by Noelle Vella
Ana had a way of getting her point across, yet still sounding eloquent at the same time—unlike Mom or me, who were crass as hell and didn’t give a fuck. Dalisay couldn’t verbally tangle with Ana, so she went for the next available target . . . Mom.
“And why did you bring your mother? This simple-minded bitch isn’t good for much of anything.”
Damn, and I actually married this disrespectful bitch? What did I ever see in her? I guess her true colors were finally showing. “Dalisay, talk about my mom again and it’s over.”
“What, you don’t want me to talk about how this stupid, ignorant whore had six bastard kids by five different men? Or how about the fact that she didn’t even finish high school? It’s a wonder any of you even finished, considering who your mother was. I knew she never liked me, but guess what, Betty Jean? I never liked you either,” she said, pure venom in her tone.
“By the way, Carl,” she continued, “that was one thing I really couldn’t stand about you; how you felt the need to take care of everybody in your fucking family. You spent tens of thousands of dollars on them . . . money that could have been spent elsewhere. Claimed you wanted your family to have the best opportunities money could buy. Thing is, you did it on your own, so why couldn’t they? I wanted to leave New York years ago, but because of them, you wouldn’t leave. I was your wife. I should have come first. And for the record, I wanted to have a child, just not with you. I was afraid the stupid gene would rub off.”
The bitch had already crossed a line talking about my mom. She knew what my mom had been through growing up, and now she was using it against her. And she was trying to make it seem like she got nothing while my family got everything. But when she mentioned why she didn’t want to have my child, it seemed as if someone had taken over my body. As I stepped toward her, I saw fear in Dalisay’s eyes. I was ready to put my hands around her neck; that was, until Mom stepped in front of me.
“It’s okay, son, I’ve got this,” she said, putting her hands on her my shoulders, again calming me down. Ana reached out to me, pulling me further away from Dalisay, who was still within arm’s reach.
Mom was country ghetto and knew how to scrap physically as well as verbally, so I stepped off, allowing her to handle Dalisay. Turning to face her, Mom put her hands on her oversized hips, saying, “Let me tell you something, Miss Wannabe High Society Bourgeois Gold Digging Tramp. I will admit I’ve made a lot of mistakes, least of which was not being the best mother to my children, but at least I never lied, cheated, nor have I made goddamn excuses for my bad life choices.
“My son is a damn good man, definitely too good for the likes of a no-account piece of shit like you. He took care of his family because, unlike you, he believes in family. You would have been damn lucky for him to be the father of your child. You’ve ridden his gravy train for over seventeen long goddamn years. He took care of your trifling ass and took care of your fuckin’ family too. He gave you the world, and you gave him your stankin’ ass to kiss, you skanky piece of gutter trash. Yeah, you may have a little money doin’ what you do, and I may not be the smartest person out there, but I am smart enough to know that your net worth is nothing compared to Carl’s. He can buy and sell your silly ass several times over.
“And you have the fuckin’ nerve to call me a stupid, ignorant whore? You, the dumb ass who cheated on her husband, fucked another man, and got pregnant by him? You’re the one who’s carrying a bastard child. So now, who’s the stupid, ignorant whore? And let me tell you something else; you may, by some chance, get your baby daddy to marry you, but mark my words, you keep ’em how you get ’em. So good luck with that, bitch. Guess it’s true what they say . . . You can’t turn a ho into a housewife.”
All I could do was stand there in awe. I can honestly admit that I was genuinely proud of my mother; proud of her for the way she handled Dalisay, proud of her for owning up to her mistakes, and proud of her for standing up for me the way she did. Mom walked up to Dalisay, standing directly in front of her.
“And one more thing,” she said.
Next thing I knew, Mom had pulled her hand back like a slingshot bitch-slapping Dalisay square across the face. She slapped her so hard, Dali flew across the room. When she steadied herself, I saw the imprint left by Mom’s fingers.
“I’ve wanted to slap that smug taste out of your mouth for years. How ya like me now, hooker?” Mom said, heading toward the front door, her chest puffed out. Ana just shook her head, following behind Mom.
