Until It Happens Again

UNTIL IT HAPPENS AGAIN

“Naw, this ain’t gonna work,” I muttered. “You can’t let him disrespect you like that and get away with it.” Aimlessly, I paced from the bed to the door and back again. Tears blurred my vision, and my head pounded like a drum, full of thoughts of vengeance.

“I gotta talk to someone before I do something I might regret,” I declared, my chest heaving as a deep breath escaped my lips.

RING!

A lump of remorse tightened my throat as I pressed the speaker button.

“He-Hello?” I paused after my voice cracked, fighting back tears. Stay strong, my mind urged.

Tears gushed down my face like a waterfall.

“Mom, it’s late. What’s up?”

My body shook with rage. “I don’t understand your dad! I can’t do this anymore. I’m divorcing him. I didn’t fly all the way from America to Ethiopia for him to leave me sitting here alone, cooped up in this hotel room! He’s driving me frickin’ nuts!” I roared, arms flaring.

CRASH! FIZZ!

“Dang!” My eyes shot to the floor. Reluctantly, I squatted to gather the bigger shards of glass. Then snatched a nearby towel and swept it across the floor to catch the tiny slivers of glass.

“Mom! What’s that noise? Did you break something of Dad’s?” he exclaimed, concern thick in his voice.

“No,” I sighed, dumping the towel and shards into the trash. “All I wanted was for your dad to call and let me know if he was going to be late, or not coming home. Waiting all day and night without a word felt like he didn’t care, and showed my time and visit meant nothing to him. There are so many things I could’ve done instead of sitting and waiting. Then, when I explained how I felt, he excused himself by saying, ‘In this country, we don’t worry about time.’”

“Ha! That’s a lie. And if your dad continues to pretend he doesn’t understand common courtesy, someone’s gonna get hurt. And I guarantee you—it won’t be me,” I growled.

A heavy silence settled between us.

“You’re arguing about this again? Are you kidding me? Why, Mom? Tell me, what are you going to do?”

Dawit’s voice cracked slightly, like he’d been holding his breath.

“This isn’t your first trip to Ethiopia. You know Dad doesn’t drive, and catching a bajaj or van, depending on the time, can be difficult—he can’t always control when or if he’ll return. Why can’t you see that? You’re there. Enjoy your time together and stop making a big deal out of things neither of you can control.” He paused. “You two lovebirds planned this vow renewal like a second honeymoon. Don’t let frustration or insecurity spoil it.”

As I processed his advice, my body shuddered with unbridled rage. “I don’t understand. I’m your mother. Why are you always taking your dad’s side and blaming me like it’s my fault?” “AH!”

A moan escaped before I could slap my hands over my mouth to muffle the gut-wrenching sobs clawing their way out of my soul.

“Mom, are you crying again?”

Of course I am, my head snapped.

BLAM!

My head jerked toward the window. Precariously, my husband’s long-sleeve shirt flapped in the breeze, its musty scent filling the room as it waved like a white flag, signaling a cease-fire.

The odor from its underarms smelled worse than a dead skunk.

PHEW!

I exclaimed, pinching my nose with one hand and fanning the air with the other.

There was something oddly strange—and sensual—about that white flag.

My body tingled at the thought of our sweaty bodies locked in sticky make-up sex.

I nodded as my nose flared in agreement.

Yeah, that’s what the smell reminded me of.

FLAP!

The shirt snapped as it rode a hard gust of wind.

DANG!

I shivered—not from the cold, but from vivid X-rated images of new positions popping into my mind.

Stop! I ordered my lust-filled heart as certain lower parts quickened.

My chest heaved in preparation—

Not today, my head declared as my hands yanked the shirt from the window.

I ducked as the buttons popped off like firecrackers—each burst echoing one of his many insults—while my heart pounded with grief.

“Hello? Hello? Mom, are you still there?” Dawit called, his voice uncertain.

“Yes.” I nodded instinctively, as if he could see me.

