Me, Myself and Him

by E.N. Joy

Genres: African American; African American Christian; African American Urban; Christian Fiction

Synopsis

How was Locksie supposed to tell her boyfriend that she had gone off to church and fallen in love with another man? Locksie grew up in the church - against her will - thanks to her holier-than-thou mother. But now that she's all grown-up, she's her own woman and church is the last thing on her mind; her live-in boyfriend, Dawson, is the first. When Locksie finally decides to go back and visit church upon the invitation of her aunt, who hoped that by extending the invite, her niece would find God again, Locksie ends up finding more than she could have ever expected. Hannah is Locksie's friend who has issues of her own. She's struggling to forgive her husband for the affair he had, while at the same time be a stepmother to the child who is a result of his affair. And all while the child's mother taunts Hannah every chance she gets. In Me, Myself and Him, the characters are torn between holding on to the person they believe is the love of their life, or having to let go for the one thing that is missing from their life.

Release date: March 1, 2008

Publisher: End of the Rainbow Projects

Print pages: 304

Sample

“God ain’t into threesomes!” Mary scolded her niece.

Locksie looked up at her aunt in shock. “Aunt Mary,” she blushed.

“Get your mind out of the gutter, girl,” Mary said as she joined Locksie at the kitchen table with two cups of coffee in hand. She placed one in front of Locksie and the other to her peanut-butter-colored lips, which were an identical shade to her flawless skin complexion.

“Get my mind out of the gutter?” She folded her arms.

“Yes, because I’m not talking about that kind of threesome; the sexual kind,” Mary explained. “I’m talking about intimacy, but not the type of intimacy your filthy mind has managed to wander off to.”

Locksie chuckled as she took a sip of her hot beverage. “Well, what did you expect me to think? You’re sitting here mentioning God, threesomes and intimacy all in the same breath. I didn’t know ol’ Jehovah got down like that.” Locksie chuckled once again, but could tell by the way her aunt’s eyebrows began to close in tight that she wasn’t finding the humor in her comment.

“What I’m trying to say is that God wants to be intimate with you; not sexually, but spiritually.” Mary looked her niece in the eyes as her voice softened and she hugged herself. “God wants to pull you in close. He wants you to rest on His bosom so that He can whisper in your ear the answer to all your problems. He wants to get so intimate with you that your soul intertwines with His.” She entangled her fingers together for demonstration. “But like I said,” she got serious again, “God ain’t into threesomes. And He ain’t into no quickies either.”

Locksie threw her hands up. “Now, how do you expect me to get my mind out of the gutter if you keep putting it there? Now you’re sitting here talking about God and quickies.”

“Will you just listen already, nasty girl?” Mary said, playfully spanking her niece on the back of her hand.

“Ouch!”

“That didn’t hurt . . . Now listen. When I said quickies, I meant those quick little prayers to God people sometimes squeeze into their busy schedule here and there, usually while the television is on or while they’re sitting in their car listening to the radio. If you want to get intimate with God, it’s just got to be you and Him—not you, Him, and Zenith. Not you, Him and Hot 107. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, Aunt Mary,” Locksie said, rolling her eyes, signaling that she had just about had enough of this conversation.

For the life of Locksie, she never could understand why she tolerated her Aunt Mary always preaching about God when she couldn’t tolerate her own mother doing it. Maybe it was because she was older now and wasn’t actually being forced to sit there and listen. When Locksie was young, her mother had robbed her of choice by making God and church mandatory, instilling a fear of hell and damnation in her mind. Aunt Mary hadn’t used God and church to rob her of a normal childhood like Locksie felt her mother had done.

Mary shook her head and looked up to the heavens.

Locksie giggled at her aunt’s dramatics. She always enjoyed having coffee with her favorite aunt—her only aunt—every morning before she headed in to work at the local Fiesta hair salon she managed. Although at the fifty-year mark in age, Aunt Mary could definitely keep up with her younger niece. A volunteer aerobics instructor for the Columbus Parks and Recreation Department, Mary’s physique put Locksie’s to shame. Not that Locksie was out of shape or anything; just not as in shape as Mary’s four feet, eleven-inch petite, muscular frame.

With a five feet, seven-and-one-half-inch frame, Locksie’s 158 pounds spread out evenly as not to make her look frumpy with the excess ten pounds that it wouldn’t exactly hurt her to lose. But it was only in the buff that those extra few pounds made themselves known. Under the black smock she was required to wear at work, her body wasn’t visible at all; only her pretty brown face that always bore flawlessly applied make-up.

