Walking On Eggshells
The grind is rough on a brother. I get up in the morning, kiss the wife and go off to school. I pour out all the heart I have to give to the kids I have in my seven music classes. I don’t try to force-feed them like I used to. I am trying to get them to love this lady or this man I call music from a personal point of view. As I glide through the days, the thing that is paramount on my mind is what has transpired between Terri and me over the past ten years.
She has progressed from being a classroom teacher, to a top-notch assistant principal. I am so happy for her. Words cannot explain how proud I am of her. As I drive home I question myself about the feelings I have. I know that going home is supposed to be a pleasant thing. Each day I drive home, I get more and more nervous the closer I get to home. “Is she home yet? Is she happy or mad? What will she bitch about today?”, are just a few of the questions I ask myself. I plot and strategize for any defensive action I may need to take. God forbid I go on the offense. That would be something I will never live down. Yeah, I might be right, but it ain’t about right. During ten years of marriage, I have talked to many men in various stages of relationships with their main lady, and it always comes up jacked up. Even when you are right, you are wrong, if you know what’s good for you.
Now, I know that the connection between the black man and the black woman could not have been like this in the Garden of Eden. God would have smote her right where she stood. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not down with the violence. It just seems as though there is no recourse when the first lady of the house starts her campaign. I drove my hoopty up into the driveway and quickly tucked it away in the garage. She was home. I sat in the car and took a deep breath before opening the car door. I stood and mentally coached myself before closing the car door, then eased my way around the lawn mower and entered the door by the washer and dryer like a cop raiding a dope house. There she was sitting on the love seat in front of the TV. She was looking good as usual.
“Hey, how was your day?”
“Just another day” her eyes stretched open, brow raised with a tight lipped smile as the foundation of her total expression.
I cut into the master bedroom and dropped everything I had.
“Don’t put that junk down in that room. You are always making a mess,” I heard her voice shriek out.
“Terri. Clothes won’t hurt the bed.”
“I won’t have to tell my next husband the same thing over and over again.”
I thought about Terri’s reference to her new husband. The more I thought about him the hotter I could feel myself getting. That’s when I started getting the tightness in my chest. I took another series of deep breaths and put my satchel in the closet before dropping my clothes and taking a quick shower. I jumped out of the shower feeling good and relaxed. After putting on a T-shirt and some gym shorts, I walked out to the den with my mental guard already up.
“What do you have planned for tonight?” I asked. There was a thick silence. “I asked because I thought maybe we could go out to get something to eat.”
She uncrossed her legs on the love seat. I sat down next to her to see if there was any sign of warmth. As soon as my butt hit the cushion, she hopped up and moved to the couch.
“I have to go back to the school and show my face for the eighth grade talent show. You know I want that principal spot so bad I can taste it.”
“I know the feeling,” I said under my breath.
“What did you say?”
“Oh, nothing! I was just thinking to myself! How about if I go with you, and we get something to eat on the way home? You know I don’t like for you to be out by yourself late at night.”
“About what you said earlier.”
Terri looked at Chapman as if he were speaking a strange language.
“You know.”, continued Chapman.
“No, I don’t!” Snapped Terri.
I turned to face Terri and prayed that I would not be misunderstood when I spoke. “You always talk about your new husband and when we get divorced. You know if you say something enough or think about it enough, it’s bound to happen.”
“Negro pa-lease! Save that chivalry shit and that psycho-babble for somebody else. I don’t need a bodyguard.” Rising up from the couch and turning to face Chapman. “You have been talking and thinking about being a recording star for the past ten years and it hasn’t happened yet, so I guess it might take longer for my new husband to show up.” Terri exited the den.
Choking her was paramount on my mind. But, I took multiple deep breaths and I remained seated in front of the TV and surfed the channels to see if there was something I could watch until I went into the woodshed to practice my horns. My mind created a multitude of slick-mouthed comebacks I could use to get back at Terri the next time she said some foul shit to me. It kind of made me feel better on one hand, but, talking to her like that was the last thing I knew I should do. Just like the song says, “Once you get started, its hard to stop”. So, instead, I dozed off watching a rerun of Sanford and Son.
A half hour later the heels of Terri’s shoes could be heard clicking on the tile floor. I jumped, and saw her standing across the room from me with her face looking down into her purse draped in an expression that communicated a combination of anger, fear and disgust.
“I am about to go.”
“You look very nice.”
“Thanks.”, followed by her shifting her weight to one leg and pursing her lips tightly and batting her eyes.
She turned and walked toward the door leading into the garage. I sprang to my feet and trotted behind her, then I grabbed her by the waist and pulled her back to me.
“Stop! You’re going to get my clothes dirty.”
I refused to let go of her. I tried to kiss her on the lips but she turned her head away from me. When I finally saw her face, she looked like she had been sucking on a sour ball.
“So, can I kiss you?” I asked.
“I don’t want to kiss.” Without even looking in my direction she released a sigh of disgust.
This is how I get treated just before she extended what she called affection. I find it hard to believe that she really believed in her heart that this was true kindness. Maybe the type of kindness reserved for lepers and people covered with open sores.
“Shit! Kiss me on the cheek Chapman.”
“Am I a three year old or what?”
“If you have to ask...” I eased up on my hold on her as I moved in to kiss her on the cheek and sneak one on her lips.
“You make me sick.” She stormed out of the door.
“I like you and I love you anyway. If I am not here, I will be practicing over at The Spot.” Standing in the door, I waited for her to back out of the garage and head off down the street. “What the hell am I doing? I deserve better than this,” are the questions I asked myself. I closed the door and bopped over to the stereo to check my CD rack for something flavorful. I reached down for the old faithful. “Reach For It” by George Duke. If this couldn’t get a brother out of a slump, nothing would. In the song, George promised to take me to the bridge and drop me off into some funk. That’s just the kind of promise I needed to get me out of the funk I was in.
Gazing into my closet to see what I could put on for rehearsal,