“I’ll expect those locks to be changed back no later than Monday.” I turned on my heel, leaving Dalisay in shock, holding her cheek, leaning against a wall. If Mom wanted me to smile more, that display just earned her one at the very least.
* * *
A few hours later and I was still fuming. I had dropped off Mom and Ana, but was still angry. Mom wanted me to stay with them for a while until I cooled off; afraid I was going to go back to the house. She made me promise that I wouldn’t, and she knew I would keep my word. Instead of going there, I drove to Brooklyn, intending to hang at Diego’s place. I called him, only to find out that he was at his parents’ house in Queens. He told me to wait for him, so I parked my car, then walked to one of the bars we frequented. It was right up the block from Diego. By the time he got there, I was in seven shots of tequila deep, and that was after three beers. Diego had the bartender cut me off, paid my tab, and made me walk back to his condo.
“Can you believe that shit?” I said, after filling him in. I had plopped down on the oversized leather couch in the living room.
“Yeah, Miss Betty Jean called me after you did. She gave me the play-by-play while I was driving home. Dalisay is really a piece of work. But I told you that a long time ago, and you refused to listen.”
I threw up my hands. “Here you go again.” Diego was on his “I told you so” bullshit, but I allowed him continue.
“Look, man, do you want a friend or a yes-man, because you know I’m never going to lie to you nor tell you what you want to hear? So here it is straight, no chaser; stop acting brand new like you’re surprised by her actions. I told you from the beginning you shouldn’t have gotten involved with Dalisay, let alone married her. I told you she was a gold digger. That woman didn’t give you the time of day until she found out about your internship and job offer from Apple.
“Hell, even Miss Betty Jean warned you about her time and again, but because she was your mom, and you had problems with her, you tuned her out. Because of your fuckin’ Mommy issues, you chased after Dalisay and a host of other non-black females on campus; anyone who didn’t remind you of your mom in some way.
“And it’s funny because you had some of the most beautiful, intelligent sistas feeling you; some of them much hotter and way smarter than Dalisay, but because of their race—your race—you wouldn’t give them the time of day. You claimed you liked Dalisay because of her ambition, but some of those women were just as ambitious, if not more so. And what did you call them? Too independent for their own damn good. Now, you see, Dalisay took ambition to a whole new level, and you’re mad as fuck. While I sympathize with you, bro, don’t be salty now because I was right.”
Damn this smug motherfucker! I came here looking for some support, not another lecture on why I never dated black women, and definitely not another lecture on why I shouldn’t have married Dali.
“You know what, man, I don’t need this,” I said, pretty sure I was slurring my words. “But while we’re being so honest with each other, bro, here’s some truth for you. Don’t act like your ass is an expert on women, because you’re not. You think you’ve got Ricki right where you want her, and she’s okay with your arrangement. But I’m here to tell you, she’s not. That little girl only stays around because she’s in love with you. Mark my words, that shit’s gonna come back to bite you in the ass one day.”
Diego had a smirk on his face. “That day will never come because Ricki and I are about to be done.”
I looked at hi
m, raising an eyebrow. “Why? Has your child paramour finally wised up, or are just tired of her like all of the other women you’ve discarded over the years?” He didn’t answer. “And speaking of all your past bed buddies, let’s talk about the reason why your ass can’t commit to any woman.”
“Let’s not,” he said. I could tell he was pissed off, but I didn’t give a fuck.
“You can tell me about my epic relationship failure, but I can’t return the favor? Negro, please! I warned you from the jump that Carmelita was a ho of a first-class nature. Hell, she was passed around more than a joint at a reggae concert. You knew I even tapped that.