A Mary Kay representative on the side, Locksie made sure to always be a walking campaign ad for the cosmetic line whose products seemed to be catering more and more to African Americans. Locksie sold at least one of her products daily, even if it was nothing more than a tube of lip gloss. That was a personal goal she had set for herself a year ago when she first paid the $100 fee to become a consultant.

“You’re worried about me?” Locksie asked Mary. “You’re the one talking about threesomes and quickies. Either God is off the chain, or you need to get you some.” Locksie laughed, dodging another swat from her aunt.

“Cut it out. You know what I’m trying to say and you’re just mad because I’m speaking the truth. Every morning you come over here with the same old complaints about you and Dawson.” Dawson was Locksie’s live-in boyfriend of three years. “And how something is missing from your relationship. Well, I’ll tell you what’s missing: God is.” Mary rolled her eyes. “Over there living in sin together in that big ol’ house of yours.” Mary began to mumble under her breath as she took a sip from her cup.

“So how should I be living in sin, Aunt Mary? By my lonesome?”

“Damn right! By yourself! If you gon’ choose to live in sin, why drag somebody else with you?”

“I see with all that going to church and praying you be doing, that ol’ cursin’ demon ain’t let loose of your tongue yet,” Locksie said sarcastically with a chuckle, sucking her teeth as she put her cup to her lips and swallowed. She realized that this was probably another reason why she could tolerate her aunt over her mother. Aunt Mary was funny. She wasn’t ashamed to admit that although she was a Christian, she wasn’t a perfect Christian; she still had stuff of her own to be delivered from. She wasn’t telling everybody else they were going to hell, which is exactly what Locksie’s mother used to always tell her.

Mary, on the other hand, knew that approach was everything. And although she admired how her sister had tried to instill the goodness of the Lord in her niece’s heart, she couldn’t wholeheartedly agree with her past methods.

“I’m working on that cursing thing,” Mary admitted, “and I’m believing in God to deliver me from it; truly I am. But never you mind me.” Mary pointed at her niece. “Think you slick trying to change the subject. Like I said before . . .” She took a sip of her coffee and then continued. “God ain’t into no threesomes. It can’t be you, Him and Dawson; you, Him and your job; you, Him and nobody or nothing else for that matter. God wants you to submit to Him and Him only. He wants your mind, your body, your heart and your soul. And once He has that, you never know. Your assignment may be to bring Dawson’s soul to Him. Or your test could be to let Dawson go. All I’m saying is just worry a little less about your man, and focus a little more on the man.”

Locksie tilted her head and poked out her lips as if to suggest that Mary was overexaggerating Locksie’s concerns about Dawson. “Stop adding yeast to my feelings about Dawson. You’re making it bigger than it seems. Besides, he’s my man; I’m supposed to please him. And I don’t worry any more about my man than the next woman worries about hers.”

“Yes, you do, and you know I ain’t lying,” Mary corrected her. “You come over here wanting me to teach you how to cook a certain dish, trying to make your man happy. If it isn’t about cooking, you need me to help you sew up his torn britches. You’ve even come over here asking me to help you pin up your hair before y’all go out. But you’ve never once,” Mary put her index finger up, “not once, asked me to help you or teach you how to do something that is going to make God happy.”

Locksie let out a sigh, wondering how was it that lately Mary had managed to drag God into every conversation they had. In a way, Locksie understood where her aunt was coming from, but Locksie couldn’t see God; however, she could see Dawson. Locksie couldn’t hear God. She could hear Dawson. She didn’t want to waste her time trying to please some man up in the sky who might not even be real. Why should she, when she had Dawson right there on Earth, in the flesh?

“There ain’t a doubt in my mind that pleasing Dawson isn’t going to be a complete waste of time,” Locksie reasoned. “Besides, God ain’t struck me down with a bolt of lightening yet, so obviously He’s cool with how I’m living. The wages of sin is death, right?” Locksie looked herself up and down and then wiggled her fingers. “Well, I ain’t dead, so I must be doing something right.”

Mary just shook her head. “Well, I know the last thing my Heavenly Father wants me to do is sit here with you and get into a verbal battle about who He is and what He can do. Although I’m sure He appreciates my efforts, He doesn’t need me to.” Mary winked at Locksie, lifted her cup to her mouth, and while gazing at Locksie over the rim of her cup, said, “He’ll show you Himself.” After taking one last sip, Mary stood up and began to chuckle. “Yes, in-deedy. God don’t need me, or any other man for that matter, to tell you who He is or what He can do . . . He’ll show you Himself . . . and it’s all in a matter of time.”

