by Derrick Jaxn
The tables turned, and I began being the one assuaging Danielle which caused Jazmin to break her silence.
"Are you guys all right now?" she asked, her gaze locked back in on me. It was a look that said, "Is this it? Are you really going to act like you have nothing to say to me? Did you mean anything you ever told me about being there for me? Because here I am, ready to save your life, but you won't even speak up to save my heart."
I cleared my throat, willing to accept whatever came of my next move. I had to talk to Jazmin, even if it was just for a moment but leaving her out cold like that would be unacceptable. I had too much respect for her and she'd gone through a lot to come find me.
But Danielle nixed that with a swift reply.
"Yes, we're okay. Thank you." she responded, dismissively.
Jazmin didn't wait to hear any more. Ruefully, she turned and walked away, her heavy footfalls leaving traces in the dirt. And I didn't stop her. This time, not because I was scared, but because her healing process didn't need to be prolonged any further, even if it meant there was more I wanted to say to her but never would.
After tossing the gun in the lake, Danielle switched seats with me and drove us back to the apartment. The asphalt rushing beneath us, clicks of the turning signals, and amicable silence kept us until we got back.
It had been at least twenty-four hours since I'd eaten, so I was seeing stars. Or maybe that was the sun I was looking at. Either way, it had my head spinning but I managed to struggle up the stair case.
Without speaking or even looking at me since we'd gotten in, she went straight to the kitchen and started pulling out sandwich meat and bread. The fact that she was in business attire told me this wasn't in her plans for the evening, and I began feeling like an inconvenience.
I tried to stop her. "Danielle, please. You don't--"
"Look, just sit there and let me do this."
"I just don't want you to feel like you have to."
"I know I don't have to. But title or no title, we have to take care of each other."
I let her statement marinate.
"Okay. But don't you wanna talk about all this?"
"Not much to talk about. Cheating's not complicated. You did it. It's over. And besides, it was just sex."
She looked at me for confirmation. Confirmation I didn't give her with my lack of any reaction at all.
She paused from the sandwiches, and continued. "It was just sex. That's it...right?"
"Danielle, I love you."
"That's not what I asked you."
Think Shawn.
"Was it just sex?" I repeated trying to stall long enough to gather the courage to tell the truth. "I mean, no. It wasn't."
Silence came again. We just looked at each other. The wall around her heart was mounting and cementing harder and harder by the second.
But I didn't have it in me to keep lying to her. Lying to myself. What Jazmin and I built went beyond just sex and there was no denying that.
"I mean, that's what it is. Am I in love with her? No. But I can't say it was just physical either."
She went back to making the sandwiches, pretending she was ignoring me.
I continued, "So that's why, I'm glad we're not together anymore."
She slammed down the butter knife that she'd been using to spread the mayonnaise . "You sure are pouring it on thick, ya know?"
"No, I'm saying, this may be a good thing for both of us even though it was bad how it happened."
She resumed her mayo spreading before clasping the two pieces of wheat bread and turkey together. "That's fine. I'm not ready to even think about a relationship and neither are you. Here, eat this. I'll have my friend come pick me up. Try to get some rest."
She handed me the sandwich and walked out. Not even a goodbye hug, as I should've expected.
I began wondering if telling her the truth was really worth it. Just days before, I could smell the kiwi fragrance of her shampoo while she lay on my chest and we cuddled. But at the moment, I might as well have been another piece of furniture she was stepping around. I felt completely invisible again.
Chapter 3
But, I Thought You Said I Was Sexy
I never told Momma about my attempted suicide; it'd worry her sick. But apparently I didn't have to because she always talked like she knew anyway. Woman's intuition? Maybe. Either that or she had super powers like I'd always suspected.
Like when I was younger, Momma used to wake me up every day about ten minutes before my alarm went off, so of course, it pissed me off and I'd give her that look. And when I did, she said what she always said, "You better fix ya face before I come fix it for you." And I'd force a smile until she walked out.
But one night, I was having what most would call a dream--to me it was a prophetic vision. I was in my '64 Cadillac Coupe Deville like I was David Ruffin himself, and in the passenger seat was my baby, Phylicia Rashad. We were singing along with the radio off key at the top of our lungs, eating cereal, and everything else that goes on in a perfect day. Then, out of nowhere, the world turned to bright white light coming from my ceiling fan with Momma standing over me saying, "You better fix ya face before I come fix it for you."
But this time, I didn't fix my face. I stood my ground. Phylicia Rashad doesn't make cameos in just anybody's dreams. I was special, and as far as I was concerned, Momma was blocking.
She paused briefly before running back to her room. I was shocked because I never thought of Momma as the type to retreat, but then I realized that she didn't retreat.
She just needed a moment to turn on her stereo.
Whitney Houston's It's Not Right, But It's Okay blasted through the house and Momma came out with her robe flying behind her like a cape. She whooped me so bad I started snitching on complete strangers, giving away government secrets, and offering bribes I didn't have.
Till this day, I'll never understand why somebody would bob and weave so much without their opponent ever swinging back. But Momma did, all to Whitney Houston's song. Her super hero music.
