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“Kerry, go home.” His voice was filled with irritation.
“What?” I asked. “Are you kidding me? Jamison, come outside.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. He sounded as if I was doing something wrong, like I was out of place.
“I don’t want to do this here. It’s not right,” he said.
“Not right? Not right to who, Jamison? Her? I’m your wife!”
“I know that.”
“No, you don’t because if you did, I wouldn’t be standing out here in my nightgown, eight months pregnant. Or did you forget about that?” I started banging on the door again. Thinking of my child made me furious. I wanted that door down. I’d forgotten all about where I was. People were starting to come out of their houses, but I didn’t care. I wanted it to stop and Jamison being on the phone from inside the house wasn’t making it any better.
“Kerry, she didn’t do anything to you. Just go home and I’ll be right behind you.” He was whispering like a schoolboy on the phone with his girlfriend late at night.
“I’m not going home. You come out here now or I swear I’ll bust the windows in your car and set it on fire if I have to.” I couldn’t believe the things I was saying, but I felt every syllable of them. At that moment I was willing to do anything, and Jamison must’ve felt it too. He hung up the phone.
The door opened fast, like he’d been standing on the other side the whole time. Jamison stood there alone, dressed in a pair of boxers I’d bought him.
“Did you really think I was going away?” I asked. Through the corner of my eye, I could see an old lady standing in her doorway next door wearing bright pink foam rollers in her hair and a flowery nightgown. I wanted to lower my voice, but I was beyond caring about embarrassing myself. “What is this? What is this?” I started crying again, but I didn’t bother to wipe my tears. I just wrapped my arms around my stomach and held tight. The baby felt heavy again, like he was feeling the weight of the moment.
“I can explain it—” He stopped mid-sentence and reached for me. “It’s nothing. I’m just…”
I stepped away.
“Just what?”
“Look, Kerry, I think you should go. I’ll put on something and then come too, but I need to get dressed.”
“I’ll be damned if I let you walk back into that house with that woman,” I hollered. “Does she know you’re married? That you have a son on the way? Why can’t she come out here and face me? Don’t be embarrassed. I’m here now.” I tried to push my way through the doorway, but Jamison held me back.
“Let me in,” I said, pushing my way in farther. “I just want to see her. I just want to see her. I want to see the woman you chose over me.”
“Don’t do this,” he said, pulling my arms. “Don’t do anything foolish.”
I pulled back and looked my husband in the eyes. We’d known each other for twelve years. He was my first love. The only man I’d ever imagined marrying. He looked so naked standing there in front of me. So defenseless. He had pale, milky white skin, looked almost white sometimes in pictures, and the centers of his cheeks were beet red, the color they turned when he was sad or angry.
“Don’t do what? Anything foolish?” I cried. “Foolish? You jerk. You fucking jerk.”
I practically jumped into Jamison’s arms and started pounding my fists into his face. He was 6’5”, well over a foot taller than me, but I was towering above him then. Every bit of anger and frustration I felt grew me taller. I was swinging and screaming and hitting to make him feel the pain I felt. I was beat down and beat up by his lies and now I wanted him to feel the same thing. It didn?
?t stop what I was feeling, but it felt good, like I was releasing something. Letting go, or at least loosening up my anger.
“Foolish,” I screamed. “I’ll show you foolish.”
“Ma’am, stop it!” I heard an authoritative voice before I felt a hand pull at my shoulder. “Ma’am.”
My body was being lifted up. I felt two hands on both of my sides.
“She’s pregnant,” Jamison said, reaching for me as the hands pulled me farther back. I turned to see two police officers standing beside me, while two others were holding me. Suddenly, I could see the flashing lights from their cars in the street, the flickering blues hitting small groups of people huddled in different places along the curb. There had to be at least six cars out there, and all I could think was where they’d come from and who they were there for.
“He ain’t worth it,” one woman said in the crowd.
I turned to look at Jamison. There were so many people there, so many people I didn’t know, and I felt like adding Jamison to the list. He seemed a part of this place, farther and farther away from me than I thought.
“Do you live here, ma’am?” one of the officers asked me. She was the only woman and she was so small the blue uniform seemed to swallow her up.
“No,” I said.
“That’s Coreen’s house,” someone called from the crowd.
