I Don't Want to Lose You

  “I do love to sing. Sometimes I would be trapped in here for hours and go from CD to CD just putting on a concert for myself. The longest time was about six hours.”

  “Six hours? Were you hoarse later?”

  “No. I could have kept on but my parents got annoyed and told me to shut up.”

  “Sing a song to me.”

  “What? Are you for real?” I was kind of flattered that he liked my voice enough to want me to sing to him.

  “Yeah. Pick a song for me and sing it to me. Just you, no music.”

  My eyes got big. “Acapella? I got to think of what I can sing well without music to block how horrible I sound.” I thought for a minute and then I had it. “I have to sit up so that I can control my breathing better.” I reached for his hand as I sang to him Anita Baker’s “Angel,” feeling every word of the song. Just as I had told him, I imitated Anita Baker and her mannerisms from her videos, including the closing of the eyes and rocking. I gave a decent performance if I could say so myself even though I intentionally cut out a verse or two to shorten the song, but it wasn’t like he would have known.

  When I was done, he kissed my hand and said, “That was beautiful, babe. You should sing to me more often.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure you’re parents would love to hear that every day. So where are we in this book?”

  It was movie night and time for me to show him Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Heart Club Band. I made some popcorn and we sat down to watch it.

  Before the movie started with the first song, he asked, “Are you going to be singing and dancing through this one?”

  “While it had crossed my mind, I’ve decided to just watch instead of participate.”

  “You don’t have to hold back for me. I enjoy it.”

  I wasn’t feeling it and shook my head no. I turned my attention back to the movie so that he would watch it. I did hum along to some songs but I didn’t sing. Then the moment came in the movie that I knew was going to get me because it did every time. The girl died and Peter Frampton was crying on her glass casket while singing “Golden Slumbers.”

  And the river began to flow.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “I’ll be fine in a few minutes. This part always makes me cry.”

  He left to get me some tissue. He came back and sat next to me and put his arm around my shoulder as I dabbed my eyes. We watched the rest of the movie without my brain doing its connections to other things to make me keep crying, thank goodness.

  “Babe,” he said when the movie ended, “this is one of the most horrible movies that I’ve ever seen. I can’t believe so many famous people were a part of it.”

  “I know. I don’t understand why it was my favorite movie as a little girl, but I like it now purely for the music. The plot was horrid.”

  “Despite knowing that, you made me sit through it anyway?”

  “Yep. Don’t act like we haven’t sat through other bad movies,” I said.

  “But this was pretty bad.”

  “All right, I get it,” I said in a raised voice with a hint of anger. “You didn’t care for it. It was a waste of your time. I’ll be sure to never have you watch another bad movie that I might like again.” I got up and walked out.

  He got up and followed me. “What’s wrong?”

  I didn’t respond and just went through my stuff to get some pajamas to put on.

  “Monica, what’s wrong?” he asked.

  My back was turned to him and, the truth was, I didn’t know why I snapped. My eyes were welling up and I was irritated for not knowing what was disturbing me because this wasn’t like me. Was it that I was feeling overwhelmed with everything? Was it that soon it would be me in the Peter Frampton role singing “Golden Slumbers?” Was it that this movie had been an entrenched part of my life and he expressed hatred for it? But it was a pretty bad movie.

  He turned me around since I hadn’t said anything. He had a concerned expression and asked, “Are you going to say anything? What did I do? I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  I put my hand up to tell him to stop. I wiped my eyes. “I think I have officially lost control of my hormones.”

  “What makes you say that?” he asked.

  “Yesterday at work I cried because there weren’t enough chips in my bag for lunch. This is so ridiculous,” I proclaimed as I continued to bawl.

  Relief swept over his face as he hugged me and told me everything would be alright. By the movements of his body, I could tell he was quietly chuckling at me.

