Red Shoes – Chapter 6: Emergency 9-1-1

I recently attended a Ledisi concert where I was comforted to know that someone who has become so successful would share a part of her life with which I could most identify.  She said, “Be careful who you let into your circle; everybody doesn’t need to be that close to you.”  She also talked about how she had almost lost hope when she found herself sleeping on a floor.  This story of the Red Shoes is my “sleeping on the floor” moment.  Ledisi’s advice is sound; be careful who you let into your circle.

From the time I had met Goldie until now, our friendship quickly turned into a relationship and then a partnership, however unequal it may have been.  He was living with me, and he was the influence that broke me down enough to lose myself.  I don’t blame him, because I am responsible for my own ignorance and my own actions—I take full ownership of my weakness.  However, people like him make no apologies for being who they are, and they blame their circumstances for not doing better in or wanting more from life.  These are the bottom feeders, the people you don’t want in your circle.

These bottom feeders prey on opportunity of any kind.  If you look like you have money, then they are going to try to find a way to get some of it.  The best way to keep someone distracted while you suck them dry is to keep them high.  That high doesn’t have to come from a drug.  It comes from anything that you allow to have influence over you.  Do you have an affinity for sex?  Then they will keep having sex with you so they can stay in your space.  Maybe your drug is love.   Then they will do what it takes to make you think they love you, so they can keep you around.  It could be your love for Adonis-type young men, your need to have someone you feel like you can control; whatever need you have that is not being fulfilled.  It’s called a hustle, and bottom feeders perfect the art. 

Goldie had certainly perfected his hustle.  I saw him in action on many occasions.  There were men that he could call, and they would drive over to the house just to hand him $20.  These were people he had been “working” for years.  According to him, he never had sex with any of them.  He most certainly would not have been while we were together, so I did actually believe him.  He would befriend these older men, and just spend time with them.  He would let them take him out to dinner, buy him clothes, and keep them company.  He did all this so that when he had a need, he could just call them and make them feel like they were helping out a friend.  Twenty dollars here and there to them was probably nothing.  Although, I’m sure they had no clue how many men were bringing him money.  I don’t know how many times I heard him on the phone telling some man, “Yeah, I’m still looking for a job, but I need to get my haircut…”  An hour later, they would pull up; he would walk out, and walk right back in with cash in hand.

Early in our relationship, I found out about how he made his money.  I knew about his hustling, but I told him that he needed to stop that and get a job.  That kind of activity was so beneath me and what I stood for.  He complied for a while, but I really think that he had not worked a real job in so long that he couldn’t keep one if he wanted to.  He was used to the fast nightlife of money, sex, drugs, and alcohol.  By this time, he had become a part-time waiter, part-time stripper, part-time-hustler, part-time boyfriend, and full-time coke head.

Weed and cocaine were always somewhere in the house (usually in his caché in the guest room).  I was unemployed to the extent that the business that I was doing was not bringing in a paycheck.  Goldie was semi-employed, working part-time as a waiter at IHOP.  2006 had rolled around and Goldie had returned to stripping, but the little money he did make from that went straight up his nose.  I was in such a bind financially, because what was left of my unemployment was keeping on the electricity, gas, water, and cable.  The small money Goldie brought in was enough to buy groceries and keep gas in the car.  I had missed a couple mortgage payments and a few car payments also. 

I was still trying to build upon my business, which had come so far, given all the setbacks that I had throughout the past six months.  It seemed like every time I got close to getting a huge payout, deadlines would get pushed back or project dates would be rescheduled.  A larger company would probably be able to deal with these things much easier, but for an independent team of one, weeks, no, days matter.  I was broke, stressed, and depressed.  During this time, I had become very reclusive.  I didn’t have money to spare, and I couldn’t live the flamboyant lifestyle I had become accustomed to before this story began.  I was struggling to keep my basic necessities like food and water.

