Me, Myself and Him

by E. N. Joy

  Dawson could hardly contain himself. He wanted to explode at the thought that his little brother finally had a woman in his life. He hated to admit it, but the last time they were at the gym and his brother told him that he had never been with a woman before, he wondered if Drake was gay and had only dated women in the past as a cover-up. And maybe that was why he was so into God; because he thought God could deliver him from this homosexual thing. Whew, Dawson thought as he grinned devilishly at his brother.

  “Will you stop looking at me like that?” Drake said to Dawson as he ate a chip from his bag.

  “Sorry, man. I’m just shocked. I mean, when you decided to go for it, you really, really went for it, huh? I’m just glad that you went for it, because for a minute there—”

  “It ain’t even like that.” Drake cut Dawson off because he couldn’t have him thinking that he had slept with the woman he was referring to. “I ain’t went for nothing yet.”

  “Ah-ha, you said yet!”

  “That’s not what I meant . . .”

  “My little brother seeing a married woman. Satan must be proud. That’s one point for him.” Dawson jokingly patted his brother on the shoulder.

  “Will you stop it?” Drake said, pulling away angrily. Dawson could tell that his brother meant business. “I’m not seeing a married woman. I haven’t slept with her or anything like that.” He paused and shamefully admitted, “I’m lusting after her.”

  A puzzled look covered Dawson’s face. “Lusting? Is that all? You mean you haven’t stepped to her? I mean the chick doesn’t even know you diggin’ her?”

  “No, and if God answers my prayers soon, I won’t be digging her.”

  “How can God keep you from feelin’ a broad? I mean, if she’s hot, she’s hot. You’re a man. God knows that. He made you, right?”

  “I’m just banking on Second Peter, chapter two, verse nine: ‘The Lord knoweth how to deliver the godly out of temptation.’ ” Drake just shook his head as if he was in agony over his internal battle against his attraction toward Hannah. He had even had a wet dream about her the night before. He woke up, and after cleaning himself up and changing his bedding, he spent the rest of the night on his knees repenting.

  Dawson saw the anguish on his brother’s face, yet he felt no sympathy. “See, that’s what I don’t understand about you Christians. How can you possibly enjoy life when it seems as though you are doing nothing but constantly worrying about God and what Jesus would do and all that crap? It just seems so tormenting. I mean, y’all talk about how much y’all love Jesus. If you love Him so much, shouldn’t pleasing Him be the easiest thing in the world to do?”

  Drake had to admit that he was a little stumped by Dawson’s comment. “You’d think it would be, huh?” He made a mental note to find scripture that perhaps explained why it was easy to talk of one’s love for Christ, yet so hard to walk a good walk with Christ.

  “You are sitting here beating yourself up over thoughts you are having. Well, stop thinking those thoughts then. If you feel having those thoughts is upsetting God, then stop it.” Dawson snapped his finger. “Just like that. Stop thinking them if you want to please your God so bad. I know I love Locksie, and I don’t even have to think twice about pleasing her, no matter what the cost. If I can do it for a human, and this God you all worship is so mighty and omnipotent, then why can’t you Christians seem to please Him no matter what the cost?”

  Once again, Drake remained silent. And on that note, Dawson took a sip of his drink and sat back with a sense of victory as his brother, for the first time since he could remember, had no comeback.

  Chapter 18

  “How was your day?” Locksie asked Dawson as the two sat cuddled on the sofa watching CSI. This was the time, late evening in front of the tube, when the two of them talked and expressed themselves to one another. They didn’t go out to dinner much, to the movies or hit the town like a lot of couples did, but the quality time they spent with each other in the home was invaluable to them. They felt the intimate one-on-one time together allowed them to become closer without the outside interference of the world.

  “Besides the fact that I lightweight got into it with my brother, it was a pretty good day.”

  Locksie’s ears sprung open at the reference to Drake. Her tiff with her aunt had been weighing heavily on her heart, and she wanted to talk to Dawson about it, but seeing what she could fish out of him about Drake seemed of more relevance to her right now.