But now that she was older, all that changed. Her powers were intuitive and more spiritually inclined. So when she "felt something wasn't right," she acted on it.
She began talking to me about young black men and depression, the hopelessness we felt but was never encouraged to talked about.
Me, I always felt I could speak out and I knew that people would listen. I had family that loved me, especially her and my sisters. But unless someone could change my situation, the "It's going to be alright", and "Just pray about it" mantras wouldn't help. It's like you're starving and someone is telling you, "Just think about food. You'll feel full in no time."
No.
Only one thing will make it all better and that's if it all gets better. If you can't make that happen, you get an E for effort, but no thank you.
To people like me, death wasn't taboo. It was inevitable. Unless you're Tupac, then of course, you live forever. But since the rest of us had to leave this earth one day, I had every intention of seeing myself to the door. Depression was just presenting a not-so-attractive early retirement package.
But that was then.
If all goes well, death will wait until I'm about 80, and only then I'll go out with a bang. Me, my notepad full of bucket list bullet points all crossed out but one, trench coat with no clothes on underneath, on my way to snort a bag of coke that'd make Tony Montana jealous.
Okay, maybe not the bag of coke. But something that was too dangerous to try when I had my whole life ahead of me that seemed like a lot of fun.
In the meantime, I took Momma's advice and started considering new hobbies and a bigger circle of friends. I had to find something else to fill the void after realizing my career in football meant being a sprained ankle away from pushing grocery store shopping carts the rest of my life.
With a limp.
I was still cordial with most of my former teammates but I didn't smoke weed, play video games, walk around musty, rem
ixing Top Ramen recipes with hotdogs all day. So I didn't fit in.
My social slate was clean with everything except memories.
So, I took up the closest thing to it--photography. It was a natural transition for me: a dreamer, a visionary. I also had a special place in my heart for a woman's body. Society had demonized and over sexualized it, but to me, it was a work of art.
As fate would have it, there was a baby boom of aspiring models coincidentally as Instagram was on the come-up. So, I got in where I fit in as the go-to guy for all their online-attention fix needs.
In just a few weeks, I was making more money than I did at the diner I'd gotten fired from, which was fine. Just about anything beats walking around, eyeballing tables for some charitable loose change after multiple runs to the napkin station despite articulating my offer for extra napkins to perfection.
Yeah, wasn't missing that too much.
My photo shoot sessions were sexy, like scenes from Love Jones. Music, low lighting, drinks(BYOB of course), and a huge mirror beside the camera took the model's mind off of the shoot, giving her the feeling of superstardom. Front and center. Beyoncé-wind through the hair and everything. That confidence percolated through sensual poses and made for much better shots.
Small talk flowed in between the clicks of my camera, which became the vessel for all of their problems with men, family, and stress in general. The power I felt as their photographer to make them feel both sexy and mentally comforted was addicting.
One drawback was the inevitable attraction that festered after a few shoots. Such an awkward spot to be put in because I was a professional who kept it strictly business. At least I tried to.
"So, your fine ass is single, about to graduate, and all you want to do on the weekend is cuddle up with your Nikon?" Chantel asked, staring through my bullshit I was about to feed her.
She was cocky, but for good reason, and mixed business and pleasure like it was an apple martini.
A long 5'10" with a prominent four-pack, her back, shoulders, and thighs equally toned. She may have been mixed with a little Dominican not too far up the family tree, which would explain the silky smooth, cropped do. Her tight eyes and narrow jawline made her resemble a cocoa butter complexioned Nia Long from Friday.
"Well, yeah. I can hold several women in my memory card at a time. No strings attached, no soul searching when I see a herpes commercial; none of that." I laughed, trying to deflect her request to hang out some time.
"But I thought you said I was sexy?" she retorted.
"But I didn't say you were the only one."
"Whatever. I won't push it. Let me know when the final edits are done so I can get them to my agent. If you change your mind about getting out of this lonely ass apartment, you know the number," She put her elbows through the sleeves of her shirt. Slowly. Making sure I didn't miss a thing as her hourglass wiggled a few times, flexing the V shape of her hips and exposing her whiskey-colored nipples.
We had just wrapped up an implied topless shoot leaving me to once again do the rain dance on my penis' pretty picnic. Never a fun event.
"Cool. You know it may help if you start working with other photographers. You're going to have to, eventually, when you're ripping the runway and stuff," I suggested, putting my camera back in my bag.
She came up close to me."Maybe, maybe not. If they want me to model for them, they'll play by my rules. And when I play, I play to win," she said, seductively releasing her bottom lip from the clinch of her teeth.
All she was missing was the forbidden fruit, but if she had it, she would've had me asking for seconds.
But she didn't. So, I grabbed my tripod and pretended I wasn't fazed. She rolled her eyes as if I was out of my mind and walked towards the door.
In the beginning, we never talked outside of the photo shoots. Like I said, I was a professional.
That all changed when she began sending bathroom mirror glamour shots, asking for my "professional" opinion. A part of me wanted to tell her to chill because I was still a man. The "still a man" part sat back and enjoyed the show.
