Page 30 of Taming a Menace
As I exited the building, I whipped my phone out and typed Iyla’s number in.
Me: It was good seeing you again, Moon. Don’t make it the last time.
The bubbles that followed my message had me sitting in the driver seat of my car waiting for her response. Even after they disappeared, I waited. Since Iyla was playing games, I would play right along with her.
Me: Since you’ve cut me as a client and by default are having me sent back to prison, you owe me a date or something before they send me away.
Moon: Sir, this is a business line. I’m not sure how you got my number, but I’m about to find out.
Me: Don’t raise any red flags. Just give me your personal line so we can set something up for before I go away.
Me: I’m willing to wait however many days it takes to get back in your sanctuary. I just need there to be an again. Don’t let the last time be the last time.
She didn’t have to respond this time. Now that I had a way to contact her, I was putting down the full court press.
I didn’t believe in conventional therapy. Let me get that out of the way first. I didn’t believe in or want to go to therapy. It had been suggested to me hundreds of times over the years, even by my own mother. I would go to church with her if she wanted, but I drew the line at airing my dirty laundry in front of a complete stranger. With that being said, I had never been so excited to go do something I despised as I was as I got ready for my second appointment with Iyla.
I couldn’t wait to see her. I talked myself out of using her work line for the past two nights. As bad as I wanted to press her about giving me a chance, I knew that if I wanted to stay under her care I had to tread lightly, at first at least. I got an email reminder about my appointment last night which meant that she hadn’t canceled my session. That was enough ammunition to have me up searing salmon for the sweet chili salmon wraps I made for us for lunch.
I hadn’t missed the half-eaten pack of crackers she was munching on sometime before our session. I was scheduled to see her at eleven, so it was natural for her to be hungry. Today I had a remedy for that hunger.
I finished getting dressed, making sure to put on my favorite cologne before I packed up our lunch and her dessert. I didn’t want any prying eyes wondering what I was doing bringing her food, so I decided to pull out the backpack I used to take to the gym to put everything in. Once I had everything together, I headed out to my truck. As soon as I unlocked the door, my phone rang.
I put the bag on my passenger seat then took my phone out of my pocket as I climbed in the truck. After seeing Kannon’s name, I debated for a minute before answering the phone. I never knew what he would be on. I wasn’t in the mood to curse him out. I was on the way to see my lady. I had to keep myself in a good head space. Deciding that I would take the chance, I hit the button to answer the phone. His voice filled the speakers as I backed out of the yard.
“What’s up, bro? You on your way to your appointment?”
“Yeah, I’m just leaving the house.”
“OK, I just wanted to make sure you were staying on top of things. I know how you feel about therapy.”
“I don’t need you checking in on me, punk.”
“The hell if you don’t. You already skating on thin ice. I’m not letting you go back down the road on a technicality. If all you gotta do is lay on the couch and tell somebody your problems to stay out, then you’re going to do it. You’ll be there if I have to drag you down there twice a week. Hell, you whine and complain to me for free. I should be the one charging fifty dollars an hour to tolerate your ass.”
“You ain’t got to tolerate shit. As a matter of fact?—”
I hit the button to end the call. He was right. He wasn’t the one being paid to listen to my shit. I didn’t even want to talk to the person being paid to listen to my problems, so I damn sure wasn’t about to waste my breath on the ugly muthafucka my mama gave birth to before me. I wasn’t surprised when myphone rang again. Shaking my head, I hit the answer button on the steering wheel as I moved through the light traffic.
“Boy, don’t you ever in your life hang up the phone on me,” Kannon chastised.
“Did you want something?”
“I was gon’ tell you that one of the venues Carteay is singing at needs a chef Friday night. They’re having a private album listening thing before the club opens. I figured you would want to take this one. She’s willing to pay top dollar. All she wants is some appetizers and shit. You know all that little bitty shit women love.”
“Damn, bro, this was about to be my first Friday off since I got home.” I huffed, knowing that I would be crazy not to take the job.
“You ain’t gotta work all night. All you have to do is set up the tables. Once shit runs out, it’s out. Plus there’s going to be some bad ass females in attendance. When your job is done, it’s done.”
“Put me in touch with her people to work out the details.”
“I’ll send you the numbers. Have fun on the couch, bro.”
“Kiss my ass,” I said, ending the call a second time.
See why people didn’t take therapy and shit seriously. Niggas thought everything was a damn joke. I could understand the value of venting to people. When certain things sat on your chest festering they only ate away at you. There was so much shit built up inside me that sometimes I felt like a ticking time bomb.
At the same time, I knew there were only a select few that I could share my problems with. As annoying as my brothers were, they were the only ones in the world I felt completely comfortable baring my soul to, and even they didn’t know everything about me. Some things weren’t meant to be discussed. Some things needed to be kept locked away for safe keeping. I would never willingly give someone ammunition to destroy me. Some things had to be taken to the grave.
