Still I said nothing, rolling lip gloss on my lips.
“Baby, say something,” he pleaded putting the flowers on the bed and trying to pull me toward him. I pushed his hands off of me and went to the closet to get my shoes.
“Where are you going?”
“Out,” I said, finally speaking.
“But I just got here.”
“And?”
“Baby, I’m sorry for not coming home last night. I got drunk with the fellas and ...”
“... you stayed with Derrick because you couldn’t drive. He called me like you told him to. It still doesn’t explain you not being in our bed last night and how your fingers couldn’t pick up the phone to dial our number.”
“I did call, but you started arguing with me.”
“Because you weren’t here with me,” I snapped. “I’m sick and tired of you getting off of work every Friday and not showing your face until the next day. I’m also tired of you getting your boy to do your dirty work. And to be honest, I’m starting to get sick and tired of your cheating ass.”
“I’m not cheating. I was trying to get here as soon as possible.”
“Soon as possible should have been last night,” I stated, “with me.”
“You’re right, baby, and I’m apologizing.”
“Jaquon, I have heard it all before, remember? I have numerous lines logged into my memory, along with all the hurtful things you have ever done to me. And right now, my gut is telling me you are lying yet again, and that you were with a woman last night. You probably did stay with Derrick, but at some point last night you had your dick buried deep in some trick.”
“Baby, come on. I know I hurt you in the past, and I promised you I wouldn’t do that again,” he said actually sounding like he meant it.
“And if you think calling me from a pay phone was supposed to smooth things over, you must have fallen and bumped your damn head because I don’t believe your cell phone went dead.”
“My phone did go dead,” he said. “That’s another reason why I couldn’t call you.”
I looked at him like he was stupid. Walking over to the nightstand, I picked up my phone and dialed his number. His cell phone rang. I looked at him, and his face fell to the floor. His chin was deeply tucked in his chest while he tried to think of another lie.
“Dead, huh?”
“It was, until I charged it. Derrick has the same phone I do.”
“And you used his cord to charge your phone, right?”
“Yes.”
“You were too drunk to drive home. You were too drunk to call me. But I’m supposed to believe you were sober enough to remember to plug your damn phone in and charge it?”
“Yes. No. I mean ... Baby, you’re confusing me,” he said.
“People who lie get confused, Jaquon, and you are a straight up liar,” I stated, getting madder each second that passed that he was near me.
“Kea, I know you think I was cheating.”
“Did you?” I asked with arms crossed.
“No, I didn’t. I was with the guys.”
“Sure you were. You know what? I’m too pissed to talk to you right now. You come strolling up in here like things between us is all good, but they aren’t. If you want me to be wooed by your flowers and want me to throw my arms around your neck, happy you finally came home to me, it’s not going to happen this time. What I should have done was wait at the door to issue you a can of Whoop Ass before I gave you your walking papers.”
“Don’t do this.”
“I’m furious, but I’m not going to trip. I’m not going to mess up my makeup fighting with you. I got somewhere to be.”
“Baby, where you going?”
“If you were here like a man should be with his woman at night, then you would know. But since you’re acting like my roommate, you’ll get no information from me.” I picked up my keys, tossed my purse over my shoulder, and left him standing there bewildered.
Kea
Pulling in front of the bridal shop, I practically jumped out of my vehicle before it stopped moving. I rushed into the place, yanking open the double glass doors to get in. Looking around, I saw my sister Emory talking with one of her bridesmaids.
“Sorry I’m late. I got held up,” I said.
“You’re almost an hour late, Kea. You barely caught me.”
“I know, Emory, but I told you I got held up.”
“It must have been Jaquon,” she said turning her lips up at me.
I looked at her not wanting to explain anything. I guess from the expression on my face she knew to leave it alone.
“Okay, I will not go there with you today. It’s about me now. So let’s get started,” she said pulling me by the arm, taking me to the woman handling the order.
“Now you know each of you have chosen a different style of gown, but all of them are the same color.”
“I remember,” wishing I could forget.
“I can’t wait for you to try yours on because it is gorgeous. I saw it when she took out the other dresses.”
Looking around at the many women smiling as they tried on their dresses, I followed Emory to our section where we had our own salesperson to help us. Three other bridesmaids were there already trying on their dresses, happy with the selection they had chosen.
I was late that day too when we came here to pick out our gowns. Again, everybody was there trying on dresses and it looked like all the best ones had been chosen. I was mad because each of them had on gowns that were my style. If I would’ve gotten there earlier, I would have beaten them to the punch in choosing the dress I wanted. Instead I had to search for one that was not old-fashioned. I didn’t want any puffs, lace, and bows on my bootie. I wanted sleek and elegant. I searched the rows of gowns and found one that was to die for. I took it down, happy it was in my size, nine. No bows and no frilly chiffon. Putting the gown up against me looking in the mirror, I knew this was the one. Checking my color choices, it did come in lilac.