  “Drake? What did you two get into it about?” Locksie sat up from her previous position, nestled on Dawson’s chest. She always loved how she could feel the cut of his body by just pressing up against it. His muscles were a sign of strength, a strength that she felt protected by.

  “I don’t know if I should say that we got into it, but we kind of ended our conversation on a sour and silent note. It’s just that I’m so tired of folks acting like they are so goody-goody when they are human and make mistakes just like the rest of us.”

  Locksie could feel herself getting a little excited. She hadn’t even put any bait on the hook, and already she had a bite. “So, what did he do? I mean, I can’t imagine your brother, who should have been a preacher,”—Locksie was sarcastic—“making a mistake.”

  “He’s diggin’ on some chick. And she just happens to be married.”

  Now this was just too easy for Locksie. She thought she was going to explode, but instead she just listened to see how much more information she could get before she confronted Hannah.

  Wait until I tell Aunt Mary this. She’s always preaching that stuff about waiting on confirmation. Well, here it is!

  “So, what’s her name?” Come on, come on . . . bring it home.

  “I don’t know. I didn’t even ask.”

  That’s not what Locksie wanted to hear. She wanted the nail in the coffin; the smoking gun, more confirmation. But then she had to remind herself that she had seen the two together with her own eyes, and that eyes don’t lie.

  “I don’t even want to talk about it,” Dawson said. He stared at the television as if everything was cool, but Locksie could tell that something else was on Dawson’s mind.

  “Something else wrong? I mean besides what’s going on with you and your brother?”

  “Nah, it’s all good,” Dawson said, not even looking in Locksie’s direction.

  Locksie turned her attention back toward the television and let him be, but after a few minutes of silence, she asked, “Are we okay?”

  “Are we? You tell me.”

  Locksie could tell by his tone that they weren’t. She picked up the remote and turned off the television.

  “Hey, what’s up with that?” he fussed.

  “I wanna talk.”

  “Okay, and what does the TV being off have to do with you talking?” Dawson tried to grab the remote out of Locksie’s hands, but she quickly stuffed it down her pants. “Oh, and do you think that’s going to stop me?” He grinned. “I look forward to having a reason to get in your pants.”

  Pushing him away with a chuckle, Locksie said, “Seriously. I think we need to talk.”

  Dawson released a sigh of defeat and flopped lifelessly back against the couch. “So, talk.”

  “You go first. Just say what’s on your mind, because it’s clear to me that something has definitely been on your mind lately.”

  “Why do you say that?” Dawson stalled. He did want to talk to Locksie. After all, talking with his brother wasn’t getting him anywhere. Perhaps Drake was right and he needed to hear from the horse’s mouth exactly what was her problem with him.

  “Because you haven’t been acting yourself lately.”

  Sarcastically, Dawson mumbled under his breath, “If that ain’t the pot calling the kettle black.”

  Locksie pulled the remote out of her pants and threw it on the table. She then huffed and crossed her arms. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

  Finally, Dawson just spit it out. “What it means is that here lat
ely you’ve been acting like your stuff,”—he pointed to her private area—“is made of fragile crystal, and it’s been like walking around on egg shells trying to get near it.”

  Locksie’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “I have not.”

  “Please,” Dawson spat as he stood up from the couch and began pacing. “You don’t want me to see you naked anymore, you pretend to be ’sleep just so I won’t ask you for none, and on the times you do give me some—which is a lot less than usual these days, might I add—you just lay there like your mind is a million miles away. Afterwards, you either lay in the bed lifeless, staring up at the ceiling, or run and jump in the shower like a rape victim trying to wash my scent off of you.”

  “Stop it! You stop it right there!” Locksie stood angrily.

  Dawson could have kicked himself for that last statement. Although he had expressed those feelings to his brother, he should have been more considerate than to have verbalized it to Locksie, considering what she had been through with her aunt Mary, who years ago had been brutally raped and left for dead.

  “Locks, baby, I’m—” Dawson said, reaching for her before she hit his hand away.

