When He Cheatin' and You Still Love Him

by Cachet

  I felt like a fucking fool.

  By the time the police showed up, Jackie had composed herself. I’m not sure if it was because she had actually calmed down, or because she didn’t want to be carted off to jail. Sharon had the officers to escort Jackie off the premises, where she was informed that her employment had been terminated and warned that if she stepped foot in the hospital again she would be arrested. Since our fight wasn’t on hospital grounds and having a cheating boyfriend was not against company policy, I wasn’t fired. It wasn’t because Sharon didn’t want to. She tried to let my ass go, but the manager over her allowed me to stay because he said that I was a great worker. I didn’t get off scott-free though, because I was put on probation for ninety days and told that if something of that sort was to ever happened again, that I would then lose my job.

  The entire situation spread throughout the hospital like wildfire, and in no time everybody—and I do mean everybody—knew what had transpired. I walked around with my head down in shame for weeks, because I was so embarrassed. I barely talked to anyone other than Naomi, because I knew that they had heard about me fighting in the streets like a hood rat, over a man that I bragged about daily. Of course I flipped on Terry about it, but it’s no shocker that he lied about knowing her. I knew better, but soon after I forgave him like I always do.

  So unfortunately Naomi wasn’t lying, because everybody did already know my business. They knew more than I cared for them to. After she brought that incident up, I stopped all conversation about Terry and what had transpired that morning. In my opinion there was no point. She was right with what she said, and that was the fact that I wasn’t going to do anything about it. I immediately changed the subject and we started to talk about something else while we worked. That only lasted for a few hours, because I soon received a call from Kendrick and what he told me made my blood boil.

  Chapter 8

  Shanair

  “I’m sorry, but I have to leave,” I say out of breath. “It’s an emergency.” After hanging up with Kendrick, I removed my gear and rushed down the hall to my supervisor’s office.

  “What’s going on Shanair?” Sharon asks with a raised eyebrow.

  “My son’s school just called my cell phone and told me that I have to come pick him up immediately.”

  “Again?”

  My first instinct is to say something smart, but I bite my tongue because I need to get the hell out of here. Like I said before, Sharon is my supervisor. What I didn’t mention was the fact that she’s also a pain in my ass. You ever work with someone that you hate having to deal with, but have no choice because they are some form of authority figure? Well, that’s how I feel about Sharon’s ugly ass. I don’t deal with the bitch unless it’s absolutely necessary. Unfortunately right now it’s necessary, because I have to go home.

  “Yes, apparently he wasn’t as well as I thought he was when I dropped him off this morning, because now he’s sitting in the nurses office covered in vomit,” I lie, because there’s no way in hell that I can tell her the truth. This is the second time in a week that I’ve been called away from work.

  She continues to stare at me through the small part of that bleach blonde mess that she’s wearing on top of her head. Her beady eyes are fixated on me as if she’s trying to figure out if I’m telling the truth or not. I stare right back at her funky ass, just to let her know that even though I need my job, I’m not the least bit afraid of her. You see Sharon is what you would call a ‘professional bully’, because she uses her job title to pick on people. All day long she walks around getting on people’s nerves. More than a handful of workers have gotten fired after getting into it with her, and almost every time it was Sharon’s fault. The only reason she’s even employed here is the fact that her mother is screwing someone on the board.

  Standing at about six feet tall and morbidly obese, Sharon’s big ass kind of resembles a large grease monkey with her tar colored skin and strong facial features. I’m not one to really talk about people, but she is one unattractive female. All joking aside, when I first started working here I asked Naomi if she was a transgender man because I had never seen a woman that ugly in my life. The amusing thing is the fact that Sharon actually believes that she’s fine. I mean you can’t tell her big ass shit.

