I find myself staring out the window and listening to the sounds of the restaurant.
The quickened yet light steps of the servers.
The chatty convo of our fellow diners.
Office gossip, quarterly reports and last night’s basketball game.
Of course the short thick sista with the Miche’lle tone stands out as she chats about her ex with her girlfriend. I may as well be sitting here alone because you ain’t said a word. With all the goings on around me, I almost forgot you were here until the server approached because she was ready to take our order.
“Some-ting to drink?” The petite Chinese woman smiled a weak smile my way.
Annie. The name tag said.
I wondered was that given at birth, on the boat or when she stepped foot on in the Immigration office the first time.
“Water, please. Thanks.”
“You sir?”
“Coke. Hold up. Are the refills free?” He speaks. So that proves he hasn’t lost his voice.
I could hear the blood in my veins boil.
Dumb, cheap bastard. Who the hell asks are refills free?
I found myself glancing out the window to keep from glaring at him and shaking my head. He always found a stupid way to piss me off. He could blow money on things to flex and impress people in public, but in private, the miser emerged. We are living in a $400,000 home that we can’t afford and you asking are the refills free. I chuckle inside. A smile spills out.
“Whats so funny? Wanna share?”
I turn to look at him in the eye.
Fresh Hair cut.
Professionally laundered shirt.
Designer eyeware.
“I was laughing about something that happened earlier.”
If I shared the truth about my laughter, it would lead to another argument. For a moment I think, maybe I should. At least it would be conversation.
“Oh.” He gives a half smirk and goes back to his latest toy of fascination. The touchscreen phone he showed up with last week.
He flips through his emails on his phone and comfortably sits in silence. Totally ignoring the purpose of the lunch.
This was his idea.
His idea of quality time with me.
Sharing a meal, but not sharing conversation or thoughts.
And it’s not like I don’t love to talk. Hell I’m a great conversationalist. I like to talk about anything. World events, American politics, Hip Hop Culture, music or even travel.
Pick a card and fucking TALK! And these 50 pounds I’ve packed on are starting make me wonder, if you are feeding me to keep me silent. At home, fat, silent and indentured like you like it.
Annie returns and I place my order, because it’s way past my lunchtime. I waited because as always, I accommodate you and your schedule. Always been that way. But for some reason lately, being so accommodating is losing its luster with me.
Or maybe this whole marriage is.
Funny how we are the envy of everyone in a social setting. I hear things like,
“You guys must laugh and enjoy each other all the time.”
“You make a great couple.”
“He’s such a good guy. Such a good man. A good provider.”
That last comment always makes me wanna holler, “BITCH please!”
I never wanted income to be an issue in our relationship, so I was game for the whole one account, one unit life. Never made my salary being greater an issue. But boy did my dumb ass pay for that. Here we are 5 years later in debt up to our eyeballs and you are still flexing. Three car notes. Mortgage. Maxed out and late credit card bills. Yet you pop up with new gear weekly and I have a pin in my fucking bra and a pair of cheap shoes that are nagging the hell outta me.
I still see your face when I came home with the DSW bag. Like I had caused financial ruin to WallStreet.
“Do you really think now is a good time to go out buying expensive shoes?”
“Expensive? They were $50.00.”
“You have shoes. You have lots of shoes.”
“My work shoes need to be replaced. The heel is gone and the back is split. So no I don’t have shoes.”
“Why didn’t you go to Payless?”
Payless. Yep that nigga said why didn’t I go to Payless and he’s rocking Cole Hahns’. Ones he caught on sale of course but still Cole Hahns.
And what did my fool self do? I took the shoes back and went to Payless to get this pair of corn rubbing cheap ass shoes! Always the martyr and keeper of peace. Leaving more money available in the account to cater to his whims. I justified the return with a small clothes purchases for my twins later in the week.
My 3 year olds kept me sane, in the midst of my insanity and bills up to my ass.
One good thing about that one account though. It was easier to catch him cheating. Didn’t take me long to figure it all out. That is, once I took a moment to look. I was so busy letting him be the man and take care of home that I normally didn’t even look at our account in detail. But something about that day last month, made me stop, look and think. Plain as day.
Cash withdrawals same amount every Wednesday.
Lunch meal charges for more than one. Nice spots too. Seafood and steak restaurants in Dunwoody. Every Wednesday.