“Umm, baby,” Locksie said as she rolled off Dawson and onto her side. “That felt so good it must be a sin.” All Locksie wanted to do was bask in the arms of her lover. But she couldn’t. It was Sunday morning, and she had something important to do.

Dawson rolled over behind Locksie. Intertwined, their matching brown skin made it hard to tell where hers began and his ended. Dawson pulled Locksie’s brown-with-honey-highlights, shoulder-length hair behind her double-pierced ear and then pressed his thick lips against it. In his deep, baritone voice he whispered, “Then since we’re just two sinners going to hell anyway, let’s make it worthwhile.” He began nibbling on Locksie’s ear.

“Oh no, you don’t.” Locksie pulled away and stepped out of the bed. “You know I have to do Eve’s hair this morning.”

“It’s Sunday, our only day off,” Dawson whined. “How you gon’ arrange to do somebody’s naps? You know how I look forward to my Sundays with you, Locks.” Dawson called Locksie by his pet name for her. Not only was it short for Locksie, but he had told her that she had three locks on him; one on his heart, one on his mind and one on his body.

As Locksie’s feet padded toward the master bath that adjoined their bedroom, which was so huge that the builders referred to it as “the owner’s retreat,” she turned to look at Dawson and smiled. She could tell just by looking at him how sincere he was. She loved it when he desired her. It made her feel good to be desired and loved, especially by a man as beautiful as Dawson. He was the spittin’ image of The Ohio State University graduate and former professional NFL star, Eddie George. And the taste that fell in Locksie’s mouth at just the mention of Dawson’s name was delicious.

They had met three years ago at the gym where Locksie used to be a member and Dawson still worked. Dawson started off as her personal trainer, which was his licensed profession, and then he became her friend. It took approximately four dinner dates, two movie dates and two home-cooked meals for them to transition from friends to lovers.

“Baby, don’t whine like that,” Locksie said, playfully pouting her lips. “You know what your whining does to me.”

“Then come here and let it do what it do.” Dawson winked as he motioned with his index finger for Locksie to rejoin him in bed.

“You know I would if I could, but Eve is going to be here in a few. I’m sewing tracks in, and for all that hair she wants, we’d be at Fiesta all day long trying to get it done if I did it during my work hours. That’s why I’m doing it here at the house. That way I can bank all the money. Because you know at Fiesta I’m on salary, so I’m not about to give them the money for all that work I’m about to have to do.”

“Why doesn’t she just buy a daggone wig?” Dawson huffed as he pulled the covers up to his neck in defeat.

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise,” Locksie said as she entered the bathroom.

“When? How?” Dawson asked with excitement, quickly sitting up at attention as he stared at Locksie’s thick silhouette. Seconds later, every part of him was at attention.

“When? Tonight. How? However you want it, baby.” Locksie licked her lips and let the door close shut in front of her, leaving a panting Dawson on the other side.

By the time she stepped into the shower and began washing the lathering suds down her body, it happened again; that feeling was revisiting her. She’d hoped that this time, after having sex, it wouldn’t, but it had. Her smile, the aftermath of her lovemaking with Dawson, turned into a look of shame. She kept her head down and watched the water stream down the drain, realizing that the sin of fornication wouldn’t so easily do the same.

Locksie had to catch her thoughts and ask herself when she had started referring to her and Dawson’s lovemaking as fornication. She loved making love to him. She loved the way he made her feel. She loved him; the man she had vowed to love to eternity the first night the two of them exchanged those three words. As far as Locksie was concerned, Dawson was her Mr. Right. But for the life of her, she couldn’t explain why everything was starting to feel so wrong.

Lately it seemed as though the wonderful feeling of having Dawson inside of her was becoming more and more short-lived. At first, Locksie tried to blame it on her recent discussions with her aunt Mary—that maybe all that talk about God, fornication, sin and death was starting, slowly but surely, to hinder Locksie’s sex life. But she knew it was something deeper than that.

During their sexual encounter, Locksie could do nothing but enjoy and indulge, but now, only moments later, the pleasurable feeling of her climax was laced with guilt. What once made her feel like she was on top of a mountain was now making her feel as though she was in the lowest of valleys.

