Monday mornings were becoming a routine for Vincent. Micki forced him out of bed at eight o'clock in the morning and had him fed and sitting in front of his computer by nine twenty a.m. He had a ton of emails from his supporters that needed to be answered. By eleven-thirty, he left his computer to feed his dogs. By noon, he was ready for The Room, which was the name he had given to his personal writing area. Every author had their very own vibe to turn on their creative writing switch. It was kind of like how Christian's have their prayer closets. Vincent's space was personal to him.
The window remained covered with black Venetian blinds. The bare walls were painted a dull sand color. On the left side of the room was a cheap desk covered with a cup full of pens, a two and a half inch stack of blank writing paper, a flip dictionary and two regular dictionaries. There was no chair, no computer and no phone. Vincent always wrote his first draft in long hand. On the carpeted floor was a single mattress covered with two sheets.
Lying down on his stomach, Vincent would write on the wooden board at the left corner of the mattress. He found much comfort in doing this. He explained to Micki how he had written his books in prison while laying his mattress on the floor. He never had a sore back or neck to interrupt his flow. Micki knew not to disturb him when he was in the The Room. Since The Room had a bathroom, Vincent didn't have to come out until he was good and ready. Micki knew when Vincent was emotionally attached to a story; The Room became his prison.
The longest Vincent had held himself incarcerated in The Room had been four days straight. Micki had cooked his meals and left the food at the door. It excited her in an odd way when he was deep into his writing. He did it without any physical contact with Micki and she never fussed. She knew it was his life and his passion; a part of him that she loved.
Inside The Room, Vincent picked up his pen and briefly closed his eyes. He pushed the real world from his mind while pulling in the life of his characters that awaited movement through his pen. His mind released reality and gripped fiction. He opened his eyes and began to write-straight from his spirit-things he never knew was there.
Meanwhile, in the living room, Micki was stretched out on the sofa watching television. Within reach was a glass of rum and coke. Rex, the smallest of the two dogs, was in the corner asleep under the huge aquarium. It was now 8:38 p.m. and Vincent was still in The Room. If he wasn't out by nine p.m., she was going to heat up a plate of spaghetti for him and set it outside the door.
She finished her rum and coke, and then closed her eyes, counting to twenty. She felt the urge to go and lock herself in the bathroom and do what she often did sometimes lately. This was the only thing she did in secret behind Vincent's back. She would always go into the bathroom feeling stressed or miserable, but come out feeling rejuvenated.
Right now, something was heavy on her mind; she didn't know if an escape to the bathroom would do the trick this time. Tears slowly began filling her eyes as she stood up, sobbing softly. Without thinking, she headed straight to where she knew was off limits.
Micki burst through the door of The Room crying, startling Vincent, who was deep into his writing. He was unable to come to his feet before she crashed into him. Rex and Rocky D stood at the door with their legs stiff. Even the two dogs understood that The Room was off limits.
Vincent managed to stand Micki up and escort her back into the living room so they could talk. It took a few minutes for Vincent to calm her down, and for the third time he asked her what was wrong.
Through tears, Micki looked up at him. "Vincent," she sobbed, clinging to him. "What. . .what's wrong with me? Why won't you marry me? Why won't you make an honest woman out of me; like Aaron is doing with Celisha?"
Vincent was thrown off guard. He wondered if Celisha had been pushing her religious beliefs on Micki. But that wasn't Celisha's style. But if not, then why all of a sudden was Micki trippin'? Maybe for the same reasons he'd all of a sudden been trippin', too, inside. Only Micki was no longer able to hide her thoughts.
Without answering Micki's question, Vincent told her to go get dressed. From his tone and demeanor, she knew it was best to just do as he asked. So, twenty minutes later, she was sitting beside him in the passenger side of his car, cruising down Douglas Road.
Mary J. Blige's song, "We Ride", filled the car. Vincent hadn't spoken a word since they had gotten in the car. Micki didn't have the slightest idea where the two were heading. When Vincent reached the East-West Expressway, he merged into the thick traffic, heading east. He later exited off the Expressway and hit I-95 North. To his left was the flat landscape of Miami. Tiny lights were stretched out as far as the eye could see. Miami at night was always a special sight to him. When he crossed into Broward County, he turned the music off, then reached for Micki's hand. She held his hand with both of her hands.
"The sun isn't out, Micki. You can take those crazy looking stunna shades off."
She removed the shades, tossing them carelessly over her shoulder. She had a gloomy look on her still beautiful face. "Are you mad at me for disturbing you while you were writing?"
"Of course not." He switched lanes then accelerated pass a tow truck. "I'm not thinking about my writing right now. My story will be there when I get back. Let's talk about us."
She squeezed his hand while looking into his face. There was no doubt in her mind; she was in love. "Okay," she replied.
"Let me start by saying that nothing is wrong with you. You asked me that, along with why I wouldn't marry you, if I'm correct." He glanced at her.
She nodded, blinking away tears.
"Micki, it's like this, baby. When I did those ten years in prison, I forced myself to do it alone. I had a little mantra that I drilled into my mind, which found a way to my heart. I told myself I couldn't deal with matters of my heart behind bars. When I became an author, I met a few women that wanted to cross that line; the line of being a supporter to being my woman." He released a deep sigh. "I was lonely, Micki. I hated when Valentine's Day rolled around because I never had that special someone to share it with. I held back from this one woman I met through my books. I just couldn't open up. My reasons were selfish and childish now that I look back on it. I was afraid that I would get hurt. Afraid that another man would be with the woman I loved while I was behind bars. I held faith in a woman staying true to me." Vincent squeezed Micki's hand. "Micki, in my books I control the life of my characters. They come alive inside of me. In my writing, my world, I can create the faithful girlfriend, the perfect wife, and the perfect life. Hardships are even under my control. Will you think less of me when I can admit that I'm afraid of reality? I can't control life in reality. I can't create or control your mind. Micki, not that I want to, but it. . .it's hard for me."
"Baby," Micki said, wiping her eyes, "you are a very special man in my life, and I love everything about you. No, I would never think less of you for what you just told me. Life with me will not be perfect, Vincent. We'll have our bad days and our good days. You got to face that. We're not perfect, but what I feel for you is not fiction. I'm in love with you." She wiped her eyes again. "Life is what we make of it. And you can control reality. I've been faithful to you because I love you. Love isn't built on control. It's built on trust. I said what I said about you marrying me because it's been on my mind. I need to know how much you really love me. I want to be a bigger part of your life. More than a girlfriend. I want to be with you forever."
Vincent held no doubt in Micki's words. He knew her well enough to understand where she was coming from. She said what she had in her heart. He was more than happy with her. Not once had he dwelled on second thoughts of allowing her to move in with him.
"Micki?" Vincent's tone was soft.
"Yes, baby?"
"I will only get one run at this life, and you know what?"
"What?" she said while squeezing his hand gently and rubbing it with her thumb.
"I want to spend it with you," he smiled. "Micki, will you be my wife?"
Without hesitation, she replied, "Yes! Yes, baby, I'll marry you." She exploded with joy and fresh tears. She squeezed him so tight and held him for what seemed like forever.
Once Micki finally released Vincent from her love grip he looked at her. "What do we do now?" he inquired.
She leaned across the leather console and kissed him. "Shut up and drive," she giggled. "We've got some wedding ring shopping to do."