  I was told by Theo to come up with a 80s outfit and I had to go to thrift stores to help me find something comfortable that could work. He had heard it was 80s night at a restaurant and figured we should go. I believed he was hoping that it would make me feel better since I was in a funk after movie night a couple of nights before. He didn’t want me to see him get ready and so I got dressed in my parents’ room. Phaedra was coming too but was unwilling to dress according to the theme.

  I put on some faded black jeans that fit comfortably, a hot pink tank top and a black blazer with shoulder pads. I had crimped my hair, teased it and tied a hot pink ribbon into a bow around it. I had cut off the tips of some black lace gloves and was as ready as I was going to be in such short notice. I walked into the family room to see my husband wearing jeans, a “Relax” white shirt and a wig with a black hat. He was trying to imitate Boy George with his braids and ribbons and black hat. Phaedra had did his makeup and he had on eye makeup and lip gloss. I fell out laughing, literally. I fell to my knees and was in hysterics. It took a few minutes for me to compose myself.

  “I would only do this for you,” he said as he approached me and took my hand to help me up. “How do I look?”

  I stood up. “Confused. I’ve never seen a person with that hair in a Frankie Goes to Hollywood shirt at the same time. Two totally different looks. And the makeup-” I busted into laughter again.

  “Well, I’m not changing.” He flipped his hair to make the braids go to his back, which made me laugh even harder. “We need to go. We’re picking Ralph up.”

  I shook my head. “We have to stop at your house to show Manny first.”

  We drove quickly to his parents’ house and, while his parents’ thought he looked embarrassingly humorous, when Manny saw him, he fell onto the floor laughing and pointing.

  Finally, Theo was able to laugh at himself. “I was trying to keep the essence of Boy George and he wouldn’t find this funny,” he said.

  I ran and got the camera because this was a Kodak moment if there ever was one.

  “Okay, we have to go,” Theo said when he tired of being his brother’s amusement.

  Ralph was in torn jeans and a Motley Crew t-shirt, which resembled his everyday wardrobe. He took one look at Theo and could only shake his head with a big smile on his face. I would have still been cracking up myself, but my cheeks were hurting from laughing as much as I already had.

  Phaedra shook her head. “Y’all some silly people. I give you an A for effort, Teodoro.”

  We went into the restaurant and I was surprised that it was karaoke night. A man with Flock of Seagulls hair was horribly singing “Rio” by Duran Duran. Hearing all of the people sing songs that I liked changed my mood and I found the nerve to get on the list. I sang “Don’t You Want Me” by Jody Watley. Then the shock of the night happened. Theo went on stage and sang “Do You Really Want to Hurt Me” by Culture Club and included a couple of signature moves done by the impersonator from The Wedding Singer. He had a nice tone to his voice and I realized that I had never heard him sing alone, even with his band. I chuckled throughout the performance because he kept swinging the braids around. Phaedra’s turn came around and she and I did “Rappers Delight” by the Sugarhill Gang. Ralph did “Pour Some Sugar on Me” by Def Leppard. Theo asked me to do something for him and we stayed until my turn was called. I dedicated the song to him and did “The Way You Love Me” by Karyn White. I hadn’t realized that we were there fo
r almost three hours.

  As we were walking to the car, Theo held my hand and asked, “Did you have fun?”

  “That was so much fun. I needed that. Thank you.” I pecked him on the cheek.

  “You did a good job up there,” he said. “You too, Phaedra.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “Right back at you.”

  “Yeah, you sure did, Mr. George,” I said as I imitated some of the moves he used.

  The next morning I woke up before he did and I watched him sleep for a while. He was so still that I had to put my head on his chest to hear his heartbeat to know that he was alive. Within seconds I felt his arm around me.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  “Hi. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  He moved his arm so that he could stretch and put it back. “It’s all right. How are you feeling this morning?”

  “Hungry. But I decided since you gave me an awesome night last night,” I stopped and kissed him on the cheek, “whatever you want for lunch and dinner I will make it. But I am dying for a breakfast burrito so I’m about to go make some. So, lunch and dinner. What do you want?”

