“How about I’ll hit you up when I get off, baby?” I ask. I’m not sure if he was going to come or not. With Shame, you just never know.
“Aight, boo. Do dat, ” he states.
“Cool. Bye,” I say. Looking at the time, I realize it it’s twelve p.m. I have an hour to get ready for work. Hopping off the bed, grab the iron and ironing board from the kitchen, then bring it to my room to iron my uniform.
“I can’t believe I want so much of Shame to be a part of my life,” I say to myself as I iron my blue polo shirt. Can you believe that even I want to share the painful parts with him? Is that foolish? At times, love can make you willing to do that if you love him enough. The confusing part is that I think I am strong enough to leave it all behind. Now that I know that he is cheating, that’s all I can feel, see, and think. I’m guilty of letting him get to me, letting him get under my skin, letting other females make me react out of my character. But I can’t help it, I love him, and I don’t want the truth to break us. Yet at times, I let it. I let it piss me off. A person can say anything out of love and pain. The question is, do they mean it? I mean, when we, as a woman are in love, we say, think, and feel a certain way. Until a man hurts us, we hurt because we love. And when we love and end up hurt, we have pain, rage, and we even shout words out of hate. Only because we are mad. But when it’s all said and done, and the forgiving has come and gone, we love and we love hard.
The best I can do is for me to concentrate on my future road of success and financial freedom. There is a door opener for a young lawyer like myself. I’m unsure if Shame will be a part of that or what. Sometimes I tell myself hat only I can get me where I need to go, which at times it makes feel that Shame can be my downfall. He can set me back because I have a weakness for him. Although it takes a while for a person to get over someone they love, I don’t care if it’s through life or death. Love is pure, it’s an uncontrollable feeling. As far as I am concerned, I want my heart to reach back out to Shame. But we all know that the mind is much stronger, and once a mind is made up, then the emotions from a heart won’t deter it.
11
“I’m convinced that I’m looking past you.”
Pulling up to the Dillard’s parking lot, I step out of my black 2011 Chevy Impala sporting well-manicured hands and cute pedicure toes. Hitting the lock button, I walk up the street in my white tights that wrap around my curves so perfect with a pink halter-top and pink Steve Madden pumps. I stop to look both ways, then proceed across the street, stepping into the cool air of Dillard’s department store. Feeling my phone vibrate, I reach into my tan-and-brown Coach bag to retrieve it.
“Hello?” I say as I walk toward the escalator to the second floor.
“What’s up, chick?” Jordan says.
“Hey, Jay, what up? I’m at the mall just looking. What you up to?” I ask as I walk toward The Body Shop.
“Nothing, girl, you heard from Kenya?” she probes.
“Nah, I haven’t spoken to her. Why what’s up?”
“Just asking. My sister has been M.I.A and I haven’t heard from her, that’s all,” Jordan says sounding disappointed.
“Awe, girl, I haven’t spoken to her, but when I do I will let her know that you’ve been trying to get in touch with her. You know Kenya … she’s always on the go,” I say as I walk around an older couple who is stopping at a nearby snack-and-go shop.
“Oh, okay,” she says, still not ending our phone conversation.
“Yup,” I say, feeling the conversation getting awkward after a long pause.
“Well, miss thing!” Jordan excitedly says. “How are things going with you and Shame?”
Feeling thrown off by her random question, I pull the phone from my ear to glance at the screen just to make sure I know who I am really talking to. Then I say, “Shame … well, everyone know that Shame is going to always be Shame.” I say sarcastically as I place my hand on my hip. Hell, what she want to know about us for?
“That’s if you let Shame be Shame, girl,” she bluntly states, as if she knows everything and anything about what’s going on under my roof and in my relationship.
“Well, I’m done with Shame anyway. That’s if you are trying to find out if what you hear is true or not.” I sigh into the phone with much attitude.
“Are you? Or are you just trying to convince yourself that you are?” she asks.
Walking into The Body Shop, I head toward a rack of shirts.
