Skeletons in my closet

The silent running dialogue that I often have with myself.

Friday, March 17, 2006

The Trouble With Blogs

I always look at your eyes. They give it away…all the time. If you are mad, happy, or disgusted, your eyes will let me know. Beautiful brown subtle eyes. I watch them for affirmation, I watch them for acceptance. I knew something was wrong.

I sat there that night oblivious, I held the baby as he continued his frustrated attempts to communicate. I babbled right along with him, I figure if my babble sounds like his babble he might think we are talking. I look at my wife, her eyes dart to miss my gaze. Oh shyte what have I done!

The baby boy distracts me with a less than baby like fart. I laugh and try to catch my wife laughing also.

She isn’t!

She sits with the laptop carefully studying the electronic images, or words… not distracted.

“You want a movie tonight, we can all sit up and eat popcorn and watch a movie?” I ask out of desire to watch a movie, but more so a medium to gauge the situation.

She barely opens her mouth to mumble, “No…”

“Okay, well, lets put the baby to bed and go through some old CDs!” my effort is good, the follow through a tad bit shallow, “What is the name of the last song on Bell Biv Devoe’s album? That shyte was my jam, I know I have the CD down here somewhere.” I hold the boy football style as I move towards the set of built-ins.

“Nope, I’m not in the mood” Her words are, pale if words can be pale. Not transparent though, I couldn’t figure out what was wrong. Her eyes followed the lap top brightly lit screen.

I watched her a moment longer. No outward signs of inner stress. She was ice. She was cold. I was in trouble. Not that I am suggesting that I could ever get in trouble. I am a grown man, independent, except for the love I feel and need to feel from my family. However, I am not stupid enough to think that getting on someone’s bad side does not have repercussions, so in other words, I was in trouble.

“How about we sit in the atrium, drink some wine?” My suggestions have now turned to begs, I am not pleading to do anything, I am pleading for her to talk, do something. Don’t be mad, or tell me why you are mad, the impending doom, is killing me. I marshal this comment to myself quietly.

“No! Give me the baby, I am going to put him to bed!” She shoves the laptop onto the coach beside her as she marches towards me. I offer him up, as a sign of peace and she jerks him from my arms and moves toward the baby’s room.

I can’t break the thoughts running in my head. What did I do? Why is she mad! I hear water running. Damn, she is pissed. I hear the boys brief but vocal displeasure at getting his nose cleaned. Phuck, I don’t get her, never do, never have. We have a tight friendship, a close bond… a bond that…bonds….bonds…BONDS!!!!

It all comes together for me; the images flash in my mind kinda Usual Suspect, Momento, Sixth Sense and Frailty like. BONDS! The Laptop, her displeasure!!!!
MY BLOG!!!!!!

I had been checking comments on the laptop earlier. I guess I left the screen up! Damn, she had been reading my blog. My inner most thoughts, my private confessions, my stories of the past. Stories and words crafted together to bring out feelings, urges, understanding.

SideNote:
Well, truth is it wasn’t like I was hiding it. I mean I wasn’t trying to keep it from her. I explain, and explained it like this. I didn’t like my writing at first. It had no style or appeal. My funny wasn’t funny, and my serious was…not funny. I even stopped writing for a while. But I never did this blog with the intention of hiding it from her. I just didn’t think it was good enough, it didn’t merit conversation. Well as of late, I think it has been getting better. I think I found my stride, and I started walking. I fully intended to present her with a compiled somewhat redacted version of my work here. One day, don’t know when but not too far off in the future.

So instead she tripped up on it instead, by herself, with no explanation, no story context, no foreword by the author. And of all the post she had to read, she had to digest
bonds as the first one…damn!

She was mad!

I walked into the bathroom and hugged her. She rejected me! I hugged her again, she pushed me away, as she pushed away tears. I reached for her but again I was rejected.

“Do you love her” Softly between quite sobs, “Do you have feelings for her, things I need to know…anything!”

She wasn’t angry she was hurt. I single handedly sabotaged myself, my life, my relationship. How would she ever trust me again?

SideNote:
No, don’t get confused, stay focused. The blog is/are stories, romanticized recounts of past events. My life before her, and some of my life with her. They show, or should show in the end a growth, and better yet a reason for growth. Why I changed, and what changed me. My despair was not that she was reading the stories, the entries, my issue was…well keep reading.

