Three Days and Two Nights, Apart

I looked at the clock, 7:30 am. Fuck! I hopped up and ran towards the bathroom. No time for a shower. Despite my efforts to quickly run a washrag over my body and brush my teeth, I’m certain that I’m going to spend the day smelling like a combination of sex and Adrian. “Wonderful.” I said to myself sarcastically. I threw some water and a mixture of gel and grease in my hair. What ever I could find to make it stay. I figured that if my hair was perfect then I could easily explain my tardiness to my mother, who was knocking at the door. I sprinted towards the door, dancing over misplaced toys and clothes left on the floor by those animals that call themselves my children. I paused at the door long enough to put on some pants, trying to look halfway dressed.

“Yes Ma, I’m here. Sorry I was way back in the closet, couldn’t here you.” One thing I learned in my life long dealings with my mother, your excuses have to be up front and ready. Her patience for little things has worn itself away so much, its damn near non-existent. I opened the door. There’s that look. My mother is a prime example of someone having standards so high even she can’t reach them. A long time ago after my mother and father split, I use to pity her and her situation. The thought of being alone scared me, but the thought of making any decisions that would cause me to be alone scared me even more. I watched my mother for years after the breakup go through mismatched and misplaced relationships longing for the companionship that she had with my father, but never finding it. With each failed attempt, she would create a thicker wall around herself of higher standards and abusive opinions about everyone to hide her emotional pain. I guess I still pity her, which is the very reason I put up with her frequent wicket remarks about Adrian and me. Mom walked in without speech or regards to me. This was her game. I am now supposed to fall on my knees and beg for forgiveness for whatever heinous act I’m being accused of performing today. Well today my knees hurt, so I think I’ll skip the begging and jump right to the mindless small talk.

“Hi mom. The kids aren’t awake yet, so I’m going to run back…”

“Did you vacuum this floor like I asked you too?”

“Yes.” I tried not to sound too irritated. Mom reached down dragging her finger across the rug.

“Well there are little specks on the floor. I can see them. If the baby gets a hold of them, he’ll eat them.” Oh my God, and he’ll die a horrible death from the invisible specks on the floor that are probably remnants of his crackers anyway. It sucks that you can’t always say what’s on your mind. I shrugged a little and headed for my room. “Where are you going? Aren’t you going to help me get this stuff up before the kids get up?” Mom squatted down to the floor like a 200-year-old stone statue that was trying not to crack its paint. This was a sure sign to me that if I don’t help she’ll die trying and it will be entirely my fault. I bent down pretending to pick up invisible specks of crumbs. This is stupid. Finally Mom broke away and headed for the closet. Great, now she’s going to vacuum. I rolled my eyes back then I realize that she saw me, so I proceeded to act like a lash was in my eye.

“I believe that husband of yours should do some of this cleaning.” She scoffed as she fired up the vacuum. “He helped create the children; he should clean up behind them. And tell him don’t play those horror sex filled games when the children are present. I heard about what game he was playing and what Tony was watching.” Mom was going on and on as I stood there praying for a reason to leave. Horror sex games, that’s a good one. I could start a debate about the content of video games and the impact they have on a young impressionable mind, but I got to remember to whom I’m talking to. The clock was ticking and it was already 20 minute til 8. Mom picked up the vacuum and started going over the floor. I shook my head, disgusted. All the noise woke up the baby whose morning whining woke up Tony. “Excuse me, Mom.” Anything to get away from her abusive prattle. Tony got up and headed for the bathroom, mumbling about breakfast and donuts. What can I say about my son? He has all my looks, his father’s features, but his personality is way off. I swear that curse that your parents place on you when you’re young, “Your kids will act just like you do,” didn’t work for me. My son is a carbon copy of my mother. His little frail 6-year-old body carries around an enormous big head of attitudes and opinions. It’s a wonder he doesn’t tip over from being so top heavy. Of course my mother thinks he’s just selective, but I know he’s just stuck up. Don’t get me wrong, I love him, but I wish his personality were influenced in a different way. Those standards of hers have now altered my son’s perception so now he can’t even appreciate the laid back and easy-going nature of his parents. I headed into the kids room and there was Erick, bright eyed and awake greeting me. He was standing against the crib railing rocking side to side like a perpetual motion clock. Despite the fact that he’s so young, I could already see the makings of a very strong personality. Throughout Erick’s first year in this world, he’s never had to succumb to the trials of being a younger sibling. Tony’s abusive big brother behavior was always met with a heavy hand and loud voice. He stood there grinning at me show all 4 teeth in his mouth. I picked up Erick and carried him to the living room. A play area was already mapped out for him using various chairs and pre-arranged furniture. He happily sat in front of the TV clapping and giggling to the Muppets on Sesame Street. As Mom continued her vacuuming into the den, I quickly ran back into my bedroom to gather the last of my things. With only about 15 minutes, I rushed through the closet and grabbed my real outfit. I grabbed a pair of pre-pressed tan slacks and a black cotton tan-top shirt. I grabbed the jacket and folded it over my bag. During the summer, the jacket is never to wear, but for effect. It makes it look like I’m trying to be professional when I’m really trying to keep cool. I stepped into my tennis shoes and grabbed my bag. I checked my hair one last time as looked at myself in the mirror. Good, a day where my stomach does not poke out making me still look pregnant. I sucked in my gut and head toward the door.

