Page 14 of I Love My Mistake

When he’s gone, I look up at the tops of the buildings around me, my Grandma’s warning sounding in my ears: “Nicole, women like you and me. We gotta be careful.”

“Why Mema?”

“Because we too pretty and too black for people to treat us with any kind of respect unless we make them respect us. No one’s gonna love you for you unless you show them you stronger. And believe me. You are stronger than all of them. You got that?”

My mother had laughed and said, “She said that same thing to me when I was your age. Momma, you’re too funny. The girl’s only ten years old.”

“Is it true Momma?” I’d asked, wide-eyed.

Her eyes had steeled then and she shared a long glance with Mema before she looked at me and said, “It sure is, baby. It sure is.”

I open the door and, walking back up the stairs, I drop my jacket on them.

“Glad you’re back.” Michael says from above. When I get to the top, he turns and sizes me up. “He’s not man enough for you, Nic.”

I walk to the cigarettes and light one as I shoot back, tired, “Not like you, you mean.”

He says nothing. I sit on the couch and watch him work. Michael may be waiting to make love to me, but at least he doesn’t lie to me. I believe he has a reason for making me wait, and that the reason is for my own good. How many men can I say that of? None. Most would fuck me and then try to hold me as a possession. I am no man’s trophy. I’m a whole person with a heart that can be hurt.

I spend hours watching Michael paint, losing myself in learning from him one minute, day dreaming the next. When it gets to be around 1:00 a.m. after we’ve devoured Chinese take-out and talked for hours about nothing in particular, I call it a night and take a cab home. I don’t even mind that he didn’t kiss me tonight. The one kiss was all I needed to show me he truly cares about me. I know now that he did that to protect me from Danny, not to show his status. He saw motives my blinded ego couldn’t see, and he didn’t mark his territory so much as say, you will not harm this one.

When I get home, opening the door to my apartment, a small New York style one-bedroom with exposed brick and white walls, I think, I don’t have it half bad. Who says making love to someone is the way to show you love them? There are other ways, too.

The smell of Eucalyptus from my bath earlier meets me, infused with the air I breathe. Its soothing aroma whisks me away to dreamland as soon as my head lands on the pillow, my clothes still on, even my jacket. A voice from my past whispers for me to wash my face, brush my teeth, take off my socks – feet need to breathe when you’re sleeping, child – but I pretend like I don’t hear. I just don’t have the energy, Momma. Sorry…

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