Erotic | Introspective | Reflective | Self-Efficacious | Metaphysical Literature Ingest. Feel Empowered. Get Enlightened. Be Inspired.

LATEST BOOK EXCERPTS:  click  click | click click  ( Ask AnG Anything )  | 
                   LATEST CELEB/NEWS MEDIA BLOG MAG UPDATE (3.20.15














Angie Situation (NAIVETE')    SNEAK PEEK



...I was pissed. That was a complete culture shock to me.


When I stuck the key into my mother’s door, it seemed like the push, pushed tears to my eyes. I was too mad and dared them to fall fast-trying to catch up with my beating heart. My feelings were so hurt. When I got safely into the house and closed the door, I placed my foot on the first step to head upstairs-my tears were fighting to be free.

All had nothing to do with Mitch-or any feeling about where he and I would stand, because not even his mother could peel him off of me-I was confident in that fact. But my mind couldn’t help but for a second, replace Mitch with Rem…or some man that I really loved and wanted to be with. I couldn’t imagine being treated that way by the mother of a man that I loved. Mitch was not that man in my heart, eyes and mind yet, my feelings about it could not be immediately dismissed. I would never get serious or monogamous with a man whose mother didn't like me unless the bitch was on her dying bed. That's my rule. All bets are off.

Before I could get into my mother’s house good, Mitch was ringing the telephone.

“Hello?” I said.

“Angie, I’m-I’m so-so sorry. I don’t have any words to say but that Iiii..” he said. 

I interrupted:

“Don’t worry Mitch. It’s okay. I’ll be okay.”

“How are you feeling?” he asked, concerned.

“I’m feeling kind of bad, actually-that really hurt me. I’ve never been treated that way in my lifetime and I didn’t appreciate it-at all,” I replied, with the tears still in my eyes.

I just sat on the phone, quiet because there was nothing else much I could say.

Mitch began to cry and that made my tears fall down. He kept apologizing and replaying New Edition “Can You Stand the Rain” –seriously trying hard to sing it to me. I could relate because I remember what it was like singing to Rem. I remember what it was like singing for somebody that you love.

Mitch tried but in my mind, I guessed, hoping that at some point in these rewinds, I would eventually let out that laughter that was under my breath and behind my tears the whole time. He sounded horrible, sort of like he knew he was sounding good and out of love and sentiment; I'd better not disturb his groove.


“BWHAAHAAAAA! Bless your heart Mitch!” I laughed out-I couldn’t help it.

“Oh shut up! You love it!” he replied.

“You like it!” he corrected himself.

I continued to giggle.

It got quiet for a few seconds.

“Angie, may I ask you a question?” whispered Mitch.

“Sure, what’s up?” I probed, whispering back.

“Do you love me?” he asked-curiously-innocently-hopefully.

“Well, I could love you. I’ve grown past liking you. I have a fondness for you,” I replied.

“Oh, because I’ve always loved you-I thought you would just say ‘yes,’ ” he laughed.

I laughed with him-it was cute.

“Since the word ‘love’ is the key word right now, I could tell you that I love you more than anyone I know or have in my life right now. No one could like…come before you right now,” I offered:

“Even Remedy?” he asked-knowing that answer already, but was still hopeful.

I got quiet for a second.

“Mitch, Rem got killed a few months ago,” I revealed.

(Dead silence).

“Killlllled?” asked Mitch-empathetically-innocently-curiously.

“Yeah, killed, just: killed. Snuffed-lights out,” I replied, snapping my fingers just-like-that.

(Dead silence).

I could tell that he wanted to ask more questions-namely: “how?” but I always had a way about me that could communicate to you, just how far you could go with me-with questions.

(Ongoing dead silence).

He moved on to the next question.

“Angie, may I ask you a question?”

“Sure Mitch. What?” I tuned in.

“That’s who you loved-all the time, did you?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I replied-simply.

“Did you feel anything for me at all? I mean like, it felt like you did. It seemed like you always liked me too-years ago,” he said.

I replied: “Yeah, I always thought you were gorgeous, you’re one of the prettiest men I’ve ever seen. You are a sight to behold (and hold onto),” I laughed.

I continued:

“It’s just that all the years that we’ve known each other, I was always involved with someone emotionally or in a relationship already.”

“Who were you in a relationship and emotionally involved with the night we had sex?” he challenged.

I laughed.

“Actually Remedy and I had been very close for years, but around the time you and I had sex that night, we were more than friends but we hadn’t had sex yet. I hadn’t had sex in a while around that time actually, and…there you were,” I said, like: “viola!”   

 “Oh, so you just used me for sex?” he asked.

“No Mitch. No. I was just emotionally involved with someone else-well let me not say emotionally-at that time. But, mentally, I was into Remedy at that time and then our relationship took off to a level all its own,” I explained.

“Wow, that hurts to hear,” he replied.

“I mean, we are being honest with one another tonight. It’s not like you didn’t know what my feelings were for him. I don’t think any of us had any secrets, Mitch.” I replied-simply.

“Yeah, I guess. I guess you’re right. I mean, I didn’t want to actually hear you say something like that, though. It just sounds…I don’t know. Maybe something you should’ve kept secret-like how you felt about him,” he explained.

“But you asked! I feel that I was still fair to you-I was good to you. You were much too sweet to me for me not to-or to just completely disregard you-right?” I said.

He replied:

“But you weren’t sleeping with me though. It was like, you had me to a point where-even though we spent a lot of time together, you had me feeling like I had better not touch you. You are a funny kind of girl like that. After a while, I started feeling like that bomb ass sex we had that night was a dream-like…it was some entity, but not really you, especially how we didn’t pick up after that night-you just went cold on that.”

I laughed.

“I guess I expected more, after that night,” he explained.

“Yeah,” I simply said.

“There’s no sense in asking if you enjoyed it because I know you did-you were so horny. You were giving me all that pussy. I was loving that shit, too. I had never fucked a girl like that in my life! And I never been with a girl that knew what she wanted and turned her man on in ways that made him do and say things he never thought he would have. It was incredible and you were loving that shit, too. I thought I was a new man after that night,” he laughed aloud. 

“Hence, why your mom hates me, who were you caught telling this same thing too?”

I laughed.

“Nobody! Seriously,” he laughed.

I replied:

“So, since I haven’t been giving you any…I know your fine ass has been getting you some from somewhere. Don’t act like you’ve been marking your calendar down in red X’s waiting on me.”

He confessed:

“Well I had met this girl that I was messing around with for a couple months. She attends the college over there. Nothing serious, but she was a convenience…Just like I was to you!” he turned up the tone in his voice.  

“What’s her major?” I asked.

“Mortuary Science,” he replied.

“She sees dead people!” I whispered and laughed.

He laughed aloud.

“You like her?” I asked.

“Yeah, I like her but I don’t love her and I don’t want to be her man or anything like that. I’ve been trying to make that happen with you, but you won’t let me in,” he confessed.

I paused for a moment to allow in, an awkward silence so that I could pretend to be a woman who had boiled a rabbit in their kitchen:

“And your mom won’t let me in!” I said really fast and laughed, catching him off guard.

He burst into laughter.

“That was crazy,” he said.

“Your fuckin’ mom is crazy,” I wiggled my head as if worms were coming out of my body.

“That was just…a little too abrupt but subtle, and intense,” I said.

He then began to tell me stories about how his birth father messed her up pretty bad and all kinds of stories of old-I guess trying to sum up why she was the cautious, untrusting Cruella Deville that she was. I didn’t care to take any of it in to change my mind about her, but I listened on.

At the first pause in his breath I interrupted:

“At any rate-how many others?” I asked.

“Other what?” he asked-thinking I was talking about his mom.

“Other girls you’re screwing around with-that like to play with dead bodies and all,” I answered sarcastically.

He laughed and replied:

“Well, just a of couple girls-I dated-not sexing them or anything like that though.

“Mmm-k. So…let’s talk about your lil’ girlfriend. Do you see her a lot?” I asked.

“No, I don’t see her regularly. She has a roommate and I creep over there from time to time. She likes me a lot. A whole lot actually. So, I do fuck her sometimes, but she knows that I have a girlfriend, and she knows her name too,” he said-immaturely-as if he was smiling but with his hands behind his back, holding a secret.

“Oh yeah, what’d you tell her your girlfriend’s name is?” I asked.

“ ‘Angie,’ ” the one with all that good lovin’ she won’t give to me and plays me like a fool. I keep running back to her every chance I get-just to be up under her?” he purred and giggled

It was cute.

“Oh, that was your description of your girlfriend to your girlfriend?” I said with a smile. 

He ignored my question and continued:

“She’s beautiful, she’s mysterious, her body’s supple and feels like heaven. Gorgeous tits. She’s got some good pussy and she knows how to use that motherfucker. Best head a man never had. Boy I tell ‘ya! Turns into a devil in bed-you know-the juicy stuff,” he laughed aloud again.

“Wowwwww. She sounds really smart and intelligent! Just the kind you take home to your mom and say: ‘Hey mom. We’re riding off into the sunset tomorrow! You’re invited to tag along for the festivities if you wanna!” I replied-laughing.

We both laughed uncontrollably.

The laughter died down:

“Oh, okay, that’s your version of the girlfriend that you love so much and want to be up under? Okay, okay. Look’s like we have to change all that then,” I said serious but jokingly.

“No. No. No. No! I was just playing. I was just playing! You know I was. I mean ‘cause you ‘aint all that!” he laughed.

I kept quiet during his laughter so as to get his attention.

“Well, I must admit. Your girlfriend’s got me a lil’ horny and I’m sitting here with my hands in my panties. Why don’t you help me out with giving me your version of all that good lovin’ that she gives you.”

I chuckled, as if I was nudging him with a tight fist and tight lips.

I continued:  

“You know-so…I can lay here and share it with you,” I said-seductively.

“Listen to you. Just…using me!” he laughed.

We giggled.



Over time, Mitch had been staying with me a lot more than before. Between my moods and desires, he was bouncing between both College Girl’s and Cruella’s house where I would drop him off either place.

