6. Facing the Music in the Morning

I woke up to weight atop me. Any other morning, any other morning, a pleasant surprise. This particular morning, my chest immediately tightened as I looked to my right and caught a glimpse of the clock on the night stand. 6:35 a.m.

I tried, yall, I really did. Digital had been trying to get me to stay the night before we even got to his house. He offered several times to stop off at the mall and get me something to wear to work the next morning. I gracefully declined about three times.

I kept my distance on the sofa at his place. Kept the remember when convo kosher, all that.

And after all that dodging with such good intentions, it had officially gone down. Damn.

Digital walked me to the train and sent me off with a kiss as I rushed off to work shamefully, in the same clothes I’d worn the day before. (Like old times J) But the eight-hour day that would’ve dragged on for what seemed like 12 any other day, zipped by.

I think I stayed at work 30 minutes late that day. I was usually the first one out the door of that God awful place at 6 p.m. sharp. That day though, I filed papers, paper clipped and stapled shyt that had been ornamenting my desk for weeks. I might have even run a damp cloth across the surface before I finally slid my chair in and grabbed my bag, heading out for the night.

I dragged my feet as slowly as I could down 34^th street. But once I hit the PATH train, I was as good as there.

And while I walked sluggishly, my mind raced.

Okay, I need a story, what am I gonna say? I need a story, I need a story, I need a story … okay we were talking about old times, having a good time, I drank a little and fell asleep. Bullshyt. Okay, what had happened was, he tried to come at me right, but I said no. Nothing happened. Bull. Shyt. Okay, okay, okay, for real. This is how it really went down …

But I couldn’t concentrate.

I just kept reliving last night.

The conversation was wonderful, the chemistry was as potent as it had been the last time … and when he kissed me that first time, I didn’t fight long …

And yet, I was headed back to BD’s place to explain myself. WHY!?

Because BD would be there. Probably anxious to hear my futile attempt at easing his fears. And Digital? catching a flight some where. That’s why.

My thoughts were broken and incoherent when I made it to the entrance of BD’s building. I dunno how long I waited in that dingy hallway outside his door. It must’ve been forever, but when I finally slid my key in the lock (yes, I had a key) and pushed the creaky door open, I walked right into BD’s chest. (Dude’s about 6’2 to my 5’4.) I looked up abruptly and met his steely eyes. Never had gotten around to crafting that story.

-- Melyssa Ganache

Check out Confessions of a Single Mom on InBetweenDisappointments as Melyssa comes head to head with the reality of her rationalizations.
Also, check out more Melyssa at GetYoShyt.blogspot.com and hit her up on Myspace.com/MelyssaGanache.
*All names have been changed

5. The Ex Factor: He Calls, She Cums (pun intended)

I don’t think I even realized how unhappy I was in my relationship with BD, until the day I got a glimpse of what had once been.

Enter the ex-factor.

Digital and I had been off and on for years. It began in college. We’d lived together for a semester or so. Didn’t really work out. He’d be up at the crack of dawn before I awoke for class, to head into the studio. And hours after I’d retired for the night, he’d creep into bed beside me. It was like he lived in that studio. He’d bought it with money collected from private investors. I admired his hustle. His work ethic was awing and absolutely sexy. But he didn’t have any time for me, so I had to be out.

Several years later, not much had changed. He lived in the same city as BD, but neither one of us ever saw him. He was always jetting off somewhere. (By this time, mind you, he’d locked onto his first artist with some real potential and was working really hard to promote his talent. Skipping a head a bit, the young R&B star he managed has done quite well for the both of them, since then. His sophomore album debuted at No. 2 on Billboard in ‘07). But we’re not there yet.

We’d go months without seeing each other and other times we’d be on the phone every night. It was one of those relationships. Constantly evolving but ever present. Beneath it all, we were great friends. We loved each other and would always be part of each other’s lives. (Yes, always, but that’s jumping ahead, too. I haven’t yet become pregnant by his best friend).

So at this time, I hadn’t heard from Digital in weeks. And I was kinda hoping not to for a while. The lack of contact helped to suppress the guilt I was feeling about half shacking up with his boy.
Anyway, this particular day, he called me at work. Don’t have caller ID on the office phone so I was surprised to hear his voice. Pleasantly surprised.

