Rent Free

Story by Lui

I stare at the woman with a black, faded composition book in her hands with nails the shade of Revlon’s Misty Plum. They tap at the cover. Could be from the tornado of butterflies in her stomach, or perhaps it’s to keep calm a bull that is constantly shown red...

Her eyes close slowly. She inhales: it’s okay to feel. She exhales: it’s not okay to feel. It’s okay to be emotional. It’s okay to be emotionless.
Hopefully, the mantra would cement itself in her mind.

When her eyes open slowly, we stare at each other curiously. Two emotionless people, the crown placed upon our heads, adorned with emotions...and a notebook we’ve poured ourselves into in hopes to be...to feel...better. This woman must have had a friend like hers that swore up and down that if she scribed down the issues of her out before verbally expressing them to she would feel...better. Could get over it...things. She must have a Drea proclaiming this method helped her a lot when she was being bullied at school...

...beating ass and taking names helped me with that. Running for miles did plenty to get my feelings back to center...but...this month...I don’t wanna do nanbit of nothin’

Don’t wanna talk to anyone.
Don’t wanna go to work.
Don’t wanna run.
Don’t wanna...don’t wanna be for a spell...

...but I’m emotionless like her. Right? In a bount’ful field of feelings, we barren-so they say.

My eyes leave the woman to bring the notebook up to read. Good, we are doing the same thing.

Inhale: it’s okay to feel.

“I bend and I break
I am flawed. I am shame.
From imperfection to perfection, I let you fracture me to pieces My potter”

“Smooth my bumpy ridges
Seal my cracks
Shape me to whatever fits your need Seat me gently on your rack
Set me ablaze
Submerge me in flames”

“This dumb and make no damn sense. He ain’t no damn potter.Ain’t gotta creative bone in his body.”

I peek at the woman from over the top of my notebook to find her doing the same thing. I know that look. We don’t trust the process, yet what we both prob’ly been doin’ for six months ain’t worked yet.

“God damn it! Fine...FINE!!!”
I clear my throat to suppress a familiar friend back into my gut before pushing onward.

“Strength is my first name Sculptable is my second
Your last name is mine...
...you said it was mine.
Said everything was fine,
...you made it all appear sublime Said I had time

I just needed a little more time.”

You ever know yaself so well that you know when you slip and YOU emerge? The YOU where you would catch a body and burn the whole muthafuckin’ buildin’ down aroun’ ya? The YOU where you would burrow inta the Earth’s crust and your hollerins of pain and...and...resentment...and...and “feedupness” would cause the whole goddamn planet ta splint’a in two...combust abruptly even?

It’s happenin’.

Miss Thang starin’ at me done caught the energy to. Hell, maybe she gave it ta me!

“...I find it real funny that when ya pour yaself allllll the way out for someone, they got the nerve, the gall, and the gumption to deem it not enough. Like, who da fuck are you ta tell someone they ain’t doin’ nothin’ fa ya when they done...I done tried to make myself small

so you can seem big? When ya sat here and asked me ta be mo’ vulnerable, and I do that- ta the best’a my abilit’es ‘cause I ain’t no supa soft type of bitch- I’m cold. Me? Cold? Boy, I outta bust you in yo muthafuckin’ mouth on principle!”

“Miss Thang ova yonda, sis, let me tell you what’s cold. Cold is when ya cut yaself open, take out ya heart, and place it in anotha’s hands and swear they will guard it. Then, they punt that sum’bitch from the twenty yard goal line, make the goal, and ya heart lands in field full of vultures. He a vulture. Cesario is a dirty, mangey, cowardic vulture who go fa bottom of the barrel type of broads cause he can’t handle....

...nah...that ain’t fair. I’m sure his petitie broad is mighty fine. I just...I just wish that viper was man enough ta say mo’ than sweet words befo’ I left myself completely open ta him. Let him be my first for everythang.

He should’a told me I was too tall! It woulda stung, but it ain’t as painful at my big age. I know I’m a giant. A colossal. That ain’t fa most men...I get...kinda...it’s stupid hell, but...yeah. Honesty!

He coulda nutted up, and said he was looking for a woman mo’ traditional. I know good and damn well bein’ a woman and a mechanic ain’t whatcha bring home ta mommy and daddy, but ...I am a southern woman! I can also clean. I can cook a damn good meal...probably betta than his new girl. I bet she can’t even boil water!

Aight Miss Thang! You ain’t gotta look at me like that! I’m sure she can make a hearty I-talian meal just like the witch that birthed him durin’a eclipse while in the middle of a summonin’ circle created from the blood of children.

AND ANOTHA THANG! He let them dog me! Let them dog the absolute fuck outta me! What kinda man lets people disrespec’ they woman? Not a man at’all! Got me out here lookin’ like’a foo’ when I give back what they give me! Got me feelin’ like I have no right ta feel nothin’ but how they out here callin’ me a “big big bitch” and a “sasquatch” and a “mutt’ and mullata? I ain’t no damn “mullata!” I’m a Hatian Creole! My parents are black; mama just light as hell, and my daddy is a cool midnight and oth sides of me will link up and still take a bone out they asses.

“I got strength and endurance all up and through me...we got strength and endurance all up and through us, Miss Thang!”

“...strength...” “...endurance...”

“Imma make it. Like I always do. We gon’ make it like we always do. Just ,here on out, we gon’ trust our intuition. Aight? We not gon’ be hidin’ who we are. Okay? Hell, how can we? We got body fa days and are giants. We make dwarves outta damn near er’ebody! We like our cars. We like ta fight. We outspoken. We protective. We honest. And ain’t not a damn thang wrong wit’ nunnadashit.”

I chew the inside of my lower lip as I set my faded composition book on the counter. Emerald’s look up to meet emeralds submerged in a salt solution.

Inhale: It’s okay to feel.

His last name was never meant to be mine. That’s okay. He had a right to like what he likes and have a preference. It’s okay if I wasn’t the one he was looking for.
It was not okay that he stayed silent when folks disrespected me. It was not okay for him to be dishonest about how he felt towards me. It was not okay to play with my heart and break it.

It’s okay to let him be. It’s okay to let him go.

I feel my prisoners escape from their cells, climb over the wall, and race down my cheeks.

It’s okay to be whoever I decided to be.
It’s okay to stand in my truth...ALL of my truth.

Exhale: It’s okay not to feel

It’s okay...

Inhale: It’s okay to be emotional.

I place my hand on the glass the same time she does. It’s time to let go. Truly, let go. It’s okay to do that. We don’t need that type of spirit blending with ours.

We are formidable.

Exhale: It’s okay to be emotionless

He, them, do not deserve anymore rent-free living in our heads. She and I, we, dry our tears together. Shoulders back. Stance regal. A soft smile manifesting on our full lips.

“The potter’s shop is closed. Ain’t no more space ta rent. And that's okay.”

Inhale: It’s okay to feel. Exhale: It’s okay not to feel