  Every morning she waltzes’ into the hospital in a pair of size fourteen, six-inch stilettos that only make her look more of a giant than she already does. She’s usually breathing hard, and out of breath because she’s wearing a girdle under a full body Spanx just to get into those small ass clothes she likes to wear. I found that out from one of the old heads that she seduced years ago. I cried laughing when he said that Sharon was built like a bad body Buick. I don’t even want to imagine what she looks like naked, because when she’s clothed it’s a terrible sight to see. That is something of course I will never tell her that to her face.

  “I need you out there,” Sharon exhales loudly, before she shakes her head in annoyance. “Go ahead and get your baby. I’ll take you off the schedule for the remainder of the week.” I watch as she swivels her body in the chair and begins to type feverishly on the keyboard with her back to me. “Just call me and let me know when you think you’ll be back.”

  “Thanks Sharon, I really appreciate it.”

  “Make sure that he’s well this time, because I don’t want this to happen again,” I hear over my shoulder.

  I don’t even bother to reply, because not only do I not have time to go back and forth with her, but I’m not paying her ass no mind. Only a few seconds have passed, and what she said is already a distant memory. In no time I’m racing to the elevator and out the front door. While in the parking lot, I hurry to my truck and crank the engine. Moments later, I’m flying out of the parking lot damn near on two wheels, heading toward the freeway. As I accelerate I pray that there are no police around because I can’t afford to get pulled over. With as fast as I’m going they would fuck around and take my ass to jail.

  If steam is not coming out of my ears right now I’d be surprised. I’m pissed. The phone call that I received from my son a little while ago made my mouth hit the roof, and I knew then that Terry had officially lost his fucking mind. I was shocked to see my house phone number in the caller ID, and when I answered thinking it was Terry, I was even more shocked when I heard Kendrick crying. It was then that I knew something was wrong and instantly I began to panic, which only made my son cry harder. I then realized that if I continued to freak out, that Kendrick would too. It took me a few minutes, but soon I calmed him down enough to get him to tell me exactly what was wrong.

  Kendrick sniffled while telling me that earlier today he got sick and threw up all over himself and his bed. Now even at six years old, my son is very self-sufficient and can do a lot of things by himself. So something like throwing up would not have been an issue if he had not been sick. Well he said that he went to climb out of bed because he was going to get in the shower, but started to feel dizzy and fell back down. Kendrick went on to tell me that he continued to lay in the soiled bed for as long as he could, because when he called out to Terry he didn’t receive an answer. Now that right there pissed me the fuck off, because had his dumb ass not left out the house last night and came back drunk as hell, he would have been woke enough to check on my damn baby.

  Now although that’s fucked up, that’s not the worst part. Kendrick also told me that he peed and had a bowel movement on himself while lying there, because every time he went to get up he fell back down. The entire time he was lying there, Terry never once answered to his calls or came to check on him. So now my son is lying on the damn floor covered in throw-up, and sitting in his own piss and shit for the last few hours, and Terry’s stupid ass is sleeping comfortable in my bed. Oh no, this shit is not gone fly. I’ve been gone for more than seven hours, so that also means that my fucking baby hasn’t even eaten a thing since I left this morning. I specifically told Terry that he needed to make Kendrick a bowl of chicken noodl
e soup around ten o’clock, and here it is almost two. Thank God Kendrick has a phone in my his room, because if not there’s no telling how long he would have laid there.

  Terry has really got me fucked up! I swear I can’t get home fast enough.

  Twenty minutes later, I screech up to the front of my house. I don’t even bother parking in the garage, because I’m too much in a hurry to get to my baby. Before I can even get my truck in park, I already have the door open and my foot out. Furious, I march up to the front door and stick my key in, only to see that the door isn’t even locked. Now I know for a fact that I locked my damn house up before I left, so that means that Terry must have been woke enough to check the goddamn mail or go to his car, but couldn’t’ hear my son calling his name. Once inside I take the stairs two at a time, until I make it to Kendrick’s bedroom. I’ll get in Terry’s ass later, because now my son needs me.

