Delilah
I masturbated to Coltrane last night. I got out of bed, after Key got out of me, played “My Favorite Things” from vinyl and finished what he couldn’t. But I’m tired of that. I’m tired of Trane and Davis and Monk stepping up to the plate because the man can’t find his bat anymore.
Maybe it’s me. Maybe it’s my body. Maybe I’ve lost whatever it was that almost made him crash his Lexus into a light post when he first saw my hips saying hello. Maybe it’s the fact that our love was never love and I was just too blind to see otherwise. Maybe we have too many maybes. I don’t know anymore.
When I finished with myself and my jazz and my bath full of bubbles, I came back to the bed, tried to look at him in a different light. But I couldn’t.
Key filled up the entire bed, but not in a good way. He used to be fine, used to have a flat stomach, used to have good hair, used to be tall, used to be smart, used to be a lot of things I guess. I lay next to him, listened to his snore, watched the sci-fi channel until my eyes got heavy.
In the morning I put my hair in a ponytail, ate some Special K with soy milk and blueberries and got ready for the gym. Key straggled out of bed, yawned, scratched, and asked for something to eat. I asked him if he wanted some pussy to snack on.
He scrunched his nose, said, ‘Girl, stop playing,” and opened the refrigerator. I had some baked chicken-I didn’t cook it, my momma did-and some pasta something or another that I was saving for later.
“You cook this Dee?”
“Yep”.
He grinned, started eating the food cold. “Damn girl you can cook.”
I glared at him, sighed. He knew I didn’t that wasn’t my thing. “My momma made it Key.”
“You should take some lessons.”
So should you.
“Key?” I asked.
“Yea girl,” he said, mouth full. He went back to the refrigerator, pulled out my last Dos Equis, sat back down.
“Where do you see us two years from now?”
He craned his neck at me, looked like I had just asked him to solve a calculus problem.
“Dee, its Saturday. I thought we were going to have some fun today. Why you got to go spoil it with silly questions, c’mon now.”
The hair on the back of neck danced. “I’m serious.”
It was his turn to sigh and he made sure the whole neighborhood could hear him. “What was the question?”
“Never mind.” I stood, reached for my bag. “I’m going to the gym.”
“Two years right?”
“It’s not important.” I started for the door. He followed.
“Oh now you gotta go and get all mad,” Key said, tying up his robe as he walked. “I see us together baby. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
I wheeled around, but kept in step and said, “Is that what you wanted to say?”
He stopped mid-walk, scratched his head. “Huh?”
Starting my car, I looked at him in front of my townhouse. He looked lost.
I felt lost.
Maybe it was time for a new Key-map.