“Hello, how are you doing today? Can I help you with something?” the young sales associate asks.
I turned toward her. “Um, no thank you. I’m just looking right now,” I state with a smile on my face. Turning back toward the rack of shirts, I look through them for a choice of style. “You are right, Jay—I am trying to convince myself in more ways than one. But that is really none of your business,” I say, turning my conversation back to Jordan.
“Well, convincing yourself that you don’t want the man and convincing yourself to sleep with him are two different things, Yemya. Feelings can get involved during sex, boo-boo. I’m just being the sister that I am. I am trying to look out for you.”
I’m convinced there’s a bad and a good sign of Jordan, but her nose is one of them, and this bitch is good at getting you to open your mouth only to use what you say to her against you. “Look, I have been giving myself a little me time,” I state convincingly, “a little time away from Shame, and right now I’m learning that the decision I made was good for the both of us.”
“Um, yeah, you right,” Jordan laughs. “When was the last time you were with that nigga?”
Well, damn, she don’t waste no time on getting some juice, I think as I laugh to myself. Boosting her entertainment, I say, “Well, honestly, the other night. But you know, girl, some things you just can’t help. Besides, he was just a little last-moment rush that I need to get out of my system.”
“Rush? Girl, what rush do you get? Knowing that your man is going back to other bitches giving them that same rush,” she says jokingly
As much as I don’t want to admit it, Jordan makes me sick sometimes. Between Kenya and her, she always is the witch. They are total opposites. Jordan is the player type. She’s always used to giving up a fair game with a fair play. Her ways are slick and she is smoother than any snake. Yet she is cool. Even though her ways and values are different from mine, I respect her realness. She has never tried that fake shit on me as far as I’m concerned. Just like Shame, Jordan is always going to be slick-ass Jordan. Point blank. Period. When you see people backstab and gossip about the next person then be in their face, then you are a victim of that person’s evil tongue, honey. They are talking about you too. So, yeah, , Jay is that type of female, and I’m coming to learn that day by day with her nosey ass.
“Look, Jay, I’m just chilling. I’m reflecting on myself and backtracking on a lot of missed steps.”
“I feel you. I am just saying—”
“No, what I was just saying is to let me deal with Shame, okay? You are cool and all, but can’t no one place judgment on me and what’s going on in my relationship but me. For real. Settle down with someone and I’m a sure you will learn about that.”
“People make promises that they know that they can’t keep, Yemya. Why you keep letting this nigga disappoint you?”
“Look, Jordan! Sweetie, you do not know what goes on between Shame and I. I know he falls short on a lot of shit, but he is a learning man. That don’t mean that I tolerate it!”
Yes, I am getting furious. I know the type of person Jordan is. And no, we have never talked or kicked it like that. She is as conniving as the next bitch. But she is my half-sister. On top of that, I don’t want to cause any bad blood between the two of us; putting Kenya in the position of having to choose between us two is not my cup of tea. Dealing with Jay though … sometimes, you have to knock her back in her place. For some reason, the chick thinks she knows everything only because she is a few years older, which is something that I find ver
y funny.
“Oh, so that’s how you feel? Look you didn’t have to get hostile; I am just trying to tell you what’s up with your nigga.”
“Hell, you don’t think I don’t know what’s up with my nigga? Like I said, dude, let me be the one to handle that. Not you. This conversation is over, Jay,” I say, hanging up in her face.
Damn, so I am deep into letting Jordan get under my skin that I forget where I am at. Snapping back into reality, I look around, wondering if I was loud enough for others to hear my phone conversation. After I realize no one is paying attention, I roam throughout the store for another fifteen minutes, then leave without making a purchase.
This is a reflection of me. It’s me saying “out with old and in with the new.” I’ve convinced myself through so many things in my life from meeting men who were not about shit, and the bumpy roads of love and lust. I’ve come to realize that I have to become stronger than what I think my strength amounts to. The strength is to look past the shit a man will put you through. I am willing to deal with Shame. But I am at the point where I am fed up with all the bullshit pulling and tugging on me. I am at the point where I am able to convince myself to look past any damn thing; I’m learning that my mind is stronger than my heart. I’m always giving a damn about everyone else’s priorities that I am forgetting about mines.