  When I open Kendrick’s room door and see my baby lying there looking helpless, I want to cry, even though I know I can’t. The room reeks of feces and urine, and I have to suppress the gag that is starting in the back of my throat.

  “Hey mommy,” Kendrick greets me feebly.

  “Hey baby. Mommy’s going to get you cleaned up alright?”

  “Yes,” he replies, lifting his arms. “I’m sorry mommy.”

  “Aww baby, you don’t have anything to be sorry for. You’re sick. It’s not your fault, okay?” I tell him, feeling like shit as I pick him up.

  He doesn’t respond, and instead drops his eyes to avoid my gaze.

  “Mommy, I’m hungry.”

  “I know you are. I’ll make you some soup as soon as I get you cleaned up,” I explain.

  It takes me thirty minutes to bathe and get the soup ready for Kendrick. While he’s eating I make a phone call to his pediatrician and tell let him know that this virus doesn’t seem to be getting any better. Once I’m assured that his symptoms are just the stomach bug passing, I hang up feeling a little better. When Kendrick is finished eating, I ask him if he’s still dizzy and he tells me that he is, but not as dizzy as he was earlier. I give him a blanket, pillow and some crackers before I lay him on the couch in the living room. Once he’s situated and watching television, I go up to his room and remove the soiled covers from his bed and place them in the washer, thanking God that I’d kept the plastic over the mattress. All while I’m doing this, I just keep thinking that not once did Terry’s ass wake up to check on Kendrick and see if he was okay, because if he had he would have known that I was here. I’m really beginning to wonder just how long he would have left my baby in his room alone.

  With the washing machine started, I kick off my tennis shoes, and make my way into my bedroom. The door is slightly closed and when I push it open, I don’t see Terry lying in the bed. At first I think that he may be in the bathroom, but when I look in that direction I see that the door is open and the light is off. I know muthafucking well this bitch ain’t leave my baby in the house by himself, I think, even though I already know that he has. Quickly, I dig in my pocket to retrieve my phone before I dial his number. It rings a few times, and just when I think the voicemail is about to pick up, he answers.

  “What’s up?”

  “What’s up? Are you fuckin’ serious right now?” I asked baffled with my face screwed up.

  “Come on man, what you tripping on now? I went to the mall, and now I’m at the barbershop getting a haircut,” Terry tells me nonchalantly.

  “Wait a minute.” I run my hand across my face a few times in an attempt to calm down, because I know I’m about to lose it. “You mean to tell me that you left my sick, six-year-old son in the house by himself so you could go to the fucking mall and the barbershop?”

  “Who Kendrick?”

  “Who the fuck else am I talking about? How many fuckin’ sons do I have dumb ass?” I yell out in frustration.

  He can’t be this fucking stupid.

  “Look, calm the fuck down. I swear I ain’t know that lil nigga was in the house,” Terry pauses. “Why you ain’t tell me that I had to kee—”

  “I did!” I cut him off. “I’ve been telling you this shit for the last few days. Where the hell did you think he was?”

  “Shit, I thought he was at school.”

  “School? He’s sick Terry. He’s been throwing up for the last week, and you thought he was at school?” My feet sink into the plush carpet as I pace from one end of my room to another. “Come on now man, you can’t be serious.”

  “How was I supposed to know he was sick?” Terry retorts, and I can tell he’s getting an attitude.

  I don’t give a fuck less about him getting angry right now. He can kiss my black ass. My baby has been at my house unattended for Lord knows how long, and he has the audacity to get upset with me. Fuck that, I ain’t having it.

  “So you telling me that you ain’t know that Kendrick was sick?”

  “No, I’ve barely been there and you know that,” Terry declares, and although he’s not lying, his ass ain’t getting off the hook that easy.

  “Well that’s the fuckin’ problem, yo’ ass ain’t never here!” I state the obvious.