Mitch and I got started off at a weird emotional and mental moment of my life where the physical happened, yet my mental and emotional was elsewhere, although the moment seemed like it was with him. That caused more confusion than anything-for the both of us, really. But we were always candid and honest with one another. It was weird. At anytime, if our spirits aligned; we would be prepared to unite. But for me, at this time, that boy had too much going on in all the wrong areas. As for myself, I wasn’t sure of what it was I wanted: in life, relationships or otherwise. This girl just wanted to live one day at a time: uninterrupted. Mitch allowed me to have that option if there was to be anything between us at all.

I had been working at a bank-third-shift from 8:30 at night until 4:30 in the morning, so whatever Mitch wanted to do in those hours was his for the taking-pretty much no different than it was when I was with Rem and even after Rem died.

Most nights when he wouldn’t be at Cruella’s or College Girls’, he would stay home-at my house.

At my job, especially because of the hours, it was rare that the phone on the wall would ever ring-so, if you took a message for someone and they weren’t on the shift at the time the message was given, they were lucky if they would get the message. It was much too busy for all that. The machines were way too loud, and papers were everywhere.

I would walk in some days and get little sticky notes around my work area stating that a girl named Carmen would call but left no message or phone number but would say that she would call back. It was standard protocol to not give any information or the shift that an employee worked whenever someone would call so, she most probably thought that I worked standard day-shift or second-shift hours.

One day, she finally left a phone number. It sat on top of the five or six sticky-notes that I let build up. I decided to give the phone number a call during one of my breaks one day:

“Hi, this is Angie and I'm returning your phone call. I’ve heard that you had been trying to get in touch with me? Who is this?” I asked the female on the other end.

I was almost like she sat up on her hind legs:

“I’m Mitch’s girlfriend. I go to “State College. I’m Mitch’s girlfriend” she repeated and challenged.

“Oh…I know who you are-the Mortuary Science girl. I’ve brought him over to your off-campus apartment over there near the um…“State College” several times. He and I have been on-again off-again forever, sooo…how can I help you?” I asked.

She barked:

“Well, he and I are on. So, I guess you guys are supposed to be off?” she asked-hopefully.

I gave her a long dead silence.

After enough torture and probably sounding like Paul McCartney talking to Michael Jackson in the song: “The Girl Is Mine,” I replied:

“Is that what he said?”

“Well, he said that you and he are so on again-off-again, all the time,” she snapped.

“Let me rephrase my question,” I exerted.

I spoke slowly:

“Is that what he told you about the here and now?” I asked, probably sounding like the student head of the debate class.

Dead silence.

She could not answer. And I sure as hell knew that he would not have said anything like that to her.

She jumped back in with a suggestion:

“Can you come over to my house so that he could be forced to make a choice? Maybe in doing so, we can both be clear on who is ‘on-again’ with him,” she said sarcastically and as if she using both index and middle fingers to make quotations while she held her ear to the phone with her shoulder.


She didn’t know who she was fucking with. There were never any secrets in my house:


“Oh okay. I see. So, in doing so, I would probably be doing you the favor-to ease your heart. Because like I said: I know everything I need to know about you-down to where you live and how you two have fucked. When all is said and done, that’s mine. Always has been. The only reason you get any time is because I allow him, because I have always done my thing and so has he, actually. So, I would be doing you the favor…right?” I reiterated.

She handed the long dead silence back to me-yet, she was tortured (and cornered).

I took a deep sigh so as to let her know that I was getting annoyed (and bored):

“Well, let me get back to work,” I said-nonchalantly, and as if hanging that phone up in her ear was the equivalent of rubbing it underneath her nose. I needed to leave her hungry and not feed into the curiosity that she needed squashed in order to settle her heart.


“No! Don’t go. Um, can you stop over here tonight-because he’s supposed to come over here this evening…so…can you?” she asked.

“Well tonight I’m staying here through to the middle of the night. If I come there tonight, it won’t be until about five or five-thirty in the morning,” I replied.

She must have felt dead stiff. She got silent as if I dampened her spirits or something.

I stated:

“Checking for pulse-what’s the problem? You don’t know of any other day or time that your ‘on-again’ man is going to be with you?” I said-with my ear holding the phone to my shoulder, both index and middle fingers making quotations.

I rubbed it in:

“You can’t pin-point that? I wonder why. Oh, you’re on the phone with the reason why you can’t. Because all that would be up to me,” I chuckled.

Mind-fucking her to death. She was getting on my nerves.

If only she knew how exhausted I was, but used to girls flip-flopping over Mitch’s good looks, she would understand how much she was annoying me and wasting my time.

With all the information I had given her, and none of hers coming as a surprise to me; if she were smart, she would have taken her losses as well as him “as-is.” Because if there was any tug-o-war to be had, I had the tug and she had the war: fighting a losing battle with her self.

As far as Mitch would be concerned, not only had he and I discussed Ms. “OnAgain” in such grave detail; but my openness (that he considered indifference) in our relationship as a whole, would totally make him wonder when did I start caring that much to show up and blow up his spot in such a manner. It would totally confuse him.

I knew everything, already. So, I had no benefit in this mess-at all.

I couldn’t believe it.  I knew that I had feelings for Mitch, but going through this kind of thing over him never crossed my mind-ever. I never had to.

But I could tell that this girl was about to be a serious problem.

I laughed to myself: “Mitch?”  

I mean, don’t get me wrong. In any woman’s eyes-whatever, if anything, he lacked in: money, sex, a good job, responsibilities, or anything else it took to separate the men from the boys; he most certainly owned in model-good looks with a head full of gorgeous hair that would make a bitch roll her and want to slap him. But fighting for him or over him seemed like a joke to me when I never had much fight in me for him-from the start. I was always chill.

But I obliged.

Oh...what the hell. (l laughed to myself).


With my help on one side of the world, she set it up for five-thirty in the morning on her side.

I showed up with my friend Dawn just in case something jumped off considering the fact she had a roommate (that she neglected to mention-not knowing that Mitch had already told me that too, little did Ms. “OnAgain” know).

I knocked lightly at the door.

She opened, surprised to see two girls.

Her eyes began to buck from left to right uncontrollably, trying to process which of us could be “Angie” while trying to match my voice between two faces that she hoped was the less attractive one in her eyes.

I broke it all up and held my hand out to hers:

“Hello. I am Angie,” I said, giving her a custom Asian one-nod head bow as a curtsy.

Her back and forth eye motion subsided as she processed Dawn once more.

Her expression changed.

I smiled, condescendingly.

“Well, um I’m Carmen-nice meeting you Angie,” she said-looking defeated while standing there.

She then signaled us into the living room where her roommate stood with a surprised look on her face, yet, ready for the drama.

Ms. “OnAgain” spear-headed the line to the bedroom door-I was behind her. Dawn was right behind me while the roommate stayed off to the side in the little hallway by the bedroom door.

Ms. “OnAgain” pushed the bedroom door open to Mitch’s fine ass laying there looking like a specimen carved out of a bitch’s dream.

Damn he looked good: eye-lashes shining, eye-brows shining, hair shining, skin glistening-laying there snoring like some fit cartoon lad. His mouth was slightly open with his hands clutching the pillow behind his head as if he was posing for a sleep commercial or print ad for a high-end men’s magazine.

He was so fine. Mitch could turn a heterosexual man on and make a bull-dagger want to give him some pussy-even in his sleep.   

I chuckled somewhat.

Carmen snatched the covers back from him then tapped him on his forehead.

He opened his eyes and looked Carmen, then at me. He was startled. He sat his naked ass up on the bed and then grabbed for the sheets like a bitch:

“I must be dreaming! I must be dreaming!” he kept repeating as he wiped the sandman out his eyes. I turned around to look at Dawn-trying to see her reaction on her face and to see if she too, got a glimpse of Mitch’s naked ass. Her face told me that she did, and her mouth spewed the sound: “Mmmmmmm” while she placed the palm of her hand over mouth and rested her fingers on the side of her face.


I turned back to look at Mitch’s bloodshot red eyes. I had never seen him like that before. In that instant, he started to look like leather-his skin was red. He continued to reach all over the bed and down to the floor trying to grab every inch of cloth he could gather as if he was about to get the ass-whipping of his life.


Ms. “On Again” obviously didn’t expect that kind of response and fear from him either. She began to yell like a crazy woman but really trying to diffuse the situation and anything he would be able to say next, but he wasn’t having it. He wanted to be heard:

“Damn I don’t believe this. Carmen I already know this is all you guys’ doing!” he yelled-pointing at Carmen and stretching his head in the direction of the bedroom door; knowing that if my friend was inside, Carmen’s roommate was sure as hell near.

He then looked at me and explained:

“Angie, she set this up like this so I could be in the bed with no clothes on!” he kept repeating, while looking around for his clothes-still trying to cover himself up at the same time.

I stood there watching him and shaking my head at this mess.

He found all his clothes and began putting them on stitch by stitch; all the while explaining how the whole setup was orchestrated that led him to being laid in this manner.

“Angie, I was drunk when I came over here and she was trying to fuck so I could be caught like this. I wasn’t even trying to fuck her,” he explained.  

Ms. “OnAgain” lost her mind.

She started to yell and throw anything she could find in that room-at him.

“Alright, that’s it-let’s go,” I said-snapping my fingers.  

He wasn’t ready to let me off the hook either. He wanted his questions answered right then and there-like he needed a witness:

“Nah, that’s a trick. You don’t want me there. The shit you be doing. You don’t really want to be with me Angie, so, I don’t know why you standing there snapping your fingers like all is well and good and I’m about to just go home to some loving home and it’s all like that!” he yelled out.

I stood there and stared at him-speechless.

“I’m not going anywhere if things are going to be like they have been. I’m telling you that right here and right now,” he said-in all seriousness.

“Fuck you then! Fuck you!” Carmen kept repeating.

“Fuck ‘are you talking about? I don’t need you. I’m not staying here either! I don’t want to stay here!” defended Mitch-looking at her as if she was not even in the running or an option to consider.

He turned and looked at me with a look of a thousand questions written all over his face.