I really felt like my life was an embarrassment.  I didn’t want to feel like a failure or a quitter, but I was struggling to hold on to everything: my business, my house, my car, my sanity.  I didn’t want to turn to my family or what friends I had left, because I didn’t want the criticism.  At the same time, the little help that I did have came from people who were used to living off scraps that fell to the bottom.  Who were these people?  How did I end up living with and surrounding myself with people I had known less than a year?

June had cunningly moved herself into my home.  For Goldie, this was great, because he supplied the cocaine, and she supplied the weed.  It wasn’t until I met June that I understood what a weed head really is.  When she woke up in the morning, she brushed her teeth and then smoked a blunt before she got dressed for work.  She smoked a blunt on her way to work, and then she smoked again on her lunch break.  June smoked a blunt on her way home from work, and then when she got home, she would say, “Hey, you wanna smoke?” and I would smoke with her in the evening.  On top of her (well our) habit, Goldie was still having his friends over to do lines in the living room.

Good Morning, this is your wake up call…

By now, I’m sure anyone who is following along with any sense would say I could not have been too focused on running a business with all this foolishness and these distractions around.  The truth is that although I was working very hard during the day, I was not as focused as I should have been, and this is probably the underlying reason as to why things were not going as smoothly as they could have.  Many of the setbacks probably would still have happened, because they were beyond my control.  However, the way in which one rebounds from a setback is totally under your control, and I was doing a terrible job with the rebounds.

One day, the mailman rang the doorbell with a certified letter for which I had to sign.  I was curious about the letter, because I thought perhaps a breakthrough had finally come for one of my projects.  To my surprise, it was an absolute breakthrough.  It was a moment for some sense to breakthrough and hit me in the head.  The mailman delivered a letter from my mortgage company notifying me that in 15 days, they would be initiating foreclosure proceedings for my residence. 

When I read the letter, I was home alone, and I never felt more alone than at that time.  It was the middle of the afternoon, and most people were at work.  The neighborhood was quiet, all the children were at school, and life seemed to be normal for everyone except me.  I looked around and could see Goldie’s shoes in the middle of the living room floor, marijuana sticks on the coffee table, a mirror that had not been put away, dishes in the sink, and the house reeked of weed and cigarette smoke.  My eyes welled with tears, and I just screamed “FUUUUUUUUCK!!!!!!”  This was my initial wake-up call that I was so far off track and needed to pull it together.  I had been able to go so far shuffling bills around, but now, it was a matter of survival.

With all the strength in me, I had to make a plan.  If you ever want to make a major change in your life, start with your home.  Your home is a direct reflection of yourself and what is going on in your life.  The first thing I did was get my broom and started sweeping.  I had to sweep away all the bad energy, bad feelings, and bad people out of my life.  I swept the carpets, baseboards, and every lower surface of the house.  Then I started scrubbing.  I scrubbed everything, washed all the clothes, folded them, cleaned the kitchen, and made up all the beds.  By the time Goldie and June came home, the house was spotless. 

I’m sure one could imagine the look of surprise on their faces at this change, but this was not the biggest surprise for them.  When they got there, I sat them both down and told them about the letter, and that I needed to start putting some money together to catch up on the mortgage.  I told them that I would no longer allow cocaine in my house, no more late night parties, and I had relegated smoking of any kind to the garage.  I told them that I had spent the entire day cleaning the house and clearing my mind, and I wanted it to stay that way.  From that moment forward, if you were going to live in my house, you had to contribute or get out.

June was willing to comply immediately.  She told me that she understood, and she would be willing to help out however she could.  Later that evening, she gave me $200 to help me get started on the mortgage.  Goldie, on the other hand, went ballistic. 

He started in on me, “So are you telling me I can’t have any of my friends over?  I live here too, you know.  What the fuck?  I don’t even see how you can say we have to contribute when you don’t contribute shit.  So you mean, you're going to tell all your friends to stop coming over here too, since you ain't paying any bills?  Why don’t you go get a job, since you’re supposed to be so fucking smart? I don’t understand how someone with all your skills can just sit around all day and not get paid.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.  I just told him that I needed to scramble to make some ends meet, and he’s complaining about having to contribute to keep a roof not only over my head but over his head too.  Instantly, he went into his selfish mode of not taking any responsibility and assigning blame.  It wasn’t even about who was responsible more than it was about just needing to get it done.  He felt like I was playing dictator because it was my house, and I was taking away his liberties.  He was acting like a child.