“But no, you thought you could make an honest woman out of that tramp; called yourself catchin’ feelings and shit. And how did that work out for you? Oh wait . . . It didn’t. She cheated on your ass. Had you crying like a little bitch. And even after you dropped her like the bad habit she was, you still went on banging her—why, I have no idea. She fucked you up so badly, you can’t even be in a meaningful relationship. You may not be able to admit it, but Carmelita still controls your ass. You think you’re being honest with all the women you’ve been with, but really, you’re just making sad, sorry excuses for why you hit and run. So don’t preach to me about how I treat black women, because, dude, you ain’t no prize either.”
“You done?” he asked, anger in his eyes. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought he wanted to hit me.
“Yeah,” I replied.
“Well, let me set you straight on a few things. First of all, Carmelita did not have me crying like a little bitch, as you so eloquently put it,” he said, sarcasm oozing from his tone. “Second, at least I didn’t try to wife her or have a kid with her, unlike you did with Dalisay. Now, I would throw your drunk ass out, but you can’t drive right now. Plus, I wouldn’t be your friend if I did put your ass out on the street. So keep your motherfuckin’ ass on that couch, and sleep that shit off,” he said, walking away from me.
Yeah, I had definitely hit a nerve. Otherwise, he would have let me sleep in one of the guest bedrooms. Oh-fuckin’-well, truth hurts. I kicked my shoes off, stretching out on the couch. Diego may not have wanted to talk to me, but I knew someone who would. Before I went to sleep, I sent a text message to the one person I knew would be glad to hear from me.
Epilogue
Part II: Mischelle
It had been a month. One month since I’d been to Tybee Island and almost two since my marriage had fallen apart. As crazy as it sounded, I came back from Tybee with the hopes that maybe there was something left of my marriage to salvage. I even prayed that it had all been one big nightmare. Malik’s cheating, me and Carl . . . anything to put my life back the way it was before. But there was no nightmare. Only the cold reality that my family had been pulled apart.
Malik wasn’t coming back. He had seriously walked out on me and the children, and there was nothing I could do about it. No matter how much I’d cried, begged, and pleaded, Malik didn’t care. He had made up his mind that he was done. I never thought this would be us. After I got back home, things got worse. Malik no longer talked to me as if I was his wife. Malik and I had gotten into knock-down, drag-out fights. He threatened to take the children, and I told him it would be a cold day in hell. There had been some physical altercations, more so on his part than mine.
I struggled to pay bills. If it hadn’t been for food stamps, the kids and I would go hungry. I think the worst part of it all, the part that sickened me the most, was when I found out Malik had been taking money from home and spending it on the side girl. He hadn’t been paying the car note as I thought he was. I didn’t find that out until the dealership called me with a threat to repossess the car. It took me six hours to finally get in contact with Malik—only for him to act as if I had no right to question him.
I tried to be the bigger person in our situation, but Malik wouldn’t let me. He would take the car and stay the night at Janay’s house. He knew we had to take the children to school daily but each morning, he would show up late to do so. I shed tears because it became more apparent to me that my husband had little to no respect for me, our children, or our home.
As the days went on, I could hardly pretend nothing was wrong. Professor Hall picked up on the fact that I was going through something.
“You wear your emotions on your face. Did you know that?” he’d asked one day after one of our mock trial sessions at the courthouse.
Those sessions were my favorite thing about his criminal law and justice class. I got to live out my fantasy of being a lawyer and breaking down the ins and outs of the criminal justice system. Professor Hall wore glasses and had locs too. I said too because I couldn’t help but think of Carl from time to time when I looked at the professor. My body heated up at the thought of the man who I’d shared my weekend affair with.
“I’ve heard it before, a time or two,” I answered him.
He smiled down at me. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
I shook my head. “I doubt it. I’m just stressed. Things going on at home.”
I checked my phone again. Malik had told me he would pick me up since he refused to leave the car with me. But I’d been sitting on those steps outside the courthouse for almost an hour. All of my classmates had gone home, so I’d missed any chance of getting a ride with them. Professor Hall took a seat beside me. He laid his brown leather carrying case on the step in front of him, and then gazed out over the parking lot before looking back at me.
“Is that the reason you’re sitting out here on these steps? I’ve been waiting on you to leave for a while. I’m not going to leave you sitting out here by yourself,” he told me.