“No absolutely not, that isn’t even possible. I wrote that trying to express a feeling, trying to show how a great/good friendship can develop from a volatile past. I wrote that to discuss bonds and explore that one.” I explained, with passion and fluidity, I felt shyte was on the line and my words were my only refuge…solace…rescue.

She motioned for me to be quite, she didn’t want my daughter to her us talk.

Again, you got to see why I love this woman; she is still more concerned about my daughter than she is about jumping my azz. I continued none the less, mostly because I was scared not to. Silence and time drives weeds. Yeah, weeds can be removed, but they never seem to really go away, when you least expect it, and are at your most vulnerable, the weeds will sprout up and take shyte over.

So I talked, we talked. I explained and she listened. She spoke, and I heard her. Then I truly got it. I truly understood what was in her heart and in her mind. So now I post!

I hurt her! I dissolved a little bit of the trust we have between us.

I sit on a wealth of talent called creativity, humor, and incite. I very rarely take full advantage of this gift. If you know me, you know that personally I am this person you read when I write. But most people don’t know the layers beneath that. The layers that never feel accepted. The layers that pride themselves on making it alone. The layers that stand steadfast and turmoil and despair. I never let those layers out. I usually turn on a joke, quip, or banter instead of suggesting that something more goes on underneath. But when I write, if you read carefully, I am in essence expressing much much more. Those stories are there for a reason, and they all mean something, even the raunchy ones. It is more than merely laying bones to rest. On this blog I have expressed layers of me that most people have never seen.

All save for one. One who knows my layers. One who accepts me for who I am and who I could be. One who admires my independence but can embrace and nurture me despite it. One who stands beside me in turmoil and despair, without fear or trepidation. My Bond with her starts at my heart and ends with my soul. Nothing replaces that.

So, I erred. I screwed up. I did something so silly and simple. I discounted first and then withheld an interesting and now important part of my life from the one person that is my life.

Yeah, me and wifey are okay. We sit in understanding a mutual respect. And honestly she probably wont read this blog ever again. But when I write she gets the first edit.

Thursday, March 16, 2006

My Life Part VI

My Life Is Done For Now.

Thought I would end this segment on that last note. Give you guys a chance to get yourselves together as we head further into my journey, my blog, my past.

But for the sake of really finishing a story, I must add the falling action!

Yes she called my Mom,

Yes she handed me the phone in the middle of my drunken rage,

Yes, I declined to talk to my mother at that juncture, and decided my better move would be to just go home.

And that is what I did I went home. With my tale between my legs. I was no longer shamed by Ms. 29. I was shamed by my own actions on this night. I said to myself never again would I let someone run me.

Yeah right yall got to know that the X-wife, the bane of my existence, tested…no destroyed that self admonition.


Nuff of that…moving on…closing that chapter and starting anew!

Say can anybody tell me about motivational speakers.

My sister and a good friend of mine are trying to push me in that direction. I don’t know to much about it, but think it sounds interesting. Give me some information if you got any.

Flava the End Part 1
Yeah, he chose Hoops. And she deserved it! Or did she.
She seemed real, genuine, and nice in a hoodie girl sort of way. But her body was banging so I was hoping she would win.
Because she did seem real, how in the hell does she kiss Flava on national TV, one of the JJ Evans kisses, damn.
How in the hell do you say you love Flava on national TV.

I just don’t get it folks; maybe yall can understand and shed some light!

Saints got Drew Brees, now we bout to do some big things. Play-off bound!!!!

Southern plays Duke in basketball. We made it to the big dance baby, and we not trying to go home early. Can yall say…..SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS…..U……S.S.S.S.S...U.

Freaky Friday on tap for tomorrow.

Tuesday, March 14, 2006

My Life Part V

Wig splittin time!

Yeah, I was on that kinda mission. My friends were unaware, some had passed off in drunken stupors, and others had gone on their own puzzy salvage missions. But I was mad, hurt, and unable to express my feelings in a mature and logical manner. I was still a teenager, what did you expect!

My knuckles gnarled and tense, held the steering wheel in a passionate grip. I wasn’t driving, I was being driven. I was filled with a macho vibrato that was akin to running through hell with gasoline draws, from bad beginnings come bad endings.