I was tired of these childish tantrums of his, and I finally could see that he never had my best interests in mind.  I did so much for him and tried so hard to show him a different path.  Yet, he was stuck on this one, and I refused to support it anymore.  I was not about to be put out of my house, because I continued to be swayed by this little boy. 

“Look,” I said, “if you don’t want to contribute, then you don’t have to, but you’re going to have to find somewhere else to be regardless.  Either I’m going to lose this house and you’re going to be homeless, or I’m going to put you out, and you’re going to be homeless.”

I meant what I said to him, and I told him in an unmistakable tone, so he knew I was serious.  All the same, after his reaction, I still asked myself why I said that.  Goldie immediately flipped out into insane mode. 

“I’m not going anywhere!  I live here too!” He started yelling and screaming about me turning my back on him.  “How can you say you love me and then try to put me out into the street?  You know I don’t have any other place to go, and you would just do me like that?  Fuck you! You never loved me.”

I was in shock.  First, I couldn’t believe that he would go off like this, but then I couldn’t believe what he was saying.  Is this how he really felt about me? Did he doubt my affections all this time?  Now I started to get mad, no, furious. 

“Nigga, how the fuck are you going to lay up in my house, dive my car, and then not want to contribute to keeping any of this?  This shit costs money.  And after all the shit we’ve been through and that I’ve done for you, how can you sit here and say I don’t love you?  I’m starting not to love your dumb ass.  You don’t appreciate shit.  You know what?  I don’t have to deal with this.  You can take your shit right now and get the fuck out.  Why don’t you call one of your ‘boys’ and ask them to let you stay with them.  Who are you going to call?  Marcus? Jeremy? You always got shit to say about what other people should be doing, but when it comes down to it, nobody is REALLY willing to do shit for you except give you a little money for you to shake your ass in their face.”

"OH Shit!" June screamed.  The next thing I knew, I could feel the wind from an empty wine bottle as it  flew past my face, hit the wall, and shattered into a million pieces all over the floor.  One of the large shards ricocheted off the tile floor and sliced into the top of my foot.  Blood was streaming and I couldn’t really move, because glass was everywhere.  June rushed to help clear up the glass, so I could make my way to the bathroom.  Up until that point, she had been standing there the entire time watching the discourse with her mouth wide open.

“What the fuck, Goldie!” I yelled.  “This crazy-ass nigga almost hit me with a wine bottle!” I was frantic, nervous, and mad as hell!  “You need to get the fuck out right now!” 

"Oh, so you want me to leave then?  Well fuck you and fuck all this shit!"  Next, I heard more glass breaking as Goldie started ripping things off the wall.  Picture frames fell while trinkets from shelves hit the floor.  I jumped across the room in a trail of blood and grabbed the phone to dial 9-1-1

The Ledisi Experience

Normally, I would be continuing with the final chapters of The Red Shoes, but I’m taking a very, very, short break from that story, because I was inspired, this past weekend, to write about the Ledisi Experience. This experience, as is the case with most of my experiences, is not so much literal as it is figurative. However, I will take a moment to talk about the talent that is Ledisi.

I have been to many concerts, but I have to say that, of all of them, Ledisi truly was the most engaging. She left me on a cloud, and I was so excited that I could hardly get to sleep that night. It didn’t hurt that my emotions were raging with excitement for being there, for the company I was with, and for the breathtaking opening by Avery* Sunshine. I have to tip my hat to Avery* Sunshine, because she is certainly an up-and-coming artist. I have had her album for a while, but really never listened to more than a couple songs until after hearing her live. Although her album is nice, it serves her live performance absolutely no justice. On stage, she said she found out she was opening for Ledisi half an hour before she got on stage and couldn’t be more excited to have the opportunity. Once I heard her sing, I could think of no better artist to take on such a monumental task as to open for Ms. Peaches.