Although I didn’t like what Jordan was saying, part of me feels bad for hanging up on her. She was only telling the truth, something that I don’t like hearing. But I meant it when I told her that I didn’t need her to worry about how I do me. I know she was only concerned, but the heifer is as nosey as she wants to be. So venting to her and telling her my business is out of the equation. I learned a long time ago about females like Jordon. Though that’s Kenya’s half-sister and all, I just can’t deal with the messy shit. Don’t get me wrong, Jordan is cool and all, but she’s the type of person you want to feed with a long-handled spoon. I’ve seen her do some fucked-up shit to people and me, and I rather keep my distance. Though Kenya and I had just came across each other being introduced as sisters when we were young teenagers. Somehow, my dad snuck that one up out of wedlock. Jordan just so happened to be a part of the picture. She’s 26, two years older than Kenya.
12
“He ain’t worth tripping over. You are a big girl.”
Dear Mya,
I am so sad that you are leaving, but I know that you are going to do something wonderful with your life. When I first met you, I know that we didn’t like each other. Now we are like best friends. You are such a great person! You are smart, you are funny just like me, lol! I am happy that we are friends and I hope that we will remain as friends. You are like a big sister, and I really do hope your life brings you much happiness …
Love,
Desiree Bell
While putting old papers into a folder, I came across a letter from an old school mate. My thoughts traveled back to my high school days when I was just living. Now that I’m out on my own, I’ve gotten wiser. I’m not just living. I am learning. And boy, I’ve been trying to overcome a lot on my own. There were times that I would shut the world out, not wanting to speak to anyone, not even my girls.
“But that’s about to change!” I say to myself as I load my dirty clothes into my washer. “Out with the old and in with the new!”
I need to start focusing on Yemya, dammit. Although my day is starting to pop off as a refined woman, I am starting to feel good about myself. I haven’t heard from Shame in the past few days. As much as I want to let it bother me, I force him out of mind, yet at the same time, I always end up checking my phone every so often just to see if my ringer was on, wanting him to at least call. Still, the nigga never called and I have to realize that I just have to let that shit go.
When I woke up this morning, feeling good and feeling great, I was in the mood to do a little spring cleaning. Even though I packed Shame’s shit and put him out a few of weeks ago, somehow his shit always ends back here and him in my bed? I guess you can say that I am the type who just has to continuously play with fire until I finally get burned. I reckon that is how I ended up being dangerously in love with someone who is only benefiting me in one way and that’s sexually.
At times, I get this feeling that in between our conversations, there is always something on Shame’s mind that he didn’t tell me. Like his body is always with me, but when we’re fucking, it’s not me he’s fucking; when he calls me, he seems distant. When new pussy comes into the picture, there is a chance that it made his ways change. At least that’s what I think. Every time Shame is out cheating or interacting with another bitch, the nigga only have two words to say and two minutes to spare, which is some bullshit.
As of now, I cleaned up my whole apartment, scrubbing and spraying, spraying and scrubbing, listening to some Mary J. Blidge, “Not Gon’ Cry.” Yeah, I am in one of those moods. I have done enough worrying and thinking to the point that I have built enough courage to put my foot down. I am going to call Shame. I am officially sick of this shit.
I grab my phone form my bedroom and prepare myself for my conversation with Shame. I scroll down the call list and locate Shame’s number. Then I plop on the sofa and prop my feet up on the coffee table.
As the phone rings, I’m still contemplating whether this was a good decision. I think about hanging up, but he answers.
“What’s up, boo?” Shame says with much enthusiasm.
“You tell me, Shame. Hell, you seem to have hopped back on the pussy train and forgot which damn stop was home, huh?”