Heavily, my feet trudged to the door as if weighed down.

It’s late—He should be back soon, my heart whispered.

A smile as bright as the sun lit my face as I stopped and stared at the door.

Don’t go there—you ain’t getting any, my head snapped.

Well, we’ll have to wait and see. If he arrives at a decent time, my heart declared.

Why do we always have to fight? My head asked.

“UH!”

I leaned forward, hands clutching my chest.

An intense burning sensation sliced through my heart like someone was pulling a hot string.

“I’m tired of it,” I roared.

“Since your dad picked me up at the airport, it’s been nothing but fault-finding and fights.

There’s no compromise—nothing I say or feel matters.”

“Mom, I love you. I understand your dilemma, and I’m sorry things aren’t working out.”

A faint sigh escaped my lips as my feet slammed across the cold tile floors.

“Your dad’s a jerk! He still blames me for keeping my job and not relocating with him.” I sobbed, wiping my nose with the shirt.

“He claims I robbed him of watching you grow up.”

My eyes misted.

“But if he felt that way, he shouldn’t have left. Right?”

“Ugh!”

I grunted, so full of rage that my veins bulged.

Forcefully, I pulled and clawed at the shirt until the fabric ripped into ragged pieces.

“Mom, what was that ripping sound?”

“What?” My hands froze.

The shreds slipped through my fingers like water as I sank to my knees.

“He’s gonna kill me,” I whispered, clutching the torn remains, ashamed of what I’d done.

BA-BOOMP, BA-BOOMP!

My heart pounded.

Eyes wide, I scanned the room, frantically searching for a place to stash the evidence.

I yanked open the armoire and stuffed the pieces into my dirty-clothes bag.

“Ha,” I snickered—my dirty little secret.

“Mom, are you tearing up Dad’s stuff?”

Unsure how to respond, I paused. He didn’t ask if I had torn it up—just if I was doing it now. So…

“No,” I said, beads of sweat bubbling across my brow. Dang! Why do I always sweat when I lie?

“Mom, I don’t believe you.”

“Why do I have to lie? I told him to take his stuff. He refused. ‘You can trash it. I don’t want any memories of you,’ he said before storming out last night.” A faint smirk crossed my lips as I glanced at the plastic bags of his clothes and personal items—everything he’d left in the heat of the moment. Memories he’ll never get back.

“Why, Mom? Why would you do that in a foreign country where you don’t speak the language? My dad’s the only person you know here.”

I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms tightly. Glaring at the phone, I sobbed,

“Your dad makes me crazy. I’m tired of him insulting me like I’m supposed to read his mind. I’m American—I speak up. He knew that before we married.”

“Nope, don’t say I need to be more submissive. I’ve tried that, and it only makes it worse—your dad acts like he can say whatever he wants, and I have no say because he’s the boss.”

“In all fairness, Mom, that’s an old argument. You didn’t get along in America—why would it be different there?”

Who does my son think he is? I didn’t call for analysis. I called for sympathy—maybe a rescue.

I softened my voice. “I looked into changing my flight. It’s non-refundable, and leaving early would cost double.”

“So what’s your plan?”

Why is he parenting me?

I wanted to snap. None of your business, but I bit my tongue. Dawit’s help was my plan.

“Could you ask your uncle if I can stay at his parents’ house?”

“Why not call him yourself?”

“You know we’re not speaking,” I reminded him. “He told me something in confidence, and I broke it.”

“So... you want me to ask?”

“Yes, please.”

He sighed. “What should I even say?”

“Just tell him: Mom’s in Ethiopia with Dad—they’re having problems. She needs a place to stay for 26 days without him. I suggested Grandpa’s, but didn’t want to ask Dad directly. So I’m asking you.”

“Mom,” Dawit said, voice slightly raised, agitated, “Do you really want me to lie? I can book your return flight tonight—right now. Then you can reserve a driver to the airport.”

THUD!

I slammed my fist on the desk. “No! Regardless of our problems, I’m staying!”

