I'm Saving It!!

Anike:

All the lights are blazing. Bedroom, Bathroom, Closet, Hallway.

Shut it Down by Drake is playing on repeat in the background.

Her whole wardrobe is strewn on the floor, on the bed, on every surface that's safe for clothes.

It's date night.

Her sister is perched on the far corner of the bed, eyeing the commotion with a bit of bewilderment, and looking at Anike with a mix of suspicion and envy. "This one you're glowing and buzzing with excitement like this...."

Anike stops applying her cherry-red lipstick midway and looks at her, "Why shouldn't I be excited? It's gonna be a great night!" She giggles and shimmies and does a little twirl to the song, frowns at the lipstick in her mirror-reflection and wipes it off to replace it with clear lipgloss. "You can't kiss properly with lipstick," she explains to her audience and her sister huffs and looks away. But not before she mumbles "Just don't do anything you will regret... It's obvious you really like this one"

"It's just a date, and maybe we'll hang out at his place afterwards and, umm, you know? Nothing serious, he KNOWS."

"I'm just saying. Be careful," her sister retorts. "That's all." 

Anike sighs and sits down, somber for only a minute. She gets this from everyone: her sister, her friends. As soon as she gets excited about a new man in her life the worries surface again, seeming like everyone else is on edge and trying to protect her from herself. But she knows what she's doing, what she has been doing for 23 years.....

Yvonne:

In her mind she's thinking (Oh my gosh, when did my bra get on top of the coffee-table?!!!)

But her hands are running up and down his back, touching him everywhere else too. She's kissing him back ardently, moaning every time his touch grazes her nipples and when *gasp* he. kisses *oh* her. right. there *hmmm* somewhere. between. her. navel. and. her. hipbone. And when he goes even lower, his lips leading the way for his experienced, wicked tongue, she bolts right up from the couch. "We should, erm, we- we should slow down" (Oh shit! shit!) He's half-kneeling on the couch now, arms akimbo. He looks at her with a slight frown, looks down at her hand pointedly, then back up with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. "Oh sorry, sorry!" She stammers and blushes red as she snatches her hand from his penis like its hot steel, and then she reaches out again to put it back in the folds of his boxer shorts: a very uncomfortable task because he's suddenly much bigger than when she got him out. (Stupid! Stupid, stupid Yvonne!!) She can't look him in the eyes now, so she wrings her hands with a mortified look on her face hoping the ground opens up and swallows her whole. She hears him smile (isn't that crazy how she's so in tune with him) before he reaches down and lifts her chin up so she's looking into his clear gray eyes. 

"Yvonne. Sweetheart, did I do something wrong?" he asks in that patient, deep voice that melts her every time, almost a whisper.

"No, not- not at all. I just, erm, just want to take it slow. This time" She bites her lower lip, a reflex action. He smiles and places a butterfly kiss right there. (Oh my God, I'm in so much trouble!) He suddenly jumps up, grabs her hand and tugs her up. "Come, I want to show you something. I have a surprise for you, in the bedroom." She followed him, and her only thought as they walked was that the whole apartment was lit up with candles and she absolutely loved this John Legend song flowing out of the speakers. One hour later she was sitting downstairs in her car, heart pounding, a new Michael Kors watch in the passenger seat next to her, waiting for a response to her text message from her frustrated boyfriend. Her message said "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." 

In her mind she's thinking (Saved! Again! Thank you Jesus!)

Hadiza:

Nobody knows about The Rape. It's even hard to call it a rape, because there was some consent. Not to everything, just some things. And then he had gotten too insistent and she didn't want to fight it even though she didn't really want it. She had said NO, but then she had enjoyed it. How do you call that Rape? She knew that it must never happen again, it is forbidden. And while it was hard, she made the decision to keep herself away from men completely. No one understands it. She hears all the time "How can a pretty, smart, decent girl like you still be single?" "Hadiza, gaskiya it's been too many years that you have been single. Won't you pick one of these guys that keep toasting you? They're all good men." "Or are you a lesbian now?" "What is your problem?" "Do you think you're too good for me?"

How you explain to them that this is life or death? And the only way you can avoid death is to avoid them all, at all cost? Boyfriends lead to trouble...