  “Really?”

  “It’s Saturday. I don’t have any plans really, so yeah.” I sat up to be able to look at him thinking of what he wanted.

  Finally he said, “I want my breakfast burrito to be huge. For lunch I would like some chicken quesadillas and for dinner I want tacos.”

  I frowned. “That’s all Mexican food.”

  “And we’re not in a Mexican house where a Mexican cook lives.” He gave a big, toothy grin.

  I took a deep breath and let out a big huff that went in the direction of his face.

  “Oh, babe,” he said, “go brush your teeth. Whew!” We both laughed.

  “Fine, you big turkey. This is entrapment. You got me somewhere else to put me to the test.” I got up out of the bed.

  He sat up and said, “This isn’t entrapment. This is opportunity presenting itself.” He cheesed. “You should be glad that I didn’t ask for enchiladas or albondigas. I’m taking it pretty easy on you.”

  I frowned as I left to brush my teeth to get better smelling breath and start on breakfast. It took me a while to get it done due to all of the ingredients I used and having to stop a couple of times to run to the bathroom, but it was huge. His eyes bulged when he saw the size.

  “Am I expected to eat all of this?” he asked.

  “You asked for huge so that’s what you got. It should keep you from wanting lunch and then I can just make dinner.” I smiled.

  He shook his head. “I still want my quesadillas.”

  I stuck my tongue out at him and rolled my eyes.

  Phaedra entered and got her burrito, which was slightly smaller than his. She looked at his plate and said, “I guess we won’t be eating for the rest of the day with the size of this.”

  He informed her of how incorrect she was and what the menu was going to be for the day.

  Phaedra said, “Good to know.” She poured herself some milk and walked out to eat in the family room.

  He nodded as he took his first bite. “Babe, this is good,” he said with his mouth full.

  I took a bite of mine and said, “Why yes, it is.”

  “I’m going to see if Ralph and Edgar can come by for lunch or dinner. We can eat on the patio.”

  “Say what? More Mexicans to criticize this Black chick’s Mexican food? I don’t know how I feel about that.”

  “Can you make some flan or tres leches for dessert?” he asked facetiously.

  My face turned dead serious. “I’m gonna knock you out. Mama said knock you out,” I said quoting LL Cool J.

  “Your mama isn’t here to tell you that,” he said.

  “Yeah, but she said if a man tries to take advantage of me, knock him out. You’re on top of the list, buddy.”

  He put his hands up. “I’m so sorry. I don’t want to be on your list again.”

  We went back to eating as I tried to remember what he meant by again. It took me a minute but then I remembered math class in junior high. While that softened me to know he had tidbits like that in his memory, I still wasn’t making any dessert.

  I didn’t need to make lunch for us since the burrito was satisfying but I did make chicken quesadillas and chicken tacos for dinner. Puppy, Ralph and Edgar joined the three of us out on the patio for dinner. The consensus was that I did a good job with everything for a non-Hispanic woman.

  The next day Theo and I came back to my parents’ house after taking a walk around the mall for a change of scenery. Before we had left, I had already made dinner so that we could make our plates and reheat when we were ready to eat. Phaedra was already in the family room eating and watching television when we came in with our food and drinks. He sat in my dad’s chair and I sat in the one next to him and we shared the table in between them.

  Phaedra was watching the Black Entertainment Television channel on cable with an old episode of “In Living Color” ending.

  “I had liked that show,” Theo said. “I wish they hadn’t taken it off the air.”

  “I know, but it’s all good over here though,” I responded. “We have every episode taped.”

  “Really? You have to bring some back home with us to watch,” he said.

  “I don’t think so,” Phaedra said. “I like the show, too. I might want to watch an episode on the tape you have.”

  “You’re such a brat,” I told her. “You’ll just live without it until it gets back here. It’s not like I’d let it stay over there.”

  “I don’t know that,” she said as she rolled her neck like an amateur.

