Can I Live...

'Can I Live?'
... Continued From 'Remembering Red' ... Below...

I woke up the next morning having slept better than I had in a long time. Remembering 'Red' had put me at ease, let me relax. I realized when I opened my eyes though, I was still in California, still in The Bay area and 'Red' was no where to be found.

I looked next to me and sure enough, 'my man' laid next to me. I had to get back home and soon.
I'd have to play it off though. Having been in the business of making men happy, I had some insight on how its done and pouting wasn't the way to go. I'd play it off, make nice, that was the way to do it. I kissed him on the forehead and his eyes fluttered open. He looked at me, grumbled and rolled over. He had to be kidding! This man had an attitude! This was going to be harder than I thought.

I looked around the bedroom. Sleeping with someone in a Queen sized bed meant you had to get along, like it or not. I preferred a California King even when I slept at home by myself but I really hadn't cared where we slept when I showed up. I just wanted to be there with my man. That didn't look like it mattered too much though. Sometimes people saw what they wanted to see and that was looking more and more like the case this time. My man had a lot going for him but the things that tore us apart and we argued about were so trivial that it seemed like there was a deeper problem that was never discussed. I decided to do the best I could, it was obvious that working together wasn't the best idea.

I threw on some boy shorts, a wife beater and slippers and headed for the kitchen. Freak in the bedroom, woman in the public eye, mommy in the kitchen. That's how it's done. I had always tried to please 'my man' by being all of the things I had learned a man wanted over the years. Most men like to fix things, situations, problems, whatever. They don't like to talk, listen to their women talk about 'feelings'. I made sure I handed my man something to drink before he realized he was thirsty. Made something to eat for breakfast lunch and dinner when I was at home. I made sure I supported his business, did what I could to help, put together a business plan, did the work he didn't want to do, data entry, research, anything I could. I kept things clean, looking good, was a lady in public and a freak behind closed doors. There wasn't much I wouldn't do for him. Not much at all.

We had been into confrontations about money before. He always said it was important for me to find new ways to 'make him happy'. Problem being he didn't spend a whole lot of time making an effort to find new ways to 'make me happy' so, that got old pretty quick. I was the one that set the tone for the relationship. I had started off giving and giving and giving but I didn't feel like anyone was thinking about me or had my best interests at heart. It didn't look like that was something that was going to happen anytime soon. Anything he offered me came with strings attached, anything he gave me came with an expectation of something in return. His favorite saying was 'What are you gonna do for me.' It wasn't cool, it was hurtful.

The only way to do this without conflict was to go ahead and make him happy, let him know I didn't want to ruin the relationship by working together and living together after being apart for so long. Be honest with the man. I made a huge breakfast and the day went smoothly. We went to the pier, hung out, took it easy. That evening it was a different story.

I went to the bedroom to read and 'my man' was downstairs, working on the computer. He came through the bedroom door abruptly, no knock, he opened the door as if he wanted to plow through it. I looked up from my book and smiled at him. I knew though, the moment I saw his face that a confrontation was about to be our reality.

"What's up?"

"You trying to treat me like a trick?" He sounded so mad I didn't want to speak.

"What are you talking about?" I was genuinely confused.

"You think you can just come out here and break me? Spend all my money and then act like you don't want to work in the bar to bring money in? Like the guys at the bar, keep taking my money until its gone?" He was serious.

There was no way. I had come to The Bay to help with his business. He had promised to support me while I was there, make sure I had everything I needed and employ me with his company to boot. What was he talking about?

"It costs money to live anywhere, doesn't it? You ain't paid shit and you have closet space, you here, laying on the bed all comfortably... You think you can just sit up here and not put any money in?"

At this point I was confused. The truth of the matter was, he didn't put any money into the house himself, first of all. Second of all, I had only been there a week and a half and the deal was supposed to be, he paid me to be there, to help with his business, not the other way around. He kept on talking and I listened, hoping I would get a better idea of why he had flipped all of a sudden.