Did I dabble with the thought of reliving my younger days of recreational sex, cheap dates, and excuses as to why I couldn't settle down? Of course I did. But I had to leave that in the past. Not because I'm just this awesome guy, but because I couldn't keep a consistent erection ever since my break up with Danielle, not even when I was alone. It was psychological, I think, but I was either going to wait out my little heartbreak phase or earn a nickname after my limp noodle.
Involuntary celibacy it was.
Jazmin never quite left my mind either. Every little thing reminded me of her: cheesecake, condoms, violence. I know, that's a weird combination.
But I still wish our last words weren't our last words. She never stopped being there for me even when it meant she couldn't be there with me. She was a friend, and I don't use that term loosely.
But since she moved back to Atlanta after the last time I had seen her, it was time for me to make new ones. Male ones this time.
The difference between me and the rest of my generation is that I didn't yearn for clique-affiliation. I could go anywhere by myself and have a blast, and most times I did. I would most likely be the leader if I did have a group of friends, but leaders have to enjoy being bothered because that's what followers do. And I damn sure wasn't a follower. But the only way to make an intentional effort to get acquainted with more males in a heterosexual way was through one of the biggest cliques on campus--a fraternity.
They operated like friendly, helpful, educated gangs. The signs they threw up, the calls they did to each other, and their colors reminded me of Crips and Bloods back home, except they weren't violent. In fact, they even did organized line dances on occasion. Non-threatening and talented.
I passed by one of their members all the time. I think he knew me from playing football as most people on campus did. His name was Ronnie, but we only addressed each other by head nods and perfunctory what ups.
Ronnie was a nerd. Not the kind who whimpered off in a corner afraid to look up when jocks walked by. But the "Steve Urkel meets confidence of Kanye," "fight to the death if you dare not recognize his Halloween costume was from season two of Star Wars" type of nerd.
But he was always courteous to me, so talking to him was worth a shot.
I saw him walking outside the cafe one day and figured it wouldn't hurt to ask him for more info on his fraternity. Little did I know.
"Shhhh," he said, whispering and yelling at the same time. "You're all out in the open with this, dude!"
"Out in the open? You act like this is the CIA or something."
"Look here, meet me in ten minutes on the other side of campus behind the old business building. Come alone and make sure you're not being followed." he said, still checking over our shoulders for spies...I think.
We went to our cars from there. He drove a much newer one than I, speeding off while slamming on brakes to carefully ease over the speed bumps nearby. His paranoia was rubbing off on me.
I followed not too far behind, pulled up to the spot, and before I could open my door he was already hopping in the front seat.
"Okay, so let me get this straight. You wanna be down with the brothers. Am I right?" he asked.
No dumb ass, I wanna buy a unicorn and ride off into the sunset.
"Yeah, I do."
"You sure?" he said with a look of chagrin.
"Yeah. But I'm also trying to find out more about it first. It seems interesting."
"Interesting? No. A Rubik's Cube is interesting. My dear Alpha Kappa Omega is more than just interesting. We are a service to all mankind with a life-long brotherly bond that can never be broken." As I listened to him without an obvious expression of awe, he turned in his seat to get a better look at me, cocked his head sideways and said, "Wait, you really don't know anything about us, do you?"
I stared blankly for a moment, trying not to offend him. The truth would do it. A lie would too. S
o I just kept silent, and somehow, that did it anyway.
He went to open the car door.
"Wait a minute! Okay, so maybe I don't know much about y'all, but I'm a good dude. And I'm a fast learner."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"That means that if you give me a few days, I'll know everything about Alpha Kappa Omega. If I don't, we'll act like this never happened. Cool?"
He scratched his chin and looked away for a second so as to think. Already the dynamic was shifting to him being my superior. I didn't like it, he seemed to love it, but I didn't have much of a choice.
"All right, except a few days is too long. I'll meet you at my apartment tomorrow at the West Commons, third floor, door 312. Be there at six p.m. sharp. I may have companions over so be cool until I tell you otherwise. Nobody needs to know about any of this." He reached out for a handshake.
Later on that evening, I scrolled through my phone for new texts, rereading old ones and hoping a new one would pop up while I did so. But a new text wouldn't be good enough. If it wasn't from Danielle, then it was just a false alarm.
For what it was worth, we did manage to stay in touch with an occasional right-after-church talk when we crossed paths. "Hey, how you been? God is good. I can't complain. Nice seeing you." That talk. It's what most couples do when they make an agreement their heart doesn't sign off on as did Danielle and
I couldn't focus on anything.
My bed felt like a double king sized reminder of loneliness, and dreams got replaced by memories on repeat through a night of insomnia. Too hot, too cold, too hungry, too full, gotta pee; something was always wrong enough to keep me up at night.
My phone vibrated from an incoming text. I got excited until I saw who it was from.
Chantel: Hey you.[8:52 p.m.]
To pay her back for getting my hopes up, I was tempted to do my three-and-out. That's where I respond to three messages and then just stop, a technique commonly used by the ain't-shit population that I found useful from time to time. But she didn't deserve it so I just closed out of the messages altogether and went to go do my studying.