  “Don’t touch me, Dawson.” Locksie wiped away the couple of tears that had slipped out and then gained her composure. “Look, maybe I have been acting a little weird when it comes to sex.” Now Locksie was the one pacing. “I just, I don’t know, I’m just starting to feel differently about it is all.”

  “Different how?” Dawson was desperate to know. “Is it me? You tired of the same ol’ same ol’? Am I getting too big? I mean muscle-wise? I can stop hitting the weights as much and just—”

  “Dawson, no. It’s not you. It’s nothing like that. I love your body. I love your muscles.”

  “Then what is it?” Dawson was tired of Locksie’s soap opera dramatics. Whatever it was that was bothering her when it came to their sex life, Dawson wanted her to spit it out so that they could start repairing it and things could get back to normal.

  “It’s Him,” Locksie said. Her arm was straight down, but her hand and index finger were pointing up. She looked down, almost as if she was embarrassed.

  “Him?” Dawson said, trying not to reveal his slight anger. The last thing he imagined Locksie telling him was that another man was coming between their sex life. This he wasn’t ready for. “Him who? Who is him, Locksie?”

  “Him.” Locksie looked upward while slightly nodding her head, still pointing her finger.

  “Woman, what the heck are you talking about?”

  “God. That’s who Him is—God.”

  Dawson followed with his eyes up to the ceiling. “Oh, geez, you’ve got to be kidding.” Once again, he flopped back onto the couch. He thought about the talks he and Drake had and could do nothing but just burst out laughing. Was it possible that his little brother’s assessment of the situation had been on point?

  “What’s so funny?” Locksie asked, somewhat confused.

  Laughing so hard, Dawson could barely speak. “Nothing,” he said with a laugh. “It’s just that Drake . . .” He continued laughing. “Drake said it was probably something like this. Who knew? I guess my little brother knows more about women than I thought.”

  Now Locksie was curious as she sat down next to Dawson. “What’s this about Drake?” She chuckled a little, only because Dawson’s laughter was somewhat contagious. Dawson didn’t answer her questions. He was too busy laughing. “What did Drake say?” Once again she chuckled, but on the inside, she was boiling mad at just the mere thought that Dawson had discussed their sexual relationship with his brother.

  “Oh, nothing,” Dawson said as he got his laughter under control. “It’s just when I mentioned to him how you had been acting lately, he mentioned that God might have something to do with it. I just can’t believe he’s right. I mean, since when do you care about the commandments and what other people think?”

  “How could you talk to Drake about our sex life?”

  “What sex life?” Dawson reminded her.

  Locksie was appalled. “I can’t believe you!” she shouted as she grabbed her purse and keys.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Out. I need to think.”

  Locksie opened the door, but before she closed it behind her, she heard Dawson yell out, “Well, while you’re out, perhaps you can pick me up some lotion or Vaseline . . . and a dirty magazine too. Because with the way things are going around here, that’s all the action I’m going to be getting.”

  Locksie slammed the door so hard that a picture fell off the wall and fell onto the ground, shattering into a million little pieces . . . just like her heart.

  Chapter 19

  “Ouch!” Hannah yelled as Locksie ran the comb through her hair.

  “Oh, my bad,” Locksie stated insincerely.

  “Are you mad at me or something?” Hannah turned in the styling chair and asked Locksie as she rubbed her sore head.

  “No, why do you ask that? Should I be?” Locksie roughly spun her chair back around and continued running the comb through Hannah’s hair, which she had just washed and conditioned.

  “Ouch!” Hannah yelled once again.

  “Sorry.” Locksie shrugged. “More nappies than usual today. Guess you are black.” Locksie chuckled, but Hannah found nothing funny.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Oh, nothing. Just trying to add a little humor to the situation. Sorry if I’m hurting you.”

  “Well, there’s no if about it. You are hurting me.”

  “I’m sorry,” Locksie said with a huffy attitude. “I’m your friend. I would never hurt you or lie to you.” Locksie had to open that can of worms just to see if Hannah would slither out.