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

There is a world of people out there, men and women, who have several different reasons for holding on to the almost elusive concept of celibacy. For some of the people I have talked to, it's a new thing they're trying, just some part of their lives they want to control in this crazy world we find ourselves in. For others, it is a lifelong journey of holding on to something they perceive as sacred. Other people find it is a choice that they have been given, the cause of it fear or past hurt or mistakes that have been made. And the lines are seriously blurred. Everyone defines it differently and there are many different boundaries that people involved set for themselves. My favorite quote on the subject, "I'm a virgin, but they probably don't think so in Heaven." And just as with every lifestyle choice that people around us make, we all have an opinion about it. What's the big deal? Does this make them think they're better than everybody else? What is wrong with them? They must have a problem, a defect somewhere, a lack of opportunity. But as a friend told me last Sunday, "It's a CHOICE. If I am not asking you to deal with it by being in a relationship with me, it really isn't any of your business". And here I rest my case.

Burn

I found my first diary today in a box of old things
There were no pages inside, only a shell
I remember why:
Long ago,
Whenever I was sad, I wrote all about it in my secret diary
I read the words over and over
I shed a few tears for the hurt I was feeling
And then I tore the page, and threw it in a fire
I watched it burn
Then I moved on....

"How are you?"
There is a question in her eyes so I know what she is asking, without really asking.
I sip my cocktail slowly and pretend I heard nothing unusual as Lily plops her oversized purse on the extra seat at our lunch table and settles in. She is always late; always in a hurry, but always late. This is the first time she has seen me since The Breakup, and even though I have told her over and over that I am fine she still worries about me.

"I'm great. The question is, how are you?" I retort, "Why are you extra-frazzled today?"

But she doesn't buy it. In a few minutes we will be discussing It again. The Breakup. The shocking collapse of my last perfect relationship. I will mildly refuse to discuss it. She will push on anyway. She will tell me again how much of a loser he is and how I am so better off without him. She will ask me if I have spoken to him or seen him. I haven't. She will update me on his facebook and twitter updates since The Breakup and she will try to get me to guess what each mysterious word means. "Why is he pumped up about going to Elaine's? Is she his new girl?" I will smile and remind her "Elaine's is his favorite bar...." Then I will try to change the subject, but to no avail....

What my best friend is doing is not unusual or cruel. She genuinely cares and the more I evade her questions, the more frustrated she gets. The Breakup happened only 14 days ago, after a year of seeming bliss. Nobody saw it coming and no one was as surprised as I was. More importantly, no one can understand my calm reaction and my reluctance to speak about it. It is only normal to grieve and talk about it and lay it to rest. But what she does not realize is that, in those three days between the event and my telling her, I dealt with it. I thought about it, maybe cried about it, and now it's in my past. Now it is just another story, like a stranger's life that you ponder at dinner.

I am not bitter, or angry, maybe only a little sad. I am not suppressing my emotions, they have simply been dealt with. When I laugh loudly and say I am having a great time, I see her look closely, waiting to see my smile crack and the shadows come over my face, and I love her a little more. I wish I could tell her, my dear sweet Lily, I HAVE tried to tell her...

I wrote it down
I burned it up
I moved on


I like to tell myself that no one reads these pages

Baggage

He: "This week will be really busy for me. The girls are returning to school and I want to do some catching up with the little guy." 

She: "Does this mean I don't get to see you at all?" 

We're having our regular Monday brunch at my favorite café and I greet his announcement with a frown and a pretty pout. He kisses me and presents me with a single rose. It's not enough to pacify me. We barely have enough time together already, he's gone for too long and when I have him he is working so hard, this man of mine.

We met six months ago at a charity event in a friend's art gallery and from that first night he swept me off my feet. He was tall and good-looking, the touch of gray at his temples lending him an air of uniqueness that had all the women ogling him all night. Imagine my surprise when he snagged two glasses of champagne and walked straight towards me with a smile. He was charming and kind and the type of gentleman I had grown up reading about. That he spent the night making love to my mind and only lightly flirting, not in a hurry to cross over any other threshold only made me want him more. We ended the night with a peck (frustrating for me) and I thought I would never see him again.

He sent me flowers every day for the next 14 days, and asked me to dinner on the 15th. Dinner was magical, it was like I had known him forever. For the first time, I had met a man whose intelligence was inspiring instead of intimidating, whose achievements seemed gallant instead of arrogant, and I thought to myself that he was the one. He was smitten too, and even as he hinted that he should not be with me he was never able to hold himself back.

Three months later, he made me cry.