"You stayed here before, you think you're gonna stay here again and not put anything in the pot?" He was practically snarling and if I didn't know any better I would've thought he was under the influence of something, on something.

He pissed me off then though. The last time I was with him in California it was for a month, when i moved from L.A. to The Bay. I not only paid the majority of his share of the rent I had also bought groceries, cooked, cleaned and taken care of him. He hadn't had to do anything for himself at that time. He hadn't had to buy anything for the house, toothpaste, toilet paper, food, anything and the rent was paid, I left $100 for him to pay and paid the rest. He was the one that hadn't put much in at that time. That had been one of the reasons I felt so comfortable staying with him and letting him foot the bill this time. Not to mention the fact that the business seemed to do much better when I was there, putting in 6-10 hours a day and pushing him to do what he had to do in order to get the wheels spinning. Otherwise he would tend to procrastinate and wouldn't get much done outside of what he could do on his computer.

I stood up about 2 inches from his face. "Get out of here. You are trippin'. They were selling ass in that bar. I don't sell ass, not my swag homie." I said to him. "You need to go downstairs and calm down and think about what you're saying. Then we can talk." He just stood there, feet planted firmly on the floor, eyes fixed on me.

"Bitch." He said.

Things escalated fast. We were both fed up, mad and frustrated with each other. I spit in his face. I didn't think about it, I didn't consider the alternative, I just spit in his face. I shouldn't have but the truth is, if I ever get mad enough to raise my hand, that's my silly alternative. Funny thing is damn near every police force in the nation considers that assault so it isn't any better. In less than two seconds I was on my back on the bed and he had his hands around my neck, choking me with more force than I had ever felt before.

I couldn't believe this.

I tried to talk.

I tried to tell him to stop.

Nothing came out of my mouth.

I couldn't talk.

I couldn't breathe.

This wasn't right.

This couldn't be right.

This couldn't be happening.

This was too far.

I couldn't breathe.

I was terrified.

I couldn't breathe.

I was scared.

I reached up and tried to pry his hands from around my neck.

I tried to pull them away.

They wouldn't budge.

I knew I would pass out if I didn't get air.

If I passed out I wouldn't have a shot in hell at walking out of this place.

"Die, bitch! Die, bitch!"

He said it over and over, who was this man? I didn't know this man at all. I kept pulling at his hands and trying hard to tell him that he was trippin', that I couldn't breathe that he could kill me, ask him what he was doing, why he was doing this. I tried to catch his attention, make him look at me but he wouldn't.

"Die bitch! Die bitch!"

I wasn't going to die, he was crazy!

Hell no!

I was going to live.

I was going to live a long time.

There was no way I was going to die.

Not that day!

I finally dug my fingernails into one of his fingers. I don't know which finger it was but I dug hard into it! Dig, dig, dig. His finger seemed to come a little loose. It started to slip away from my neck. I dug my fingernails in with all my might. I knew I only had so much time. If I passed out, it would be over for me, I wouldn't have a chance anymore. Why wouldn't he kill me? He seemed to be set on doing just that and the only one that could prevent it was me. I didn't have a lot of time before I was incapacitated. I sunk my fingernails in as deep as I could, dug them into that one finger, as hard as I could. I wrapped my fingers around it as it loosened up and pulled, I pulled as if I wanted to separate it from the rest of his hand.

Finally...

He let go.

He walked into the hallway and paced back and forth, breathing hard as if he had run a long way. He was sweating, pacing. I cried. Laid on my stomach and I cried. I cried like I hadn't cried in a long time. How could he DO that? What was he thinking? He was supposed to love me, care about me. What was he thinking? This was the man I would call had anyone ever laid a hand on me. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. I had known him for years, how could I have missed this part of him? I cried for at least an hour, didn't move or talk. I just cried and cried and cried.