“Hold on, baby, it’s a lil loud in here. I can barely hear you,” Shame says. I lean back, preparing myself for yet another lie. “What’s up, Yemya? What’s the problem now?”
“Shit, Shame, you the one who keeps coming and going when you please. Like this is a fucking twenty-four-hour FedEx package drop-off. Shame, I don’t know what—”
“What is what, Yemya?” Shame asks, cutting me off.
“Shame, don’t act brand new. I haven’t heard from you in days. I’m your damn girlfriend, and you don’t respect me enough to even call me.”
“I be busy, Mya,” he says, sighing into the phone.
“Busy, Shame?” I laugh as tears roll down my eyes. “I see how busy you are, nigga. Matter of fact, stay busy! I rather have someone loyal in my schedule anyway!”
“Straight like dat, Mya. Dat’s how you feel?” Shame firmly asks.
“Shame, I’m starting to think that you are seeing other bitches! How am I supposed to feel when the nigga I love don’t call or come by like he use to?”
“Is this what this phone call is about, Mya? Some bullshit that you hear just ’cause a nigga ain’t called you?”
“No, Shame!” I say, raising my voice. “What kind of man don’t call his lady? Just to even fuckin’ check on her! Some shit just ain’t right with you. Shame. I can just feel it in my heart, in your touches. I know it! I can even tell it in the vibe when you are with me. Your mind is somewhere else. I don’t know what it is. If it’s me, I apologize. I just can’t keep dealing with us like everything is okay when it is not.”
After a few seconds of silence, I hear Shame breathe into the phone. “Baby., it’s not you. I just need a lil time to get my mind right. Dats why I haven’t been hitting you up. I just have a lot on my mind and my kid is due any day now. I’m just worried about a lot of stuff and really—”
“Really, Shame? You use that as an excuse when I told you that we should be able to talk to each other about anything. You want use your unborn as an excuse because you ain’t man enough to admit to your wrong doings or admit that you still want to be with your baby’s mother? If you can’t keep it real with me, Shame, then—”
“Mya, you know I love you. I just needed a lil time to get my thoughts together. I don’t even know if I’m going to be a good dad. I need to go back to school. I need to get my life together, baby. I have a son coming into this world that I need to think about and at the same time, I
don’t want to hurt you.”
“Shame, what you fail to realize is you are not being man enough to come to me. That’s how you are hurting me. Have you ever thought about that? I’m the one suffering! Not you!” I yell into the phone. When is he going to realize that I don’t have time for it? The nigga don’t even consider my feelings and want to act fuckin’ nonchalant like everything is cool. Everything ain’t fuckin’ cool, brah!
“Can we talk about this later, Yemya?”
“I don’t know if there will be a later, Shame. I have waited long enough, don’t you think? I deserve respect, Shame. Respect!”
“Baby, let me just call you back in thirty minutes and I swear we can talk about anything and everything—just let a nigga go ahead and hit this lick, aight?” he says.
“Aight, Shame, we’ll see since a damn lick is a priority now,” I say, hanging up the phone, not caring if he was done with our conversation or not. As far as I am concerned, he chose to put me second, our problems second, and everything else first. I am nearing my breaking point. I stroll down to Bestie, dialing Andreyia’s number.
“Hey, chick!” she says excitedly, answering on the first ring.
“Damn,” I laugh. “Were you waiting by the phone?” I inquire jokingly.
“Uh, no. I was actually just about to text you to see what you were doing.”
“I guess great minds think a like, huh? I’m just really chilling, going through a few things.”
“Oh, okay. I just haven’t heard from you in a while. I mean, since you and Shame been back together you have been M.I.A.” Andreyia laughs. “Who would have thought dick would be that good?”
“Very funny, Dreyia,” I giggle. “What’s been up with you?”
Sighing into the phone, “Nothing really,” Andreyia says. “We need to get together soon. I mean, whenever you a free from you dick hang over.” She laughs.
“Girl, whatever,” I say, laughing into the phone. “Don’t act like you haven’t had one either.”
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