“Yo what’s up? What you doin tonite? You should meet me in the city and grab something to eat,” he said. “I’m catchin a flight to Atlanta tomorrow and I’ll be gone for a while.”

I wanted to see him. I agreed. After work, I left a message for BD letting him know I was having dinner with a friend so he should fend for himself. I took the train to the major label BD’s artist was signed to and met him in the lobby. He looked good. We hugged and immediately clicked all over again. It was always like this though, like no time had passed. So easy to slide back into.

It was a little late, so we went back to his place and ordered in. His apartment was on the 23^rd floor of a plush doorman building, overlooking the water. The view was spectacular. I’m not a material girl, but the contrast between where I was standing and where I’d be going “home” too? Classic irony.

I sat and ate while he moved around the apartment briskly, feeding a forkful here and there between folding clothes in his suitcase, texting on his Blackberry and finalizing plans on his phone.

This was the double edged sword that had proved to be the end of us, that never-ending grind.

When he finally zipped his Louis Vuitton suitcase and joined me on the sofa, we talked for hours. We refilled our wine glasses and talked some more. Time seemed to fly. I don’t think I realized how late it was until I yawned widely and Digital caught the same bug.

I’d kind of been dreading this moment -- I loved being with Digital -- but it was time.

“It’s getting late,” I said, bending and reaching for my heels lying on the carpet. “I should go.”

Almost immediately, “No, don’t go. It’s too late for you to take the train tonight. If I knew you weren’t going to stay the night I would have told you to go home a long time ago,” Digital said.

“It’s okay, Digital. I take the train everyday,” I said. And besides, I was only going two stops over to BD’s place. I’d be “home” in 12 minutes.

“It’s gonna take you an hour to get home, at least,” he insisted. I wouldn’t even take the train way out there at this time of night.”

We went back and forth and I went hard for the cause. I mean, I had to get back. BD and I weren’t expressly committed, per se, but the spending the night elsewhere line, that’s certainly one we hadn’t yet crossed.

Until tonight.

I ducked into the bathroom to make the fateful call. I had to tell him something.

“Hello,” I said hesitantly when he picked up.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” BD asked, hearing the trepidation in my voice. “When are you coming home?”

“I’m with Digital. We had dinner. I’m staying here tonight,” I said. I wanted to explain, to tell him that Digital was adamant about me not taking the train this late at night, alone. Especially since I live way out … How he’d said even he as a man wouldn’t feel comfortable taking the train at this hour. How nothing was gonna happen and I wouldn’t do anything to make our situation any more messy …

Huddled in the bathroom, enunciating through a whisper, I couldn’t get any of that out. And I’d said plenty, anyway.

BD was quiet.

“I’ll come get you. I’m on my way …”

“No,” I interrupted. He’ll wanna walk me to the train. What if he sees you? What if he insists on riding all the way back to my house? No. I’ll just stay here.”

More quiet.

“Okay.” BD finally said in a sad little voice of defeat. “Be safe.”

I walked back out into the living room. Digital had already gotten down to his boxers and wife beater. (Love that). He threw me a T shirt and commanded, “take your clothes off.” With a wide smile. (Love that, too). But I kept a straight face. This could absolutely not happen.

“Melyssa why are you trippin? I’ll stay on my side of the bed if you want,” He smirked. “Promise.”

“Okay. So will I,” I said flatly. “I’m serious, Digital.”

We must’ve made liars of ourselves three or four times before sunrise.

-- Melyssa Ganache

Check out Confessions of a Single Mom on InBetweenDissapointments tomorrow as Melyssa’s double dealing blows up in her face.
Also, check out more Melyssa at GetYoShyt.blogspot.com and hit her up on Myspace.com/MelyssaGanache.
*All names have been changed

4. The Road to Rationalization

As matter-of-fact as I’ve made it seem, it wasn’t all merely mechanical. I mean, yeah, there definitely was an agreed upon exchange at the heart of our relationship, but honestly, I liked BD. For all his faults -- that were slowly but surely cropping up everywhere -- he still, at this point, seemed a sympathetic character to me.

