Here And Thereafter (1)
It was an early Monday morning. The sun's light had sneaked its way into the window of her bedroom, waking Medina up. She yawned a yawn and stretched a stretch that suggested she needed more sleep, but all the same she was up now, and she'd give no thought to the postponement of her day. She looked to the left of her and discovered that he wasn't there. How odd, she thought. But just then she had an epiphany. She remembered that he had said that he'd be opening at the start of the week, but she was so used to him closing that it had escaped her. Yes, they lived together, they were husband and wife. She thought on the matter as she looked at her husband's space on the bed. They had been married now for almost two full years. My how time flies when you leave your childhood years, she thought. She could not grasp it, that it had been more than two years since they had proclaimed their eternal love for one another and set out--regardless of parental disapproval--to become newlyweds. Both sets of parents received invitations, however, and both sets of parents came to the wedding. Her father even paid for a good deal of the expenses, as his soon-to-be son-in-law had come up way short, and it was his daughter's wedding, so of course he'd chip in if needed. And so she laid there, reminiscing on it all until her stomach began speaking to her in a not so healthy tone. She arose and went into the bathroom wearing her silver colored blouse. She would not brush her teeth now, oh no. She positively hated the way food tasted after you brushed your teeth. It was a quirk that she acquired at a very young age, at the point when she first began brushing her teeth, really. She remembered it vividly. Her mother began to show her how to brush her teeth and then afterwards when she was done she went in the kitchen for a bowl of cereal and couldn't even finish it, such was the aftertaste. Well, as it so happens, she soon made the connection that it was the toothpaste that made her food taste the way it did and vowed never again to brush before eating. She turned on the water in the faucet and, with a washcloth, began washing her face. She then washed under her arms and put on some deodorant. She left the bathroom and went back into the bedroom and changed into an ensemble befitting of one who'd be staying at home all day. She then went into the bathroom and began combing her hair. To say that Medina was gorgeous would perhaps be a bit of an understatement. She was--to put it quite plainly--exquisite beyond words. She was mixed (her father being of African American descent and her mother a descendant of the Brits). Her hair therefore was crinkled and free and her skin was candy-coated in caramel. Her lips were full and her breasts supple. Her legs were long and extravagant extensions to her figure. But this is not to say that Medina was shallow or vain in anyway, far from it. She was--in her younger years--quite the introverted lass. Being mixed served as part of the equation for her introvertish nature. Predictably enough, she could never find her place in the world. The high school she went to, called Southfield High, had a good mixture of white and black students, but Medina was always straddling the fence--as it were--in terms of where she chose to place herself. She had though--in fact--managed to make three very close friends throughout her high school years and she had even kept in contact with the three of them. They would go to clubs or what have you, or bowling, or to the cinema to see the latest movie. She was very grateful for the friendship of these three young ladies. After she finished combing her hair she went into the kitchen and began boiling a pot of water. She had her heart set on a nice bowl of Quaker Oats Oatmeal, with raisins added as an addition. This--too--was something that she picked up in her adolescent years. Her father had made it a habit to request raisins in his oatmeal whenever it was for breakfast and Medina's curiosity was piqued. She then asked her mother if she could have raisins in her oatmeal and she agreed, and thus sprang her love affair for raisins in oatmeal. As she waited for the water to reach boiling point, she began flipping through the channels trying to find something to watch. They had cable, but she mostly stuck with the local channels in the mornings. She was quite the viewer of the morning shows, such as the Today Show on NBC. Presently, they were airing an interview with a bestselling author. This piqued Medina's interest. As it so turns out, her husband was extremely interested in becoming a published author. The man whom they were interviewing mostly wrote about dramas and the like. And what about her husband? What genre was he interested in writing again? Medina thought on this for some time. It seemed as if the answer lay just beyond the foggy recesses of her memory and then it came. Fantasy, she thought to herself. That's what his niche is, fantasy. She listened to the author share with the viewers some of his secrets, knowing all too well that her husband would have given just about anything to be here at that particular moment in time. Regardless of whether he's familiar with his works or not, she thought, he'd certainly not mind having a few pointers. There was a commercial on the Today Show. She stood and made her way toward the stove. The water was at boiling point. She turned it off and went searching in the cupboard for a bowl and found one. She also found the oatmeal in a bottom compartment. She poured herself a hearty helping and then poured some of the water into the bowl. She grabbed a spoon from a drawer. She then began to stir the concoction up and then she added a little sugar. Next she poured herself a tall glass of milk. She then made her way back toward the couch and waited as the oatmeal cooled down a little. She began to blow her breath on it after a time, becoming a little too impatient. When she finally