her number.
“Hello.” Her voice was quiet, and she was still crying.
“We need to talk in person. I’m coming over,” I said in a tone that meant no was not an option.
She sounded drained. “I’ll see you when you get here.”
I disconnected the call, unsure of what I was feeling. Would she really try to kill herself? I didn’t think so,but I had to make sure, because my conscience couldn’t handle something like that. Besides, if I was really being honest with myself, I wanted to see her again. I considered the idea that maybe she had lied about attempting suicide, knowing that it would get me to come to her place. Maybe she wanted to see me as much as I was now realizing I wanted to see her. I loved this woman, and as crazy as that sounds, in the back of my mind, I was wondering if there was any way to make this work.
I allowed my mind to wander, to imagine a scenario for when I showed up at her place. In my brief fantasy, our reconciliation was quick and passionate. Within minutes, I was imagining the two of us naked, limbs intertwined as we made love.
Even in this inebriated state, I knew this was foul. This was sick. How could I even want to touch her again? But I just had to—
My father interrupted my fantasy when he came into the living room wearing a burgundy silk smoking jacket and matching pajama bottoms, like some black Hugh Hefner or something. But I wasn’t mad at him. I guess if I had some woman screaming at the top of her lungs like a damn fool, I ’d be strutting too.
Without a word, he reached over to the coffee table and picked up the half-empty Grey Goose bottle and examined it. He frowned, shook his head, and then placed the bottle back on the table. The way his face hardened told me he was disgusted with me. My father drank socially, but he definitely wasn’t the kind of guy who would finish off half a bottle of vodka sitting alone in his house. Neither was I, until I caught Keisha and Omar together.
“Is the pussy that good that you’d violate an order of protection?” It took a moment for my alcohol-soakedbrain to understand what he was telling me: He’d heard my conversation with Keisha. At least he’d heard part of it. Damn, I did not want him to know I was going over there. My lack of response opened the door for him to lecture me.
“She’s not worth your freedom, Darnel,” he continued. “Don’t let this woman ruin your life. You need to stay your behind home.”
“I have to talk to her.”
“You don’t have to do anything but stay black and die,” he said in a no-nonsense tone.
“Dad, you don’t understand,” I protested. Part of me knew how stupid I was being, but no matter how wrong she’d done me, I couldn’t control the way I felt. She had taken up residence in my heart a long time ago.
“You’re right; I don’t. But don’t be stupid. Anything you need to say to her can be said over the telephone.”
He was right and I knew it, but the image of me and Keisha making love had lit a fire in my soul, and I had to be near her, had to be able to touch her. A phone call just wouldn’t do it. Of course, I couldn’t admit this to my father, so I used Keisha’s suicide ploy to try getting him off my back.
“She told me she’s going to kill herself. I can’t have that on my conscience.”
He laughed. “If I had a hundred dollars for every woman who told me she was going to kill herself, I ’d be rich.” My father sat down next to me. “She said that because she wanted you to come over. You’re giving her what she wants. She knows you still love her.”
“She’s right. I do love her. I was going to marry her, remember?”
“I do, and I know you were deeply in love.”
“Oh yeah? What would you know about love?”
“Still won’t give me a break, huh?”
“Nope. I love you, but you could have married my mother. No woman has ever loved you like she does.”
Usually this topic caused a fight between me and my father, which would end
“Hello.” Her voice was quiet, and she was still crying.
“We need to talk in person. I’m coming over,” I said in a tone that meant no was not an option.
She sounded drained. “I’ll see you when you get here.”
I disconnected the call, unsure of what I was feeling. Would she really try to kill herself? I didn’t think so,but I had to make sure, because my conscience couldn’t handle something like that. Besides, if I was really being honest with myself, I wanted to see her again. I considered the idea that maybe she had lied about attempting suicide, knowing that it would get me to come to her place. Maybe she wanted to see me as much as I was now realizing I wanted to see her. I loved this woman, and as crazy as that sounds, in the back of my mind, I was wondering if there was any way to make this work.
I allowed my mind to wander, to imagine a scenario for when I showed up at her place. In my brief fantasy, our reconciliation was quick and passionate. Within minutes, I was imagining the two of us naked, limbs intertwined as we made love.
Even in this inebriated state, I knew this was foul. This was sick. How could I even want to touch her again? But I just had to—
My father interrupted my fantasy when he came into the living room wearing a burgundy silk smoking jacket and matching pajama bottoms, like some black Hugh Hefner or something. But I wasn’t mad at him. I guess if I had some woman screaming at the top of her lungs like a damn fool, I ’d be strutting too.
Without a word, he reached over to the coffee table and picked up the half-empty Grey Goose bottle and examined it. He frowned, shook his head, and then placed the bottle back on the table. The way his face hardened told me he was disgusted with me. My father drank socially, but he definitely wasn’t the kind of guy who would finish off half a bottle of vodka sitting alone in his house. Neither was I, until I caught Keisha and Omar together.
“Is the pussy that good that you’d violate an order of protection?” It took a moment for my alcohol-soakedbrain to understand what he was telling me: He’d heard my conversation with Keisha. At least he’d heard part of it. Damn, I did not want him to know I was going over there. My lack of response opened the door for him to lecture me.
“She’s not worth your freedom, Darnel,” he continued. “Don’t let this woman ruin your life. You need to stay your behind home.”
“I have to talk to her.”
“You don’t have to do anything but stay black and die,” he said in a no-nonsense tone.
“Dad, you don’t understand,” I protested. Part of me knew how stupid I was being, but no matter how wrong she’d done me, I couldn’t control the way I felt. She had taken up residence in my heart a long time ago.
“You’re right; I don’t. But don’t be stupid. Anything you need to say to her can be said over the telephone.”
He was right and I knew it, but the image of me and Keisha making love had lit a fire in my soul, and I had to be near her, had to be able to touch her. A phone call just wouldn’t do it. Of course, I couldn’t admit this to my father, so I used Keisha’s suicide ploy to try getting him off my back.
“She told me she’s going to kill herself. I can’t have that on my conscience.”
He laughed. “If I had a hundred dollars for every woman who told me she was going to kill herself, I ’d be rich.” My father sat down next to me. “She said that because she wanted you to come over. You’re giving her what she wants. She knows you still love her.”
“She’s right. I do love her. I was going to marry her, remember?”
“I do, and I know you were deeply in love.”
“Oh yeah? What would you know about love?”
“Still won’t give me a break, huh?”
“Nope. I love you, but you could have married my mother. No woman has ever loved you like she does.”
Usually this topic caused a fight between me and my father, which would end
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