I was afraid to promise him that things would change because I knew that he would hold me to it, but at the same time, I still wanted to embarrass Ms. “OnAgain.”

He meant more to me than her victory, defeat or feelings.

Still, I knew that regardless my decision would be, I had a few seconds to make it and  whatever it would be, it was going to change life “as was” between Mitch and me for better or for worse-because he had witnesses. And egos and hearts were involved.

I remained quiet.

That pissed him off so he began to yell louder at me.

I turned and looked at my friend:

“Come on Dawn, let's go home, girl I'm tired. I’m not dealing with this,” I said.

We began to walk out of the room.

Mitch was trampling behind Dawn and me as we began to walk to the back of the building where my car was parked and got in it to go home. Ms. “OnAgain” started screaming again-sounding defeated and stupid as hell.

Dawn and me, and Mitch were all out of her house finally-yet going two separate ways: Dawn and me-around the back of the building to get in the car, and Mitch-out on the main residential area of the street, walking.


By the time I pulled out and around to the front of the building, I saw Mitch walking across the street towards the bus stop. My heart couldn’t do him like that-leave him hanging this way-to hell with an ego.

From the outside looking in-in Dawn eyes; it looked as though my trifling boyfriend was busted cheating yet, from the inside-she had no idea of the complexity or openness in mine and Mitch’s relationship and that he wasn’t technically “busted” or “busted cheating” per se.’

I rolled with my truth-fuck ego.

So, I pulled over to him and he started right in on me-preparing to thwart whatever scolding he thought I pulled over to give him:

“Angie. I’m not dealing with this shit. So if you pulled over to…”

I interrupted him:

“Mitch, no-we can both deal with it. You can come home,” I said.

He stood there, refusing to budge. That was not good enough an answer for him.

“Mitch, things will be different-seriously okay-I’m sorry,” I explained.

He stood there looking at me like trying to see if he could see the truth written on my forehead or no.

I felt bad.

He was so exhausted. Exhausted of the moment and exhausted of me and this half-assed thing we had.  

After enough convincing him things would be different, he climbed into the back seat of the car. We pulled off and took Dawn home, then headed back to my house. I mean: our house.

When we got in, we laughed over the situation while I mimicked his naked ass caught dead in the act. Mitch’s laughed dwindled down to all seriousness:

“I meant what I said Angie. I love it that we can laugh and talk over stuff like we do and all, because that’s how couples are supposed to be. I mean, I tell you everything-like we are homeboys and shit. And while that’s all fine and good, I’m not going to have you reduce me to friend status like that. Because if I let you have your way-we’ll be in here like roommates-shit, like we have been. I won’t stand for that one more day Angie and I mean it. Either I’m in-all the way, or I’m out,” said Mitch.

We were sitting on the bed: he-at the side of it, me-legs folded, in the middle of it.

After he said what he said, I sat my back up straight and saluted him.

He laughed.

I agreed to be a little more attentive and Mitch really deserved it.

He didn’t ask for anything too much. He always wanted our relationship to be exclusive and I know that if I treated Mitch like half the man that I did Rem; he would feel whole.

Days since his naked night, Mitch and me began behaving like two people in a relationship who lived together and had respect for each other, and their relationship. We started dating all over again, talking all over again and really liking each other as a couple.

It was sweet.

When he worked, he would write his whole work schedule for the week and tape it to the fridge.

When I worked from 8p to 4:30a he was in before I left, home throughout the night, and had the house clean and spotless. Often times he would cook if I didn’t have the time too.

We were loving this new step in the relationship-playing house and such.

When he went out to play basketball, he would tape a note to the fridge so that when I got back in, I could know where to find him.

By this time, he would turn over his entire check to me and allow me to ration it out to him and whatever we needed for the household. He really wanted to make this happen-the right way. It was sweet. It was golden. I was loving him day by day for more than just his man-goddess good looks, but those funky ass basketball sneakers had to sit out on the balcony the moment he walked into the house. All else was welcome and fair-game.  He had become more than just my friend, but my equal.


In the meantime and in between time, I had to put up with Carmen's deranged ass.

Turns out, while snooping through Mitch’s belongings at her house the day that she got my work number, she jotted down my home number as well. I guess coming to the realization that Mitch and I took away her “onagain,” set her off. She decided to bring her madness to my home rather than my job this time around; by calling and playing on the phone.

Rather than leaving a voice message, she would call back to back, sitting there-breathing hard and watching “Color Purple” like it was a current box-office smash that she could not stop watching. I ignored all her calls to my home-by not calling her back. That must have annoyed her because she started calling my job again, asking for me at various times. Sticky notes would be left for me some times, other times she would call at a good time. And when I would get to the phone-she would hang up on me.

That girl was crazy and methodical. In order for her to catch me at work-still not having knowing what hours I worked exactly, she must’ve called all around the clock until she got it right. I knew that I was in for something bizarre and soon to come. It was all just a matter of time, I could tell.


Her calls to my home started getting creative after a while.

Rather than just popping in old “Color Purple” and holding the phone; she resorted to eating, drinking, gulping and burping-like nothing. It would be calm and cool as if she had called and talked to her home girl and was having a meal during a conversation.

Mitch and I would have a field day laughing. Sometimes we would be out on our dates-rushing to get home to see what was next with this girl. It was a cross between annoying and entertaining because it was unheard of-the shit she was doing. It had gotten to the point where, I knew that if I did not confront her, she would do this forever-making it apart of her day like washing her ass was apart of her day. I could tell. She did not mind harassing me. It took nothing away from her or tampered with her spirit or anything philosophical. It seemed to feed her and give her energy.


I had Mitch on phone freeze. I asked him not to answer the phone while I was there and especially if I wasn’t there, just so I could see how long this would go on. It would also let me know if he was calling her or creeping by her house too. I’m a woman-so I know how women think. The only thing this bitch wanted was a little bit of attention from Mitch, and the moment she got it, even if for an hour; I knew she would calm down-at least for a while. I could tell that she was crazy enough about Mitch to break her calling pattern for as long as he could sell her on some “reason” for being with me until he was free to ride off into the sunset together. But even if he could sell her on something like that, I knew that the calls would start up again anyway. I know women. I know their moves. She was too messy and any thing he could do to tame her would definitely be short-lived.

But just like I know women, I know men.

Little did he know, her crazy consistency actually saved him, because if he did creep over to her house or talk to her; he wasn’t smart enough to tell her to keep up her crazy ass pattern. He wasn’t methodical enough to do that kind of coaching. All he knew was that she was messy-period-so she got no play on the side after the cat was officially out the bag because he was smart enough to know that if for no other reason; she would love to have something over his head at this point. And because he did not want to lose me, the way I was blowing his mind in our relationship at this time; he would not have dared pulled that bullshit-at least not with her messy ass.    

Those emotional messy chicks are a wife and steady’s dream. They tell everything. If wasn’t for them; half of the sneaky stuff that men do would never be found out. It’s those cooperative, quiet ones that roll with it all, and go for the ride that are the tough nuts to crack. You pretty much have to roll up on them and catch them in the act. But those hush-mouth ones are few and far between and most men who step out aren’t smart enough to know how to pick those kinds-that’s why they always get busted: out hoping they picked out some exotic bird yet wind up picking those singing canary’s instead.

The phone games kept going.


I couldn’t take it anymore after one night in particular. She played on the phone some much that day that she had me walking around the house biting my bottom lip, brows frowned and my nostrils spread so wide they were about to bust. I couldn’t wait for Mitch to step out for the night so that I could get at her.

The moment he closed the door I called her immediately:

“Carmen. Don’t ever do what you keep doing again. Ever…” I said to her.

Ah. Just what she needed, she inhaled that like she was ingesting food.

She had been dying to get a pulse-it was like it breathed life into her. She began screaming like a mad woman: “You don’t call me and tell me what not to do! I’m kicking your ass the next time I see you anyway!”

“Next time?” I asked.

“Yeah, next time-I see you!” she asserted.

I spoke calmly:

“Well, Carmen I don’t sleep too well on threats. And you sound like you mean business about it. So I think you need to be getting this off of your chest tonight-am I right? Do you feel like kicking my ass tonight? Would you like my address to come kick my ass?” I asked her.

“I already know it! I already know your damned address!” she bragged; reciting my address then describing my house and how I’d park my car.

I was livid.

I walked out to the balcony past Mitch’s funky basketball sneakers then peeked over to make sure my usual porch full-of-homies next door were still outside. They thought they owned the street and would block watching the vicinity at all times of the day. They would never allow someone who didn’t live there, roll up with some drama. Oh hell no.

I couldn’t believe that this girl was this crazy about Mitch.

I had never experienced something like this in my life. But what I did know was that she had to get dealt with as soon as possible. Her pursuit in harassing me was relentless and it never tired her out. She needed something she could sink her teeth into.

I then said to her:

“Well, I guess I’ll wait on you to get here with your bad ass. What time should I expect you?” I challenged.

“Oh I’ll be there! I’ll be there!” she yelled.

 “Oh okay. So let me get this right. I oblige you by coming to grab my boyfriend out of your bed and you won’t return the favor by telling me what time you’re coming to kick my ass? Oh, how unfair is that?” I said-sarcastically.

She hung up on me.

I paced the floor and walked out to the balcony back and forth for about an hour.

“Everything alright up there Miss Lady?” asked one of the homies.

“Yeah, I’m alright-I’m looking for some trouble-doesn’t look like they want any though,” I said, leaning over the balcony some.

“Nah. No trouble going down over here. If we don’t start none-it won’t be none, ya’ heard?” said the shortest one-standing up like he was the tallest one.

“Yeah-I hear you. I know better,” I said to him.

“Where’s your dude at?” he yelled up.

“He stepped out for a little while this evening-he’ll be back shortly,” I replied.

“Well, we’ll be out here all night-you’re good,” he assured me.

“I know you guys run this. I just looked over the balcony to make sure you were out here,” I replied.

“You got that right. If we weren’t outside, we’re right inside looking outside. Too many of us live here,” he replied.

“I know. Thanks, love. Talk to you soon,” I yelled back down to them.

