In Your Dreams, Chapter 6: Ericka

Chapter 6: Ericka

I noticed Desmond’s motorcycle in the driveway when I finally pulled up to my neighboring garage.

“Honey, I’m home!” I called out playfully.

Some might think the relationship between Desmond and I to be strange. Or at the very least, unprofessional. Luckily, we don’t feel the need to clarify it for anyone. Not that anybody cares. Except for our close circle of friends. And my ex-boyfriend, Maurice. And his current girlfriend, Carolyn. To explain it in the simplest terms, we developed a trauma bond when I ended up in the hospital with multiple gunshot wounds during the same time he sat vigil at his wife’s bedside as she lay in a coma in the same hospital. Are we attracted to one another? Yes. Have we acted on it? No. Do we want to? Well, that’s where things get complicated.

Desmond is almost 40 and fine as all outdoors. Six feet and built, with skin the hue of a brown paper bag and the texture of new leather. Dark eyes with a mischievous sparkle that light up as though it were his absolute pleasure to have your attention. Broad, chiseled features that make him look as though he may have been a fierce hunter on the plains of Africa in a past life. Or even palace royalty.

Yeah, I want to act on my attraction. When he leans over my shoulder to go over reports for a meeting or ask questions about an account, I hold my breath so he can’t hear me panting like a bitch in heat. When we’re lounging around at my house, I secretly pretend he’s my man and we’re hanging out as a couple instead of just friends. But, like Miss Celie, I can’t tell nobody but God. It’s been a few years since I called it quits with Maurice, but he won’t stay away long enough for the feelings to completely dissolve for me. And I feel guilty about how friendly Desmond and I were when his wife was still alive because I knew and respected her. Well, I didn’t know I knew she was his wife until after she was dead, but still. And he’s technically my boss, now. So, I wouldn’t cross that line. It would make things weird. That is, unless he brought it up. So far, he hadn’t. But deep down, I’m hopeful. Like I said, it’s complicated.

“Hey!” a male voice sang out from my kitchen. I smiled to myself. It’s a great day to play ‘pretend.’ Desmond appeared in the foyer holding a plastic fork.

“You hungry? I ordered Chinese.”

“Mmm..sesame chicken?” I asked.

He nodded. “Yep. And house fried rice with no pork.”

With that, he straightened his back and poked out his chest looking pleased with himself.

“Dude! I swear you be reading my mind!” I complimented, offering a fist bump as I entered the kitchen.

He smiled as he reached into the cabinet and handed me a plate. I greedily filled it with rice and handed it back to Desmond before hobbling behind him into the living room so we could eat and rehash our day.

“Toy suggested that I see a therapist for those nightmares I’ve been having,” I slid casually into the conversation once we got settled.

“Hmm,” was his only offering, as he ate quietly while I talked.

“Well, what do you think about it?” I wanted to know.

He swallowed a mouthful of food before speaking. “I think it’s a great idea. It can’t hurt.”

Desmond had been regularly attending Grief Share meetings since we moved here. He didn’t talk much about the sessions, but I assumed they helped since he continued to go.

“Just try it,” he continued. “If you don’t like it, you don’t have to go back. Or you can always try something else. Why? What do you think about it?”

I leaned forward to put my plate down on the coffee table and reached for my cup.

“I’m not necessarily against the idea. I just don’t think I need it.” I took a sip from my cup and set it back on the coffee table next to my plate.

Desmond gave me a puzzled look. “Ericka, that doesn’t make any sense. A dude shot you. Three times in the back. You almost died. I even have trouble wrapping my head around that. And it didn’t happen to me.”

I rolled my eyes and exhaled deeply.

“I already explained this to Toy. It would be different if I had been targeted. I got caught in the middle of an argument in a dice game. They didn’t even know I was there. And the punk who shot me wouldn’t have had the balls to do it, even if he did.” I scoffed at the idea.

Desmond grabbed the remote and turned the television down.

“That’s the other thing. You talk about what happened to you so casually like it’s no big deal. And the dude who shot you is out here roaming the streets somewhere waiting for the opportunity to shoot somebody else. And you know this kid? Is that why you didn’t cooperate with the police?”

Heat rose up my neck into my face. I wasn’t expecting to get a therapy session or a lecture from Desmond tonight.

“Yeah, I know the nigga! I’ve known him since we were kids. And I hate his guts. So of course, I cooperated with the police. Was ready to testify and everything. He was already locked up on a probation violation. He took a plea. Got credit for time served.” I made a motion as though I were dusting off my hands. “And just like that, he was out.”

Desmond just stared as though I were speaking a foreign language. We sat in uncomfortable silence for a moment, but then he suddenly turned away like seeing me caused him pain. I got up from the sofa, taking my cane in one hand and my plate in the other. But Desmond stood and took the plate from me.

“Here, let me do that.”

I jerked my arm away. “You don’t have to placate me. I got it.”

He let go of the plate and placed his hand on my shoulder.

“Ericka, look. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. But this is clearly an issue for you.”

I glared at him. “Says who? You?”

“No, says you! You can’t even talk about it without getting upset. You wake up every night in a cold sweat from nightmares. You’re not sleeping. This isn’t healthy. Stop trying to be so damn hard and get some help. You don’t always have to be the strong one. You’re surrounded by people who love you and want to help.”

I turned and made a clumsy attempt at an about-face, as much as could be done when you already need assistance walking with a cane.

“If I go see this lady, will that get y’all off my back?” I snapped.

“You don’t have to do nothing on my account,” Desmond fired back as he headed for the front door.

“Where you going?” I yelled.

“To give your independent ass some space! I’ll see you tomorrow.” And then he left, slamming the door behind him.

“And don’t slam my damn door no more!” I screamed in his wake. Then I stalked into the kitchen, stabbing my cane into the floor with each step as if taking body shots at Desmond.

I was awakened in the middle of the night by another bad dream. I lay in the dark quietly for a while, but I couldn’t go back to sleep. I took my cell phone from the nightstand, contemplating texting Desmond to see if he was up, but I was embarrassed about how I had acted earlier that evening. And God forbid, I text him in the middle of the night and he happened to be laid up with Carolyn. Why did I react that way? Therapy was a reasonable request. Maybe I was crazy. As I thought over whether I should contact Toy’s therapist, my cell phone lit up the dark room. It was Desmond.

“You awake?”

I texted back. “How’d you guess?”

Him. “I dunno. I felt it. Need some company?”

Me. “Yes.”

A few minutes later, I heard the key jangling the lock and then the turn of the deadbolt. Then the sound of Desmond padding up the stairs and opening my room door. I could see the print through those grey sweatpants in my dark room. And his muscular frame in that wife beater. Luckily, he couldn’t see me gawking at him in the dark. Without a word, he lay face down on top my comforter and turned his head away from me. I returned my phone to the nightstand and lay on my side with my back turned to him. We lay in silence for a while until I finally spoke.

“I wanted to text you, but I didn’t want to be disrespectful in case you had company.”

“All good,” said Desmond. “She hasn’t been over here yet.”

I raised my eyebrows and cocked my head to the side, but he couldn't see the question marks all over my face. I wanted to grill him, but it would just start another argument. I was tired of fussing. I was just tired. So, in my own way, I called a truce.

“I’ve decided to call Toy’s counselor tomorrow and make an appointment.”

There was such a long pause, I thought he had fallen asleep. Then he spoke.

“Let me know if you need me to go with you. For moral support.”

I smiled to myself in the dark.

“’Kay. Thanks, D.”

He reached behind himself to pat my side. “You got it, E. Middle.”

I immediately went back to sleep.

© 2024, Evelyn Outlaw

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