Having this be my final time to try on this dress before the wedding next Saturday, I went into the rather large dressing stall. I proceeded to undress and slipped on my garment. Emory kept peeping in at me like I didn’t know how to dress myself. I told her to stay out. Zipping the side, it fit like a glove. I turned to see the bootie I was blessed with sit high on my back and hips with enough curves to see them from the back and the front. I came out of the dressing room, and Emory’s mouth fell open.
“That dress looks fabulous on you,” she said beaming. “I wish you didn’t have all that ghetto bootie though,” she said looking at it like it made her sick.
“I don’t know why you trippin’ because you got the same ghetto butt,” I struck back.
Everybody around us laughed.
“I do, but not like the one you got on your back. You’ve been getting way too much protein.”
“And it does the body good,” I said, slowly descending my hands down my body.
“You are so nasty,” Emory threw out.
“You said it, I didn’t.”
“Turn around and let me get a full view,” she said twirling me around.
I took off walking like I was modeling designer clothing at fashion week. When I turned, I snapped my fingers and said, “Diva is here.” Laughter filled the air, and it felt good to not think about my problems for a little while.
“I’m so glad you picked this one,” Emory said to me.
A pair of rhinestone-studded strapped shoes made the garment complete. They were cute, yet sexy, with three-inch heels. I had to walk around in them to make sure they were comfortable. I didn’t want to be standing at the front of the church mad because my feet hurt. They were comfortable.
We finished after an hour of dresses, shoes, flower girl, and Emory also picked up her veil and tiara with her gown. Now, we were finally on our way. Each of the bridesmaids kissed Emory on the cheek, telling her they would see her at the bachelorette party which they were having in a couple of days. I tried to leave like ev
erybody else, but Emory called out to me.
“Wait a minute, Kea. I want to talk to you.”
What is it now? I thought.
“You know I love you and ...”
Oh boy, here we go. This can’t be good.
“... and I don’t mean to get all up in your Kool-Aid, but I got to ask you something.”
“Ask away,” I said smiling sheepishly.
“Where did you get those scars on your back from? I noticed them when I walked in on you dressing.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about, Kea. Is Jaquon putting his hands on you, because if he is, we need to call—”
“Jaquon isn’t crazy, Emory! I may put up with him cheating on me, but I be damn if I let a man put his hands on me,” I exclaimed, getting angry at the thought.
“Then how did you get them?” she asked sincerely.
“I don’t know. Maybe I fell into something,” I replied, looking at her like she didn’t know.
“Sounds like you making excuses for that man of yours.”
“He didn’t do this,” I protested.
“I don’t believe you, but there’s nothing I can do about it since you’re denying it. But I tell you one thing. If that man is putting his hands on you, you need to leave him.”
“Did you not hear what I just said or are you just playing stupid?”
Here she was trying to be this caring sister that she never was to me. I was trying to figure out when we lost that sister bond, and then it occurred to me. Childhood. We were siblings, but only by blood and not by emotions. We loved each other, but it was this unspoken pain between us that neither of us ever wanted to discuss. Especially Emory. Ms. Goody Two-shoes knew exactly where these bruises came from, but she must have blocked remembering all the abuse. Yes, she was above my level in intelligence, beauty, importance, and I can name a few more, but that was because Mother put her there.
Emory was the favorite one, and she knew this. Sometimes it bothered her, but sometimes she acted just like our mother with that better-than attitude. I never knew which sister would show up when I got with her. It used to be she would at least try to salvage the closeness Mother tried so hard to separate between us, but lately, each day that passed revealed Emory following in Mother’s footsteps more and more. Everything had to be in place with her and her home. Everything had to be expensive. Everything had to represent money. Those were the qualities of Mother. I just prayed she wouldn’t pick up some of Mother’s other demeaning ways.
If we wanted to talk about looking rich, my dear mother’s picture would pop up if you googled her. She always looked exquisite on the outside. But her spirit was that of the devil. She was pure evil, and I was the demon-child she never wanted, and she never hid the fact that she hated me. Sometimes I wished she’d aborted me. Every time she spoke to me, something negative spewed from her mouth.
You have to get good grades, Kea.
Don’t have sex before marriage, Kea.
Sit up straight, Kea.
Smile like you mean it, Kea.
Why can’t you be more like your sister, Kea?
I wish you were never born, Kea.
You are never going to be anything, Kea.
Every word out of that woman’s mouth seemed like a critique to be this vision of perfection that she never would see me as anyway. Why else would every word that came out of her mouth be used to destroy me? The only thing missing to make us abide by her rules were the wire hangers, and even then, she found other objects to get results.
Every time I saw Mother, she would brush my clothes, removing invisible lint from them. She would brush my hair away from my face, push her open hand into my back to straighten it up, and put her finger under my chin to lift my head higher.
“You need to be more like your sister,” she would say. “Do you see how fabulous she is? She’s getting married to a wonderful man and has a rewarding career. All you have to show for yourself is a degree, a thug, and an inkling of your sister’s beauty.”