Finally, I made it out of the house with just in time to catch my bus. As much as I tried to focus on work and get my mind ready to begin a new day, I was still plagued by my thoughts from earlier that morning of wanting more. I fumbled through my bag looking for my train pass and trying to find something that would occupy my mind, but no such luck. Unfortunately that’s the kind of person I am. For about 19 years of my life, I have struggled with generalized anxiety disorder. What made things worse is that I wasn’t aware of this disorder until 5 years ago. So I spent a lot of my life depressed and alone in my worries. Even after I met Adrian and we got married, the dreaded fears of being alone haunted me constantly and in my opinion cause a lot of the post-martial tension. I believe that the majority of our martial ups and downs were probably based from my fears and anxieties of losing my life and myself. So why the hell now, would I want to fuck it up and crave things that I don’t have? The bus reached the train station. As I walked towards the station, a man passing out newspapers smiled and waves to me to come over to him. I proceeded over to him smiling back because I see him everyday so now we’re practically friends. “Now you know it’s very important for me to give you a paper, so I can get a look at that beautiful smile of yours.” I blushed as I took the paper, “Thanks.” I mumble as I headed into the station. Every time I see him I’m reminded of a personal debate I had with myself about the fact that he’s an older white gentleman and I’m a young black female. I thought it ironic and pretty interesting that a man who was clearly around during the segregation period of America’s history and could have easily been one of the ‘nigger-haters’ is now standing here complimenting me and even perhaps flirting with me. Sure, I know that every white man can’t be assumed as that. Just as us black folks are trying to beat the stereotype of being gangsters and drug dealers. I guess in this day and age, it makes for an interesting pastime to think about seeing as though, you’ll never truly know. I used this minor debate to occupy my mind again as I walked up the stairs to the train. I looked around at all the faces as I normally do. This is a bad habit. I internally chastised myself. My only reason to look around at everybody was to see who looked better, and then I would use that to maintain my horrible mood for the day.

The ride to work was long and boring. The train cars gentle swayed back and forth like a mother rocking her child to sleep. The low hum of the train engines and wheels as they passed over the track were very soothing and finally I started to nod off again. All of these events for me were just the usual things that made my morning.

Finally I arrived at work with about 10 minutes to spare. Unfortunately with my boss, 10-20-30 minutes early, doesn\'t matter, it\'s all an opportunity to bug me about some stupid work related issue that will eventually lead to some debate about liberals versus conservatives in our post Clinton-est society. She’s so full of shit. She knows like I do that if it wasn’t for Clinton the conservatives would have succeeded in burying her gay/lesbian community and probably all products of generation X in a mass unmarked grave. But of course, I didn’t graduate from an expensive college so how can I possibly understand the politics of the very country that I was born in? Thankfully, when I got to work, she wasn’t there. She left me a message with 10 minutes of useless work prattle 3 minutes about her shuddering dog and 10 seconds of an absence excuse. On the real…I don’t give a fuck. She’s not here and that means my day is at peace.

The rest of the day flew by without incident until 2:00pm. The CEO of the company Mr. Petersen, who I lovingly refer to as Duckman was waddling through the office introducing everyone to the new temp. His whiny voice ran out in the hallway causing my back to shudder. I didn’t want to look. I feel betrayed by the company that their last temp was a short 77 year old mother of 6, grandmother of 14, and great grandmother of 9 who constantly picked her nose and wouldn’t leave me alone. She smelled like cats and continuously talked about the water retention on her knee. She was a nice old lady but that was the problem. She was NICE. I couldn’t blow her off because I try to be nice too, but she distracted me from damn near every project for 2 weeks.

I tried to act busy and search through my files, but it didn’t work. Duckman came up to my office door with his limp wrist positioned in the air as if it were a bad attempt at directing the conversational tone. “And this is Camille our Marketing and Graphics production Coordinator.” I looked up expecting wrinkles and a hunched back, but instead I was faced with a vision of loveliness and beauty that sent a shiver through my body. I would love to say that I was experiencing enthrallment, but it was more like lust… but honestly, I’m a woman, why do I feel this way? “Hi how are you?” I gushed out. She gave me a weird smile, one of pleasure to meet me and concern over the very exuberant exclamation I was giving her. As I shook her smooth cream colored hand, I tried to sum her up in a glance. I needed something to think about after she was gone. However in that moment, I swear I felt a connection with her on some kind of level. It was as if time stopped and it was only us, there connecting. Duckman began to walk towards the other offices, apparently he didn’t notice, but I think she did. “Nice meeting you.” She smiled and winked at me. Damn I feel like a stupid kid. I watched her walk away in slow motion. From the way her dress swayed against her legs to the gentle movement of her arms, I was in love and honestly, I think I had an orgasm….