determined that the oatmeal was cool enough, she began eating. The next segment of the Today Show was about the weather, so she flipped through the channels looking to see what else was on television. On another channel, it was being reported that the police believed a string of robberies were related. She flipped through the channel again. And then she noticed something. A baby cockroach was crawling along the television screen. She then went from looking at the cockroach to the raisins in her oatmeal and then again at the cockroach. Suddenly--and without thinking--she flung her bowl of oatmeal at the cockroach, knocking it from view. Creamy oatmeal mingled with raisins lay splattered all over the television screen, whilst the cockroach scampered its way under the television stand. She sighed the sigh of a heavy-hearted individual. Looks like I've got some cleaning up to do, she thought. She stood and headed toward the kitchen where the paper towels were. Yes, this was Medina, Medina Clinton to be exact, and this was only a portion of the disappointments she had to endure throughout her upstart married life. She found a roll of paper towel and headed toward the mess. She then reflected on the problem with the cockroaches. It was a very persistent problem, this one they had. Everytime they'd call an exterminator, a mother cockroach (at least that's what it seemed like) would come from another apartment and re-populate their apartment. Everyone in the apartment complex had to deal with them, so at least she knew that she wasn't alone. What's the use of even calling the exterminator if they'll come back, she thought as she wiped the mess off of the television. But there was some solace to be taken in it. Usually, it would take months before the cockroaches would find their way back into her and her husband's apartment. For just those few months they were allowed to live peaceably, without baby cockroaches spoiling their appetites. Yes, it seemed worth it, she thought as she scraped up the last bit of oatmeal from the wood flooring. Next she threw the soiled paper towel in the garbage and transferred her cup of milk from the floor to the refrigerator. I'll save that for later, she thought. Truth be told though, this wasn't the only reason why she had reacted the way she had with the little creature. She had something else on her mind, the bills. She reflected on this as she repositioned herself on the seat cushion. Every month it seemed like her husband made just enough to get by, but this month was particularly worrying. The landlord had increased the rent by fifteen percent. There was a lot of protest in regard to this, but he claimed that the utility companies were requiring more from him and thus he had to require more from them. This was informed to them a good six days ago and that was when Medina had spoken with her husband in regard to the matter. "What are we going to do about this? You don't make enough money a month to cover these expenses," said Medina while waving the letter through the air. "Don't worry about it sweetie," said her husband as he was playing through a videogame. "It'll take care of itself." "I have to worry about it," said Medina. "I'm not like you. I can't just push the most important things in my life to the side and revel in the things that don't matter. Don't you see the quandary that we're in? Are you blind to it?" At this point Medina had made her presence particularly known to her husband as she got in front of the television. He looked up at her upsettingly, wondering why it was that she had to ruin his fun. "I wouldn't call it a quandary," said her husband. "It's not as bad as you think. Now, could you please get out of the way? I've got a game going on here." "I just don't understand how you can be so calm in the face of such adversity," said Medina as she placed herself on the couch next to her husband. Medina was beyond amazed at how her husband was able to concentrate on the circumstances of the videogame, with how much he was able to focus so intently on those circumstances mind you, whilst all of this was going on. Finally she came up with something that might provoke his interest. "Ok then," she said, "if you can tell me where we are going to get the money from I'll leave you alone right now." At this her husband paused the game and sighed. He looked at his wife. Her face conveyed a sense of extreme concern. Right then, at that moment, he wished that he could give her some of the assurance that he carried with him on a daily basis. If I could just infuse her with a little of what I've got our marriage would be harmonious, he thought. "Well," said Medina, "can't you even think of something?" He looked at her pensively for a short while. This was--of course--familiar territory for them. It was always brought up by Medina about the lack of them possessing anything that might be considered luxurious or about them hardly even having the money to feed and clothe themselves. Despite being married for just a little over two years, she would have loved to be able to splurge at Christmas times (like her father and mother used to do at that time of the year), or buy things for one another come birthdays, but this was something that they both had to live with. He continued looking at her for some time until finally he decided on what had to be done, on what he thought might calm her. What he was going to say he knew there wasn't much truth to it but he felt that she needed something, something that only he could give her. He sighed and then spoke. "Maybe I'll ask my dad for some money at the end of the month," he said. Medina arose, seemingly in perplexity. She waved her arms about her and looked up at the ceiling as if it was about to cave in on her. She was eccentric, or at least that's how her husband perceived it. "Oh really? You expect me to believe that you'll just up and ask daddy for a couple hundred dollars so you can pay your rent? As much as you