Talk about uplifting the spirits of a daughter. She might as well have been screaming ugly, stupid, fat, and worthless to me. I knew I was none of these things, but having to deal with my mother’s unattainable standards was too much for me to deal with. After the last time visiting her, I told myself I would never make an effort to see her again. That was the last time she thought I needed lashes across my body like a slave from the past as she tried to make me into this person I knew I could never be in her eyes because she hated me. I think she enjoyed humiliating me. And every time she demeaned me, I swore I could see a smirk on her face, like she enjoyed inflicting pain upon me.
The only thing positive about going to her house of horrors was my father. He was there, and I loved him dearly. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t bother to see Mother at all. But since he was still her husband, I had no choice but to continue to visit the mother from hell.
Looking at my sister Emory, I just smiled. She knew deep down where my bruises came from. Maybe Emory was waiting for me to tell her. But this was something she already knew of. Even if I told her, what could she do about it? All Emory knew how to do was walk the straight and narrow playing little Ms. Goody Two-shoes, pretending the things in her life were majestic. I loved her with all my heart, but I knew one day her perfect little world would come crashing down. I just hoped Emory would be strong enough to handle the devastation after her collapse.
Essence
“Urrrrhhhh,” my body jerked as my knees dug into the tile of my bathroom floor. The toilet was calling my name, and I answered with heaves. My morning breakfast came up with a force that made my body tremble. Coughing, I tried to pull my hair back so puke wouldn’t coat the strands of my long auburn-colored locks. At this point, I wished I had pulled back my hair in a clip so I wouldn’t have to fight with it, the toilet, and my puke.
Finally happy that my upchucking was over, I sat on the cold floor, leaning against the wall wondering why I did this to myself. Why was it every time I ate, I felt like I needed to get rid of the food within me? Oh, that’s right. I didn’t want to be fat. Fat was not an option for me. Fat was my enemy combined with the fear of cellulite, rolls, and public humiliation.
Growing up a chunky kid, I was ridiculed for the way I looked. I was always the big girl with the cute face that my grandparents loved to grip in the palms of their hands.
“You have such a cute face,” they would say like that was the only part which existed of me. I had a body attached to this face, but I guess it wasn’t cute by society’s standards, nor by my family’s.
I didn’t see myself as beautiful, which is why I made a promise to myself that as soon as I found a way to get the weight off, I was going to keep it off in order to fall into the category of beautiful. Diets didn’t work for me because I loved to eat. Portion control and salads weren’t doing it for me. I refused to go on the crack diet. It did seem to work for some family members of mine though. I heard the drug made people skinny, but maybe it was all that running around they did stealing and selling merchandise that keeps their weight down too. Still, I didn’t want to resort to such drastic measures.
Back when I was growing up, they didn’t have weight-loss surgeries, so I had to suffer through it. And suffer I did. I wanted the weight to simply vanish without me really putting too much effort into it. We all wished for that magic potion that would make you lose pounds in days or even weeks. And it didn’t help that I was unlucky enough to inherit the genes of my parents who were considered big boned. Both sides of my family were considered big boned. We were what you called Southern, which meant everything was fried and cooked in a lot of fat and butter. Even corn bread was made to taste like soft slices of cake, and Kool-Aid had enough sugar in it to make two gallons off of one pitcher. Southern was a heritage I loathed, but now I could embrace it with love since I was skinny. I could eat whatever I wanted by just sticking my finger down my throat to make those sam
e delectable calories come shooting back up and not land on my thighs.
I was enjoying fitting into a size five/six jean. My stomach was flat, my tits sat up, and my inner thighs were not rubbing together, ready to catch fire and have everything around me go up in a blaze. I loved myself now, despite the stigma around bulimia. That’s why it remained my best friend and also my little secret.
Getting up off the floor, I washed my face and brushed the rancid taste of digested pancakes, bacon, eggs, and fried potatoes out of my mouth. Gargling with mouthwash, I went to my room to get ready to go to the gym to work out.
Laying out my workout clothes, I picked up my cell to see if anyone had called. Four missed calls appeared and three saved messages. Two calls were from Zacariah and two from my mother. Dialing my voice mail, I listened to the messages.
First saved message.
“I don’t know why you aren’t answering your phone. I guess it’s because you got you some last night. I’m coming by anyway so you better clean you coochie and kick him to the curb because I will be there soon. And I know you got gym but wait for me. You better wait too, Essence, because I will come down to that gym and embarrass you. I got some juicy info to dish to you. Later girl.” Beep.
I didn’t feel like fooling with Zacariah this early in the morning. She always seemed to get me vamped up for some reason. I could tell by the urgency in her voice she had some information to tell me even before she said anything.
Second saved message.
“Essence, this here is yo’ mother, jus’ in case you forgots my voice. I haven’t heard from yah in quite some time now. I am glad to see yah circular phone number ...”
Circular phone? I thought.
“... hasn’t changed since the last time I spoke to yah. You know it wouldn’t hurt for you to pick up a phone and call to see how yo’ parents are doing. Better yet, come see us. We still live in the same place, baby. I know you don’t likes the country, but this here is where you from and yah shouldn’t never forget that ’cause we still here. Just ’cause you city now living hundreds of miles ...” Beep.
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