Just
Another
Bad Dream

I’d been soaking in my oval tub all day. My hands and feet were shriveled up but I didn’t care. The smell of the lavender oil in the water was keeping me there, tranquil, quiet.

It was all being interrupted by Sarah yelling into my answering machine. Her loud brash voice could carry through concrete.

“Venus, it’s me. Pick up. Venus de Milo. Call me when you get in. I need to pick up your deposit for the African American Positive Association awards dinner. Remember AAPA? We’ve missed you, girl. Call me.”

I dunked my head several times into the warm water. I could do that now without worrying that my hair would look like a wet rat after getting out. Yes, this was certainly what I called freedom.

I wished I could wash away the last month of my life and just start over, but it was impossible to change the past. I guess Clint had given up on me. Now I was feeling the loss.

Before, I was brazen, life was a new frontier waiting to be conquered. I had high hopes for this adventure called freedom. Almost the way you feel when you get your first apartment and you tell your parents “so long.” The high comes crashing down as soon as you realize there’s nobody around to scold or reward. With it comes the realization that the people you were so desperately trying to get away from are the ones who gave you definition and character, a daughter, a friend, a sister. All the things that describe who you are. You can’t be a daughter without a parent, you can’t be a friend without friends, you can’t be anything without the other. It’s the yin and yang of life, and I was here without yang.

My yang was probably out discovering that all women do not need a full glass of wine before they can get their groove on. He’d probably also discovered that his English grammar is perfect and didn’t need to be corrected as often as I’d led him to believe. It would be so typical that some cleanup woman would come around and dust off the diamond I’d been polishing for over four years and think she’d done something extraordinary.

Once again I pulled myself underneath the warm bath water and stayed a few seconds longer this time. If I was crying, I did not know. I assumed the stinging pain in my eyes came from the fragranced water.

I don’t know when I decided to get in my car and drive to Clint’s place, if it was in between my head soakings, or after I’d consumed my midnight snack of a whole can of sticky caramel popcorn and washed it down with two liters of Pepsi. Sugar was the root of a lot of my evil. Tonight I wasn’t out to do evil; I just wanted to see what the other half was doing. I had on my Howard University sweatshirt and sweatpants that were five times too big. My baseball cap sat low on my forehead; even on the smallest notch it was still too large. I purposely didn’t wear any makeup or earrings. I was taking advantage of my ability to look androgynous, with my boy haircut and sloppy sweats. I was undercover. If Clint saw me at a glance, he wouldn’t know who or what I was.

I had to show ID to get through his parking structure. No big deal, it wasn’t written in stone anywhere who came through at what time to see who. I parked and walked quickly through the thick dark air to his brick building. I really didn’t know what I was going to accomplish. What kind of satisfaction, if any, would I get from staring at his yellowed front door or hazy stained window, or what kind of satisfaction would I receive seeing him with another woman? Wasn’t that what I was looking for?

I crept up each stair quietly. When I got to his door, I knocked softly. It hurt my knuckles so I used my key ring to tap again. I jumped when he swung the door open and stood there, rubbing his face and eyes. He looked me up and down before letting me in. I guess my disguise was a success.

“V, what’s up?” He genuinely wanted to know.

“Hi. I was in the area and thought I’d stop by.” I couldn’t help but stare at his dark tight chest. He was wearing a pair of white knit boxers. The contrast of the white against the twist and turns of his muscular dark thighs made my knees shaky.

“Come on in. Just in the area at five in the morning, huh?”

Ignoring his sarcasm, I stepped into the dark stale room and immediately felt sorry for him. I sent him from the comfort of my ethnically decorated abode, to this equivalent of a roach motel. His sofa bed was extended and ruffled with pasty white sheets and a brown knotty blanket. My first instinct was to pull it all off and do a load of laundry.

“No maid service?” I asked.

He let out a gruff laugh. “No luxuries over here.”

“I just wanted to apologize for the way I’ve been acting. I know I haven’t been very reasonable to you.” I kept my hands stashed in my sweatshirt pockets, with my fingers crossed. I just wanted this bad dream to be over and for us to start all over.

He was truly surprised by my apology. He sat down still rubbing the back of his neck.

“Damn, V. To tell you the truth, I don’t even know what we were fighting about.” He came over to the rickety little chair that couldn’t hold one more pound of weight, his or mine. “I missed you.” He leaned into my face and kissed me. It was brief but effective.

I kissed him back, this time longer. His hands found their way around my waist, massaging the lower part of my back and slipping into my pants. I didn’t want him to stop. He wasn’t the only one that could do a little traveling. I started with his chest and around to his wide back and down his backside. His mouth never left mine, but still, we found our way into his scrambled bed. I tossed the sloppy fleece and turned into a naked feline, crawling all over him, licking him in spots I hadn’t licked before. His lean muscular body was so finely tuned. There was no area unpolished. He gleamed in the faint light that crept through the ragged curtains. He pulled me down on top of him, then rolled us over to take control of my body. His large hands circled my hips and waist. The moment he entered me, I wanted to scream. I held on tight as he took his time, rocking us back and forth, holding me tighter. I didn’t want it to end. This was where he belonged, inside of me. He let out a hoarse moan, gripping my thighs with his hands. I braced myself for the power of his final thrust. He sent his body hard into mine. I didn’t want to let him go. I didn’t want it to be over.

I stayed nestled in his big chest with my legs entangled in his. It felt like a retreat. My safe asylum.