Still, no pulse from MedSchool.

Mine started to slow down.

It was almost as if she could feel me resting.

She called to let me know that the threat still stood.

That angered me even more. My body then went into fight or flight mode. I was about ready to kill this girl.

To do her one better, I promised to pay her the visit this time.

Immediately ran out the house, jumped into the car and headed straight to her house. I wanted no conversation, no explanations-I just wanted to light into her.

I walked up to her back window and yelled her name.

I could see her silhouette walking back and forth really fast, like some crazy woman.

I stood out there for a few minutes-just watching her and, she said nothing. She just kept pacing back and forth like she was in a hurry and had forgotten her keys.

I yelled her name again-then waited a few minutes. Her shadow stood still.

I walked off and drove around the corner to the phone booth to call her. Without even knowing who was on the other end of the phone as yet, she picked it up and yelled: “I’m ready for you now! I am ready for your ass!”

She sounded way too ready for me this time. So I drove around the corner to pick up Dawn and her sister Posh. I then swung by to grab my friend Shelly. We sat in the car laughing about all Carmen’s antics and about how she would call the house watching “Color Purple-” I guess wanting me to enjoy it with her.


When we pulled up to the back of her apartment, she was outside with a parking lot full of about fifteen college nerds-trying to look like they were all tough but looking more like some defunct cornball one-hit wonder-looking rock band. They were so laughable. At any minute, it looked like they would be pulling out pencils and compasses; swinging them about in mid air in an attempt to puncture me and run.

Carmen was the only one moving. She was standing at the edge of the parking lot rocking side to side looking like some crazy woman. The look in her crazy ass stretched out eyes as she stood there with her fists balled up and breathing all hard as if I had really done something to her, totally pissed me off-all over again. If I had on a belt, I would have just taken it off and started whipping her ass with it because she needed one-just like that. All this, over a man-she just had way too much emotion and fight in her, over a situation that favored her nowhere. She should have just bowed gracefully. I was ready to kick her ass on that-alone.

The thought of that alone sent me blasting off on this dumb broad. I just lit into her like the capital letter "T"-turned sideways.


Swiftly, with my bottom lip folded as if I was about to walk up on her and whip her ass with that belt, I rushed up on her to grab her and body-slam her ass straight to the gravel. But right before I could, she sprayed mace somewhere in between that time. We both started coughing but she did not get it in my eyes.

She was like a raging bull with the mad strength of a violent mentally-ill person.

“This dumb broad must’ve been in love with Mitch,” I though to myself while managing to get her into a full-nelson.

Firmly with both hands I grabbed her by the back of her hair; I pressed my knees into her back then bucked her face-down into the rocks and gravel and treating her like the wild animal she had been behaving like.

I could hear her fighting for air and trying to get from beneath my hold on her. I wiggled her face into the gravel and dirt more. I then kneed her in the back and released her hands while holding onto the back of her hair for support-to keep wiping and banging her face into the dirt. She was rising up like the fucking Incredible Hulk. I then held a big chunk of her hair with my left hand, and with my body weight and knees firmly into her back; I started giving her blows in her back and ribs with my right hand.


“Calm your ass down girl!” I grunted over and over with each blow.

She began to lay there-calming down but wiggling like some injured dog while trying to free herself from me. I then climbed back on her and grabbed her hair by the roots-tightly. The way she was screaming, I could tell she was tender-headed. Ooh I could feel her pain-especially with my knees in that upper back. With her hands free-all she could do was trying and swing on me-backwards but it was so ineffective-she was tiring her self out.

We were fighting with two different kinds of energy. I couldn’t believe it. She was so angry and mad over Mitch. Me-I was angry that I had this crazy whore in my life this way with all this crap and it boiled down to this in order to get her out of it.

As she surrendered, and everything started to calm down, I could hear Shelly, Dawn and Posh screaming: “I got the mace!” over and over as if she had been screaming that same line the whole time, but I must’ve tuned them out.

I began to let her up slowly. I know that scalp and head was throbbing. That face, back and ribs had to be sore as hell. I could feel her pain.

When I let her all the way up she started screaming and ranting with her shirt open-titties everywhere. I looked down and mine and they were just as exposed. I guessed somewhere while she was buried, she must have gotten a hold of my shirt and ripped it open.

I let her scream like a banshee while we both stood feet away from one another trying to fix our shirts good enough to go at it again. When she dropped her hands and continued standing there, I went on and started walking to my car. Shelly, Posh and Dawn were behind me. All of a sudden, I heard the pitter-patter of feet rustling in the gravel. Carmen was coming at me like a Tasmanian devil with some kind of night stick in her hand. My victory stroll turned into a victory run when I saw that stick in the hands of a crazy woman coming towards me-who had no weapons to fight back with; no defense with the exception of Shelly, Posh and Dawn’s mace-fetching asses. Thank God Carmen’s side was encompassed with nerds.   

No way in hell was I going to let that mentally-ill broad run up on me with a stick in her hand, hearing voices in her head-telling her to fuck up my face.

Posh and I got into the front seat at the same time. Dawn and Shelly made their way to the back seat. While in and laughing, all we could see was Carmen’s deranged ass poking the stick in the window screaming: “I want to kill you! I want to kill you!” repeatedly-as if it was really her man that I was sleeping with. As if it was her phone that I constantly played on-night and day. As if it was her job I was calling-playing on the phone. It was crazy. The whole thing was surreal-and kept me in a state of shock with voices in my head saying: “All this, over Mitch?”

We laughed while she banged the tip of the night-stick to the window of my car like it was her index finger: “I’m gonna kill you bitch. I am gonna kill you!”

When she said that-it pissed me off because I needed to finish her off.  I can’t take being threatened and I didn’t have any plans on having to put up with her after tonight.

I could tell there was no way she was going to stop harassing me anytime soon, even after ass-whipping number one and this ass-whipping number two I had on deck for her for when I stepped out of the car. I wanted to stick sparks to her so badly but with the damage I was going to do to her this time, it sure as hell would have brought out her defunct rock band-and my back up wasn’t worth shit, if that was to happen.

I rolled the window down some:

“Carmen, why don’t you put the night-stick away so that we could fight heads up, ‘cause I’m about to beat your ass like the rabid animal you are!” I folded my lips and grunted.

“Bitch I want you dead! I want you dead!” was all I could hear her saying.

She annoyed me.

She had just way too much passion for the passion that she wasn’t getting. She had no self-respect.

I laughed and cut the engine on and yelled out the window:

“If you really want it-you will put that night-stick down ‘cause I’m ready to get out of this car and go hamm on your ass!” I asserted.

She held onto it tightly-standing there with it by her side.

Like a rabid dog, I stared her in the eyes and teased her:

“What’s the matter? I cut you off right at the part where you were trying to show Mitch you could hang in the bedroom, like how he told you I hold it down?”  I laughed and began to drive slowly.

She was listening intently-like a dog being tamed by a trainer:

“Sweetie I could send Mitch packing and ship him over here to for six months and you would never get him like I got him. You’re wasting your time and your energy, all this crazy mad passion and anger. Have some self-respect. He does not want you. You need to be thanking me for the time that you did spend with him. Get over it,” I simply said.

Pointing my two fingers, reminiscent of “Celie” in the “Color Purple,” at the end of the movie’s dinner table scene of what was obviously her favorite old movie, I joked and mimicked:

“Everything you done-done-done already been done to you!”

It caught Dawn, Posh and Shelly totally off guard. The whole car shook with laughter but it took my spell off of Carmen. She began to yell instantaneously like a dog barking at someone for pissing where she thought she marked her spot.

I refused to put up with her silliness and craziness any further.

I drove off, leaving dust from the rocks and gravel in her crazy ass face.

“All this shit over Mitch?” I said aloud-after the voices.

“I mean seriously man-it’s not that serious. For no man-especially a man who told you that he didn’t want you anymore right in another woman’s face. It all should have ended right there. That crazy bitch has been watching too many movies! You see how she came to life when I hit her with the Celie smack down,” I laughed.

We all busted out into laughter. My girls (even with all their lame ass background help) always loved my humor amongst other things, namely: my advice, my conversation, my company and my companionship-yet, tonight was something they had never seen or heard tale of-from me. Everybody was pretty shocked-including me.


When I got in the house and got situated, I placed a call to make peace with this girl. Had she no idea where I lived, I probably would not have cared. She already had my work number, and the place where I worked; once we greeted the caller with the bank’s name-it was nothing to find out where it was. With all that in her crazy ass hands and knowing, now-for sure, the fire inside of her over Mitch was this way, I thought it best to get in her head.

Waiting a couple of hours-I bathed and chilled, during; hoping that her lame ass college-buddies had dissipated so that I could reach her-and reach her…

When I called her, she sounded calm until she heard it was me on the other line-then she snapped back into crazy mode.

“Carmen, you can chill all that out and I won’t say one more word-then you and me can go right back to the drawing board if you don’t calm your ass down. And this time, I assure you-it won’t be nothing nice.”

She got quiet.

We both waited to see who was going to speak first.


I pulled one of her numbers. I headed to the fridge, cracked open a soda, opened the microwave and warmed up dinner that Mitch had cooked earlier and began chomping on it in her ear. I could feel her crazy ass hunger; lusting on the other end-listening to the mouth and lips that held Mitch’s interest over hers.  

I chewed that meal slowly and seductively, like I was savoring every bite, while she listened intently. She was so patient. I could feel her pressing her ear so close to the phone that she almost squeezed herself right through it. She did not want to hang up. I could tell that me, sitting there holding the phone opposite her was breathing life into her, especially knowing that the man she loved was near-or would soon be.

I broke the silence:

“Now Carmen. Again, I am not going to talk to you-until you calm down. Are we there yet?” I asked her.

She was good and calm. Actually enticed-she spoke calmly, submitting:

“Angie it didn’t have to go this far. It didn’t have to go this far-it just didn’t!” she said-dramatically.

