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Jasmine
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Thank God traffic on the Jones Falls Expressway, a.k.a. Interstate 83, was light because I was not completely paying attention to the few cars whizzing by. It didn’t help that Magic 95.9 was in the midst of a Marvin Gaye triple play of “What’s Going On,” “Distant Lover,” and my favorite, “Let’s Get It On.” I was in my own head as flashes of the evening also went by... the buzz of people in the gallery, my delicious dinner, live jazz music, our ride through Canton, and then our walk through Federal Hill. When we finally returned to the gallery and my car, we sat in her “magnet”—she seriously calls her car a chick magnet—for another hour.
We talked about God knows what. But the longer we talked, the closer we got to each other and the better it got. We were so close at one point that I could feel the fine hair on her cheek. I was certain that time stood still as I deeply inhaled the light nutty scent of shea butter emanating from T’s skin. As we continued to talk, whisper really, she made circles with her finger on my thigh. The light pressure and sensual touch almost drove me outta my damn mind. She was comfortably in my personal space, taking charge, and I liked that. T didn’t ask if she would see me again, she said that she knew she would.
It was a wonderful evening, well worth the erratic drive home at three in the morning. No use in messing up an enchanting evening by getting home after the “Mrs.” Which would surely start an argument and spur questions and comparisons like why I didn’t drink and have fun with her? How could I somehow stay out late when she wasn’t around? And why I had this stupid, cheese-eating grin on my face.
For all of the evening’s wonder, I really didn’t appreciate that pixie fairy inserting her little narrow behind into our conversation and literally between me and T. T ignored my questions about it and tried to redirect the focus, which didn’t work for me. I felt like I was being ignored. Plus, had I not picked up the handcard from the gallery, I still wouldn’t have known her full name. Teresa Butler, the smooth-talking artist was going to be a force to reckon with.
I was not generally insecure, but I noticed the looks and attention she got from other women tonight. To me, those were bright red warning flags waving in a windstorm. We would need to talk about her women friends respecting boundaries, at least while we were hanging out together. Wait a minute. What was I thinking? For goodness’ sake, it had only been three weeks since I met T, certainly my emotions couldn’t be that invested... could they? Yeah, T could definitely be trouble.
However, I felt her body, both times were quick... hello and goodbye. But Lord knows I hoped to be that close to her again and soon. She had goals and plans. A lot of women had their public goals, ones that sounded good when they were trying to rap and impress, but I sensed that she said what she really believed. She was also good at blending humility with a healthy dose of self-confidence. Then again, how the hell would I know? A few weeks ago, she was a stranger I saw running at the Harbor. Now, I felt like a damn schoolgirl after a first big date.
What did she see in me? Oh well, no time to be self-conscious, the impression had already been made. But what did she think? I guess if she called again, it was positive. But what if she didn’t? She would. She liked me. “Argh, I hated this already!” I screamed in the mirror, laughed, and instantly got sad. What the hell was I doing? What about Toni?
I turned into the driveway and didn’t see Toni’s car. Whew, made it in under the wire. Toni and I had a conversation two weeks ago about her needing to be respectful when she was out partying and bringing her ass home. So, needless to say, I didn’t want to hear my own lecture about being considerate. Coco greeted me at the door, excited that someone was finally home. I let her out and picked up the phone to dial Toni’s cell but stopped. I was not tracking her down; she was a grown ass woman. She knew to call if there was a problem. Coco relieved her bladder after sitting on the patio and surveying the yard for ten minutes like she was a first-time visitor. I let her in, filled a glass with water from the tap, and Coco and I went to my room in search of rest.
***
The jarring sound of the phone on the nightstand woke me abruptly. With my head pounding from the sudden rush of energy, I rolled over, glanced at the clock which read four forty-eight, and wondered who the hell was calling at such an ungodly hour and why.
“Baby, Jazzy,” Toni’s voice slurred. “It’s me, I need to sleep a little while, the game was good, and I don’t think I can drive yet. I’m going to rest and come home in a little while.”
“You know this shit has gotten old, when did you realize that you had had enough?” I asked, instantly waking up and fuming.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” she continued to slur.
“IT’S MORNING NOW!” I yelled as I slammed the phone into its cradle.
Two hours later, Coco’s whining woke me up, “Get your other mother,” I moaned. Coco barked and I remembered her other mother wasn’t home. An instant tightening and burning pulsated in the space where my heart usually was. I took a few deep breaths and considered my options. Jasmine, you could make this a good day or stay in a foul mood. Change your attitude now because Toni wasn’t going to care either way.
***
Considering the rude awakening earlier, as the day progressed, my mood improved slightly. Being productive helped. I cleaned the house, started laundry, and was about to head out when Toni walked in.
“You leaving out early aren’t you?” Toni questioned.
“No, nine is early. It’s one-thirty in the afternoon, Saturday afternoon.” Toni’s eyes were bloodshot red, and she massaged her left temple. It was apparent that she had a headache, more reason for me to talk louder. But my pettiness was overcome by weariness. Why argue? “I’ll be back later,” I said over my shoulder.
“Fine,” she said.
“Fine,” I responded.
On the cell in the car, I called Leslie, one of my partners in crime. She and I used to be adjunct faculty at Baltimore City Community College. I taught an evening GED preparation course across the hall from her sewing class. She taught adults to fall in love with their abandoned sewing machines again by making easy home décor, children’s patterns, and simple clothing repairs. Leslie picked up the phone on the second ring.
“Hey sistah, what’s goin’ on?” Leslie questioned.
“You, what are you doing, I need to run a few errands... come ride shotgun,” I laughed.
“Can’t, need to finish Portia’s costume,” Leslie remarked.
“Costume, for what? What show is your daughter performing in now?” I asked.
“Church play. What’s wrong? You sound pissed,” she countered.
“I’m fine,” I lied.
“You aren’t. Did she come home?”
“Nope, got home as I was leaving,” I said shaking my head.
“You really need to deal with that,” she said, stating what I knew to be true.
“I plan to, just need a little time.” I wished that I actually had a viable plan or could snap my fingers and make my life make sense again.