It was raining heavily that night, never a good sign. He was cooking dinner at my place and he was there before I got home from the gallery. He had prepared a rose-scented bath, there were candles everywhere and my heart skipped many times as I contemplated what the evening ahead could be. When he told me his big secret, I thought my heart had stopped altogether. I cried as he held me, even as I tried to hate him. He swore that in spite of it he would never leave, he loved me.

That was the only cloud in our journey. Things are normal now, as normal as can be. As he finished his brunch and rushed off to meet his first clients of the week and live his life away from me, I patted my belly lightly, urging the little one to wait for a more appropriate time to tell 'daddy' the good news. We will be a great family, me and him and our little one. I have learned to accept him and the baggage he came with: a wife, two beautiful daughters and his first son...

Coffee with The Other Woman: 3

I smiled and squeezed her hand.

I understand. I remember The Moment.

The moment I knew he had given a part of his heart to another woman, when he came home to me a shell of the man who left my bed in the morning. He was distracted at dinner, his head in the clouds.

And I was too afraid to confront him because I was afraid to lose him.

As the walls of my favorite café began to close in on me, I made a mental note never to bring an old flame's old flame here again.

Like there would be a next time.

"Look at us. We are so pathetic. I don't know about you but I had so many things to say to you until you walked through that door. So many questions. Only now, I don't think you are the one with the answers I need."

She smiles back. Almost genuinely this time. "It was a shock running into you as well, considering the number of times I wished you dead. Now that I know he's not with you, I have a need to ask the questions, not knowing is driving my insane."

I realize I am still holding her hand and I let her go. "What questions?"

"Why did he leave us? You and I, we loved him, adored him. We would have done anything in the world for him. And what did You do better than me? He always came back to you, even when things were great with us. I never understood it."

I completely understand her. Many nights I cried myself to sleep and wondered how she was better than me. I tormented myself with thoughts of her, obsessing about every little detail I could find. But here she was, telling me that I had won, that he never stopped loving me even after I had pushed him away. Any woman would be happy to hear those words. To know that she had a hold on the only man she's ever loved. But I just felt inadequate, incomplete. He could not do without me, but he was never mine. Not completely. The realization pierced my heart.

But today, at least one person in the world understands my pain and confusion. And today, it is enough.

(The End)

Coffee with The Other Woman: 2

The other woman.

Damn.
I did not plan to show her any emotions.
Things never go the way I plan them.
When things get really good,
It's a sign that they will get really bad.

He was my light. My man. OUR man. From the beginning I knew that he would never be all mine. He came to me broken, a shell of a man, a man hurt by the only woman he had ever truly loved. Like a fallen angel he drew me in. Even though he told me how cruel he had been before she hurt him and how much he loved her, I did not listen. I accepted him. I was in love with him. I was determined to keep him. We were so happy. Until he could not live without her anymore, and he slipped out of my life as quietly as he came in.

"I am sorry." She sounds so sincere, I hate her even more.

No she is not sorry. She shouldn't be. Without doing anything she stole him from me, she hurt me just as much as I hurt her. She won. She should be elated. I remember the day he got the ring. We were like teenagers, giggling and holding hands. I saw love in his eyes, felt it in every stolen kiss. Every woman in the store was jealous of me. Why was it so easy for him to lie to me?

"I don't think he ever stopped loving you. He thought he hid it well but I knew, and after a while I tried to stop caring. I knew he loved me too. And it had to be enough. Until it just wasn't enough, you know?"

She smiled. A smile filled with so much pain I thought she would shatter into a thousand pieces...

(to be continued)

Coffee with The Other Woman: 1

She has sad eyes.
The saddest eyes I have ever seen.
She is beautiful.
Not extraordinary,
Plain, almost.
My arch-enemy.
The cause of many lonely
sleepless nights.

"Nice Ring."

I look up from the ring I am twisting around on my left hand.

"Thank you." (I think)

She looks away.

I frown at my Macchiato. It is cold, untouched.

I can hear the minutes ticking away and yet we say nothing. 

What do you say to someone like her?

"I don't know why I am here, I hate to have wasted your time." 

I apologize furiously as I dig in my purse for change to pay and leave, until she grabs my arm, softly.

"Sit," she almost whispers.

I sigh. I sit. I try to stare her down.

"I am not your enemy you know. At least not anymore."

Her smile is small, but her eyes are not smiling.

Another uncomfortable silence.

"He told me the ring was for his sister, a graduation present." She sounds bitter now. "He held my hand in his as he bought that ring. For you. The bastard."

Now I am surprised.

(to be continued)