Of course, he’d soon become a super villain. But right now, I’m still understanding. So I rationalized adapted.

I cooked vegetarian meals every night, sometimes in addition to a chicken breast or something for myself, and sometimes I’d just veg out with him.

The glass of wine I’d previously enjoyed with dinner, I replaced with sparkling grape juice. BD could drink that.

And everything. Everything from the meat BD definitely did not eat to the ketchup on the side door of the refrigerator became organic.

I’m easy. BD is rigid. Makes sense for me to do more of the bending, right? And it was his refrigerator, after all. But when he went through my personal things, my Caboodle (member those? LOL. Mine’s from like 1989) and began ranting about the aluminum in my antiperspirant causing breast cancer, that should have been enough.

Dude bought about 10 different natural deodorants and laid them all out buffet style on the counter, encouraging me to try them until I found one I liked. Seriously.

Even more seriously though, I tried that bullshit. Can I just say, anything that does not prevent moisture cannot, cannot, prevent odor. It’s like math. The shit doesn’t work.

Looking back, I feel like an older sister watching her younger sibling sink into a relationship of quicksand, helpless to stop her because she won’t reach out her hand. She says she’s not sinking. Just dabbling. Wading.

I did not even see the walls closing in around me because it happened so slowly. I didn’t hear the locks clank behind me because the wheels ground so quietly.

While I thought I was making peace, I was only setting myself up for disaster. And though you could not have told me at the time, it was fast approaching.

-- Melyssa Ganache
Check out Confessions of a Single Mom on InBetwenDissapointmenst tomorrow as Melyssa comes head to head with the reality of her rationalizations.
Also, check out more Melyssa at GetYoShyt.blogspot.com and hit her up on Myspace.com/MelyssaGanache.

*All names have been changed

3. You've Got a Deal

That one fateful night turned into another and another and spun into a relationship of sorts. Not so much out of passion or romantic feeling -- Quite frankly we weren't much more compatible in bed than I'd soon find we were, out -- But more of a fulfilling of mutual needs in a couple of different realms. Emotionally, he needed to feel worthy and wanted, and I needed a friend. And if we can just be real, he needed a car and I needed a parking space in the city (I'd never heard of spending for a spot in a lot what some people pay in rent. I'm a country girl, I guess).

I know it sounds jaded, but his apartment was also like two blocks from the PATH train which dropped me off right in midtown, two blocks away from my job. My current commute was a grueling two-hour, two-zone commute. C’mon.

And so we entered into an agreement of convenience. Of course with the whole sharing a futon Monday through Friday thing, well the other stuff kinda just came with it. [bowing my head in shame].

Really though, it kinda worked out for a minute. He'd take my whip to work thru the week and I'd take off for the train up the street. Back at the apartment in the evenings, we'd have dinner (sometimes together, sometimes apart) and our weekends were our own. On Friday after work, I'd head home. And Sunday night, we’d do it all again. Simple, right?

That was before it got complicated. BD has a bit of a Monk complex. Everything, and I do mean everything, had to be just so. But in his defense -- though he wasn’t entirely transparent with me about the twisted way his mind works from the beginning -- the signs were absolutely there, had I only been willing to see them.

It should have been a red flag for me when, cooking dinner for us one night, (a vegetarian dinner no less, tho I am a ravenous carnivore), I accidentally burned his black oven mit. Sorry. Who knew that wouldn’t be enough. He completely flipped out, yelling and cursing and throwing things. It was like something out of a really bad drama. Kinda scary, even. But okay, he grew up poor, he really values and takes care of his things … I get it. I guess. I replaced the oven mit. Sorry.

Y’know those little scented glass candles at the Dollar Store? He had one in his bathroom. I guess I closed the toilet lid too hard, the candle slid off the tank where it had rested and the glass broke. Sorry. I cleaned it up, but again, not good enough. He screamed at me and accused me of “not respecting other people’s shyt.” Wow. That serious.

The scoldings occurred more and more often and became something of a routine. Thinking back on some of those incidences, it’s almost like I was having an out of body experience. It’s kind of surreal, I feel like it wasn’t even me going through all that. I just can’t imagine …

When I did snap of it though, is when the real drama began. I wouldn’t realize it until I wanted out of the contract, but I'd inked a deal with the devil.