Second thoughts momentarily arrested control of my truck. What was I doing, or what was I going to do. This wasn’t me, this wasn’t feeling right. This shyte was defiantly not my style. Man, just let it go, turn around sleep off this high.

Man you crazy, dis bitch phucked ya boy, claiming to be having your baby, you need to get her straight, sorry we cant let this ride! (Tell the boys downstairs to amp up the testosterone)

I am not sure if I am driving slowly out of fear, a sense of loathing, or a drunken high. I had no plans once I got there I guess I was going to have to play this one by ear. I goto keep my two tenants in mind.
Don’t get hurt!
Don’t go to jail!
As I pulled into the driveway my last bastion of common sense failed me and allowed me to proceed further. I began to get angrier as I walked up stairs, I was mad as hell and I wasn’t going to take it anymore.

BAM BAM BAM! I knocked before I realized.

The door opens slowly, its her sister, she closes the door quickly and loudly announces my presence.

I beat on the door again. It opens slowly this time, with the latch chain attached. From the cracked door pursed lips suggest I leave because Ms. 29 has company.
“I aint leaving I want to talk to her and clear some shyte up” I controlled drunken slur, as I tried to sound commanding.

“I told you she got company, why don’t you just leave…call her tommarrow” Her sisters advice fell on deaf ears. Ears deafened by rage and righteous indignation.

“I aint leaving, whoever that nigga is he got to leave, I aint leaving”
Background time…well, let me tell you more about me and less about the story. Even as a teenager I professed to be cool. I have always been a “lay in the cut kinda nigga”. But I do handle my business. TO that end, let me suggest that I am not a big dude. Even at my ripe old age I am still slightly less than imposing. Now, don’t get it twisted I never lost a fight, and I been in a few, I am able to handle my own. I don’t back down, don’t run, and usually the willingness to fight gets you out of positions of fighting. Now imagine me as a teenager. I was full or vinegar but very light in the azz. The bellows of my tenorish baritone weren’t scarring shyte.

But here is the scene:
12:20 am, A light weight azz nigga beating on an apartment door in a drunken rage. Anger for being showed up by a chic. Angry cause he lost face with his boys. Confused by his feelings of hurt and distrust, added with testosterone-laced pride. Yeah it sounds like an episode of COPs and but for the grace of god it would have been.

“I promise I aint leaving, she phucked up and she know it. I thought she was pregnant and she phucking my boyz. Whateva nigga you got in their need to leave cause “shoogh got some splaining to do.”

The door busted open as a huge back to Africa, former Mandingo Slave, knuckle dragging, ex-convict, construction working black man stepped out. I tensed up and surely let out a groan. I braced up, unafraid but scared nonetheless. He paused as he passed me. I refused to move as all alpha male style as he walked by. He laughed as he passed me, “You live in TallTimbers, in them first set of apartments?”

AWH Shyte, if I survided this night this mutherphucker is prepared to stalk me.

“YEAH! And?”

“You don’t remember me…me and my podnuhs were at your crib bout two months ago. The party where yall broke into the swimming pool. That shyte was off the chain” He laughed as he recounted the story. “Yeah for sure, handle yo business little man”

Let me add at this time with the violent nature of nigga today, Somebody would have been dead from that conversation. But the hood used to be good, and I believe in my heart that god protects babies and fools, and I wasn’t a baby!

Feeling dumber than ever, I a turned back to my mission. “Open the door, now!”

Again the chained door opened. “CO go home, I am serious, we have nothing to say to each other” Her eyes were cold to me, dead, no more love, no more sex, no more relationship. Was she having my baby?!?!?

“Why would you phuck my boy…damn…why would you run that shyte on me! You are so phucked up, bitch…damn” I couldn’t help but let my pain out. I was hurt more than anything. I wasn’t cool, wasn’t smooth, I was a little boy who couldn’t express feelings and who had had his feeling hurt. I didn’t want her, but I didn’t want anybody to have her?” WHAT IS THAT ABOUT!!!

My anger again gained control. I beat widly on the door! “I cant believe you bitch!”

The door closed again and I was left with my furry and my hurt, and silence.

The door opened again, I pushed forward full throttle.

Ms. 29 stood defiantly in the door way. I stopped to gauge her as I planned my next move. Should I hit her, should I…..

She handed me the phone!“Its your Mom!”