Just last week while she and Dawson were being intimate, she had closed her eyes and smiled as his lovin’ took her to that next level, but then her eyes snapped open and she stared up at the ceiling as if there was a mirror there and she was watching herself. Only it felt as though it wasn’t just her eyes that were watching her—that maybe someone else was watching her too. Feeling embarrassed at the thought that someone could actually see what was going on in her bedroom, Locksie had simply closed her eyes again and escaped back into the comfort of Dawson.

After failing to wash her sins down the drain, Locksie turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. Even though the bathroom was filled with warm steam, all of a sudden she felt a cold chill. She grabbed her towel, not because of the tender breeze that had just ripped through the bathroom, but because she felt that same feeling she had experienced last week. So she covered up quickly, not wanting to be exposed. She knew that no one else was in the bathroom, but still, the feeling that there was someone watching her was all too real to ignore.

“Argghhh!” Locksie screamed as the bathroom door flung open, startling the heck out of her.

“Sorry,” Dawson said, entering the bathroom, now wearing a pair of fitted boxer briefs. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Don’t you knock?” Locksie snapped. “I mean, you knew I was in here. How you just gonna bust in like somebody wasn’t even already in the bathroom?” Locksie, slightly shivering, clenched her towel around her.

“Dang, I’m sorry,” Dawson said with a puzzled look on his face. He had never knocked before entering the bathroom when he knew she was in there. And Locksie had never once seemed to mind him invading her space so freely. Not once . . . up until now.

“And you should be sorry,” Locksie said, heading out of the bathroom, brushing past Dawson, but making sure her body didn’t touch his in even the slightest way. “Next time knock.”

“What’s with this change in you?” Dawson threw his hands up and let them flop back down to his side.

Locksie sighed and allowed her tense shoulders to relax. “Nothing,” she said as she pulled the bathroom door closed behind her. “Nothing’s changed,” she mumbled a second time, in an attempt to convince herself. Locksie leaned against the door with her hand still on the knob and closed her eyes. She had just lied to Dawson. When he asked her what had changed, she told him nothing. But she knew very well that something had changed; she just couldn’t put her finger on exactly what it was.

The next day, Locksie was at work trying to focus on her client’s hair, but instead, thoughts of her and Dawson lingered on her mind.

“You sure you okay today?” asked Hannah, one of Locksie’s regular clients at Fiesta.

Locksie had been doing Hannah’s hair for close to a year. Outside of the salon, they never talked to each other on the phone or went out together or anything, but in the salon, there was just this bond between them as if they’d been friends for years. It’s funny how women have that certain relationship with their beauticians. They tell their hairstylists things they’d never tell their best friends, knowing that everything is going to stay right inside the shop; which is usually where their friendships stays as well.

Hannah was one of several clients who had followed Locksie from the beauty school to the hair salon. And she was also one of Locksie’s few white clients. Hannah wasn’t 100% white, though. Born to a black mother and a white father, her father’s genes dominated, especially in the fire-red hair and the red freckles sprinkled across Hannah’s sugar-cookie-colored skin.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Locksie replied, removing one of the bobby pins she had nestled between her lips. She was using them to keep Hannah’s pin curls in place.

Hannah may have appeared to be a white girl, but her hairstyles were more typical those worn by black women, letting the brothas know she had some chocolate drizzled over her sundae. This was how Elkan, her husband, knew he had a chance with her. As the fine, honey-dipped brotha he was, when Elkan saw Hannah up at Alumn Creek Beach with all those hips and booty hanging out of her swimsuit and her hair corn-rolled down her back, he was convinced that she was the one white girl who could make him throw out his “never play in the snow” motto.

With a five feet and eleven-inch, 180-pound frame and looks that could land him any woman he wanted, Elkan definitely had been blessed with his share of women, but he vowed to himself that he would never disrespect the black woman by dating outside of his race; especially a white woman. He had contemplated a Latino Jennifer Lopez look-a-like who worked as a clerk at the law firm where he practiced civil law, but he came to the conclusion that no matter how dark her skin was, she still wasn’t no sistah. Besides, what would his mama think, him bringing someone other than a black queen home? So whenever Elkan got attention from a white woman, his conscience would remind him that he didn’t play in the snow. But the moment he laid eyes on Hannah, he silenced that little voice in his head and made a move.