“Did you almost give up on me?” I spoke into his chest, playing with the sparse hairs.

“Nah. I knew you’d snap out of it.” He kissed me on the forehead and let his large hand encompass my whole head.

“I’m glad. I don’t think I could’ve made it without you. I think I’m about to have a rocky time at Donnely Kramer.”

“Why, what happened? Is it homeboy?” His body tensed, making his chest and arm muscles protrude slightly more.

“Kind of, but it’s not what you were thinking. Ray Chambers and I do not have a relationship and never have. But . . .” The words were getting lost in my throat.

“Tell me.” He pulled me up so we were face-to-face.

“We kind of had an incident. I mean he came on to me and I pushed him away. That kind of thing can get real complicated in an office. I just don’t know where it might lead. I don’t even know if I’m going to have a job Monday morning.”

“Damn, V. Homeboy pushin’ up on you? What’d he do? I mean was he touching you, did he try to kiss you?”

“Something like that.”

“You don’t have to put up with that shit. Man, I’d get tossed out on my ass if I pulled some shit like that. I knew he wasn’t no good. I knew it.”

“I know, but this is different. I mean . . . with him being as high up in the company and everything.” The part I left out was that I’m the one who left the door open for this mess to happen in the first place. The guilt I felt was eating a hole in my gut.

“V, I know you. And, when you get mad, Miss Demure turns into the Incredible Hulk.” He hugged me tight. “Just let it go for right now.” He planted more kisses on my smooth, velvety head. I felt loved and cared for, something I missed terribly.

We stayed in his bed until my tender body couldn’t take it anymore. The springs in the mattress were making permanent markings on my thighs.

“Are there shower facilities in your barrack?”

He smiled and rolled over, as if it wasn’t a serious question. There was just no telling what was in that bathroom. I pulled the scratchy brown blanket with me and tiptoed on the cold floor to the bathroom. It wasn’t as bad as I’d feared. There was a shower door, instead of a mold-infested curtain; I was grateful for that. I leaned in and turned on all three knobs since I couldn’t tell which did what.

I stepped inside and let the steaming hot water pound me. I used his oatmeal soap scented with Michael Jordan cologne. Once again I was bathing myself, trying to wash away my thoughts. I let the water hit my face full force. Even after the intense lovemaking Clint and I had just experienced, there was still a significant hole that wouldn’t fill. I knew this feeling well, just like getting on a bike and riding, or the ease of talking to a friend after a long silence. You just jump back in and pick up where you left off, like no time had passed in between. Yes, I knew this feeling too well, and it wasn’t acceptable. I didn’t want things to go back to the way they were. Clint and I had met on common ground, here, in bed. Our bodies came together, but our minds had not. We were still operating under separate expectations. Nothing had really changed. We were still deadlocked on life’s choices.

I stepped out of the shower, dripping.

“Clint, I need a towel.” I yelled out again, “Clint.”

He opened the door, holding an abused, traveled-looking thing.

I took it and patted gently. I didn’t want to leave any skin on the towel. When I bent over to dry my calves and ankles, a black shiny object wedged between the sink and toilet caught my eye. I recognized it as my own. St. John’s makeup line was the only one that used this packaging with the black plastic case and the silver and gold exaggerated “S” symbol. It looked like it belonged to me, but I’d never been in this bathroom before. I opened it, hoping it had been mixed up in Clint’s things when he moved out of my place.

The too-light shade of peach was a slap in the face. It was a color I would never own, not even by accident. I closed it and laid it on top of the closed toilet seat. When I opened the bathroom door I could hear his voice get lower, before hanging up the phone.

“How was your shower?” He came over and kissed me between the eyes as I stood with the shredded towel not completely making it around my dripping body.

I looked at him, straight through him, and said, “Fine.” That’s it. That’s all I said. Just fine. Everything is just fine. I kissed him good-bye after I got dressed and told him I had a lot of work to finish at home. He said he was back on rotation tomorrow morning and this was our last chance to spend some quality time together. He wanted to come home with me and spend the rest of his time off at my place. I don’t know what I said after that.

All I remembered was being back home, alone, staring at my bronze and taupe sponge-painted walls, trying to find all the points where there was too much paint, where the first application started. On some spots where too much paint had landed and dried, I had conveniently placed the art of Henry O. Tanner and Synthia St. James. Gold frames surrounded my investments, lending them even more value. It was all so perfect. And with all its fine detail, I was still disappointed. I wanted to add more white to the walls, to brighten them up. The room was too dark, no matter how wide I pulled the curtains, or how bright the bulb was in my lamps, it was still too dark. I decided I must paint, start over, with a new canvas. I stared at the walls until my head became heavy and I dozed off.

The cream was slathered thick. The hand dipped into the large white tube to scoop some more. “Relax,” the voice says. “Is it burning yet?”

The massage feels good, rubbing, smoothing.

“It’s hot now,” I say. “You can rinse me, it’s hot now. Please.”

I scream, “It’s hot, it’s burning.”

The voice only laughs hysterically, insisting just a few minutes more, and then I’ll be ready. But by then it’ll be too late. Please get it out. It’s burning.

I was awakened by Sandy’s moist breath. She sniffed my face, grazing me with her wet nose. “Thank you, girl.” I reached over and scratched her behind her ears. “Thanks for waking me out of that one,” I whispered while patting her on the head. I reached up and patted my own, confirming there were no red patches where it felt like my head was on fire only moments ago. Just another bad dream.