3. Ember
EMBER
After a long workday, all I could think about was having a peaceful night.
Sadly, in my apartment complex, peace wasn’t ideal, but a girl can only wish.
When my neighbors weren’t arguing about who was cheating, or the children upstairs weren’t running around like they were players on a football field, or when the neighborhood teen girls weren’t fighting over the new cute bum who moved into the area, my man, Shane, and I were the ones giving the tenants an earful.
Shane and I had been together for four years, and it had been anything but healthy.
Many times, I pondered what kept me stuck, and I prayed daily for the strength to leave a nigga who literally did nothing for me but cause me stress and confusion.
Shane had a part-time job as a basketball coach at a nearby high school, but I couldn’t tell because he didn’t help with any of the bills.
He didn’t make much, but he could have at least taken care of the smallest bill.
Not only that, but he also didn’t know how to fix anything around our rundown apartment.
Things were constantly breaking, from the toilet and faucets to the floor heater, along with other parts of our place that needed fixing every so often.
He was what I called a good-for-nothing type-of-brother, yet I still found it hard to leave him.
I didn’t know if it was the dick, me thinking he had potential, or maybe it was both.
I met Shane at a bar one night when I thought drinking my pain away was the answer that would make my hurt vanish, even if it was only temporary.
It had been a year since losing Aunt Patty, and I was still taking her death hard.
But thoughts of my aunt weren’t the only thing that altered my mental; everything I’d gone through in my life was on my mind too.
I sat at the bar, tossing back drink after drink with tears running down my face.
Shane approached me, and initially I brushed him off, but he was persistent.
It didn’t take long for the alcohol to kick in and vulnerability to settle in.
Shane was charismatic, funny, and a listening ear when I vented to him about my aunt’s death, my breakup with my high school sweetheart, being a young mother, and anything else I wanted him to know about me that night.
He caressed me like he cared, like he’d known me all my life.
Made me feel wanted, had me giggling, and before the night was over, we were tangled between the sheets at his uncle’s place.
After that night, we spent every day together, and the way he made me feel made it easy for me to start loving him.
The fairy tales he promised me didn’t make it any better.
I was in it for the long run. I thought I knew him well enough to move him into my apartment.
It didn’t matter to me that he didn’t have his own.
He told me everything I wanted to hear, and as his woman, I believed him.
But once he moved in, I learned fast that it was all part of his game.
Shane gave me just enough to shut me up and keep me off his back.
When I began to question his motives, he would deflect, which made me end up questioning myself.
The bad outweighed the good, but that small ounce of hope lingered and made me hold on.
It was as if I gave him access to take control of my heartstrings.
I felt weak whenever I let him get away with doing me wrong.
I’d become accustomed to nothing but disappointment after disappointment, and I found it hard to figure out why I couldn’t love myself as much as I loved that nigga.
Shane was the first guy I allowed to get close to me since Rhema’s father and I went our separate ways eleven years ago.
Even thinking about the ending of her dad's and my relationship left a lump in my throat every time he crossed my mind. It was something I still hadn’t healed from, and I did everything I possibly could to bury those memories.
I tried to look at it as a case of two high school sweethearts who needed to walk different paths in life, and that’s where I left it.
This could be one reason why I let Shane get away with so much, because I was trying to fill some type of void, but even after years, there was still a deep hole in my heart.
I inhaled and closed my eyes, trying to get the old memories to subside. The loud squeaky noise from my brakes got my attention and made me get mad all over again at Shane. He knew how many things were wrong with my car, and not once had he gone to get it checked.
I hurriedly found a parking spot on the street, gathered my things, and rushed inside my apartment. When I walked inside the small, tiny space, all the lights were out, and there was no TV on in the background. I know I said I wanted peace, but that included having my daughter here.
Fuck, Shane. Where the fuck is my daughter? It was evening time, and by now Rhema would’ve been watching TV or doing homework.