One would think, if you withdrew cash, why would you need to charge lunch? I answered that question with a google search and one phone call. You paid cash for the hotel room. Same hotel. Nice Hotel. Yep. Every fucking Wednesday. Taking “Hump Day” seriously. His secret “early” day. He worked 9 hour days the other 4 days and 4 hours on Wednesday. Told the boss he needed to spend time with his wife and kids. Laughable!
“Spicy Basil Chicken with Brown Rice?” Annie smiled.
The aroma and colorful presentation of the food brought me back from my thoughts of your lying and cheating ass. I placed the napkin in my lap as my stomach grumbled.
The waitress leaves I start to wonder what was the initial urgency in this sharing of a meal that you INSISTED upon. But there you sit once again saying…….nothing. I adjust my foot under the table and feel a twinge of pain. Cheap ass shoes rubbing on the bone in my foot.
“Brown rice? What’s that supposed to do?”
I roll my eyes and think here we go with your comments about my change in diet again.
“It’s better for you. Brown Rice, whole grains. Just trying to cut back, make small changes.”
“So what you trying to lose weight?”
“A little. Feel better.” The spicy chicken was music to my mouth.
“Well don’t get to small. I like it thick.”
The smirk on his face as he turns back to his plate makes the chicken in my mouth suddenly bland. Dry like the Sahara.
I like it thick.
Not from the looks of that weave wearing slut that was laughing and hanging on your arm last Wednesday. She was a size 8 at the most. Pecan brown, 5’7. Anne Taylor style. Immaculate. Not very pretty, shapely, but far from cute. And that wasn’t me speaking from any hate or anger. I dressed well for my size 20 self. I may be a big girl, but I was damn sure cute. And I had developed a knack for mixing and matching and accessorizing. Had to. Hadn’t bought much new in 2 years due to our financial situation. Luckily I had quite a sizable selection and generous friends. Friends that rarely visited or spoke to me because of my constant defense of my selfish and cheating husband. The writing was on the wall, they saw it and I was the queen of denial. I used to have great self esteem. Just hard as hell to find it nowadays.
I watched as he checked a message on his phone and smiled. $6,420. Round about that amount. The amount of money I had calculated that he had spent on lunch dates and hotels for the past 8 months. Probably more, if I dared look into the credit card bills. Yep. Cause it was around that time that we maxed out on the Visa card. My stomach churned at the thought.
“By the way, Imma be late Wednesday. Gotta work late. Don’t wait up.” He smiled and continued to feast on his sesame chicken.
Seemed like that cheap shoe was getting tighter by the minute. Wednesday huh.
“Really? Special project?” I tried hard to keep the angry look from my face. I looked down at my plate and fondled the vegetables with my fork. Appetite was gone.
“Yep. Big changes happening. I even have to wear a suit. May need a new tie.” He smiled. “Shoes too.”
Maybe the word shoes made me go blank. Or maybe it was all the bullshit I had tolerated for the last 5 years. But the next clear vision in front of me was Spicy Basil Chicken running down his white crisp shirt. His screams alerted Annie to our table. Those green peppers were no joke on your tongue, so I’m sure his eyes weren’t doing to good.
“Have you lost your mind! What the fuck!” He poured water on the dinner napkin to wipe his eyes.
I stood up to leave and the corn on my foot screamed in pain.
Hysterical laughter was next. So bad I started to cry and no words formed.
Just laughter. Belly giggling, tear streaming laughter.
Probably laughing at my own pathetic self.
A sad worn out doormat in cheap shoes.
But not anymore. And never again.
The key to change... is to let go of fear.
Some Rosanne Cash quote that had been ringing in my head for the past week. I knew it was speaking to me when I first heard it. I was putting up with being mistreated because I was just like him.
I was a fake.
I liked to front. I liked the attention being married and seemingly perfect brought. In everyone’s eyes, I had the Holy Grail. Nice home, cute kids, good man, good job. I was not a statistical single mad black woman.
But I was a miserable fool. A miserable fool staying miserable out of fear.
Afraid of being alone and raising two kids.
Afraid of being yet another sister in the dating market with kids.
But you know what. The alternative was looking better than being miserable. Had to be.
I took the shoes off and threw them towards his plate causing him to jump.
“Have you lost your fucking mind? What is wrong with you?”
Annie’s panicked expression made me laugh even more.
“Nothing. Not anymore. I’m just tired of wearing cheap shoes.”
-a copywritten work of fiction- ©ThickE