Once the headliner, Ledisi, took to the stage for a sold-out, to-capacity show, the audience was on their feet, screaming and whaling. The energy was high, and she certainly delivered well past my every expectation. I could have had an intermission and returned to listen to her sing for another two hours. What’s more, I got to attend the concert with Mr. Eighty-five Percent, who I have been seeing off and on over the last year. But I’ll talk more about him at the end. As much as I would love to give a more detailed account of Ledisi’s performance, this entry isn’t about her; it’s about how I felt during and after the performance. I hope that someone, somewhere out there, can identify with something I have to say.

When you’re ready for the love that’s not ready for you:

In a perfect world, Love would be ready for us when we got ready for Love; but that is rarely the case. Moreover, the reciprocal is equally true. We would be ready for Love, when Love got ready for us. During this Ledisi performance, I found myself shedding a few tears thinking of my late friend, Andre. It was Andre who turned me on to Ledisi with her song, “Best Friend,” from Lost and Found. It wasn’t until much later that the real emotion behind the song came to me. One day, during a photo shoot, the song was in my playlist, when I just happened to bring up Andre introducing me to Ledisi’s music through it. After listening to the words, ‘I’m in love, I’m in love with my best friend,’ my client asked, “Well, was your friend in love with you?” It wasn’t until that very moment that it all made sense, and as much as I tried to cover it up with a smile, I got really sad inside.

Andre was a beautiful man with the kindest heart one could ever have. When we met, he would tell me that he didn’t have long to be here, so he just wanted to enjoy life and do as much as he could. I would always tell him to stop saying things like that, until I found out that he had been diagnosed with Lupus and not expected to live long at all. You could never even tell that he was sick. He was tall, handsome, and had an incredible body. He was golden with green eyes and a beautiful smile. On the surface, he looked like he could easily grace the covers of some magazine, or play running-back for some college football team. When he had bad days, he always had a smile, so one would tend to take for granted the pain he was in. 

When I met Andre, he was already making plans for his death, yet I didn’t realize, at the time, how close he had come to the end. He had already had a daughter, and his daughter’s mother would later birth another child for him. He was not romantically involved with her, since he was gay, but she was his ex-girlfriend from high school. They were obviously very close, since she gave him two children so that he could pass on his genes before he died.

For Andre and me, music was always something that held us together. Music also has a healing quality. No matter how good or bad you may feel, music will always be there to support that emotion. I supposed the hours we spent listening to music together were therapeutic in some ways. We would always send each other songs and new artists, so it never really meant anything more when he sent me that Ledisi song. I was so caught up in her talent that I didn’t bother to take the words to heart. Looking back, I see what he wanted to tell me, but never did.   Andre and I had become close, but then, one day, he decided to take his daughter and move back to New York to be closer to his family. It was not very long after this move that his ex became pregnant with his son. 

I was so confused about Andre. I mean, I had a crush on him, but I couldn’t see myself getting that emotionally involved with someone who had told me they were going to die. As much as I didn’t want to, I forced myself to stay fairly detached, because I knew it would be devastating. His move to New York just made it easier for me to detach myself from those feelings. As a friend, I cared for him, and loved the attention he gave me. He was full of life, so he would always do the unexpected. One day, I got this mysterious phone call from a local number I didn’t recognize. Like many people I know, I don’t answer unknown numbers. I usually let them go to voicemail. I didn’t check my voicemail for a day, and when I finally did, it was Andre calling me saying I should have answered my phone, because he had made a surprise trip to Atlanta and wanted to spend some time with me.

I regret such a missed opportunity, because a month or two later, a mutual friend called me to let me know that Andre had passed. Andre had introduced this friend to me, because it was all he could do to help him. He knew I have a good heart and would give him good advice in his stead. For the first time, Jamar and I began to talk about Andre, and he told me, “You know Andre was in love with you? He used to talk about you ALL the time!” It was hard for me to accept the reality that Andre was gone. It was even harder to accept that someone could open themselves up to fall in love with me, even when they knew love would not last. But that was Andre’s spirit; to be open to everything and just let life flow. 

