by Cydney Rax
“How many kids you wanted to have. I believe you want three.”
“At least.”
“Well, good luck getting three kids out of that one,” I angrily snap.
“Wait, wait, hold up. Why are you making me and Marlene married? I don’t want to marry every woman I date …” He pauses. “I just wanted to marry you.”
I squirm and can barely look him in the eye. “Jeff, I already feel bad.”
“Not trying to make you feel bad. It’s just that when you dumped me—.”
“I didn’t dump you.”
“When you dumped me,” he continues, “I felt numb, mad, hurt.” His eyes widen, and his voice is filled with awe. “I even stopped doing my real estate for a minute. Couldn’t think, eat … could barely breathe.”
I just stare at him, astounded that he can admit his moments of weakness to me, something that he didn’t always do in the past.
“But after a couple weeks of that mess, I said, hey, the sun still rises and sets. I guess Rachel Merrell isn’t big enough to keep the earth from moving forward. And if planet Earth hasn’t stopped because of Rachel … then maybe I shouldn’t stop, either.”
“Okay,” I say and swallow with nervous anticipation.
“And I got rid of all your photos, our photos, our silly little photos that we’d take … us making faces, having a good time together, chilling and living our lives.”
“Okay, okay, okay.”
“What? You don’t want to hear all that? Well, all that is what you’ve brought me to. All that brings us to today, here. Right now.”
And I feel a combination of regret and extreme anger. It’s like he’s blaming me. Accusing me of doing things that have caused him to do things. To be here. With her.
“Long story short, Rachel, I’m going on with my life.” He looks pointedly at me. I can hear the words inside his head. You need to move on with your life.
But how can I? How on earth can I act like what he’s doing is all right with me? Okay, maybe the fact that he’s accepted an invite to a family barbecue shouldn’t be such a big freaking deal. But it is, especially since he’s with my sister, someone who craves male attention.
It’s not like this hasn’t happened before, in an indirect way. I would meet a gorgeous, charming guy who had the gift of gab. I’d bring him to our apartment. He’d be all over me, would barely say hello to my sister. She’d dress provocatively, usually wearing something that would show her cleavage. And when my man still wouldn’t notice her, she’d storm out of the room, the tension thick and suffocating.
And the next time I’d see her, she’d bring home some strange man she’d met at a mall or something. He’d be tall, skinny, and gorgeous. He’d be all over her, too. He wouldn’t even notice me. And that’s when I remembered my sister likes to compete. Maybe that’s what she’s doing with Jeff. Showing me a thing or two. And, cross my fingers hope to die, when she’s done showing me whatever she’s showing me, she’ll get bored and go on to the next plaything.
“Jeff, how long do you think you’ll be dating her?”
“If I’m lucky, I will date Marlene for a long time, longer than the time you and I were together.”
“But Jeff,” I say, feeling hurt. “You once told me I was the only chip in the bag. And the fact that you could move on so soon …”
“A man has a right to move on, Rachel.”
“Yeah, but do you have to be so Brad Pitt–ish?”
“Hey, at least Pitt got to walk down the aisle the first time.”
“But he still cheated on his wife. Does that make it any better?”
Instead of answering, he whips his sunglasses off his head, puts them on, and folds his arms.
“I really look like Pitt now, huh? Really cool man.”
“Jeff, stop grinning,” I complain, frustrated. “I’m trying to be serious and I hate when you act silly.”
“Is that why you dumped me? I’m too immature?” he asks and presses his thumb up against his nose. I can see clear inside his nostrils. He looks like he has a snout.
“Ha, this is crazy. I’m trying to hold a mature conversation with you.”
He removes his sunglasses, and his silly expression turns sober.
“Rachel, to be honest, I have no idea what’s going to happen. Last time I made plans about my future … every single thing blew up in my face.”
I wince.
“But for now, for today I am going with the flow. Having a good time. Your sister is kind of wild and unpredictable. I like that about her.”
“Okay I don’t want to hear you talking about …” I can’t stand saying her name right now. In spite of me and him having a much-needed talk, I still don’t know why she’s doing this to me. How far is this going to go? And even though I initiated the breakup, this severely hurts me.