“Oh, you don’t have to do that. My hus—Malik said he would pick me up.”
I felt bad that he had been waiting on me before he would go home.
“Does he know what time class ended?”
“He does.”
“You know, when you mentioned his name you cringed. Not to mention I notice your wedding set is no longer on your finger.”
Damn, he was observant, I thought. I’d sold my rings so I could pay the electric bill for the month. Had been walking through the mall and the lady at a booth that boasted of buying gold asked me if I wanted to sell my rings. I got seventy-five bucks for the whole set. That money went right to Georgia Power. I was about to try to deny everything, but before I knew it, my tears betrayed me.
I could feel the professor watching me, but he was smart enough not to say anything for a while. Then he wrapped an arm around my shoulders.
“You’re a smart young woman, Mischelle. One of the brightest students I’ve had in my classes for a long time. I’m not going to tell you you’re strong because right now, you aren’t. You’re hurting, and this kind of pain is the hardest in the world to deal with. You feel like a failure. You’re wondering when your marriage slipped away from you.”
I looked over at him through my tears. I had to wonder if he had been in a situation similar to what I was going through because he was hitting all the nails on their heads.
“It burns me up inside so bad,” I told him, my sobs flowing in earnest.
“I know. I went through a divorce last year. I felt your pain a mile away because it was familiar to mine.”
“Does it ever get better?” I asked as the wind whipped around us.
He nodded once. “In time it does. But until then, cry when need to, but never let him break your spirit. Okay? Sometimes the Most High closes one door so he can open many more.” He stood, then offered me his hand so I could stand. “Come on. Let me take you home.”
I wanted to tell him he didn’t have to, but I could pretty much figure out that Malik wasn’t coming at this point. On the drive home, he told me if I needed help with my divorce, he knew someone who could help me.
“I can’t afford an attorney,” I told him after he parked in front of my apartment.
“Don’t worry about that. Just let me know if you need help,”
he responded.
I smiled. So did he, and for a moment, I swore he was Carl all over again. I wouldn’t say it was because they looked alike, but more so because of the knight-in-shining-armor similarities. I thanked him, then made my way inside.
Needless to say, Malik never showed up. My mother had picked up the kids from day care like she always did on Fridays. The one thing I didn’t want to hear was a lecture from her, but I knew I was going to get one. So I prepared myself. She walked into my apartment with her nose turned in the air and eyes roaming as always. She had on a long black skirt and a simple white blouse. Black flats adorned her feet, and her hair sat in a bun. Her almond butter complexion glowed naturally.
“A lady never goes to bed with a dirty house,” she told me.
“I’m cleaning now,” I drably replied.
“What’s going on with you and Malik? What’s this mess all about?”
“Malik is mad because he wants me to be something I’m not. So he decided to find a young, hot-in-the-ass trollop to be what he wanted.”
“A woman is supposed to be whatever her husband tells her to be. If he wants you to be his whore, then you be the nastiest God-fearing whore you can be. No marriage bed is defiled.”
Her words pricked me like thorns as I walked through my home cleaning. Malik could do no wrong in her eyes. He was the best thing that had ever happened to me according to her. She was sitting at my kitchen table, preaching as I cleaned.
“You still going to school, I see. A married woman don’t need all that education. You make that man feel less than he is talking about you doing that for the family. That’s telling him you don’t believe in him, trust in him enough to provide for his family.”
I plopped down on my sofa. Dumped the clean laundry I’d done earlier to the floor so I could fold and put away clothes.
“That’s the problem. Most new age women think they more man than the man they got at home. You keep a clean house. Keep them kids up while that man goes out and brings home the bacon. All that independent crap gon’ leave you alone. I tried to tell you. A man shouldn’t have to work, and then come to work some more. A good woman keeps her man well rested so he can go out into the workforce and make a living. Clean up after your husband. It’s what any wife worth her weight in gold does. You doing too much, writing all that filth and taking classes. When you make time for that man you married?”