He left the room soon after he let go of my neck. When I stopped crying and wandered into the bathroom I heard voices downstairs. He was laughing, laughing and talking with his father downstairs, as of nothing had even happened.

How could he act like nothing had happened? How could he act like he hadn't just tried to take my life and came close to choking me out? How could he have done that at all? What was going on? I felt like I was in the Twilight Zone and I knew I had to get out of there. I slid onto the floor and bundled up, wrapped a blanket around me like a cocoon and hid my face. I had seen the bruises on my neck in the bathroom mirror, three fingers. The forth one must have been the one I pried away. The other side of my neck was chaffed and scratched. I knew that the bruises would get darker, with my pale skin I bruised if I bumped myself but this? I knew I would have ugly bruises on my neck and how would I explain? What would I tell people? Could I stay in the house until it went away and who's house would I stay in? I definitely couldn't stay here. I couldn't go home this way, with these bruises on my neck. It would be obvious what happened, it wasn't like it would be at all hard to figure out.

I cried and cried under those covers for hours. He came in and I ignored him several times. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what to do. I cried and cried. Finally, when he came back into the bedroom I stood up. I kept my distance from him but I stood up. "Why did you do that?" He asked me.

"Huh?" He caught me off guard what was he asking me? Why did I do what?

"Why did you spit on me? That was the ultimate disrespect!"

I stared at him in disbelief. He was asking why I spit on him. I would have answered him, even apologized, had he not tried to take my life! I ignored the question. If not, we would have been at it again, I wasn't angry anymore. I was afraid. I wouldn't show him I was afraid but I was. I spoke to him in an even tone, even I was surprised by how strong my voice sounded. I didn't feel strong at all. I was terrified.

"Look, if you don't want me to call the cops, I suggest you talk with your father or whomever you need to talk with and book me a flight on the next plane back to Phoenix." That was all I had to say. I hadn't thought about it or planned it but it sounded good to me.

"I don't have any money." He said it as if I gave a damn.

"That's why you might want to talk with your dad about it. If you don't want to go to jail, I need to get back to Phoenix within 24 hours and that's that." I slipped back under the cover on the floor and didn't say another word.

"Why are you on the floor?"

I didn't say a word.

"Get on the bed man, you don't need to be on the floor."

I was as still as possible.

An hour later, he came back upstairs, this time his voice had some base in it and he left the door open, I could tell he wasn't only talking to me, there was someone else downstairs, listening. Good.

"Pack your stuff up, my dad is gonna take you over to your moms house." I didn't respond. "Did you hear me?" He asked.

"I sure did. Your dad isn't taking me to my moms house, my dads house, or anyone else's house. I'm not showing up on my parents doorstep, crying with choke bruises around my neck. I'm a grown ass woman, I'm not asking mom and dad to save my ass, that's your gig!" I knew that one cut deep because it was the truth and the truth hurt more than lies. "You brought me here, you get me home. That's that. I file a police report, the domestic violence associations get me a ticket or I don't and you get me a ticket, your call." He just looked at me, not knowing how to react.

"Look, my father is gonna..." I interrupted him.

"I'm not doing this. Look at my neck." I turned so that he could see the bruises. "Let me tell you something, I show up on anyone in my families doorstep looking like this and it'll be bad for YOUR health, trust me! This is not any basic, Chris Brown, domestic violence charge. From the looks of the bruises, I would guess attempted murder, look at the damn bruises! They will get worse too, don't get it twisted, they will get worse tomorrow, bruises always do! You told me to die while you choked me." I shook my head. Wished I could shake the recent memory out of my head. "Trust me when I tell you, we're talking about some years and I will not be afraid to testify against your ass!"