Ignoring the pounding in my chest, I tossed my bags on the kitchen table and watched a few baby roaches scatter. “Ugh,” I squealed, almost jumping out of my skin. It didn’t matter that I was used to seeing those little critters; I still hated them.
I snatched my bags off the table and looked around for a safe spot to put them. After hanging them on a rack in the living room, I dug through my purse for my phone to call Shane’s ass.
Shit!
I had six missed calls; I must’ve forgotten to take my phone off ‘Do Not Disturb’ after being harassed all day by bill collectors.
All the calls were from Rhema’s after-school instructor, Mrs. Byrd, a beautiful Black woman in her mid-forties who was blessed with the skin color of deep cocoa and a body that would put any young girl to shame. When she called, I knew it had to be one thing.
Embarrassment washed over me as I tapped on the last missed call. While I waited for her to answer, I hadn’t noticed I was gnawing on the inside of my cheek. I stopped and prepared to hear what Mrs. Byrd had to say.
After what felt like a hundred rings, she picked up. “Ember, sweetheart. Is everything okay?”
“Uh, I hope so. Mrs. Byrd, I apologize for missing your calls. Is Rhema with you?”
I heard her swallow. “Yes, Rhema is still with me, but I called because it’s about two hours past pick-up time. Honey, she’s the only student here. I’ve been waiting with her since five o’clock.”
I gazed at the clock on the wall. It read 7:12 p.m. Fuckin’ Shane!
I gave that nigga one job since I would be working late, and he couldn’t even do that.
His bitch ass was going to hear from me later.
I snatched my car keys off the counter, sweat beading on my forehead, and stormed out of my apartment.
“Mrs. Byrd, please forgive me. I thought Shane picked her up.”
This wasn’t the first time Shane had let me down when it came to picking Rhema up, but I believed he would prove me wrong each time.
He always had a legit explanation for why he couldn’t get her, but that didn’t stop my dissatisfaction.
It was unfair to Rhema and Mrs. Byrd, who had to adjust her schedule every time I had to work late and rely on Shane to get her, and he didn’t.
I was tired, so tired of having expectations from a man who fell short more times than he showed up for my child and me.
I already felt guilty about being away from Rhema for a long period of time, but if I didn’t pick up extra hours at work, we wouldn’t have a roof over our heads.
I couldn’t afford to pay someone to watch her, so her attending the afterschool program was the best option.
It was free, they assisted with homework, and they provided hot meals for the kids.
This was something I was grateful for, because for many nights, I couldn’t afford to put dinner on the table.
But on those nights, Rhema had a full stomach, thanks to the extra portion of food she was given.
Mrs. Byrd was heaven-sent in our lives. Often, she had to stay behind with Rhema, but not once did she complain.
She’d come through for us more times than my own boyfriend had.
I didn’t tell her any of my business, but somehow, Mrs. Byrd understood shit I didn’t have to say out loud.
It was as if she could see through my layers of pain.
Like my heart was exposed when she was around.
Sometimes when I showed up to get Rhema, Mrs. Byrd would be standing there with a bag of groceries for us, an affirmation card for me, and a hug or any other small or big gesture she thought would make me smile or make my life a little easier.
She had no idea how much I appreciated her.
One day, I hoped to show her with more than just a “thank you.”
Mrs. Byrd let out a low sigh. “I hate to tell you this, but I did see Shane.”
“Huh?”
“He was here, but not to get Rhema. He was picking up one of the other students,” she disclosed.
I could tell she didn’t want to tell me by the hesitation in her voice.
What the fuck? What other student? I was beyond confused.
From what I knew, Shane didn’t know any of the other students at Rhema’s school.
He coached somewhere else, so why would he go all the way to my daughter’s school to get another child and leave mine there?
I had a million questions for Shane. He’d better have a good ass excuse for leaving my baby and for not having the decency to tell me he’d changed the plans.
“Again, I’m sorry, Mrs. Byrd. I’m on my way,” was the only words I could muster up to say to her.
I hopped inside my car, started the engine, and hit the gas.