  “Well, I’m telling you that,” I said as I rolled my neck like the professional that I was.

  “Okay, I didn’t mean to start anything,” Theo said.

  “Oh, it’s been shut down so hakuna matata.” I looked at my sister and rolled my eyes at her.

  “You guys need to be quiet. ‘Martin’ is coming on,” she said, trying to be bossy.

  “You two like this show?” he asked with a hint of surprise.

  “What’s wrong with ‘Martin’?” Phaedra asked.

  “Do you feel that he represents your race in a favorable way?” he asked genuinely. “This isn’t how Black people act. At least I don’t think they do.”

  “And how many Black people do you know? Four?” she asked with a touch of anger and a sprinkle of offensiveness.

  I turned to her and said, “Oh, hold up. Watch your tone with my man, okay? I got this.” I turned to him after putting my alter ego away, picking up my work phone voice which almost resembled an anchorwoman reporting a serious story. “Love, this is a comedy. Not a docudrama, not a reality show, but a sitcom. There are many different types of comedies, such as family comedy, raunchy comedy and so forth. The characters of this particular one may be an exaggeration of what actually exists in order to cause the viewers to laugh, which not only increases the shows viewership, but also it’s longevity. That is, after all, the intention of a sitcom.”

  “Preach it,” Phaedra interrupted before putting a forkful of food in her mouth.

  I continued, “A way that you might be able to relate to it as a Mexican is with your infamously known Cheech and Chong.”

  “Yep, yep,” Phaedra added with her mouth full.

  Theo chuckled.

  I continued, “One could suggest that these two pot smoking men don’t represent your race in a favorable way, but viewers comprehend that the work that they did was done for comedic purposes. That is why after their work in ‘Up in Smoke’ was well received, they continued on with making films that are categorized as stoner comedy.”

  “Oh, no you didn’t.” Phaedra interrupted.

  I turned to her and said, “I did.” I turned my attention back to him and continued with as much earnestness as I could since he was grinning, “So as you can see, your people got yours and our people got ours, so back off. Can I get an amen?”

  Phaed
ra said, “Amen. There it is.”

  Theo smiled and said, “Touché.” He leaned over and asked, “Do you two work together like this often?”

  I feigned ignorance and answered, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yeah, right,” he said. “You never seem to know what I’m talking about. I’m starting to wonder who the real politician is between the two of us. You were too comfortable giving that speech.”

  “I have to always be prepared as a politician’s wife.” I turned to see what episode of “Martin” was coming on. “Oh no, this conversation is over. I love this episode.” I started singing “Forever Shenehneh” until I was shushed by Phaedra. I continued to eat because my food was getting cold.

  We sat there and watched back to back episodes and he found them to be funny enough to ask, “Do you happen to have any ‘Martin’ episodes on tape?”

  “You know I do,” I answered.

  I got off of work early, again, due to morning sickness. It was the last day we were needed at my parents’ house because they would be back the next afternoon. I had expected to be alone since Theo had an appointment and was supposed to be hanging out with Ralph. I went to my room to lie down on my bed and just kind of looked around. Something didn’t feel right. Things didn’t look right. While much hadn’t been shifted around, I could tell a few things were out of place. Then it occurred to me that Mr. Cabrera could have possibly done some snooping around in my room. Either that or an intruder was in the house. I got the steel bat that I kept under my bed and quietly left the room to check out the rest of the house which seemed to be in fine order.

  As I got closer to the back door, I could hear voices, one of them being Theo. I peeked through the blinds, as I was a good spy and knew how to move them enough to not be noticed but capable of seeing everything. I saw him and Ralph sitting at the patio table. I heard the familiar words that Theo was reading and steam shot out of my ears. I opened the door and went outside, bat in hand, with a deranged look on my face, which was an indication that my body had been taken over by Bonewalaquishanae.

  “What are you doing, Teodoro?” I asked, with my left eye twitching.