THE NIGHT I WOKE UP AND SMELLED THE BULLSHIT!

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Light rain drops tapped the window sill on a crisp fall night. He was lying on the bed with only his red boxers trying to hide his regretful feelings. I stood in the doorway of the bedroom holding what was left of my belongings, waiting for his answer. Silence deafened the room. I wiped the tears from eyes and asked, “Well, did you or did you not?” He remained silent as he looked up at the ceiling. 


“Did you hear me?” I asked as I fought back the tears, “Did you or didn’t you?”

Again, he remained silent. I grabbed the rest of my things from the closet and thrown them in a tiny suitcase. I looked at the bed as he remained lying in the same position while he continued to stare at the ceiling. I bitterly shook my head and walked out the front door.


For years since high school, our relationship was a crowded one. It was him, me, and another chick….or him, the other chick, and I…..or the other chick, him, and I…..either way, we lived Barney the Purple Dinosaur’s mantra, Sharing is Caring, but only a step further with his little swimmers, swimming back and forth making babies and more babies. Before I knew it, he fathered eight children between us (two passed away in 1995).


I tried being the good and devoted girlfriend by being there for his kids, loving kids, and supporting all of his endeavors. If anyone knows what it’s like to find out the man you love got another girl pregnant, it’s an indescribable feeling. You feel numb at first, then hatred, then denial, then depression, and finally anger. Almost like the five stages of grief (Denial and Isolation, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance). It’s that thin line between love and hate. It is real and painful as a gangrenous wound. Bandaging those feelings was painstakingly to cover. The hurt was too raw.


After I closed the door, the tears poured down my caramel-color face. I didn’t want to cry in front of him. I couldn't scream and throw things at him. I was tempted to grab all of his clothes and start a woman-got-scorned bonfire. Yet still, doing revenge will ease the hurt temporary. The smell of his burnt clothes, cleaning up broken glass, and crying in front of him until my eyes swelled, didn’t change the fact that I faced an uncertain future. The great African American author, Toni Morrison quote, “When a man angers you, he conquers you.". Allowing him numerously to cheat on me already had conquered me. It was time to sprout my backbone to walk tall through another tribulation of heartache and move forward, even if trepidation still was an overwhelming factor.


As I pack the car with my suitcase and my sons’ photos, his silhouette stood in the window. I could tell his arms were folded. It was almost as though as his body language was lurking in the shadows with guilt, I suppose that was his way of apologizing. Nevertheless when I arrived inside to grab one last thing, I gazed at him for one last time. “Are you going to open your mouth now?” I asked.


We were standing in the darkness of the living room. The only light that was available was the street lights shining through the window blinds. He then slowly turned into my direction. “Just let me say this,” he said with a nervous sigh, “I wouldn’t bring anyone to our home or bring a stranger in our bed….”


My heart felt as though it skipped several beats when he uttered those words. He didn’t have to confirm my suspicion.  By saying that statement, it was ample proof. Even if he hadn’t brought another woman to our home and done things with her in our bed, it didn’t make a difference, he fucked her again and that was that!


While he continued to spew more excuses of the why’s, how’s, and you-have-to-believe me rhetoric, I discovered a scent that I should have noticed for years. It’s the kind of scent that’s only reserve for liars, thieves, and ignorant asses. The aroma of bullshit! 

The bad thing about noticing the BS, I’ve been blindly walking through a vast ocean of it. The smell of its contents didn’t catch my essence until that night. I’d grown tired of his shit. It’s was time for him to hear me out!


“The only thing I want to hear coming for your lips is the truth,” I angrily interrupted, “Is she pregnant again? I don’t want to hear your tired explanations, because honestly, it makes no difference where you screwed her.  You stuck your dick up her, again. You did things to her that you was suppose to do me, again. So, basically she’s pregnant, isn’t she? And this time, don’t lie. I’m not stupid!”

He sat on the arm of the couch with his arms still folded and bowed his head in shame. Then my ex took a deep breath and nervously uttered, “Yes—yes, she is.”


My first instinct was to enrage with hatred and throw anything I could put my hands on and knock his cheating ass unconscious.  Instead, I grabbed the rest of my things and left out the door without acknowledging his reply. I knew after that moment, I had to pull myself out of a pool of his of bullshit or sink it in and drown, and drowning wasn't an option. 


From that day on, those tribulations became a painful life lesson. It revolutionized my way of thinking on life; transformed my trust into cynicism. For years, my knowledge of love had become a distant memory. I forgot to love romantically. I even lost the love to love myself. It is easy for a person (man or woman) to shelter the blame when they’d been through a riotous relationship. Some will say, “It’s me. I didn’t do enough to please s/he” or “I should’ve been a better man” or “I should’ve paid more attention to him in the bedroom”.  The only mistake is you kept holding on to a person whose self-esteem is so low that having several significant others made them fulfilled.  And that’s one mistake that I refuse to do over.


© Imani Wisdom, 2010


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2 comments:

Sexycat said...

Love girl, and it is so true.

Imani said...

Thank you :)

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