Used

Yesterday was a very enlightening day at my house. Well, my “roommate” – since he had decided he didn’t want to be in a relationship with me any longer – decided he was going to break at least 2 of the conditions of him being allowed to stay here. I had told him he could stay here as long as he 1) helped with the bills, 2) did NOT drink, 3) did not stay out all night and 4) no more dating websites or having women flaunted in my face. It was hell having him here, hell on my heart (read “Just Friends”). Wednesday night he told me he was going to get oil. He was upset because his computer was not working again. The dog had knocked it off the chair back in July – and the screen had to be replaced. He swears I broke it – but I didn’t touch his computer! Well, I called the guy who had fixed the computer and then tried to call my “roommate.” He wouldn’t answer his phone. Several hours later, he sent me a text message saying “I’ll bring a cab home.” OK – translated – “I’m drunk, won’t drive, will take a cab home.” But, from past experience, I knew that meant I wouldn’t hear from him again until sometime Thursday. My reply text to him was “If you’re drinking, do NOT bother coming back. You can pick up your belongings on Thursday.” I went to sleep.

Thursday I had a doctor’s appointment in Bogalusa. He called me around 8:45. I told him I had to leave by 9:30 to go to the doctor, to please hurry up and come get his stuff. He showed up around 9:00. I had all his belongings packed and in the hall. He went past them, and went and got in the shower. When he got out, I told him again, he needed to hurry, get his things and leave because I had to leave also. He told me he didn’t know what he was going to do, so he wasn’t leaving yet. I picked up some of his belongings and started to take them to his van. He hit the clothes - and my hand at the same time - and scared the crap out of me.

He told me that he had done SO MUCH for me and this was the thanks he got. Yes, he’s been giving me money on the bills weekly, which includes bills HE helps create AND the insurance on his vehicle. Now keep in mind - between 14 - 17 months of the 3 1/2 years he was out of a job - NO income at all - I was working and paying all his bills, his child support, his van payment (which the loan was in MY name and I had put the $1500 down payment on it - he only recently - December - got the money for the van paid back - didn't ask for the child support or the other bills I paid for him). So I told him that I had done things for him too - one was sitting in the driveway (the van). He said - yeah, my sister and I talked about it - it took you a month to get me a vehicle that is a LONG time, if you had NOT made arrangements for me to get a vehicle, I would have left you then. I couldn't believe it. Yes, I had just received my income tax refund (a week or two before I DID get the van) so I did have the money. But HOW IS IT THAT I OWED IT TO HIM TO PROVIDE HIM WITH A VEHICLE? He didn’t have one when we met. I had let him use one I had, but then the axle broke and he didn’t have a way to work. I was leaving early every day, taking him to work, going on to work myself, when I would get off work, I would go sit for several hours waiting for him to get off. He said, “You were content to drive me to work every day.” WHAT? This was a pleasure for me? Having to leave early, go out of my way, sit for hours waiting for him to get off, then drive home? What’s wrong with this picture?


Then he told me he had contributed a LOT to our relationship, not emotionally, never emotionally, but financially he had contributed a lot. I said so, “You never cared about me?” His answer was a resounding NO! He went on to tell me that he knew he would eventually end up on the street because I was such a cold-hearted bitch. Well yeah - how many women put up with the crap I did for that length of time - I should be committed for what I put up with and then let him continue to stay here!!!!

In shock, I picked the stuff up again - took it to the van and came back to get more stuff. That's when he punched my purse, sending everything flying across the room, breaking a medicine bottle and the meds going all over the place, then he hit the light fixture (thankfully, it didn't break). I picked up the phone and called the cops - stayed on the phone with them while I loaded all his stuff in the van. Then I told him they were on the way - he got his keys, dressed quickly and left. The police filed a report. I told them he didn't MEAN to hit me - though a neighbor came over while they were here and told them he had heard him tell me that I needed to be punched in the head. I missed my doctor’s appointment, because I had to wait on the cops - called and explained what happened and they rescheduled it.

So how stupid do I feel? I loved this man, unconditionally with every thing I had. I put up with things I had never tolerated in the past. I invested all this emotion, love – and hell yeah, MONEY into this relationship to find out – it was one-sided the whole time. And how is it he somehow felt or thought I OWED HIM? So I’m a cold-hearted bitch? Hum….no, more like a fool that loved too much.

OK – now look up the definition of naïve in the dictionary. See that picture of that woman next to it as an illustration? Well, that’s me.

Just Friends?

Many times when a relationship ends, one party will tell the other, I’d like to remain friends. Usually the party making this statement is the one who is ending the relationship. And I have been guilty of doing this, but it was usually when ending a relationship that should have never gone beyond friendship in the first place.

I was on the receiving end of that line recently, except he phrased it something along the lines “I want us to be cool.” This is a 42 year old man – now I know I may not be the most “up-to-date” person as far as lingo is concerned, but that sounds like something a teen or someone in their early 20s would say. And what the heck does that mean anyway? I asked a friend of mine who said in the urban culture that usually means “friends with benefits.” Well, I know that’s NOT what he meant – he hadn’t touched me in an intimate manner for months BEFORE he decided to tell me the relationship was over, so I KNOW that’s not what he meant.

