It was Tuesday night in Detroit, which meant "open mike poetry night" at every bar, diner, catfish hut, and nail salon in the City. But you see, I'm above all that. To me that shit had played out when I was 24. So when The Short Man's Wife called me and asked me to come watch her read at the Camillian Cafe, I balked. She was persistent and she drove all the way from Grand Rapids just to read, so I went.
When she finished, she wanted to leave, just like all self-centered poets do. We walked hand in hand, like I didn't have a girlfriend and she wasn't The Short Man's wife. We found a place to sit across the street from Flood's Bar, where business cards are passed out like a drunken debutante.
"I wrote a poem for you" she said, instantly sending a chill up my spine. "That shit's like the Boogeyman. You know I don't believe in that shit." My response was equal parts fear and anger. I was scared of her feelings and mad at her for feeling them. "So you don't want to hear it?" she asked sweetly. "It's not that I don't want to hear it. It's that I don't believe in writing for anyone. Shit, write for you!" Even though I was upset, I didn't mean to sound so pissed. "Why don't you write for him?"
"For who?"
"Najma, who else? The Short Man!"
"He's not interested in this" is what slipped through her mostly closed mouth. I looked over at Flood's and saw my line brother getting his car valeted. "I'm not either."
"Yes you are. You're just actin' funny. At least we can talk about books and the art of writing. He's not even a thinker." She sounded desperate.
"And yet here we are, you, married to The Short Man with a house and two seeds, and me..."
She exhaled, interrupting me. "Can I just read it to you?"
Sure, I thought. Buss your nut. "Go ahead."
I listened for the next 2 and half minutes to the most abstract, saccharine sweet treacle ever spoken. I couldn't let her see my facial expressions. My face gives everything away. I looked at my shoes, at her hips, then her mouth. When her mouth stopped moving, I guessed she was finished.
When she finished, she wanted to leave, just like all self-centered poets do. We walked hand in hand, like I didn't have a girlfriend and she wasn't The Short Man's wife. We found a place to sit across the street from Flood's Bar, where business cards are passed out like a drunken debutante.
"I wrote a poem for you" she said, instantly sending a chill up my spine. "That shit's like the Boogeyman. You know I don't believe in that shit." My response was equal parts fear and anger. I was scared of her feelings and mad at her for feeling them. "So you don't want to hear it?" she asked sweetly. "It's not that I don't want to hear it. It's that I don't believe in writing for anyone. Shit, write for you!" Even though I was upset, I didn't mean to sound so pissed. "Why don't you write for him?"
"For who?"
"Najma, who else? The Short Man!"
"He's not interested in this" is what slipped through her mostly closed mouth. I looked over at Flood's and saw my line brother getting his car valeted. "I'm not either."
"Yes you are. You're just actin' funny. At least we can talk about books and the art of writing. He's not even a thinker." She sounded desperate.
"And yet here we are, you, married to The Short Man with a house and two seeds, and me..."
She exhaled, interrupting me. "Can I just read it to you?"
Sure, I thought. Buss your nut. "Go ahead."
I listened for the next 2 and half minutes to the most abstract, saccharine sweet treacle ever spoken. I couldn't let her see my facial expressions. My face gives everything away. I looked at my shoes, at her hips, then her mouth. When her mouth stopped moving, I guessed she was finished.
"Let me walk you back to your car" I offered.
"Can I stay with you?" She was looking in my eyes.
"Don't you hafta get back to G.R.?" I knew she could see the weakness.
"I only teach in the afternoon on Wednesday." She moved closer.
"What about The Short Man?" I asked.
"What about Najma?" she countered.
What about Najma, indeed.
KZ
23 comments:
ooh lord! i used to run with poets back in oakland...strange crowd of folks indeed!
I'm starting to think KZ has secret African Magic!
lol@you doin Mrs. Parker
when I think of spoken word I think of Common on Girlfriends "I had me some Lynn last night"..that always cracks me up.
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh nothing like having something that belongs to someone else huh LOL *smh* he but no one wants someone that no one else wants do yo thang zed
interesting.
@ i like liquor... - i love that line in girlfriends too. lol.
First time here...great blog and interesting story telling...so what happened next??
Tell me she was reciting shit the whole time you were hittin it!
...nice story....what chapter is this?
Why do we always get so defensive and angry when we're scared.
@All
My friend Blah Blah Blah was the only one that got that this was FICTION!!!
It didn't happen. I'm finally writing!!!
I'll be back with some real life dirty stuff soon.
KZ
I knew it was fiction too. My impression is there is not so much emotion there for any woman. Also I read an Eric Jerome Dickey kinda like this.Cant remember the title.
I knew it was fiction. You would have least tried to squeeze her ass..lol Go head playboy write that shit!!!
This shit is like a truncated version of my life when I was still in Detroit.
Frustrated chick, mad at her man, finds a sympathetic ear and "falls in love". It was a vicious cycle and makes me feel every now and then it was a good thing for leave Detroit and be in Satan's Anus.
The problem is behavior patterns tend to repeat themselves regardless of location.
KZ
Eww...
I just dont know what it is about female writers and they non thinking husbands...
OF course Im one to talk...my ex wasnt big on writing either..of course shes my ex NOW.
I new it was fiction as soon as I read the part about you having a girlfriend.
The girlfriend part gave it away (not that you couldn't have one, but just that I wouldn't imagine you sharing that part of yourself in the blog world---some things are just personal)...I was like he getting his story tellin on...but I was feelin it.
Yeah I'm back...did you miss me???
Did I miss something?
You have a girlfriend??????????
Maybe I misread, let me go back....
"We walked hand in hand, like I didn't have a girlfriend and she wasn't The Short Man's wife"
Nope there it is right there......
Ooooooh, ficiton huh?
Ok....
@Nsane
This is a piece of fiction based on me fuckin' this cat's wife. This cat I hate!!!! His wife actually offered me the pussy when they were newlyweds. I couldn't do it. This is just another version of the story as I imagine it would have happened.
KZ
Is there more?
@Phoenix
Nope. I wrote in about 10 minutes. It's not part of my book, it's just something I thought about writing.
KZ
I'm late on this one ... just got back to town.
Every time I read you, the belief that women should just believe what men tell them is reinforced. It would savee them so much pain ... damn.
Self-centered poets, huh? I would take offense to that remark if I didn't identify with it so much.
Just found out it was fiction. I kinda wondered when you said you had a girlfriend ... DUH! Good story! Glad you're writing -- I'm still struggling.
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