It feels like two people have swung their heads back and butted me right on my forehead, punching me so hard that I see a bright array of stars and it feels like something is squeezing my head. People you love the most can inflict the most damage. They hurt you so bad you wonder what the true definition of love is. Does true love hurt? Because in some ways, I still love Jeff, and all I feel sometimes is hurt.
Just then Marlene dashes back into the kitchen.
“Sorry, being in the bathroom took longer than I expected. What’s going on here? What ya’ll doing?”
Lie first and tell the truth later.
“For your information, I was talking to Alita,” I say, nodding at my friend who quietly stood by all that time. “I don’t care to talk to him. I will leave you and your new boyfriend alone.” I say that so she won’t know that what she’s doing truly bothers me. But I doubt she believes me.
I start to say something else to her, but my Aunt Perry staggers in from the backyard through the sliding glass door and peers curiously at me.
“It takes that damn long to get my cup?”
“Oops, sorry Auntie. I forgot.”
“‘Oops, I forgot,’” she mocks. “Naw, girl, how can you forget about me? You know how I am.” She lets out a loud and drawn-out belch that sounds disgusting.
“Yuck,” I say. “That stinks. You’ve been out there drinking bottles of beer, haven’t you?”
“Yep, I sure was,” she says and belches again while she’s talking. Then her face turns green, and she dashes to the sink and pukes. I hear her throat contracting. You can smell every greasy thing she ate for breakfast. I want to throw up, too.
Perry turns on the spigot and rinses out the sink using a small rubber hose.
Jeff grins and says, “Beer before liquor, never been sicker. Liquor before beer, you’re in the clear.”
“Shut up, fool,” Aunt Perry snaps. “Hey.” She scrutinizes him closely. “What are you doing here? You and my niece back together now? When’s the wedding?”
“Ain’t gonna be no wedding,” jumps in Marlene. She has the nerve to yank Jeff by the arm. We’re now all gathered next to the kitchen sink facing the breakfast table.
“He with you?” Aunt Perry asks. “Is that how we do things now?”
“You got a problem with that?” Marlene says.
“You’re the one with the problem, girl. I can’t believe your stupid ass. You got a lotta damned nerve walking up in your daddy’s house with that man on your arm. Can’t you even p-pretend to respect your sister?”
Marlene gasps and stares rudely at Aunt Perry.
“Damn shame, girl, you were not raised right. But with your mama’s ways, what do I expect? I never did like her ass. Miss Loretta—the Woman Who Can Suck Dick Betta. That’s what they used to say about her back in the day!”
“What did you say about my mama?” Marlene asks, standing in front of Aunt Perry.
Marlene always tries to defend her mom, even though my mama told me she dated Blinky first. Loretta and Brooke were best friends years ago, before Marlene or I was born. Even though Brooke was ten years older than Loretta, they got along famously. But their re
lationship changed when the two women fought over Blinky. Now the ladies can’t stand each other half the time.
“Girl, don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about,” says Aunt Perry.
“No, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Marlene cries out.
“I think I know about this more than you. I was alive at that time and you weren’t. So like I said before, Loretta is the Freak Who’s Always in Heat.”
“Stop saying that stuff about my mama,” Marlene shrieks.
“She told it like it was, that’s what Perry did.” Brooke, my mother, suddenly waltzes in the kitchen. She must’ve just gotten here. I doubt she was invited, but formal invitations never keep her from showing up.
Mama continues what Perry started: “Yep, that’s her, all right. Miss Loretta—the Whore Whose Tongue Is a Dick Wetter.”
“Eww, I can’t stand y’all. How can you sit up here and diss my mama? She’s not even here to defend herself.”
“Believe me, honey, whores and man stealers can’t defend themselves.”
“Oh, there you go, Brooke. You still can’t get over the fact that Blinky picked my mama over you. That was, what, twenty-something years ago. Get a life, loser.” Marlene laughs like something is funny, but I’ll show her what’s funny. I cock my fist and punch Marlene square in her forehead. Her head snaps back, and she lets out an eerie wail. My knuckles are now burning and that pisses me off.