I spoke, calm and assertively:

“You’re right. It didn’t. You took it this far: playing on my phones, playing on my phone at work, threatening to come to my house to kick my ass, threatening to kill me. I mean-that dick couldn’t have been that good- I mean-really, because you have been going out of your mind over this thing. And you should be embarrassed. If a man shows you better than he can tell you that he doesn’t want to be with you, then turn the other way.” I advised.


She began to tell me how she already had a boyfriend that loves her back in her hometown. She continued on with all a whole bunch of mumbo-jumbo that I had no interest in hearing, but I adlibbed and listened on while she sang like a canary; having admitted to having gone through all Mitch’s things and apologized for all of her madness. I continued to let her ramble on just to a point to get all my questions answered and make her think all was well, and we were the next best things to being chums in passing, and then I eased her off the phone. 


When Mitch returned home late that night/into the morning, I told him about all that had happened. He couldn’t believe it.


We laughed about it into the wee-hours. I finished off his night-by fucking him with the kind of appreciation that you would have from treasuring something that someone else treasured on a whole different level.

I was so tired and but horny. I needed to be fucked and I wanted to fuck-so, I fucked him aggressively because some part of me was jealous that some chick out here in the world wanted him more than I appreciated him. It didn’t even matter to me that he wanted me over her-just the thought that someone wanted him so much-and so much so that she wanted to kill me over him; made me want to work his head over about as much as mine was worked over from the day.

I made him fuck me aggressively by talking him through how he could not measure up to fucking me like other’s I had been with-just to fuck with his head-giving him stories and first hand accounts on how I’d been fucked and sucked so well, that he had a lot of catching up to do if he wanted to measure up. That was my way with Mitch to set him off in bed. And it would get me monstrously aroused. Since I wasn’t emotionally and mentally as into the relationship as I wanted to be, it would arouse me to make him reach his aggressive pique by making him feel inadequate during sex as play-yet, he never quite knew if I was serious or no. He would just have to conclude whether or not his fucking and sucking was effective by how submissive and weak he could make me.

He did well-very well.






It was something about that-that would have me on cloud nine and treating Mitch like he was the man of the house who was paying all the bills and in charge (like the man should’ve been). But along with submitting to him, he would be getting beside himself sometimes; insisting on winning disagreements and arguments; like whatever he would say or decide upon, was to be the final answer-no matter his wrong. I would work hard to ignore him sometimes, just to keep our fights from escalating because they would turn violent to the point of him grabbing me really hard or pinning me down to the bed-with his body-weight over me, feeling like he was crushing me. Stuff like that would lead to him going down on me in an instant-especially after I would close down the “lovin’ shop” on him as punishment for not being sure if he was screwing other fatties or crazies I knew nothing about.

He was getting so cocky. And it was hard to tell if it was because he was pumped and juiced up from sucking me and my submitting, or if was because he was flexing and sticking his chest out over stuff that I didn’t know about.


Tammy, a close friend of mine, invited Mitch and I to come down to her son’s birthday party, where the adults would hang out in another couple of rooms while chaperoning the kids. Because Ciara was a mutual friend, she too was invited too come, so she rode down with me. Mitch ran errands for us that day, on his bike, so, he was going to arrive later-but would be riding home with Ciara and me-bike in trunk.


We came bearing gifts. All was going well at the house party.

When Mitch arrived, he walked in with his Colgate smile that would light up any room. I can’t lie, it was something about him that would light up inside of me whenever he would walk into any room; home or elsewhere-especially if we were not fighting and back on our routine.

He kissed me, spoke to Ciara and hung out in the room with us while we were snacking and watching over the kids.

He then walked into the kitchen where my friend Tammy, a couple of her other friends, and her fiancé were holding down a card game with some other adults playing at the next table-nothing spectacular. Tammy’s fiancé and Mitch were familiar with one another, so they held small talk and friendly laughs-their usual.

I could see into the kitchen from the room Ciara and I was in with the kids. At one of the card-tables sat a girl: a homely-looking chick who looked like she was pregnant at the eyes and wearing glasses for two. She could not keep those things off of Mitch.  

“Oh shit. Not again!” Ciara laughed out loud.

It was funny as hell-Ciara knew this thing all too well.

“Girl I know when Mitch walked up in there, those glasses fogged up didn’t they?” she laughed and asked aloud, as if she was yelling it into the kitchen so that the pregnant-eyed girl who couldn’t hear. “These whores love that man. He puts a spell on these bitches when he walks through! Puts 'em in a trance! They love him girl! They wanna fuck him sight-on-scene! It's ridic!”

All we could do was laugh because Mitch really was one fine athletic dude. He could get a girl’s pussy wet in thirty seconds-flat on just looking at him, alone. By the time he would flash that Colgate smile, within the next ten seconds, if her shit was in any way functioning; if she didn’t cum in her pants, that knob would surely be throbbing at least 20bps. 

Everywhere we would go, we would watch girls damn near lose control when they’d look at Mitch. We liked to laugh at the responses-but little did they all know; I had my fists in both his nostrils. By the time he would split that corner to stand or sit back next to me and they got a look at the both of us, all their fantasies of meeting their Fabio would be crushed. “Sorry!” (We would laugh).


Ciara had been on many of our outings with us and knew the game all too well. She was all-too familiar with it all and got the biggest kick out of it. Throughout the months and years of mine and Mitch’s on-again and off-again relationship; even two of my very own friends went in for the kill during our “off-again” times that I was weaving Mitch in and out of my life between Remedy or simply wanting relationships with the concept of time rather than him.

Dana was one of my friends who was so secretly crazy about Mitch. She couldn't help herself. He and I both knew it and would laugh about it-together.

I’ll never forget how on Mother’s Day, Mitch fought hard to get my time. We had been on our “off-again” probably for a week or two beforehand, but because of the way we were; he secretly knew that he could bombard my time, especially considering the sentiment of the day. I wanted to chill that day, but he had the day planned. I wanted to just bathe and hang out around the house in pajamas-not so much as comb my hair that day. I just wanted to relax. He lost that fight and had to trash his pre-plans, but he refused to lose the fight all the way. He insisted on coming over to spend the day with us and brought the plans-all over to me. It was sweet. Mitch was always like that. He always tried so hard to impress me-everyday-no matter what. I was dressed in pajamas and my hair was all over my head that day but Mitch didn’t care, he just wanted to be up under me.


“Ring,” Ring,” “Ring.” I picked up the phone. It was thoughtful Dana:

“Happy Mother’s Day. What are you doing today?” she asked.

“Same to you sweetie, I’m just chillin’ out today-pajamas all day. I might bake something good for Mr. Mitch. He brought enough food over to feed an army-but no desert!” I giggled and smacked his nose, as he sat up under me looking up at me like a puppy, while I sat on the bed. 

“Oh so you’re not going to the park today?” she asked.

(Sunday-any Sunday-every Sunday in spring, summer and early fall, was the hot-spot).

“Nah, I can’t go today-I’m held hostage,” I sighed and laughed.

Mitch yelled aloud: “You wouldn’t be held hostage if you would’ve gotten dressed and let me take you out instead of bringing take out to you!”

“Oh, Mitch is over there?” said Dana-lowering her voice.

“Yeah, getting on my nerves already-acting like a puppy and won’t get off from underneath me,” I blushed and blew a kiss at him.       

“Oh, okay. Well I’ll talk to you later,” she said.

“Okay well, have a good day,” I replied.

Mitch and Me hung out, cuddled and watched television.

Couple hours later:

“Ding-dong,” the bell rang.

I was clueless as to who it could be because I had gotten all my phone calls from everybody for the day. Ciara was spending the day with her mom-so, I wasn’t expecting her. Who could it be?

I got up and walked to the top of the stairs:

“Who is it?” I yelled.

“Dana!” she yelled back.

“Dana?” I questioned, looking back at Mitch-laying back on the pillows and looking at me the same way I was looking at him: perplexed.

“What the hell? Didn’t you tell her you were busy today?” he asked.

“Yeah-I did,” I paused.

I shook my head back and forth and Mitch began shaking his right along with me.

I whispered in at him:

“It’s official. That one...loves her some you!” I said, as I pointed down the steps.  

“She wants to give you that pussy doesn’t she?” I taunted.

Like a kid being held by the collar he shook his head ‘yes’ and ‘no’ at the same time while saying aloud: “I think so.”

I said forcefully: “Nah. Answer it like you would if you were talking to the homies! You know she wanna give you that shit, don’t you? Acknowledge it, faggot-don’t play. Aint no secrets here. You know she wants to fuck you,” I squinted my eyes at him-as if I was threatening him.

Mitch clutched his stomach laughing.

“Nah, you answer the door and I’m going to sit where you are sitting,” I said to him.

“Come on, get up,” I demanded.

I sent him charging down the steps while I sat back on the pillows-waiting for Dana’s, thoughtful sneaky ass to make her way to the top of the steps to look to the right at me-sitting there on the bed-dying to hear what her excuse was for stopping by, after I made it clear to her that I would be held up all day in the house with Mitch.

She made her way to the top of the steps, I looked over to my right and there she stood: dressed to kill, hair: shit, shined and shellacked:

“Hello Dana. You look great. What’s up?” I asked-curiously.

She put on the baby doll voice: “Uh-nothing, just stopping by-you’re still not going?”

I heard Mitch slowly making his way back up the steps. He walked around through the living room, to the other side of my bedroom’s second door to enter from that side.

He sat back down on the floor beneath me-like my sweet little puppy, facing the television. I began to run my fingers through his beautiful head of hair and looked at Dana with a very serious face.

“Dana,” I paused and said slowly with my eyes squinted.

“I told you…that I would be spending the day with Mitch-here at home…I was serious when I said that.”

“Hmm. Well, I will talk to you later then,” she said-looking embarrassed.

“Sure Dana. Talk to you later,” I replied.

She walked down the steps alone.

The moment she shut the door, Mitch turned around, looked at me and burst into laughter. We were stunned. As if it wasn’t enough that just months prior (on a Sunday, after coming from the Park) Mitch was at the McDonalds getting the googly-eyes from Dana-trying to flirt; acting like she didn’t know who he was. And when he refreshed her “thoughtful” memory, she was so embarrassed that he called her to the carpet on it, that she resorted to eluding to the false fact that she hadn’t talked to me in near ions. It was so pathetic, I couldn't believe it. I never said anything to her about it either. I just tucked it away in my mental rolodex.


