Truth Hurts

Posted: May 12, 2015 in Guest Writers
Tags: , , , ,


Rodell, “”

Laughing I come inside from off the porch of his moms single wide trailer. The same trailer he grew up in some 30 years ago. We were in the sticks, on a dirt road, in the middle of a field, with no street lights. His family called me sadity. I was a city girl. I knew nothing about Polk salad and raising chickens in a chicken coop. I wiped the sweat from my forehead as I walked toward the bathroom. Balancing myself on the broken floor, I washed my hands and headed back out to join the rest of the clan on the back porch. That’s when I heard the text message alert on my blackberry pearl. I was shocked that we even got a signal. The nearest cell phone tower was miles and miles away…away from the sticks. We both had blackberries, mine white, his black. We didn’t have secrets and we didn’t have a problem using each other’s phone. I grabbed my phone, however; I didn’t have a text, so I grabbed his phone. “ I’m struggling without you” was the first sentence I read. I immediately looked at the name, Bishop Snith. A well respected Bishop in Long Island, NY. We met the Bishop a year prior and quickly became friends. Every time he was in town he would come for dinner. The three of us would talk for hours in our sitting room. My hand began to shake. My heart raced. The sweat I wiped just minutes earlier had returned 10 fold. I stood there wondering if I should break the cardinal rule…reading my spouses text messages. Everyone knows, when you look for something, you find something. I decided to do the unthinkable. Pretend I was my husband. “ How long has it been since we were together?” I fearfully typed. “ About a year” he replied. “ I miss you” was his next text. The text conversation got blurry. I felt sick in the pit of my stomach. I didn’t know what to do. Every woman’s worst nightmare was now my reality. Pacing back and forth with his phone in my hand, I pondered what to do. I couldn’t think, I couldn’t speak, I could- not-breathe. Desperate for advice, I called my mom. I told her what transpired. “ Put your game face on Tiffany. Don’t let them see you sweat and deal with it when u get home.” “ You are stronger than this, you can handle this.” I didn’t believe her. I slowly walked through the tiny, over stuffed living room to the porch. With my hands still shaking, sweat and tears covering my face. “ HERE!” I shoved the phone in his face with my trembling hand. “ What’s that? The asked. “ HERE, read for yourself.” “ We get a signal” he laughed. Before he could take it completely out of my hand, I let go and the phone fell. I went back inside sat on the couch and stared at the wall in utter disbelief. “ What’s wrong with her, ” I heard someone ask as he began to read the text messages. He yanked the screen door open and came inside and saw me sitting there. Very sternly and military like he barked, “ You shouldn’t have done that, you can be fooled up with Bishop Snith if you want to.” I didn’t reply. I sat motionless. We were leaving shortly and I decided to save it for when we got home. For two hours we rode in silence. Tristan was asleep in the back on the third row seat, and Bryce was in his car seat asleep in one of the captain’s chairs in the Expedition. The highway was dark without lights and empty. There wasn’t a car in front nor behind us. Staring straight ahead, I asked him with a shaky, unsure voice, “ Have you ever been with a man?” Silence. At that point, my heart dropped. I knew the answer before he uttered, “ Yes” . I slowly looked at him in the driver’s seat. His right arm was extended with his hand on top of the wheel, his left hand was caressing his go-tee. Although we were going straight, the road started spinning. At that very moment my world crumbled. I imagined myself opening the door and tumbling down I95. Being hit by a car and laying on the side of a dark road was more welcoming than sitting in that truck for another 3 hours riding to a home, that I know longer would know as my home. I reached for the handle, but mercy said no. Tristan was 8 and would remember, I didn’t want him to remember. I moved my hand back to my lap and stared into the darkness that was now my life.


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