I was referring to the case with my sons father. He had aggravated assault charges in the 2nd degree. He had put a tasar on me for forty five minutes. Everytime I thought I could get up, he would turn that thing on and sting me again. He was on crystal meth and on a binge, looking for money to get high and I had refused. We hadn't been together in years when this happened but it happened, never-the-less. I had second thoughts about testifying about what he had done to me. 'My man' knew that and might have thought I would have the same pity on him. He was wrong. He was a better man, I expected more from him, he knew better and he was stronger. He wasn't on drugs, he had more discipline and whatever my reasons, I would not have any problem testifying against his ass. I turned to face him then and my own voice sounded unfamiliar. I was proud of the strength that came through in my voice. I only said one thing;

"Get me home."

"I'll take my chances." He said.

"No, you won't. Trust me, it won't be taking any chances. You're choosing to go to jail. If thats your choice, I'd rather not but oh well." I was raising my voice at this point but I didn't care. I grabbed my purse and started to head for the door. The police station was only a block and a half away. I could walk there.

All of a sudden his father appeared in the hallway. He directed his son to go downstairs without saying a word. When he started to walk down the stairs his father assured him he would handle it. Thank goodness. His father was a smart man, he was fair and considerate and had a lot of life experience. I knew this would be settled and settled fairly and quickly with him taking care of it.

"If you don't want to go to your family, what is it you need?" He asked.

I intentionally turned my head so that he could see the bruising on my neck, so he knew what he was dealing with. This wasn't some simple matter where I had been pushed and I was freaking out and his dad needed to know that. He grimaced when he saw my neck, then he looked down and shook his head. I saw the shame on his face. I knew he understood that there was nothing I could've done that warranted that. We both knew it and hopefully he would help his son to understand as well after I was gone.

"Your son brought me here, he asked me to stay three months." His face said that he had no idea I would be staying that long. Then he spoke.

"Let me tell you what I've been told, OK?" I nodded in agreement, curious as to what he had been told about my presence here. "My son came to me and asked if I would mind you staying here for two weeks." He looked down at the floor then and shook his head, as if he were unhappy about that.

My mouth dropped open but I didn't say a word. What had he intended to tell his father in a few days, when the two weeks had passed and I was planning to be there for another two and a half months? What if his father and I had been in a conversation and I mentioned how much I would miss my son, being away from him for three months. We sat ad talked often. What did he plan to tell us when we discovered he had been lying to both of us? Thank goodness I wouldn't have to deal with that. His father continued talking.

"Now this is his house but I live here and I pay bills here also. I was very hesitant to say yes because you guys have had conflicts in the past and I didn't want to deal with any arguing but I said yes out of respect and because I trust my son to have that same respect for me. I don't know what type of arrangement you two had but I was under the impression you were here for two weeks to help him out with some things." He paused for a moment again. "now things have gotten bad and we have to come up with some sort of agreement that everyone can live with and part ways like adults." What he said made sense and I was glad he had stepped in for his son. He wasn't at all emotionally involved, he wasn't angry and he simply wanted to end this with as much dignity as possible. That would be better for everyone.

"OK. Well sir, your son asked me to come and work for him for three months, offered to pay me to do so. He agreed to provide me with a ticket here and a ticket home. I was here to spend time with him, make some money for the company and for myself, help him get this business off the ground. We came up with some great ideas together, we inspire each other, we even compete which makes for more success all around! I thought it would be a mutually beneficial arrangement." I stopped talking so that I wouldn't start to shed more tears. What I had said was the absolute truth. I had honestly believed that my being there would be beneficial to both of us and most of all the company. I took a deep breath ad continued to talk.

"If I am not staying, I need to get back to Phoenix and its his responsibility to get me there. If that isn't a possibility I have no choice but to contact the police and they can assist me in getting back home to Phoenix." I paused again for a few seconds. "I'm not going to run crying to my parents under any circumstances. That isn't an option for me. I'm a grown woman and my parents are not at all responsible for this situation." I was going to leave it at that but then decided not to.