“Shane, why the fuck did you leave my daughter hanging?!”
I pointed my finger at his face, pissed, but not mad enough to put my hands on him. As much as I wanted to beat his ass, I’d never cross that line, and I hoped he wouldn’t either. We cursed each other the hell out, but putting our hands on each other was one thing we said we would never do.
“Ember, calm down. It ain’t like she was alone and shit. Mrs. Byrd was there, wasn’t she?”
His response was dismissive, and all that did was rile me up more.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. As usual, he always had a comeback, always tried to justify every fucking thing, and was always quick to deflect.
“On top of that, you had the nerve to pick up someone else’s child. Foreal, Shane?”
He looked at me, shocked. Like he wasn’t expecting me to know that bit of information.
“Man, who the fuck is being messy? That was my little cousin. Her momma asked me to pick her up.”
“What’s your cousin’s name?”
“Ember, you fuckin’ trippin’. Why do you need to know my cousin’s name? You don’t know her.”
We were locked in the bathroom, trying to stay out of sight of Rhema’s innocent eyes.
The walls were paper thin, and I knew most of the tenants in the building could hear us.
Right now, they were the least of my concern.
I couldn’t let Rhema witness this shit and think it was okay.
I hated that she even had to hear me and this nigga arguing day after day, night after night.
“You must be one stupid ass boy! I don’t believe shit that comes out of your lyin’ ass mouth!”
His neck snapped, and he charged toward me. “Who the fuck you calling stupid?!”
I stood quietly, watching Shane closely. My eyes traveled down to his balled-up fist. His knuckles were white against his light skin.
I wish this nigga would.
Frantically, I looked around for something I could use, just in case I had to make him leave this apartment in a body bag.
Shane, I ain’t a killa, but don’t push me.
“I’m tired of yo’ ass constantly naggin’ and fuckin’ with me!” he barked, then reached for the loose doorknob that was barely hanging on.
“You’re tired?” I flew my arms up in the air. “Shane, what about me? You don’t think I’m sick and tired of your shit too? I’ve been more of a man around this bitch than you have!”
His neck snapped toward me as he let go of the door handle. “What the fuck you say to me?”
The fire in his eyes, the quick rise and fall of his chest, and the rapid fluttering of his eyelids were all I needed to back down. At the end of the day, I was still a woman and no match for Shane’s solid, five-foot eleven frame. He would manhandle my full-figured body with ease.
“Nothing, just forget it,” I said in a calm tone, but heat flushed through my body.
How much more of this could I take? Honestly, I didn’t know. Years later, I still couldn’t believe Shane was the man I had chosen after a long hiatus from dating. If I had known then what I knew now, I would’ve left his ass right in the bar that night.
Shane glared at me, the muscles in his jaw twitching as if they were fighting for their lives.
“Fuck this, I’m out!” He snatched the bathroom door open and stormed out. The sound of jiggling keys filled the space, followed by the front door slamming.
The battle.
The cycle.
The heartbreak.
The exhaustion.
It had all become my norm.
I slid down the wall, drew my knees up to my chest, and welcomed the crying session I knew was coming. Small footsteps approached the bathroom. I rushed to my feet, smoothed out my shirt, and tried to act normal. Like everything was all good.
Rhema carefully walked into the bathroom. My big girl didn’t say anything. She wrapped her arms around my waist and hugged me.
That did it. The floodgates opened, and I could not hold back any longer.
“I’m so sorry for putting you in this situation, my baby,” I cried. “Mommy is so sorry.”
Rhema squeezed me tighter. “It’s okay, Momma. We are going to be alright.”
My baby, Rhema—spoken word of God. I gave her the perfect name.
The way my eleven-year-old comforted me, her words were simple yet meaningful and powerful to me. Despite our circumstances, my daughter had the faith her momma lacked.
I had to find it within myself to stand up and put Rhema and me before anyone else.
My child had walked through all of life’s growing pains right alongside me, and we were still on this journey. I’ll always owe my baby more than I could ever say.