“Don’t you talk to my mother like that, you idiot.” I yell at her so loud everyone grows quiet. Jeff runs up to me and grabs my arm, and I reluctantly push him off me.
“Leave me alone. You have nothing to do with this. You need to run after her, since she’s the one who brought you to this party.”
“Rachel, please. We should talk. Even though you’re mad, I hate seeing you and Marlene act like this. You shouldn’t be hitting your sister. Apologize.”
“Nooo,” Marlene butts in. “Let her dumb butt stay dumb. I’m fine. Thanks for being concerned, since no one else is.”
Face red, my mama forcefully takes me by the hand and leads me to the family room. Alita follows behind us asking, “You need anything, sis? Need a glass of ice water or trash can punch?”
“She doesn’t need that. She needs to watch who she’s hitting, though, I know that much,” says Marlene, hollering after us and following us into the family room.
Aunt Perry, who is right behind me, Mama, and Alita, says, “You gotta watch your temper, Rachel. You may be pissed, hell, I’m pissed for you, but you don’t need things to escalate where you catch yourself a case.”
“Yep, I’m gonna file assault charges on you, Rachel, you hear me?” Marlene screams. I look toward the kitchen, but she’s standing several feet behind me, apparently listening in.
“Girl, get your fat ass out this room. Nobody’s talking to you, and nobody’s going to sue anybody,” screams my mama. “Dare you to make me mad.” And, like a wise woman, Marlene twirls her big butt around, clamps her mouth shut, and disappears.
“Dang,” Mama complains. “She is one of the nosiest people, I swear.”
“It’s cool, Mama,” I say. “I didn’t mean to go off on her, but she’s crossing a line when she says things about you in front of your face. I won’t stand for it.”
“Well, thanks for defending me. That girl needs to watch herself.”
“She’ll be all right. She just wants an apology. But don’t worry about her, okay?”
“Oh, she’s not the one I’m worried about.”
“You worried about me, Mama?”
“I don’t want you to go through the shit I went through, Lord knows. It’s like some doggone déjà vu.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” says Aunt Perry. “I remember like it was yesterday. Shame.”
“It’s getting crazy,” I say. “None of this makes any sense. How did we get like this? I know I shouldn’t be swinging at her—.”
“You did more than swing,” Alita murmurs.
“I know, it wasn’t cool,” I admit. “But she started this. I’m really shocked that she brought my ex to this party. That was pretty bold. Is Marlene that much like her mother?”
My mama’s eyes are blazing from ancient traumatizing memories. She looks how I feel. Sad. Frustrated. And I know even though things have calmed down a notch, it’s gonna be later rather than sooner before this mess blows over.
The more I think about myself and my mama and the hurt we’ve been through, the more I know the battle has just begun. I head back to the kitchen to finish the fight that Marlene (and Loretta before her) was stupid enough to start.
— 5 —
MARLENE
The Best Woman Will Always Win
One memory I have that’ll never be erased is the time I got jumped by five girls. We all attended the same elementary school. I was in fifth grade, the new and different, yet intriguing, chick. At first this close-knit group of girls would gather around me, eager to befriend the new kid on the block—they’d chat me up, scoot their desks close to mine so we could giggle and talk in class; they’d save a special seat for me in the lunchroom; and I’d get dragged by the arm so we all could hang together on the playground. It felt great to be accepted, to be “in” for a change. I am not sure why they took to me. All I knew was I loved having lots of friends, girls who laughed and high-fived me when I cracked a good joke, and girls who hated the same teachers I came to hate.