Then there was Tonya-another friend mine of many years. She and I had gone out together one evening. At the venue, a couple guy friends of mine happened to have been there and I spotted Mitch as well. At that time, we weren’t exclusive but at the same time, we were not quite off but not on either, however, I did not want his eyes following me the whole night because I was on some care-free shit that night. So I had Tonya, who was much taller than me, on eye spy-shielding me from view whenever I was mingling around.

Well months later, during one of mine and Mitch’s off-again times, he was busy involved in this modeling group where Tonya was apart of the same group. She and I would be talking and she would act really weird by ending our conversations with this same statement: “Girl I have something to tell you, but I’ve got to be sure first-it’s nothing. We’ll talk…”

Turns out, that “nothing” was the fact she had been taking Mitch out to dinners after the two of them hanging out with this modeling group they were in. Her low down sneaky ass was trying to see if he remembered her from being with me at the venue some time ago. She, knowing who he was to me, was really hoping that she could play this whole “bumping into someone that I was once involved with” as a “chance happening.” Of course he didn’t remember her but she sure as hell remembered his fine ass-and all for the sake of him being fine; she was willing to forfeit and dismember my friend-ass…for his fine ass-having no idea that I could write my own ticket: to, far, away near, at whim and by my choosing, with him. Regardless of our “off-agains,” when we were “on-again,” it was on-all over again. He always told me everything-next to how many times a day he shitted-if I wanted to know that too. And he told on her ass too.

According to Mitch (who, after he fucked her twice) she confessed to him at dinner one night, that she knew him by way of me. Of course Mitch was freaked out about it. And just like that stunt Dana pulled, Tonya’s way of easing the tension was to tell him that she hadn’t talked to me in ions-all just to get a little taste of what it would be like to be with his pretty ass-as if the tip of his dick was sure to guarantee a house of the hill, and the white picket fence with two dogs in the yard that go: “woof” “woof,” even if it was at the expense of dispensing a friend. These broads were diabolical when it came to Mitch’s fine ass.  

Thank goodness I never told them about our bedroom business and how good I had him trained on how to suck pussy down to a science, because they would have surely wrapped theirs around their neck and came ringing my doorbell-daily-hoping that he would answer, had they known how it all goes down in my bedroom. 


It was unbelievable. They were willing to forfeit 10/12 years of good friendship over a possibility, a roll in the hay and a chance; a chance that they did not even have (as long as I was alive and Mitch was alive to know I was alive). The tricks these broads would play would be amazing. He would always come right to me and tell me. His being kept in my good graces was on a level that they knew nothing about or could compete with.  

Little did they know, the same spell he could put on these girls (with his good looks and Colgate smile) was the same spell I had on him-and on my time, by my watch and at whim-for years. He wasn’t through with me yet. And he could not get over me (just yet), because he had never gotten the chance to have all of me liked he wanted to. I was never fully: emotionally, mentally or physically available to him-all at once: ever.

That was the difference between me and them (and all my girlfriends-actually). Always was. No matter how weak I was for a man, he never knew all of me. My friends may have known, but the men in my life never got all of me. And as I got older, something in me closed, and I totally did not have it in me to be all three of those things for (not just Mitch) but any man. That was my edge-my mystery to them all. Outside of sex, I just couldn’t give it all away.

Even if they thought the sex was all about them, it was all about me (and for me-moreover). I was realizing that as I got older. My delivery just made their egos think otherwise, just as much as my naivete’ had me thinking that the sex was because of love. Both wires were crossed.


With Mitch, little did all these strumpets know, he wouldn’t let up. Not just because of the sex, but because he was curious to uncover more about me everyday-because he knew there was more-that he wasn’t getting. Throughout our entire friendship and into the relationship; he never got tired of trying. And I never got tired having him my way or looking at his fine ass through the same lenses that the next woman was looking from.


…So I knew what Pregnant Eyes was going through while sitting in that kitchen when Mitch walked in. She probably forgot that it was Tammy’s son’s birthday party and thought it was now her birthday-Mitch was the surprise. His ‘ole delicious self looked like life suddenly happening after turning the page of a hunky upscale male magazine.

Ciara and I knew all too well. We laughed at ‘ole Pregnant Eyes, yet, Ciara knew it was about to be some drama, because (especially in closed quarters) girls couldn't contain themselves whenever Mitch was around. Sometimes we would sit back and watch and laugh for a while, but this time, I wasn’t going to watch for too long. It wasn’t funny anymore because Mitch was already getting beside himself these days-especially after I confessed to him that Rem got killed and definitely wouldn't be coming back. It was like he was taking advantage of me having only him to fall back-like he was getting me back for all the times I chose Rem's feelings over his. 

He already knew the routine.

He knew Ciara and I were watching in the distance and most probably was laughing.

But he also knew that he had better put himself in clear view so that I could see everything-including that pregnant-eye’s cooter knob throbbing in her pants underneath that table, too.

I was turning and giggling at Ciara to my right, then turning back to my left to give him the evil-eye. After a few minutes, the fun games weren’t fun anymore to him-he got “cute.” He moved in the direction where he was out of my view, but I could still see pregnant-eyes; turned in such a way where she was talking (in his direction)…

That is where he screwed up and my smile dropped. The laughter ceased.

I turned to Ciara:

“He obviously gave her what she wanted-some conversation. Look at her face-she’s happy as a lark. You know I’m going to kick his ass for this one, when we leave-right? You already know it right?”


Ciara laughed and sighed; preparing herself for another one of our big fights that she had grown accustomed to witnessing or trying to break up. She knew we were going to go home and do the usual: me-swinging on him for as much and many times as possible before he could grab hold of me and lift me high above him; pinning me to the nearest door or wall-squeezing my arms so tightly like he could taste feeling the ligaments, veins, muscle, and blood ooze through his fingers. My arms forever stayed black, blue and purple. It was so painful. I could feel the pain before he could even grab me. Just by looking up into his eyes, I knew what was about to happen. I could feel it in my bones, in my body. I could feel it.

It would take every ounce of strength I had in me to try and break free from the strong grasp of his strong, thick fingers. I would be trying to scratch his eyes out while kicking him in the stomach as hard as I could to escape that pain. No matter how hard I kicked, my little feet kicking into his stomach was ineffective, nothing but annoyances to his rock-hard abs. This position he'd have me up in was nothing but an abs and shoulder exercise for him, so he could have me up there for what seemed like forever. He would have me pinned on that wall or door as if at any moment that he was going to step back-I would somehow hang there like a human wall-sconce. He would not get tired. It was amazing. Like painful magic. I would be hanging there trying to use my wrists and fingers to fight while I'd beg and cry, or until I'd get sleepy. He would grit his teeth, yelling or grunting like a madman. It hurt so bad that I would have rather him hit me than pin me up there for so long and so hard. No pain was like it, and I hated when he'd do that. I just hated it.

Eyes stretched in amazement looking attentive like watching something astonishing and everything short of having popcorn in her hand, Ciara would watch him lose his temper and punch holes in the wall to keep from punching me. It was like the force he would put into punching walls and hanging me up on them would be the equivalent of a woman being beat to a pulp with a man’s bare hands-yet, Mitch never did use his hands to hit me and meant business about not using his hands to hurt me-except to shake, squeeze, and isolate. After the pin-up and my kicking his stomach with my feet, depending on how mad he was, he would drop me to the floor and start stepping on my feet really fast-as if he was putting out a fire. I would be jumping around and screaming-trying not to be caught beneath his feet; jumping around and screaming like fire was beneath my feet. I would be soooo sore as if he really did beat my ass. All he needed was the word from me-to give him a choice as to how I was going to take it: If I elected to get my ass whipped by hands-I could tell he would surely deliver-something needed to happen. If he got angry he could never just walk away. And because I did not make a choice, he made for certain that the pin-up's pain would equal an ass-whipping. And to add to it; knowing that when he released me and that if I used my feet to kick him; he was going to teach my little moccasins another lesson. I knew always knew what pain my feet were going to go through if I used them to kick him, but I'd hope that just one kick, one day would be severe enough to teach him to walk away. That never worked out for me though.While stomping and punishing my feet; I dared not use my hands to strike him because I knew that he would probably grab them and punish 'em by blunt-force squeeze, too. So I'd just scream with my hands out, fingers stretched, while trying to escape.

So, after this “cute” shit he pulled with Pregnant-Eyes, I was prepared for all that pain. 

It wasn’t so much about Pregnant Eyes as it was Mitch. He was really getting beside himself these days, and treating me like he had the upper hand. These antics were giving him power and it irked me.    


I stood there patiently, sucking my teeth and talking to Ciara. A few minutes later, Mitch came in with a cup of juice and a smile on his face-like it was funny. I snatched the drink from his hand: “I’m kicking your ass when we leave here-bastard. Don’t be cute!” I grunted.  

That seemed to make him rebel more. He continued to play musical rooms between the kitchen and the room we were in-just to check on my mood-still thinking it funny; loving the fact that I was getting upset. He knew that no matter what we were going through at home, when we are out in public, the rules were to never give anyone any inclination that there was any trouble in paradise. He seemed to like trying my patience this particular day-because he didn’t get this kind of arousal out of me that often, but lately and this particular day-he was getting it in: good.

A short time later, like a mom directing her kid into the room for an upcoming ass-whipping, I signaled him to follow me-because I was ready to leave. I was so angry that I didn’t announce my departure to my friend Tammy-she was somewhere around the house-and I had nothing but Mitch in my eye.

Ciara and I headed downstairs to the car. Mitch still hadn’t made it down yet. That made me angry because I didn’t know if he was still trying to aggravate me and rebel, if he was up there making Pregnant Eyes’ day, or if he was up there cutting himself a side deal and doing what he had been into doing these days: making deals (but this time-without the Agent: Me).

He finally made it downstairs with his bike. He got to the car-preparing to put the bike in the trunk.