"I'm not buying my ticket home and neither are my parents. I will be going home though and in the next day. It'll be him, someone on his behalf or a victim advocate program through the police department that gets me a ticket home. No disrespect intended sir, this is just the way it has to be. I don't mean it to sound like a threat and it isn't your responsibility either, I just have to get myself home and my parents won't be getting me there." I was surprised again with the way I had clearly ad respectfully expressed myself. I hadn't downed anyone, hadn't been rude and I didn't sound scared even though I was more frightened than I had been in years. I was frightened and my heart was broken.

"I'll buy the ticket. Is that all you need, a ticket home and things will be squared away?" He asked incredulously.

"That and a ride to the airport. Yes sir." I shook my head in agreement, it was a pretty simple fix, considering what had just happened a few hours before.

"Consider it done." He said it firmly and I didn't offer an apology for his son but I saw one in his eyes. He didn't approve of what he had done and he had not been the one to show that kind of example while his son grew up. This I knew and I respected the man. I don't think it was a learned behavior at all, I couldn't imagine that he had seen anyone treating women that way growing up and he had never mentioned such a thing. In all of the conversations we had about his childhood, that had not been a part of it.

I'm not the crying type, not anymore. For years I was a crybaby but these days it took a lot for a tear to roll from my eye. I had cried more in those few hours than in the entire year previous, probably twice as much. There was no way to go back and change it, no way to correct it. This was just something I'd have to feel and it hurt, it hurt bad.

Within 30 minutes I had a ticket home, my plane left in 5 hours. I had just enough time to pack my bags, shower and get to the airport. I did. I called my brother and asked if he would drive me to the airport and he agreed. When I realized though that waiting for him would put me at the airport only a half hour before my flight I walked downstairs and talked with 'my ex man'. His father had gone to work, we were there alone but I wasn't afraid anymore. After his father saw what he had done, I think he was ashamed and I believed that was enough to stop him from laying another hand on me, if nothing else.

"Look, my brother won't get here in time for me to make the flight. Do you know when the next flight is?" I asked him this without even considering he could take me, as far as I knew his truck was outside on a flat and he hadn't had a chance to fix it with all the commotion.

"You need a ride to the airport?" He asked.

"I do. I don't want your mother taking me though, it would be really uncomfortable and..."

He stopped me. "I can take you."

"OK. Lets go." I said.

I wore a blouse with a collar, it hung low, about as long as a mini-skirt from years ago, leggings and heels. On the ride to the airport I couldn't help adjusting my collar. It rubbed against my neck where it was chaffed and scratched and it hurt. The skin was bruised and sore and it was uncomfortable.

"Are you alright?" He asked.

"No. I'm not alright." That answer fell out of my mouth without a thought and before I even intended to speak. "My neck hurts, it hurts a lot."

"I apologize." he said.

I didn't respond. A day late and a dollar short is an understatement. I was so relieved to see the airport that a smile actually came across my face. I was going home! No more tears, no more arguments, no more fear, I was going home! The last 24 hours had changed my perspective completely. I was so glad to be going somewhere I felt safe. i had taken it for granted that I had felt safe with 'my ex man' before this happened. That was something i would never take for granted again.

I shed tears on the plane home, cried for what I had lost. When we landed I felt like I had been given a second chance at life. I could have died with that mans hands wrapped around my neck. I made a decision then and there to earn at the club what I had planned to earn in The Bay over those three months, $10,000. That would be my goal and it was definitely reachable. I had to work smart and hard. Now I would have expenses, rent, bills, etc. While I earned the money I needed to go and find a job in Tucson.

With the economy the way that it stood, I knew it would be difficult to find gainful employment in the small town my son and I had called home for most of his childhood. I had no doubt I would earn enough to support us until I found a job though and whatever job I found would work out just fine. I still had a spot dancing at the club I loved most in Phoenix and I would take advantage of that. I had a new road to travel and I felt content and secure I could travel that road and get to where I needed to be....