  Hannah turned in her chair again to face Locksie. “Are you having sex issues with Dawson again? Because if you are, don’t be taking it out on me. Unless you plan on losing your regular clients—because they aren’t going to have any hair left for you to do if you keep snatching it all out in a comb—I suggest you push aside all those thoughts about sinning and fornication and get laid!” Hannah spun back around in her chair.

  “Why, is that what you do, Hannah? When you are having issues you go out and get laid?”

  “No, it’s not,” Hannah replied with furrowed eyebrows.

  “Oh, not with your husband anyway,” Locksie said as quietly as she could under her breath.

  “What? What did you say?” Hannah didn’t just turn around in her chair; she rose up out of it.

  “Oh, by the way, my Mary Kay facial session went well. I mean it was a lovely affair. We had it at a different hotel this time. We had it at the Hilton Easton. I’m sure you’ve been there. As a matter of fact, I thought I saw you there.” Locksie played stupid and put her index finger to her head. “Oh, but that’s right. It couldn’t have been you because you had a meeting with Reggie.”

  “Locksie, what are you talking about?” Hannah looked puzzled. Her meeting at the Hilton was far from her mind.

  “You know exactly what I’m talking about. You can play the little dumb white girl all you want, but just remember, I know you’re black. And I know when a sistah is getting her swerve on.”

  “How dare you,” Hannah said, snatching off her cape. “Enough with all the black and white comments. You wanna see black?” Hannah began taking off her earrings. “I’ll show you black. Now all I need is a jar of Vaseline . . . that is if Dawson hasn’t used it all.”

  “Locksie, can I see you in the back for a minute? I can’t find the Redkin conditioner,” Jem said after clearing her throat. She could see that things were about to get ugly, so she had decided to intervene.

  Locksie threw the comb down onto her station and stomped off to the back storage room with Jem. “The Redkin conditioner is right there,” Locksie said harshly.

  “Look, little mama, I know exactly where the conditioner is,” Jem said, pointing at Locksie. “What I don’t know is where your mind is at. How you gon’ act like you up in som
e ghetto job on the Avenue? You in a chain, remember? A franchise. That means these ol’ tattling white folks is probably out there on their cell phones now calling corporate to complain about the mad black woman they got working in their salon. And then you know they gon’ follow up with a letter. White folks always write a letter telling on somebody.”

  Locksie stood for a moment, staring at Jem and realizing how serious she was. “You’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “And your poor sister-girlfriend out there.” She pointed toward the styling area. “You put all ol’ girl’s business in the street. Who’s she cheating on her husband with anyway?”

  “My boyfriend’s brother,” Locksie said without thinking.

  “Oooh, no wonder you clownin’. How she just gon’ put you all up in the middle of her mess? Oh, yeah, she had that cursin’-out coming.”

  “No, she didn’t.” Locksie sighed and sat down in a nearby chair. “We all do dirt—whether it’s lie, cheat or steal—we all do dirt. Who am I to try to judge her?”

  “Whateva.” Jem shooed her hand at Locksie. “I got to get back out there to my customer. You gon’ be all right?”

  “Yeah,” Locksie said as Jem headed out of the storage room.

  Locksie felt as if she had lost control and was losing her mind. What am I doing? She cupped her head with her hands and thought about how she had just gone off on Hannah. Locksie couldn’t understand why she was so angry at Hannah. Yeah, she was angry that Hannah had lied to her about why she couldn’t help her out at her Mary Kay meeting, but for her to stand there and accuse Hannah of adultery in front of everybody was just uncalled for. As if I’m faultless.

  That’s when it hit Locksie that it wasn’t really Hannah she was mad at; it was herself. She was mad at herself for the lifestyle she was living with Dawson, yet it was just so much easier to get mad at Hannah for the lifestyle she was living—going out with another man while knowing daggone well she was a married woman. Nonetheless, Locksie wasn’t in a position to throw stones at anyone, especially with that glass house she had been living in.