Oh, and they usually always tell you “It’s not that I’ve found someone else” or “It’s not that I want someone else.” Geez – well obviously, you do NOT want the person with whom you were in the relationship ergo you MUST want someone else. Of course, this phrase came out of the mouth of a man that had been telling me he loved me while placing profiles on various dating sites and also going out drinking and staying out all night. Even told me that he had not been with another woman since he had met me, though evidence has proven otherwise. For months, no – a couple of years, not months, I actually believed him. By the way, if you look up the definition of the word “naïve” in the dictionary, my picture is there as an illustration of the word.

This is also someone that told me early in our relationship that once a relationship was over, he didn’t communicate with his ex-girlfriends. So am I to believe that I’m going to be the exception? And what about the pain it causes the person who has been told they are worthy of only “friendship” and nothing more (in this cause, that would be ME)? Funny, how the interest waned after I lost my job. Now, this may just be coincidental, but it has also left me in a very vulnerable situation. Staying here is convenient for him (and although he won’t admit it, a LOT cheaper than finding his own place) and because of various reasons, I have been unable to find a job, so I need someone to help with the bills. So is it a recipe for disaster? No, just constant pain without healing. You can’t heal when you keep exposing yourself to that which injured you in the first place, now can you? Does that mean I’m a masochist? Not really, I just have to put pride aside to be sure the kids have food, shelter, running water and power.

So when you tell someone that the relationship is over but you want to remain friends – or “be cool” – keep in mind, it may not be painful to you and may seem like the perfect solution, but then, there’s no pain on your part, you have no feelings invested so you don’t have anything to lose, do you?

Death of an Angel

I grabbed the plate with one hand, the dishtowel in the other. Resentfully, I ran the damp towel over the slippery, white plate, half-conscious of the late new blaring in the next room.

"The manager of a Mr. Quick convenient store was fatally wounded in an attempted armed robbery around 8:00 tonight." Like in the movies, the plate slid from my hand, floating toward the floor. The crash reverberating in my ears, I watched the pieces bounce up only to clatter into smaller and smaller pieces as they hit the floor. With robot-like movements I got my purse, feeling for the cold metal of my car keys. My mind was racing. 'Mike's the only manager that works at night. Did he say fatal? Maybe it was a Seven-Eleven, not a Mr. Quik. Maybe it was the cook, not the manager.'

The car complained with groans and sputters from being awakened and put into gear before it had time to warm up. Thank God after years, driving becomes a mechanical response.

Mike and I had co-managed a store when I worked for Mr. Quik. All the fighting over differences of opinion had served to strengthen the blond between us. He always referred to me as his "better half," but he was by far the better of the two. He was a good man. He went out of his way for his fellow man. Like the time J.C. was six dollars short of the amount of his purchase. Mike told him just to bring it by when he had the extra money, and Mike put the six dollars in the register from his own pocket. J.C. never had "extra" money and Mike knew that.

I could see the lights from the store now. There was Mike's orange and white GTO. And I could see Reese, the supervisor, and all these people standing around like a bad spirit had cast a spell on them, filling their limbs with sand so they could barely move.

Stumbling from the car, I shoved my way through the crowd, calling Mike's name, praying that I would hear that funny "Bay St. Louis" accent saying "Hey Sher, what's up." But the voice never came. The shocked response on the faces of the people I pasted while calling his name knotted my stomach like a vice squeezing my insides dry. "No, it couldn't have been Mike," I though, "why would God be so cruel as to take away my best friend?"

Went I reached Jerry, I saw his lips form the words, "It was Mike." I never actually heard the words. What I did hear was the gravel, making grating sounds like fingernails on a chalkboard as my feet slid out from under me. I saw the gound getting closer. A horrible scream pierced the hushed voices; everyone looked at me. Was that my voice which sounding like a banshee in the night, out of control and mourning?

I saw Mother kneel beside me, or was I dreaming, she was fuzzy and hazy. She knew Mike and I were close friends. I heard voices in the distance; she was speaking with someone. Someone took my arm and with cold fingers pushed up my sleeve. I felt a small prick, but no pain, as I became aware that the man who held my arm so tenderly was a paramedic.

It seemed like an eternity later my senses dulled even more. I could feel nothing but my eyelids struggling against the weight. Everything was growing gray, like the dusk moving in on me; then black. I felt peacefully silly. How long since I had slept. It felt like days. I was slipping down, down into the darkness. Was I dying too? I hoped so. Maybe I would see Mike there.
January 1979

I wrote this in January 1979. It took me almost three years before I could put it on paper. Michael Alexander Romanoff was shot and killed in an attempted-armed robbery on May 29, 1976. He was only 22 years young. Several months later, Charles Sylvester Bell was arrested for the murder of Danny Montgomery, the owner of another convenient store. Bell was convicted and sentenced to death in Montgomery's death, and was sentenced to life in prison for Mike's murder. As far as I know, Bell still resides on death row in Parchman Penitentiary in Mississippi. Two of my children bear his name in his memory -- my son, Jeremy Michael, and my daughter Alexandria Kristine.