-- Melyssa Ganache

Check out Confessions of a Single Mom on InBetweenDissapointments tomorrow as Melyssa gives up more of the dirt on her soiled relationship.

Also, check out more Melyssa at GetYoShyt.blogspot.com and hit her up on Myspace.com/MelyssaGanache.

*All names have been changed

2. Beware of that Secret Allure ...

… That’s what drew me in, in the beginning.

You’ve been there … The two of you in a room full of people, stealing glances, exchanging smirks, repositioning yourself on a sofa or chair in a tell-tale, perhaps reminiscent way, that only that other person sees.

Maybe a mutual friend crosses the room to introduce one of you to the other.

“This is my dude, so-and-so. So-and-so, Melyssa.”

You smile politely and shake hands with the aloofness of new acquaintances. But he’s no new acquaintance. He knows the color of your sheets.

There’s something so sexy about a secret.

And so it began with me and BD. We’d been out the whole day together. We caught a show, hit a museum, dropped in on a friend of his at a pool hall, grabbed a bite at a restaurant and generally meandered through the streets of Manhattan until late into the night. We talked about old times back in college, swapped stories about his ex (my then best friend) and my on-again-off-again (his then best friend). Music, family, where-you-said-you-were-gonna-be-10-years-from-now-10 years-ago … All that.

It had been friendly. An occasional hand brush, but still friendly. A shoulder squeeze when we ran into one of those huge, disgusting creatures New York is known for, racing from behind a large dumpster and across the sidewalk. Still though, friendly.

Sidebar: Of course, I had no idea at the time that everything about that evening was completely out of character for BD. The chicken dinner he'd bought me at that dive ... he's a strict vegan who has a serious beef with meat eaters. Later he'd empty our refrigerator and cabinets of any animal derivative food products and forbid me from going to the store alone. The margaritas he'd tried to pour down my throat, while sitting at a bar, no less ... This dude doesn't even go into bars. And he doesn't touch alcohol because it contains evil spirits that inhabit your soul. Yes. Really.

But that's all hindsight. We're not there yet.

We walked everywhere that night. It rained and we kept walking. Talking. Laughing. And though the undeniable tension in the air at the time, along with the time that’s past since then, certainly blurs my recollection a bit, you always remember the moment when things changed.

“Can you keep a secret,” he asked, nonchalantly as we walked. I smiled broadly, betraying the cool I’d hoped to exude if and when the proposition, no matter how subtle, came. Perhaps I really wasn’t expecting it.

I thought: Absolutely. I have a closet full of them.

I said: “I suppose you can’t really know that until I tell. Or not,” I added, meeting his eyes. He smiled.

We retired that night to his second story walk-up studio apartment, atop a dirty bodega, cramped, dim and awkwardly positioned on a narrow street between an abandoned parking lot and a littered yard. I, enchanted with all things “bright-lights-big-city,” was perfectly comfortable. And in his XXL T-shirt, even more so.

The next morning was Saturday.

It’s hard to know, on a night like that Friday -- when something so far-fetched moves closer than you might ever have thought likely -- just how the covering of night will have changed things, until the sun breaks through the slats in the blinds. That’s when you know.

For me, it was a little later than daybreak. The phone rang. BD rolled out of bed to pick it up off the kitchen wall, while I smoothed my hair and positioned myself as flatteringly as I could for his retun.

“Hey man, what’s up? Nah, chillin …”

The space was small and I wasn’t trying, but I could hear the deep and distinct male voice on the other end. I knew that voice. It was Digital, BD’s best friend.

BD sat on the bed next to me, phone to his ear, motioning for me to be quiet. Shamefully aroused, I hadn’t said a word.

Ahh the power of secrets. Though seductive at first, trust me, they are always inevitably damning.

-- Melyssa Ganache

Check out Confessions of a Single Mom on In Between Disappointments tomorrow when Melyssa has her first realization that she may be in for more than she can handle.

Also, check out more Melyssa at GetYoShyt.blogspot.com and hit her up on Myspace.com/MelyssaGanache.

