. I’ve been speaking with him so much lately. It doesn’t feel as much like an ending as it would have been a month ago. I’ve been good at pointing out Shane’s repetitive behavior, while ignoring my own. I’ve fallen right back into what I always do. I’ve started listening, and listening turns into me weakening. I’ve let him convince me that he’s struggling so much without me, fighting to make strides in becoming better. I’ve stepped right back into my role as the milquetoast wife, thinking he needs me in his corner to heal.
We check into our hotel room, shower, and put our clothes away. Charity and I are sharing a room, and Marcus has his own room that’s attached to ours. After we stretch out for a moment, I drive to my Grams to see her and my mother. They didn’t know I was coming; I thought it was better this way so my mother wouldn’t be able to have Shane waiting on me when I got there. I’m laughing and talking with Marcus and Charity, but my heart’s racing a mile a minute. I haven’t seen my mother and Gram since April. It’s now the beginning of August. I’ve never gone this long without seeing my family.
Chapter 4
L’oriel
I pull into my Gram’s driveway. The house is still the same with white siding, a blue porch awning, and matching blue cement porch. I can’t remember this house looking any other way—besides the blue tarp that used to rest on the left side of the roof for many years, until Shane and his father replaced the roof a couple of years ago. I looked up the block towards Fitzgerald Street and saw all the overgrown grass and trees. I’d heard many stories from my Gram about growing up in the projects that used to sit there.
I see my mother’s Lexus and my Gram’s late model Explorer, which was my granddaddy’s wife’s old truck. I hate the way my Gram settles for leftovers. My Gram had been with my granddaddy for over forty years, who’d coincidentally been with his wife just as long. My grandmother had all of her children with another woman’s husband, accepted all his wife’s old cars, and anything else my granddaddy decided to bring her from his wife. She’d get just as excited as if he’d pull up in a brand new car just for her. My grandmother would often refer to my granddaddy’s wife as if she was an old friend. She’d say things like; Rich said Carol’s getting a new car, so he’s going to give me her old one; or can you believe Carol’s getting new furniture already, she just got the last set. She loves spending Rich’s money.
I couldn’t understand, for the life of me, how my grandmother was so comfortable being the other woman; then on top of that, being content with receiving another woman’s hand-me-downs. But that was my Gram, the original side chick. She didn’t call or drive by his house. She never called when he was with his family. She respected the boundaries and his wife. They definitely didn’t make ‘em like Gram anymore.
Charity and Marcus trail me as I make my way through my Gram’s entryway into the living room. She has some newer furniture; that means my granddad’s wife got new furniture too, so he’d brought the old furniture to my Gram.
“Gram! Ma!” I yell out. My Gram came barreling from the kitchen.
“Bird?” She instantly grabs me and pulls me into her small frame. Her almost jet-black hair with streaks of grey is pulled to the side, and resting on her shoulder. Gram proudly wears her grey. She always says she’d earned every single strand. She couldn’t wait until she was completely white. Her toffee skin is flawless. She doesn’t have crow’s feet or laugh lines like many women her age. My Gram was in her late sixties, but you’d never know it looking at her.
She stands back to get a good look at me, with her hands resting on my shoulders. Her hazel-green eyes study me and fill with tears.
“Aw. My Baby Bird. I’ve missed you so much. Are you coming home?” her voice strains, and tears roll down her cheeks. My eyes fill with tears as well. I was raised in my Gram’s house. I went from her house to Shane’s house. Even when I lived with Shane, I could come here and find comfort with her in the kitchen helping her cook.
My Gram and my grandfather were the only two people that still called me Bird or Baby Bird; they say because when my mom brought me home from the hospital, I was so small. They’d never seen a baby born that was as small as I was. I was a preemie, having to be delivered early. My family had told me I was a twin. However, my twin died in-utero when my mother was about seven months pregnant. My mother thinks that somehow I was trying to feed her my nutrients since I had so few when I was delivered. She said she knew then I was going to be a good person, because I was willing to risk my life to save my twin. However, my mother had to have an emergency C-section to deliver me early, because my identical twin had died; had we been fraternal twins, she could have carried me to term.
“I missed you too, Gram,” I choked out. “I just came to handle some business, and then I’ll be going back.” Her eyebrows knitted together.
“Where?” I still hadn’t revealed to my family that I’d been living in Georgia. I speak to my Gram and Mother often, but I still hadn’t mentioned where I’ve been living. I just recently gave them my new phone number. I’d messed up and called Shane’s drug dealing best friend and his mother without blocking my number. Since the one person I was trying to prevent from getting my number had it, there was no point in not allowing my mother and Gram to have it.
“Atlanta. I have a place in Atlanta.” She finally looks behind me and notices Charity and Marcus.
“Are you living with your friends here?” I shook my head no.
“I have my own place, Gram. These are my friends.” I turn and introduce Charity and Marcus to my Gram.
My mother finally emerges from her room wearing distressed boyfriend shorts, and a flowy double-layer top with spaghetti straps. I’m sure it was all name brand, because she wouldn’t be Raiel if they weren’t. Her long hair is pulled into a ponytail, showing off her high cheek bones, and adding to her youthful appearance. My mother had a beautiful coffee complexion with a drop of cream, and large bedroom eyes that were the same shade as mine. She’s fashionable and always put together. She may have given up on men and gave her life over to Christ, but she’s still a diva. She stares at me for a moment, taking me in.
“Laurie,” she breaths and pulls me into her arms. “Oh. My. God. You’ve lost so much weight,” she says into my neck. “Are you eating? Who are you staying with? Who’s taking care of you?” she asks, finally releasing me so she can look me in the eye for an answer to who’s taking care of you, which translates to who’s keeping me. Since Shane isn’t, my mother believes I left Shane for another man because of her proclivity to use men. She doesn’t understand how you just walk away from a relationship without having another lined up, especially since that was her modus operandi. My mother changed men as much as she change
d clothes, and never left one without another waiting in the wings.
“I live alone in Atlanta, Ma.” She raises her perfectly arched eyebrow, studying me for a moment. She doesn’t believe me. I fight the urge to roll my eyes and scoff. She breaks eye contact and stares over me.
“Who are your friends?” I introduce her to Marcus and Charity. My mother immediately tries to gauge to see if Marcus is my man, still refusing to believe that I didn’t leave Shane for a man.
We’ve spent all day with my mother and Gram. Gram fixes us a dinner of collard greens, grilled chicken (her attempt to make something healthy even though her greens are made the original southern way with salt pork), macaroni and cheese, and lemon cake. She watched me like a hawk, ensuring that I ate every morsel that she put on my plate. Her and my mother don’t agree on much, but share their distaste for my extreme weight loss. I can’t tell them why I’ve lost so much weight. That would only add to my mother’s assumption that I have a man waiting on me in Atlanta.
By the end of dinner, Charity and Marcus have bonded with my Gram, who’s always easy to get along with. My Gram thinks Marcus is just too handsome for words, which he is. Marcus has smooth chocolate skin and jet black, low-cut, wavy hair, and he keeps his goatee and mustache perfectly coiffed. His body is amazing. He takes great pride in toning and sculpting it.
My mother has taken a liking to Charity; the both of them share diva attitudes. My mom immediately takes notice to Charity’s Love Shack Fancy braided pink-ombre maxi dress, stating she has the same one in solid Jaipur Pink.