“Mom, what if Uncle says no? He might not want to get involved in y’all’s mess.”

“Then I’ll deal with it. Just let me know his response.”

A long, calming breath hissed through Dawit’s teeth. Silence. Then…

TAPPETY TAP. TAPPETY TAP

“Dawit, please stop! If you don’t want to call Uncle, just say so.”

“Mom, it’s not that I don’t—I just think you should come home. Why stay if you two aren’t getting along?

Come home, Momma. Your life is here with us, not with Dad.”

Dawit’s voice trembled—

soft with anguish, steady with love.

Firmly, but calmly, I said, “Look, I know you mean well, but I refuse to keep repeating myself. I’m staying in Ethiopia. I’m not flying back.

I didn’t ask for your approval. I asked you to make the call.”

A cold silence, like preparing for a storm… no hurricane filled the air.

“I know you did, and I will. But it’s late. It’s a little after one o’clock in the morning. I’m not texting or calling anyone at this time.” He paused.

“In fact—”

Oh, my gosh! Why does he keep thinking that he can control me? “What, Dawit! In fact, what?” I snapped, narrowing my eyes and gritting my teeth as I glared at the phone like he could see me.

SSH!

Dawit exclaimed, “Mom, calm down. You’re getting upset. I’m not going to let you upset me, too. I’m hanging up before we say something we can’t take back. I love you. Stay safe. I’ll text Uncle in the morning after I wake up. Later, I’ll call you and tell you what he says. Good night.”

“Whoo!” The cool afternoon breeze rushed through the window. I shivered, briskly rubbing my arms together like I was trying to spark a fire. Hurriedly, I reached to shut it, pausing to admire the familiar soft orange glow that meant the sun was setting. It was getting dark, and laughter and indistinct conversations from the café guests below floated to my ears.

“Ah,” I sighed, chest heaving, nostrils flaring as I inhaled the sweet, cherry aroma of one of the Ethiopian coffees brewing downstairs.

“Umm,” my mouth watered at the thought of sipping the warm latte.

GRRR.

Lightly tapping my head, I said, “Dang! That’s why my stomach is bubbling. I’m lactose intolerant, and last night I drank several cups of their latte. My bowels always give me trouble when I’m upset or having an allergic reaction to milk.”

“Ooh, I gotta use it,” I muttered, rushing toward the bathroom—

RATTLE, RATTLE.

My ears perked as I sat on the toilet.

CLICK, CREAK!

What the heck?

My heart pounded like a wild drum as I sprang from the toilet.

“What are you doing here?” I snapped, bursting out of the bathroom, hopping in place, hands trembling as I yanked my tight jeans over my hips.

An amused smirk spread across my husband’s face.

And I knew what he wanted—and he wasn’t getting it.

SNAP

My eyes twinkled with success as I turned to walk away.

“Hey!” he shouted, storming toward me. “Let’s get one thing straight.”

My eyes widened as my arms folded tightly across my chest in defiance.

Shaking his finger in my face, his voice boomed, “I’m the man. I asked you to marry me. You don’t run this relationship. You don’t tell me what to do or when our marriage ends. We made vows—to stay together and love one another, for better or worse, in sickness and in health.”

And even though I heard what he was saying, my mind couldn’t focus because—Ooh! I love it when he takes control.

It didn’t matter that I was upset with him. All I could think about was what I wanted him to do with and to me…

Naw, I’m not talking about whips and chains. I’m not into that bondage stuff.

But I think I could use a pair of handcuffs.

“Are you listening?” he growled, then paused.

Abruptly, he lifted my chin, locking eyes with mine.

I should’ve knocked his hand away or yelled, Don’t touch me! But I didn’t. I couldn’t.

Quickly, I turned my head away from him. A smile flickered, sending chills through my bones, decimating that whisper of doubt that tingled behind it.

I nodded, almost laughing aloud, thinking, Yeah, I like you rough.

Just not too rough, my heart quietly added.