  “Shanai—”

  “No, don’t Shanair me. Yeah, you’re never here and that’s fucked up, but it doesn’t excuse the fact that I told you numerous times that you had to keep Kendrick today. I even reminded you to give him soup this morning before I walked out of the door, but I guess yo’ ass was too drunk and out of it to hear me!” I scream in his ear. “You left my son in this house by himself.”

  “Baby, calm dow—”

  “He’s six fucking years old Terry! Then you walked out the door and didn’t lock up behind yourself!” I have to stop for a minute, because I can feel myself really about to go over the edge. My hands are shaking, and my head hurts. I still can’t believe this shit. “How the hell can you forget about a child? My child?” I sniffle and choke up just thinking about it. “Can you tell me that Terry? Do you ever forget about your own damn kids?”

  “See, you’re trying to play me now.”

  “Do you think this shit is a fucking game?” I continue, not giving him a chance to respond. “You know what, fuck you Terry! Had you had your ass home and not laid up with some bitch last night, you probably would have remembered that you had to keep Kendrick.”

  He laughs, “Man, you tripping. I wasn’t laid up with nobody.”

  “I see this shit is funny to you, so I’m gone let you go.” I prepare to hang up, but change my mind at the last minute. “You know what? You don’t give a shit about nobody but yourself, so you stay the hell away from me and my son with yo’ irresponsible ass!” I holler, before finally disconnecting the call.

  I toss the phone on the dresser and plop down on top of my bed. With my hands cupping my face, I slowly bring them up to my head and grab two handfuls of my hair and squeeze. It’s then that I release a shriek so loud that it hurts my ears. The tears that I tried so desperately to keep from falling, spill from my eyes and run rapidly run down my face as if they are racing to the finish line. I break down and cry hard, because I can’t believe that Terry was as nonchalant as he was. He acted like he had left on the coffee pot, or forgot to turn off the stove. This is my son we’re talking about. A child who’s sick as hell and can barely move by himself and here he was left alone for hours.

  I would have respected him more if he had apologized and admitted that he fucked up. Oh, I would have still been mad, but knowing that he was sorry would have at least let me know that he cared. I couldn’t even get a fucking apology from him. Instead he laughed and told me that I was the one that was tripping, as if I had no right to be angry. Whether he knew Kendrick was in the house or not, doesn’t matter. He’s wrong, and there ain’t no way around it.

  Just thinking about the fact that Terry got up and got his ass dressed probably not long after I left out for work. Then he walked right past my son’s bedroom and out the door as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Anything c
ould have happened while he was gone. Kendrick could have really been hurt today, and I wouldn’t have known a thing until after the fact. Hell, I could have gone to jail behind this shit. There he was, a six year old that was not only left in the house alone, but covered with vomit and shit as well, due to being sick. All this went on while his mother was away at work.

  The police would have locked my black ass up for neglect without a second thought. What would I have been able to tell them, that my boyfriend was supposed to be watching him? We both knew that wouldn’t have flown, because Terry claimed that he didn’t even know that Kendrick was here, so I would have really been up shit creek without a paddle. I can only imagine how the news would have portrayed me. I would have been known as the ‘deadbeat’ mother who thought that going to work was more important than her child. Lord knows I would have died if they had taken my baby away.

  All this crying has my already hurt head, pounding and all I want to do is take a nap. I make my way to the bathroom to take a shower. After turning on the water, I start to remove my clothes, but before I can get totally naked my phone rings. I walk back inside my room and see that it’s Terry calling back. Since I have nothing else to say to him, I allow it to ring until my voicemail activates, before I pick it up and power it off. Like I said before, Terry can kiss my ass. We don’t have anything to talk about right now, so there’s no need for him to call. He can treat me like shit all he wants, because I’m grown and I can fend for myself. But I refuse to stand by and let him fuck over my son. Kendrick is my responsibility, and I’ll be damned if I allow another muthafucka to treat him like shit. Terry done fucked up.