Anniversary

“Fuck you muthafucka, you ain’t shit, and you never gonna be shit!” This was going to be the last time he hurt me. It was just days before he had sent me 3 fragrant red roses to my job. Included with those sentiments of love was a card that said these were to represent our eternity. That was the sweetest thing that I have ever known, until this final lie. Our weekend together was supposed to be simple, just a weekend in Detroit. We were not going to spend the whole time together just me with some friends from college while he was on the opposite side of the city with his parents. Our drive was going to be our time together, perhaps talking about his pending divorce, and what we would want our future to look like. Simple plans, sex talk along the way perhaps a detour or a stop that would make a 2-hour ride more like 3½. None of that happened because communication got screwed, and he left without me. It was only a matter of minutes from when we were supposed to leave; so he couldn’t have been outside the city’s limits. I asked him to come back to get me, since due to our work schedules we haven’t seen much of each other in weeks. He told me he was midway between the two destinations and unless he was doing a mach 5 down the highly patrolled I-94 corridor, he was undoubtedly lying.

This lie was unnecessary. It wasn’t until later I figured out what he had to hide. All I could comprehend at the moment was that he was the first to tell me he loved me, and I was a fool to believe him. I was caught up, he blindsided me with his attention. It was supposed to be a relationship that I had not experienced since the last time I laid eyes on my god-brother. He was there for me, advising me about this college life that appeared as if he had mastered. He was the one that made sure I got back to the dorm safe, after a night at the gym parties. He was the one that picked me up when I was stranded at the mall, or just didn’t want to ride the metro. He was Johnny-on-the- spot, when it came to moving from the dorm to my very first apartment. He told me he was getting married and I was elated for him. He told me that he and his wife was expecting a daughter and I was to be the Godmother. I was overjoyed. Four months after the birth of my brand new goddaughter, he told me first he was leaving his wife. I talked him out of it, until he did it on his own six months later. He was in a situation that he didn’t want to be in, I empathized with him. In the beginning he was my friend, in the middle he became my lover, now he’s any other trifling, lying, son-of-a-bitch.

This was silly, the way this was ending. I didn’t want it to end. I had to keep my sanity so I had to keep him. The panic attacks scared the hell outta me, cause at the time I didn’t know what was happening to me. I knew it was silly and I had to apologize for the words that I spoke to him. I came back from that initial anger and realized that a lady shouldn’t speak like that, not when it was aimed at the one she loved. Those words were not meant for the one that she compromised her body, her morals, and her faith. “Don’t call, don’t come over.” He said to me as if I were to obey. They were the words that he said to me with his other red headed lover at his side. She is same one that he fled the city and traveled 9 hours across the country to be with her family. I knew about her, the same way his wife knew about me. He told the same lies to her that he told to me, that he told to his wife. Payback, thy name is bitch.

Lesson learned in my twenties were that you could never make a man love you, no matter how hard you try. So many mistakes were made, so many empty promises. It was never a commitment, just promises. It was a turning point that molded me into the woman that I am today. I don’t think I can trust that way again, there were too many lies to try to sort out. It took a while to get him out of my system, so many tears. Tears that I shed while I was alone because after a while, the same people don’t want to hear any longer. I see the scab, and realize on this anniversary, I’m still grieving.