“Mitch, what the hell was that? What the hell were you trying to do? You know better than that!” I yelled at him.

“I was just playing, I was just playing Angie damn!” he replied-simply.

Laughing and shaking his head.  

No excuse he could give would suffice-I knew what I saw: nothing yet-something. Whether anything became of it or not, sometimes all a woman needs (just like a man) is to know that they stood a chance. For me, I did not play that and Mitch always knew the rules: If you ever give someone the impression that they stand the chance-you may as well take the chance…as far as I was concerned.

His coming downstairs haven’t not been intimate with her was no different for me than if he had been or took her phone. It was all the same to me. He knew how I felt about that and played on it.

Growing angrier at his playfulness, I yelled louder at him.

He snapped.

He walked up to me, looked down at me, took his finger to poke it into my forehead really hard and grunted: “I said nothing happened!”

He missed my forehead and that strong sturdy finger aimed at my forehead went straight into my eye instead. I couldn’t see out of it for a minute. I bent down-holding my eye and yelled for Ciara: “CIARA, GIVE ME MY DAMN SCREWDRIVER!”


Ciara always knew everything, down to where to find my screwdriver in my car (because sometimes, we would have to manipulate the starter under the hood with it-in order to get the car started).

She hurriedly handed it too me.

I chased Mitch down the street of that ghetto neighborhood like an Olympic Gold Medalist. Those two wheels on that bike had nothing on these little running feet of mine. He was riding that bicycle so hard and fast that it looked like in any minute he would be taking off into the air like Elliott, E.T and his buddies. I couldn’t catch up with him for nothing and it was driving me crazy. Every time I lunged to swing the screwdriver to stab him, he would get a lucky burst of wind and momentum that would catapult him many paces ahead of me.


It was magical-I was mad.

I was growing more pissed and frustrated every second yet, too angry to even feel tired.

I wanted to puncture his back like he punctured my eye.

I wanted that screwdriver ripped and in.

I was so mad that I began to grunt and cry at the same time and about a mile and a half and too many blocks into this chase, I gave up. I knew that I would get him soon anyways-because we lived together. Correction: he lived “with me.”   

Briskly, I walked back down the street crying and huffing and puffing like I was PMS’ing.

By the time I got back to the car, Mitch was riding close to me-apologizing.

Ciara-Bennett-Now-In-It took another deep breath and placed her hands upon her head, but didn’t say a word-as usual. She knew that I was too angry for conversation or peace at this moment. She wanted him to just ride away so that she and I could get in the car and go home-in peace. I could always read Ciara like a book.


Mitch pleaded: “Angie, please. Let me get in, let me ride home with you will you?”

Ciara snatched the screwdriver from me:

“Let him in. Just let him in Angie,” gasped Ciara, sounding like Frost-Ike’s friend in the movie: “What’s Love Got To Do With It-” the scene where Ike was forcing AnnaMae to eat the cake and Frost gasped: “AnnaMae just eat the cake,” after the big diner fight, because he was exhausted and just wanted all the fighting to end.

“Let’s go home. It’ll be alright Angie,” said Ciara.

I paused and took a deep breath and agreed to let him ride.

He stuffed his bike into the hatchback of my trunk and we all drove off.

By the time we hit the next block while at the light-waiting for it to change; Mitch and I were at it again. This time, he went in further. In a fit of rage, he got out and grabbed his bike from the trunk. He then took my passenger door and slammed it so hard that the glass of my window busted into itty bitty pieces in the middle of the street. It happened so fast that the light hadn’t even turned green, yet.


I was speechless. My mouth hung open.

I looked back at Ciara-Bennett-Not-In-It.

As if she was looking around for any traces of Mitch before saying what it was she was about to say, she turned her head to look out the back seat’s window and spoke: “Girl, that crazy motherfucker. He is crazy! Let him ride his crazy ass on. He’s got a temper and y’all fight way too much.”

I didn’t reply. I was still speechless.

When I got home, I was pacing the floor and crying.  I was so frustrated.

Five minutes later, he was outside looking up at the balcony and yelling: “Angie, can I come up?”

“Kiss my ass Mitch,” I yelled down at him.

The neighborhood homies on the porch already knew about our fights, so, it was nothing new. They carried on with their crap game only occasionally looking up to make sure everything was everything.

I guess the one-hour the bike ride home through ten communities must’ve cleared Mitch’s head and the anger subsided, because he was outside begging to come inside-clowning and poking fun at my jealousy like it was all too cute and funny. As if by this time, I too, should have been doing and feeling the same. No can-do. Not with a missing window thrown into the whole mess.

He kept on:

“Yeah the girl was kind of cute when she took those glasses off!” he laughed from downstairs-below the balcony I was standing on-housing his stinking ass sneakers. I looked down at him with my lips twisted upwards, trying do decide if I was going to spit on him or have Ciara bring me a bucket of hot water to throw on him.

The hot water had the better effect.

From the edge of the balcony, I threw it down at him; while leaning over to whisper down to him:

“Oh yeah? Well I have a question for you “Mr: Condom Man-Come-Home-Fucked-And Don’t-Even-Know-He’s-Been-Fucked." Do you at least know what condoms taste like? Oh. You should know, from many of those early 6am mornings I would come home from fucking Tommy after leaving work and too tired to fuck, um: you when I come home!”

I folded all five fingers on my right hand, put them to my lips and blew him an Italian kiss: “Bon’ appetite,’ bitch! I mean: bone appetite’-you bitch!”

My anger suddenly subsided and I felt safe knowing that my front and back doors were locked, he didn’t have the key, and I was up-up-and away from Romeo; standing on top of that balcony like Juliet looking down and crushing his world and pumped-up ego. I hate that he loved the fact that he was so good looking that he could have any girls' pregnant eyes or pregnant if he wanted to. He was way too comfortable with knowing that now that Remedy was gone, I had no one else but him. That was his power. I needed to shatter him, and that was the only thing I could tell him to piss him off. I just needed something to fight back with.

I won.

All he could do was stand below me and get pissed-feeling slighted, like while he was doing all the sucking, I was doing all the fucking (elsewhere).   

“Now how cute is that-with glasses off?” I dug in.

As far as I was concerned at this point, we were even. 


I turned and walked to the balcony door to come back inside the house, but before I could, he ran up to my car and literally lifted it up in the air from its tail end and over his head-threatening to drop it straight to the ground.

My eyes stretched wide open. The only time in my life I had ever seen that done was by a baby: Superman-in the first “Superman” movie. I was startled. I thought Mitch was the for real kind of crazy when I looked down and saw that.

 “I will drop this motherfucker straight to the ground Angie, try me! I will throw it down. Just try me!” he yelled up, speaking as if he was merely talking about dropping a book to the ground from his hands. I guess since he couldn’t get to me to wall-sconce me my car would have to suffice. I wasn’t having it:

“I’m going to call the police Mitch, if you do not put my car down. I mean it!” I looked over the balcony at him and said.

The homies were watching-everything.

I talking back and forth to Ciara from inside, and by the time I turned back around to peep down and Mitch-like a praying mantis; he was up and on that balcony like a grasshopper in human form. It freaked me out-I thought I was caught in the Matrix.

I hurriedly ran to the balcony door, and locked it.

He had the screen door open and demanding that I open the door or else. I knew that he was steaming mad and was itching to get his hands on me-I refused to open that door-even though I knew he would have no problem kicking it in if he had to. So I placed my serious-looking face to the balcony door window and threatened:

“I’m serious Mitch, I’m about to call the police right now. I’m for real!”

He dropped his shoulders.

He was weak-mentally and emotionally and couldn’t fight anymore.

I was shocked. My eyes stretched wider.

Like a grasshopper, he hopped back off the balcony and got back onto his bike-then rode away.

I could see the homies across the street all turn around in unison; continuing on with their crap game.

Everything was peaceful and calm for the next couple of hours, so, I drove Ciara to her boyfriend’s house then headed back home.

When I pulled into my driveway and got out of my car, Mitch came out on nowhere and grabbed me by hair and started in on me. My heart dropped.

The homies were no where to be found.

I managed to get lose from him and made it to my front porch to open the door but didn’t have enough time to get in and lock him out. He was not about to let that happen this time.

I thought that earlier when he turned around and hopped off the balcony and rode away on his bike; that was a sign that he threw up the white flag in surrender of this evening. After that calm, cool and peaceful couple of hours had passed, I was good and well out of fight or flight mode with this whole thing, but he wasn’t-not by a long shot. I was stunned. Nothing could tell me that he hadn't finally made a decision to walk away without fighting me. I was peacefully convinced of, and had faith in that.

Oh God.

It was dark outside, quiet on the street, no one was around this time--no one, just me and him.

He was like that devil I finally had a date with.

He was angry and breathing like a madman. I could hear his breath in between the pitter-patter of my feet trying to make it inside of that front door.

I got in.

I got to the bottom of my hallway steps-trying to run up to my apartment but I couldn’t move faster than him. My little feet were speeding up those stairs. I almost made it, but he made sure I didn’t. I knew that he knew he was too angry to use his hands to grab me, because if he did-he would have sent me trucking right back down all those steps by my heels. So to stop me from running up that stairs, he used his feet again. He kicked me in my tailbone so hard. The pain was excruciating-like fire. I fell to the steps and started screaming bloody murder. That was the only thing that scared him off. He then hopped on that bicycle of his and sped off. 

I made my way to the top of my steps and into my bedroom.

I called over to my mother’s house where Twin was-to tell him to start walking in the direction that I knew Mitch was most probably headed: to his mom’s house, which was not too far from my moms’.

I told Twin that I would be driving towards him and we should pretty much sandwich Mitch in, somewhere along the route.

I could hardly walk-I was so damned sore. I thought I was going to be paralyzed for life. It felt like my upper half had been detached and placed back on to my lower half by some mad scientist that wasn’t finished with me yet.


By the time I pulled up on Mitch, Twin was right there too.

I dragged myself out the car and yelled: “This lunched out motherfucker kicked me in my back and I can hardly walk! Something is really wrong and I know I am going to need to go to the hospital tonight!”