There was something about Hannah that just stood out from all the women at the beach, especially since half of them were blatantly trying to get Elkan’s attention, which was a complete turn off for him. He liked being the cat that chased the mouse and not the other way around. Hannah, on the other hand, had paid Elkan no mind at all. He comforted his ego by coming to the conclusion that Hannah just hadn’t noticed him yet. As Elkan lay on his stomach with his chin rested on top of his hands, he was watching Hannah rub sunblock all over her body. He was certain she had noticed him when she got up and came strutting his way. He prepared a huge smile aimed just at her. But Hannah just walked right on by Elkan as if the slab of handsome wasn’t even in her path. She didn’t even turn back to apologize when she kicked sand in his face as she was dashing by him, headed for the water.

Not about to go unnoticed by Hannah, Elkan made his way to the waters and managed to strike up a conversation with the bathing beauty. They hit it off instantly, even sharing a soda on Elkan’s bath mat after exiting the water. Lying there talking on the beach for hours, Hannah and Elkan ignored the friends they had come with. But what they couldn’t ignore was the evil eye the sistahs were giving Elkan, and the looks of disgust the white men were giving Hannah.

The conversation was engaging and flowed easily. But it was as if Elkan had been holding his breath the entire time, and the moment Hannah told him that her mother was black, he could breathe again. He wanted to shout it out to all the sistahs on the beach who had been giving him the evil eye for choosing the pale girl over them, “She’s black too! Her mother is black.” Instead, he just smiled and thought, Thank you, Jesus. This one can go home to Mama!

Elkan compared Hannah to that chocolate-dipped ice cream cone from the Dairy Queen, only someone had just eaten all the chocolate covering off of her so she appeared like nothing more than a vanilla ice cream cone. But he knew she was black, and that was enough. At least that’s what he tried to convince himself of, but Hannah could sense differently.

“You sure everything is good?” Hannah asked Locksie.

Locksie looked up at the picture of her and Dawson that was on her station. It had been taken two years ago, before he shaved off all of his hair. In the picture he had a goatee, but he had since shaved off all of his facial hair too.

“Yeah, positive . . . I guess.”

“That means no,” Hannah said as she spun around in the chair after Locksie had placed the last bobby pin in her hair.

Locksie relaxed her shoulders and sighed. “Seriously, Hannah, I guess everything is okay. I mean I think it is. I don’t know. It’s just that lately with Dawson and me . . .” Locksie looked around the salon to make sure no one else was listening. Then she lowered her voice. “The sex—”

“Don’t tell me,” Hannah said, cutting Locksie off. “You ain’t as into it anymore? That happened with Elkan and me, you know, after the incident where he cheated on me with that wench named Peni. It just took a long time for my body to start craving him again, you know. And then there are those times when you just get sick of the same old—”

“It’s not that.” Locksie was quick to come to Dawson’s defense in the lovemaking department. “It’s good.” Locksie smiled. “It’s real good when we’re getting down. It’s afterwards that I have a problem.”

Hannah had a puzzled look on her face. “What is it?” She pondered for a second and then said, “Ahh. I get it. He throws in the towel afterwards?”

Now Locksie had a puzzled look on her face. “Huh?”

“You know, throws in the towel after sex—for you to wipe yourself off.” Hannah shook her head. “There is nothing more degrading than that. You give a man a special part of you and what does he do when y’all finished? Gets up, pisses, throws a towel at you to wipe yourself off with and then says, ‘Yo babe, how ’bout making me something to eat?’”

Locksie laughed at Hannah’s deep-voiced imitation of a man. She could tell she was speaking from experience.

“I’m serious, girl,” Hannah said. “That’s why I loved Elkan so much from the start. He wasn’t anything like that. He was so considerate and passionate. From the first time we ever made love to the last, it’s been nothing but a scene from a classic romance movie. That’s why I don’t understand why . . .”

Hannah’s voice began to fade, and Locksie knew where her thoughts had gone—back to five years ago, when she found out that Elkan had not only cheated on her with a client of his, Peni Lampkin, but that a child was the result of the affair. It was the child Elkan and Hannah had been trying to conceive since their wedding night seven years ago, only Hannah hadn’t been able to get pregnant.

Devastated, Hannah had moved in with her mother the night that Elkan sat her down with a tearful confession that she would never forget. He begged her not to leave him. He unpacked her things from the suitcase just as quickly as she was packing them.

“Baby, I’m sorry,” Elkan had cried to her. “Peni meant nothing to me. It was one time. I swear to God. It was that night after I had won her lawsuit for her. I had to take her the paperwork to sign. . .