1. Confessions of a Single Mom: Ain't no good gonna come to you ...

***This story was originally published on the now defunct Twelve24Girl.com in the sites Confessions blog. It will be republished in its entirety, here.***

--------------------

Hi all,

My name’s Melyssa Ganache and I’m gonna be unfolding my confessions to you for the next few weeks, months or so, who knows … right here. Spilling my guts.

I’m a single mom currently embroiled in a heated custody battle with my baby’s father. This negro wants sole custody of my kid, y’all You believe that? Sole custody. He’s a nut case.

But there’s more to it than that. Infidelity; rumors of infidelity; accusations of kidnapping; backstabbing and getting back (nobody ever breaks up just once, you always get back). And -- if we can just be real -- the serious consideration of contracting a hit man’s services. It’s all here and it’s all true.

If you’re a baby’s mama (ugh, that term makes me cringe), a baby’s daddy (equal disgust, here) or close to someone who has been through the drama that most certainly follows either attachment, then maybe you can relate.

This is my story …

Ain't no good gonna come to you

The powers of the universe are working like a well oiled machine. My story is one, unfortunately and admittedly, of karma at its most elemental.

Here’s the broad synopsis: My child’s father is my ex-boyfriend’s best friend. Messy, I know. (Quiet the insults spat at your computer screen until the end of the post, please. It does get worse). My son’s father is my girl friend’s ex-boyfriend. LOL. But really.

So first, the now:

I’m being held hostage in New Jersey per court order because my son’s father doesn’t want me to move out of state with our baby boy. Fine. Moreover, he wants sole custody of our son. Nuts.

Then, I’ll begin to bring you up to speed:

Baby’s daddy (we’ll call him BD for succinctness and anonymity) is a Bronx-bred, staunch White-people-are-devils-Black-man-is-God Muslim who doesn’t eat pork (because pigs were grafted in a laboratory by French scientists); doesn’t touch alcohol, (literally, doesn’t touch the stuff. Wouldn’t even handle the bottle standing outside of a house warming party to which we were bringing wine as a gift for the host. That’s another story); Believes he is the smartest person in the world (and it is his ordained responsibility to correct you, by force if necessary, if deemed to be doing something “wrong” ie, listening to Hot 97 on the radio or watching Flavor of Love on VH1); and finally, is absolutely not turned on by two girls kissing. (It’s an abomination).

He’s all for premarital sex though. (Just a sidebar.)

I, on the other hand, in my mid twenties, am about 6 years his junior; hail from the heart-of-the-Bible-belt Midwest; eat swine all day; am inclined to indulging in a nice buzz on the weekends; “love whitey” (let BD tell it. LOL); Am much more from the school of “you do you, umma do me;” And have learned not to share old college experiences with a new boyfriend as he may be the one man on earth who doesn’t think it’s hot.

Who knew this mix-matched love affair wouldn’t be a fairy tale, right? Well it was damned from the beginning and sadly, had little to do with love.

On a fluke -- I actually met the VP of the company on a flight layover in Indianapolis -- I got this totally less than fab job in an absolutely fabulous midtown New York building, so I packed up and moved from my home in my boring small town in the Midwest, headed for the bustling New York metropolitan area. Wide-eyed? Yes.

Young, single, childless and pre-pregnancy sexy -- which sadly, is not the same as post-pregnancy sexy. Sigh. -- I happened to run into BD one day in the city. (Before he was BD, of course. Stay with me).

So here I am, without a friend in all the five boroughs and much of New Jersey, when I lock eyes with BD. Hadn’t seen him in years, though Serita still often talked about him.

I know, I know. If he was sooo effin crazy, if he was suuuch an unhinged sociopath, if his world view was soooo skewed, WHYD YOU GET WITH HIM? Lemme tell ya, a booming, deep, authoritative voice taunts me in my sleep and awakens me out of REM every night around 3 a.m. demanding answers to the same questions. You guys, get behind that guy.

But it wasn’t like that in the beginning. I mean, is it ever? It was cool, it was on the up and up, it was friendly, kosher, all that. I mean we were old friends … at first.


Check out In Between Disappointments for the next installment of Confessions of a Single Mom tomorrow, when Melyssa reveals the dirty details of the beginning of a match made in hell.