My body tingled as his strong hand lightly caressed my face, his fingers lingering as he explained, “Right now, our minds are sick. But our love can heal us.

Let me show you. Close your eyes,” he said softly.

“What?” I gasped as my head raced with torture scenes from horror movies.

I ain’t closing my eyes. I’m not stupid. If you’re gonna kill or hurt me, I want to see it coming so I can defend myself.

“Close your eyes,” he cooed, brushing his fingertips over my eyelids, gently shutting them.

I inhaled, my body trembling. His fingers crept down my face, circled my chin, then grazed my breast—goosebumps swept across my skin, and my palms opened involuntarily.

“What’s this?” I asked, cautiously opening my eyes.

A small rectangular package, wrapped in what looked like trash—well, discarded paper—crinkled as I examined it. I stared at the unfamiliar writing.

Maybe it’s filled with old stories... or empty promises.

Extending my hand toward him, I asked, “Why are you giving this to me?”

My voice was so cold it could’ve frozen the air between us. “Here—take it back. I don’t want anything from you except my freedom.”

“Open it,” he insisted, pushing my hand away.

Cautiously, I peeled the tape and unwrapped the paper. As my eyes widened, a soft wheeze slipped from my lips.

Six of my favorite candy bars—the ones I loved almost more than life itself—tumbled into my hands.

My eyes shimmered with love as they gazed into his.

“Where did you find these? I didn’t think they sold them out here!” I asked, my voice filled with excitement, my mouth watering to eat them.

Clutching the bars to my chest, my heart sang, He really does love me. He remembered what my favorite candy is.

So what? More junk that you don’t need, my head shot back.

AHEM!

“These are for you,” he said, extending his hand with a small bouquet of bruised flowers—like us—barely surviving but still alive.

Tears swelled as my heart raced in search of forgiveness.

No—I didn’t smell the flowers; I wasn’t sure if ants—or some other insect—might jump out and bite me.

I nodded, pretending to admire them… when I didn’t.

Humbly, he said, “I know in America, when a husband messes up, he gives his wife flowers and candy. That’s what I’m doing—apologizing. I know this isn’t the quality of gifts you’d get in America, but… It’s the thought that counts, right?”

My shoulders shrugged. I wasn’t expecting him to make amends. I’d been set on leaving all day—and now I was confused. Suddenly, he wanted to fight for our marriage.

Umph! Are you really that desperate—that you’d forgive him because he gave you some raggedy flowers and six dollars’ worth of candy? Is that all it takes? My head asked.

No. My heart confessed. I loved his honest apology and willingness to fight for us.

Tightly, he wrapped his big, strong arms around my waist.

Sensuously, my head rolled as his thick lips planted tiny, succulent kisses on my neck—the kind my body couldn’t resist.

I gagged as his musk stung my nose. Then I smiled. I think it’s arousing me.

“Do you forgive me? Please stay and renew our vows?” he begged.

Closing my eyes, my chest rapidly heaved as I weighed the pros and cons of reconciliation.

If I stayed, I’d risk more pain from his insults—

If I left, I’d experience more pain as my heart ached and my mind exploded with what-ifs.

So, I’ll—

No. Please don’t do it! My head pleaded, recalling every awful thing said during our heated argument.

Stop! Forgive him. He already apologized. Why are you still holding a grudge? My heart countered, filling my veins with the giddiness of new love.

Oh, no you don’t! My body shivered as an icy cold sensation numbed my senses.

Then why are you so trusting? You know it’s only a matter of time before he says something to anger you again, my head warned.

No! my heart cried. Didn’t you hear him say he’s willing to compromise and embrace our differences, without bullying or belittling?

Ha! He didn’t say any of that! My head snapped.

UGH! Enough! I cried, silencing them as I snuggled deep into my husband’s loving embrace, relishing his declaration of love.

“Please stay. I promise never to hurt you again.”

A tear rolled down my cheek.

Yeah, my head whispered, until it happens again.