But then the good times changed. About four weeks after I began attending the new school, a stuffy nose, harsh cough, and watery eyes kept me from going to classes three days in a row. School policy was if you’re sick stay your sick butt at home and don’t come back till you’re well. When my health improved my mother sent me back to school, which ended up being the very next Monday. My excitement about returning grew into puzzlement the minute my friends pretended like they didn’t see me when I waved hello. They wrinkled their noses and moved their desks far away from mine when I sat down. Instead of laughing with me, they laughed at me. Threw back their heads and giggled and slapped their knees at the girl with the flabby arms and thick waist. I stared straight ahead when I realized the girls that I learned to like plain ole didn’t like me anymore. I ate lunch by myself at a long, dirty lunch table, and during recess, when we congregated on the playground, the playing turned ugly.
“You think you something, don’t you, Marlene?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the fact that you an uppity girl—you think you better than us.”
“That’s not true. No, I don’t.”
“Stop lying. You think you the shit but you ain’t all that. You’re too stupid to know that no one likes you for real.”
“Why are you talking to me like this? I thought you were my friend!”
“No one gave you permission to talk.”
“But I just—.”
“Shut up, bitch.” Whop! One girl repeatedly smacked me in the face with her open hand. Another jumped and twisted my arm behind my back, yelling “Get her!” Another kicked me in the stomach like my belly was a soccer ball. She laughed hysterically the second I started wheezing. Then a slew of hands all came at my face, fists balled up, socking me in the jaw. I felt like a piñata. I closed my eyes, yanked my arm, and swung my fists, trying my best to defend myself. I wanted to swing hard enough so I could make contact with a nose, a jaw, an eye. I wanted so bad to inflict pain on those girls. And I also wanted to win the fight. I intended to show them they couldn’t love me one day and hate me the next and think I’d go along with their games. Even though it was one against five and the odds were against me, I still had to win. I desperately yearned to come out on top even though my future looked dismal.
Later I learned that what the girls did to me they did to every new girl who came to our school. Stupid, silly immature mind games. Girls bullying girls. Kind of like the Lindsay Lohan movie Mean Girls, except in my case, the meanness started at an earlier age
.
Fast forward to now: the new kind of playground fight.
It’s several minutes after Rachel delivered a blow to my head.
After Rachel and her mama leave the kitchen, Jeff carefully examines my wound. I wince when he brushes his finger across the swelling. He opens the freezer door and shakes some ice cubes out of the tray. He grabs a napkin off the counter and wraps it around the ice, and applies it to my forehead.
“I can’t believe Rachel. She was wrong, so wrong,” he says.
“Yes, she was.” I blink and can feel hot water spring in my eyes.
“Don’t cry,” Jeff softly says. “I know it hurts, but it won’t hurt forever,” he reassures me.
“I hope not.”
“I know not. Physical wounds heal quicker than any other wounds.”
Right then Rachel, Alita, Aunt Perry, and Brooke bounce back into the kitchen like they’re boxers in a ring. We’re clustered by the refrigerator.
Rachel plants her hands on her hips. “And another thing,” she says as if we were in the midst of a conversation. “I am tired of your mama talking shit about me to Blinky.”
“Rachel, hush,” I say with a dismissive wave of the hand, like her words are stupid. “Leave my mama out of it. You’re frustrated and using her to start messing with me, and she isn’t the issue.”
“Then what is, bitch? School me.”
“I am not about to go there with you, girl.”
“But what if I want you to?”
“Rachel, grow up and stop acting stupid.”
“You’re the stupid one.”
That does it.
“Oh, so I’m the stupid one? A woman who gives up a perfectly good man and gets mad when he moves on is about as dumb as George W. Bush—.”
And that’s when she shoves me so hard I nearly lose my balance. I have to rest my hand against the fridge to keep from hitting the floor. Suddenly all eyes are on me. I morph into a scared little girl surrounded by her former so-called friends. I feel insecure, like I don’t know if I should defend myself, or make excuses, or play the innocent role. But in spite of being uncertain, I know I have to raise my fist and swing hard. Raise back my fist and swing again. So what if my sister says idiot things like “Christians don’t fight.” During moments like this, I let Rachel antagonize me all she wants. Just because you believe in God doesn’t mean you have to be somebody’s fool. Like you don’t hurt, don’t have feelings, or don’t feel like defending yourself sometimes because you’re too impatient to wait on the Lord to defend you.