Mitch began to tell my brother what I did and said to him over the balcony, then proceeded to give him a run-down of our eventful day. My brother was standing there looking confused, but partially wanting to side with Mitch on it, because as a man too-I could tell he could feel his plight.

Mitch started to cry and tell him how much he loved me and couldn’t take it anymore. I was in so much physical pain that I couldn’t even empathize with Mitch at the moment. I continued to yell and say mean hurtful things to him-I just wanted his head to pop off-I wanted some kind of pain to match mine.

He held on to his head like a rabid dog. He was livid.

There were no walls to punch and he sure as hell wasn’t going to lift me off my feet and slam me into anything in front of my brother so instead, he drop-kicked the large storefront window of an abandoned warehouse.

Glass fell everywhere, like a demolition explosion.  The alarm went off and the police came immediately. I kept yelling at Mitch-telling how crazy he was for all this. He yelled and cried as the officers put him into the back seat. While the officer was asking me what happened, Mitch was in the back of the cruiser in cuffs, banging his head on the bars of in front of him.

Twin turned and asked me: “Is that motherfucker drunk? ‘Cause he’s trippin’ back there.”  

I locked eyes with Mitch.

He wasn’t drunk. His heart was drunk, his mind was drunk.

With his hands cuffed behind his back, he used his entire face to point at me as if he was pointing in finger at me: “I love you! I loved you-Angie!” repeatedly.

He was crying. I felt so badly for him-all over again. I held my held down and cried.

The officer kept yelling in between Mitch’s screams-telling him to calm down. He then asked me if I wanted to press charges.

No way-I couldn’t do it.

I knew Mitch had gone through enough already from this day, and I considered what he was going through and feeling at that very moment-in spite of the physical pain I stood there in.

I also took into consideration the fact that Mitch and his friends had been involved in those check-kiting schemes and I never knew what was to become of that, too. I figured that with him being held in the back of that police car on his way downtown for the damage done to the building, he would have enough on his plate to deal with already. I could not bare the thought of hurting him anymore after tonight. I just couldn’t do it.


None of what he ever did to me, or what we had gone through-mattered anymore. I just wanted him to be alright at the mind and heart.

As the police pulled off with Mitch, he kept banging his head on the fence in front of him and still pointing his head at me: declaring love. I was watching him rock from side to side and crying-not evening caring about the trouble he was already in. Merely upset and hurt about what I said to him-and wondering where I was going to be in the early morning hours: Nowhere. Nowhere but home-waiting on him, little did he not know as he was getting hauled off.

This time, it was big.

Mitch was headed downtown, riding away slowly, hand-cuffed, crying and rocking his head from side to side with no one there to catch and wipe his tears. 

That hurt me-and I folded my lips and cried.

Twin and I got back into the car.

I took him back to my mother’s house then went home to bathe and lie down.

I was so tired, sore and worn out. I slept peacefully-like a baby.

I hadn’t slept that hard in a long time.

Fresh out of jail the next day, Mitch’s first call was to me: “Angie, I want to talk to you-still,” he said.

“Yeah, we can talk but without no violence-please!” not today Mitch, I’m tired and I’m sore.

He promised, so I agreed.

Ciara was over.

The moment I hung up the phone she sighed out: “Oh God-Oh no!”

I laughed.

“No, he’s on chill right now Ciara, he does not want any drama after last night,” I replied.

When he came home, we sat around the house for hours while I cooked.

We talked while he drank beer all afternoon and into the evening.

He saved the questions about what I said about Tommy for last. I don’t know why I thought that he would just leave it alone.

As the beer kicked in along with the details, Mitch began to pace the floor back and forth like some deranged man.

He couldn’t help himself.

He grabbed my already bruised arms and held me back up to that same wall in my bedroom behind the door-all over again. I was able to hit him in the head with the can of soda that I was drinking. I could tell that he did not want to fight but wanted to do something to alleviate the anger growing inside of him, so he dropped me to the floor and kept pacing back and forth saying the words: “Total control, total control!” repeatedly.

Ciara had come in to my room and stood at the door. We watched him do this exercise over and over in total awe. We kept staring at one another-this one was a new one on us.

“I guess it’s some technique he learned from jail last night or something,” I said to her, as he continued his ritual.

“Mitch quit it. Get up, please,” I asked, gently.

His ritual worked. Some kind of calm-some kind of peace came over him.

This was something new, too.

Without saying a word, he grabbed his bike and ran down the steps with it.

I followed him down-I knew he didn’t want any trouble.

He then sat the bike down on the porch, ran across the street and started ramming his head into the two street signs in the parking lot, there.

I was embarrassed for him this night because the homies were outside watching all this action.

This one was a new one on them as well-they just looked on.

I stood there with tears in my eyes knowing that there was nothing I could do or say to calm him down or console him-so I let him tire himself out; ramming his head while holding on to mine.

When he stopped ramming, he walked back over to the porch to grab his bike, looking like a pouting kid with a shaky bottom lip.

“Come in the house so we can talk Mitch,” I said, calmly.

He wouldn’t talk. He couldn’t talk.

He just sat on the steps and broke down crying like a baby.

I felt so badly.

I sat on the step above him and held his gorgeous big block head in my arms while running my fingers through his beautiful head of hair. Nothing else could console him at this moment, but my touch. Not even a kiss or my voice would do. So I held him quietly and cried with him.

Like a mother consoling her child, I held onto him tightly while thinking about the two of us.

It was too much bad for anything to go good with us. I knew it-he knew it.

We started out on the wrong foot and barely had any footing throughout the entire relationship (any footing that was consistently stable), despite how we would go through the motions-pretending and consciously making an effort to prove to ourselves that we had something solid and stable.

We didn’t.

I needed to free him.

I needed to let his heart, his mind and his spirit fly free.


At that moment while holding him, he looked so different to me.

I knew that he was about as tired of me as I was of him, but I still felt bad.

I wanted my hold to make all his hurt go away.

I wanted so badly for my touch to make him think our nightmare was all a bad dream.  

I had to let him hear my voice: “I’m sorry Mitch. I’m so sorry,” was all I could say.

He got up and dragged his bike back into the house, walked up the steps, got in the bed and went right to sleep.

He slept the kind of sleep you would have after getting that good ole’ fashioned ass whipping from mom and dad-the kind that made you go to sleep even if beforehand, you weren’t even sleepy.

I prayed that somehow, within this sleep; the beer would wash away any thought he had that was hurting his heart and mind. I prayed that he would wake up an emotionally-sober and new man.

Even though I knew that in spite of how he woke up (when he woke up) that even if my prayer was answered; no matter how much a new man he could possibly wake up to be-he still wasn’t the man for me. And I was not the woman for him.  

I finally came to terms with that, that night.

Anything else would be lying to myself and nothing but lies could keep me from that truth, and I was done with living one.  


Mitch and I eventually called it quits and he moved out. It was humbling.

He started to get himself together, and we would still talk on the phone from Cruella’s "humble abode".

Eventually, he moved out of town and attended some junior college. He of course gave me all of his contact information but I never really called much because I thought it would be best that he and I be a done deal-no more on-again and off-again and chaos. I had done so many things to hurt him, and him-me, that I was pretty much ready to chalk up all of our years of knowing each other and being together as just a “thing;” an experience of some crazy kind; nothing to be continued-now or later.

Apart of me think I blamed it on everything up to and including his mom hating my guts as a reason not to allow myself to take him so serious, and not be head over feet with him in spite of the fact that I knew he loved me far too hard to allow that to be my excuse to not be with him wholeheartedly. But it indeed was a big part of my reason. I wouldn't even consider wasting any time on a man that didn't love his mother and I knew that Mitch loved his, so for me-if a man's mother doesn't like me then he and I probably wouldn't do too well. Despite his playboy ways, I knew Mitch was in this for the long haul. All he ever wanted was for me to be in with both feet. My respect and love for Rem over him made him lose full security in having that with me. So we both had issues. I just couldn't see myself being in a monogamous relationship with a man that that I could end up marrying whose mother wouldn't want me around for the holidays-he: stuck because he loves her and loves his woman. Fuck that. She blew my "ideal" necessity and fantasy of that ever being so, and in turn; blew it for Mitch.

I never revealed my deep feelings about that to him, because he would have had a conniption fit to know that I felt so strongly about such a thing when we both knew that he would just as soon divorce his mom before he would ever divorce himself from me if it came down to that. But still, I can’t lie. It was always stained in my brain-and shared a little bit of the blame for my haphazard ways with him. I secretly obsessed over that.

In addition to the chaos in our relationship, with his mom no giving two fucks about a me + her son; it was like he came to me with no protection-no solidarity behind him or any reasons for me to consider him, treat him well, or handle with care. Though I knew his mom loved him madly, the fact that she rejected me and treated me so badly was something that I never experienced in my life. I think I secretly set out to prove to myself that it was him who was not good enough for me. It was like I wanted to draw blood from his emotions, his mind, and his spirit. I think I had something to prove to myself in that regard. Like, if only she could have been that fly on the wall, if anything, she would’ve learned that it was me who was the Princess, for he was no Prince-just merely residing on my Peninsula. He brought bullshit to my life. Fuck her.


I guess things were going well for Mitch at the college. He was thawing out and very sober: emotionally, physically and mentally-I could tell-because his calls were infrequent to few and far between after some time. I guess when he felt up to it, he put his thoughts on paper and wrote me this letter after my finally calling him:       

“Angie. Hey. How ya doin’? I’m straight. Just sitting here thinking about you and I thought I’d write you a little somethin’. Anyway. You shocked the shit out of me when that dude told me that Angie called. I thought that it was some kind of emergency. (Like you bumped into Carmen-lol) But I was very pleased to know that you were just thinking about me. Dig…I was foreal when I was talking about us meeting up in Atlanta for a weekend-ya know-spend some time-get to know each other again and have some hot butt naked sex!

Well…It’s been real, but class is almost over. I just wanted you to know that you stay on my mind.

I’m out.,


Deep sigh.

I’m out too, Mitch.

I’m out, too…