Sometimes, love comes to us when we are not expecting it, or in a form we are not expecting, so we turn away. We make all these excuses about why this love is not the right love instead of just letting Love be. In retrospect, had I known how Andre really felt about me when he was alive, I would have let him love me, and I would have loved him hard for as long as he was here. In the end, I think it would be better to have known that type of love in my life for a moment, then to feel this loneliness that I feel sometimes.

People do what they want to do:

Now, near the end of the Ledisi concert, my emotions had swayed more towards my feelings about Mr. Eighty-five Percent.  If you are reading this and feel a little confused about who he is, then feel free catch up by reading a couple of my earlier posts.  I cannot think of anyone else I would have liked more to share this experience with than him.  I have to admit that over the last couple months, Mr. Eighty-five Percent has turned into Mr. Ninety Percent, but he is still far from 100%, and 110% might as well be infinity.  I still don’t know how to feel about him, and that perplexes me.  I am relatively clear about most things that I want in life, but when it comes to him, I seem to be stuck on stupid.  

In one hand, I have the perfect gentleman who makes me feel like I want to feel when I’m with him.  I can honestly say that I have never felt this strongly about someone.  Everything in my spirit tells me that this is the one for me.  I have felt like that since the night we met, and I feel as strongly about him today as I did nearly a year ago.  In the other hand, I have a man who is dealing with his own personal issues, and has put up an enormous wall that I have stared at for almost a year wondering if I want to climb over it, knock it down, or just leave my graffiti on it and walk away.  

At times like this, I do think of Andre and how he may have felt about me.  To feel so strongly about someone, yet they are not ready or willing to receive the love you have to offer.  I think I can only aspire to open my heart up as big as Andre did.  He had come to a place in life where he had accepted his fate and made no apologies for loving people just because he wanted to love them, being kind for the sake of being kind, being honest because he had nothing to lose, and enjoying every moment life had to offer.  I miss him for that. 

I will always have a reason to remember that someone loved me so much while I kept my wall up.  A couple months after Andre died, I was notified that his son was born, and at Andre’s request, he was named Christopher Jamar after me and our mutual friend.  I wonder what he could have seen so deep in me that he should honor me this way.  A tear falls at the thought that one day someone might see those things in me again.

Deep down inside, I know he (Mr. Eighty-five Percent) does not give me any of the simple things that I need, and for this reason, I have tried to keep him at a distance as much as I can stand it.  There are those simple things that we need so we can feel like we are important to someone: a call to say I was just thinking about you, a random invitation to grab a burger; it really doesn’t take much.  I get none of those things.  Sometimes, he makes me feel like those things will come if I’m just a little more patient, and sometimes, I feel like I’m just grasping at smoke in the wind.  There are times when I feel like he knows me so well, and times when I feel like we are still strangers.

One thing I do know is that people do what they want to do.  If you have ever gotten an excuse that “I’m just so busy,” or “We’ll have to get together soon,” but soon doesn’t come soon enough; just realize that people do what they want to do.  They make time for people they want to make time for, and if they really want to see you, they will fit you in however they can.  If one is really interested in another, they will make an effort to make room for that person in their life, no mater what place they happen to be in their personal growth or experience.  If you ever find that you are chasing someone who is not chasing you back, just learn to leave them be.  When the time is right, they will come to you, and if not, then they weren’t worth keeping.

With regard to Mr. Eighty-five percent; I have let him go so many times, but I still keep going back.  I did let him know (as Ledisi reminded me) that I still have my walk.  It wasn’t really a threat to him more than an affirmation to me that if things don’t work out for whatever reason, I’ve been practicing, and someone out there is going to like the way I walk!  I have no idea where this will go or how far I want to take it, but I will start to follow my own advice to just gently pull away.  My only problem is not that I can’t do it, but I hate doing anything alone.  Now, after meeting him, he’s the only person I really want to share these new experiences with.  So, until Mr. One Hundred Ten Percent decides to show up, I’ll enjoy the 85% that I do have.