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“This is too juicy, so I had to get all my girls together. Shayla don’ let Titus pop her cherry! And now she’s talking about marrying him. Tell Gladys what you told me, but start from the beginning,” Rhonda said, sounding excited for her friend, but at the same time, her voice held a bit of sarcasm.
“I want details, blow by blow, of what could possibly have you talking marriage after one night of so-called ‘love making’, mija,” said Gladys.
So, Shayla started from the beginning, inviting her friends into the most intimate evening of her life – the night that she had become a woman.
Part 2: Eleven Years Later
Chapter 3
Shayla
What is the use of having the world when you had no one to share it with? That was a question that I struggled with all too often for my own taste after six long years of marriage, and the question had become all too cliché. It’s an absolute wonder how time, a whole lot of trials, and many tribulations could change a woman’s outlook on life and love. As it turned out, I did marry Titus, but I never became a clinical psychologist or opened my practice to help others like I had dreamed and my relationship with Titus was far from perfect.
As I paused a moment to take in the sensual and alluring ambience I’d set for the evening, the question pounded into my head like a meat cleaver. The strongest thud pulsated against my temple, sending a pang from my head through my body. That pain took up residence in my heart, piercing my already tattered soul. My mind raced, pondering a million and two questions.
“How could he do me like this again? How could I let him? What had we come to? Where were we going? Why do I love so hard that I can’t let go?” I asked these questions to no one in particular. I was all alone, again. I couldn’t pin down the moment in time that the insatiable joy had left our relationship, but that joy had slipped away from our beautiful home without leaving even the faintest trace of existence.
E-lec-tri-city was in the air, and I was proud to have successfully turned my backyard into a lover’s paradise. Positioned in the middle of the jumbo gazebo in the backyard, the Jacuzzi flowed with warm bubbly water scented with a touch of jasmine oil. Dim post lighting outlined the gazebo creating a glowing allure that could take a lover’s breath away. Pink floating candles shone brightly at the four corners of the gazebo, and an assortment of designer candles meticulously placed around the Jacuzzi added just the right effect. I had anticipated a beautiful night with him.
Well, that burning anticipation dwindled and finally fizzled out once the champagne got hot, the gourmet shrimp fettuccini I had slaved over got cold, and every bubble in the Jacuzzi fizzled down to faint traces of soap scum. What was supposed to be a night of fiery unyielding passion had turned into a night starring me, myself, and I. I could have screamed when I realized all of the work that I had put in to make this night magical was in vain. Instead of
screaming, I decided to call my best friend, Rhonda, the only person that I could vent to at the moment.
Making my way back into the house, I picked up the cordless phone from the kitchen and speed-dialed the familiar number. The anger began to build as I stepped back out into the dreamy setting I had created in my backyard. The romantic aura had now gone stale with unrealized expectations.
“Ronnie, this negro has done it again!” I fumed, clearing the unused dishes from the picnic table and bringing them back into the kitchen.
“Girl, don’t start. What is it now?”
“He stood me up, again. That’s what.”
“Oh, really?” Her ears seemed to perk up on the other end of the line.
“Just straight pushed me to the back like some kind of second class wife! He’s not even answering his cell, now.”
As I spoke the words to Ronnie, my sister-from-another-mother, I fought back a lone tear that kept threatening to break out of its prideful prison and roll freely from the corner of my eye down my cheek. If I wasn’t wearing his platinum and diamond ring on my finger, I would have thought that I was just some sideline ho vying for his attention.
Aside from the ring and living in his main home, that’s just how I felt. The simple thought of being played to the left by the only man that held my heart cut me deep to the core. He hadn’t been home in weeks. He hadn’t made love to me in over a month, and I hadn’t had a meaningful conversation with him in just as many days. It had been three days ago when he finally called to make tonight’s broken promise to reconnect.
"I can't believe I let myself fall for his lies again, Ronnie. He doesn’t even respect me enough to show up when he makes plans with me.” My hands shook as I poured myself a glass of the warm champagne, taking a long swig with vengeance. Frustrated, I leaned back against my kitchen counter, balancing my phone between my ear and shoulder, one arm crossed under my breasts while the other hand nursed my drink.
My gaze dropped slightly, and my spirit dampened more. I added, “I mean, who am I kidding? He rarely comes home, and when he does, it’s for less than an hour or two at a time. I don’t know how much longer I can take this.”
“Hang in there, sister,” Ronnie encouraged.
“I love him like sliced bread, Ronnie. You know that, but I can’t continue on like this. I will not sit around here waiting for him night after night as my clock runs out. I’m twenty-eight years old, and I’m not getting any younger. Before you know it, this diva will be the big 3-0.”
Seeming to not address the Titus issue on purpose, Rhonda made a valiant, yet unsuccessful, attempt at cheering me up. With a smile evident in her voice, she said, “Well, look at the bright side, girl. Thirty is the new twenty.”
?
?I ain’t never fell for that trick!” I exclaimed, standing up straight and slamming my empty glass on the kitchen island in front of me. “Thirty is not the new twenty. Girl, go check that mirror one more time. You and I, we look twenty-eight.”
Just the mention of my age made me feel worse. I was not getting any younger. Having spent so many years with a man that didn’t seem to realize just how precious time truly was, and the fact that I was not living according to my dreams, added at least five years to my age.
At that point, I lost my battle with that stubborn tear. It claimed its freedom as it drizzled down my right cheek and fell onto the carpeted floor, alongside my pride and self respect. If my father could see me now, he would be so disappointed.
This marriage to Titus and ‘the streets’ had me experiencing the weakest point of my life. I couldn’t believe how far gone I was for a man who had somehow managed to inspire me to reach for the stars only to shoot my rising star down.