dislike borrowing money?" Now her husband wished he could take back what he said. He had hoped that it would help to calm her, but it had the opposite effect. "It won't be borrowing," said her husband in a defensive manner. "Look, I'm sure he wouldn't mind giving it to me. I am, afterall, his son." "You are that indeed," said Medina as she tapped her foot and folded her arms, and who had by now calmed down only a slight notch. "What you fail to realize though is that you are a son who disavowed his father's wishes and married a woman when his father thought it wasn't time yet. You are a son who didn't go to college after countless attempts to get you enrolled in school by your father. You have acted positively like a stepson as opposed to a legitimate one, and now you expect me to believe that you'll just go to him and acknowledge all your faults?" "Listen here missy," said her husband who was now standing, "I don't need to hear stuff like that from you. Did I force you into this marriage? You knew what I was about before you even said the word 'yes', so you can't start blaming all this stuff on me. You're not going to make me out to be bad guy, not today you won't, Dina. Now I've said what I had to say and that's going to be the end of it." "Oh I'm sorry," she said in a sarcastic tone. "Have I struck a chord? And because of that you wan't to start displaying your manhood? Well we still have problems here, Mr. Clinton, and I want to know what you are planning to do about it." "I already told you," said her husband, who had repositioned himself on the sofa with a controller in his hand. "I'll see if my father will give us the money. You don't have to worry about it anymore, I'm sure he will." "Ok," said Medina, "and just what are we supposed to do about next month's rent? I think I can safely assume that you won't be making this a habit, becoming a recipient of lent money every month. And besides, I'm sure your father won't be willing to pitch in every month regardless. So what are we going to do?" Her husband let out a sigh once again. This was getting very monotonous for him. But he took it all (for the most part) in stride as he continued to play through his videogame. He then resorted to one of his patented remarks whenever they'd get in arguments concerning finances. "Tomorrow isn't here yet. Stop worrying so much about it. When the time comes I'll figure something out." "You're telling me, Mr. Clinton, that I have your assurance that the bills will be paid on time and that we won't end up out in the street? Or worse?" "Yes. You have my assurance, Dina." Medina let slip a sigh herself and was somewhat relieved for the time being. All she really wanted from her husband was for him to carry an equal concern of their shared responsibilities. Granted, she didn't work and bring in any income (something that they have argued about a good deal), but she would still suffer the consequences of unpaid rent, and the last thing she wanted was to be put out on the street or even worse (at least in her mind) move back in with her parents. That would signal what they already foresaw to be true, neither Dina nor her husband were ready to get married. She was heading for her bedroom when a thought came to him and he, sensing that she had been calmed a great deal, thought that this might do even more for her. At first he was a little hesitant to share it with her, thinking that it might reignite her anger or show her that he didn't really have any legitimate plans, but he quickly sidestepped this and thought it would calm her greatly. "What if I ask my boss for a raise next week?" he said. She looked at him with interest. He then paused his game and looked at her. "Go on," said Medina, who had assumed that there was more to his statement. "I mean, I've been making what I make for a year and a half now. I'm sure he wouldn't mind giving me an hourly increase." Now Medina seemed more relaxed. Her face was no more one of dismay, but one of possibility, limitless possibility. "That sounds capital," said Medina. "You have been making that paltry sum for some time now. It's only natural to request and be given a raise at this juncture of your employment." He was a little put-off hearing her say 'paltry' but never let it be said that he was the one who began the arguments. He unpaused his game again and began playing. "Then that's what I'll do. I'll ask him for a raise." "I won't have to remind you, will I?" she said. "You'll remember all of this when the time comes, right?" "Of course I will," he said. And now he saw the perfect opportunity to share the burden and responsibility with his wife. "I care just like you do Medina. I may not go into unholy ecstasy and flail about with such energy that one might be concerned for their safety, but in my own little way I care. You do know that, don't you?" At that moment Medina smiled to herself. She was vaguely aware of the way she behaved in front of her husband. It had--by now--become so commonplace as to evoke very little remorse. She walked over to him and sat in his lap. He wasn't expecting this, but he went along with it regardless. She kissed him, ever so passionately, on the lips. "Yes, my darling husband. I know you care. I just wished you'd show it a litle more often." "So you want me to be more like you?" said her husband. "No," said Medina as she shook her head. "You don't have to be like me. There isn't enough room for two Medina's in the Clinton household." She said this as she touched his nose. Her husband smiled at this, and she back at him. "But I like what you just said, about caring. You should say that more often. It's hard to get that kind of aura from you while I'm sitting here losing my mind and you're playing a godforsaken videogame." He thought on this for a short while. She was right, in her own little way, just like he was right in his. "But you know the story surrounding that," said her husband. "It helps me tell stories better. And plus it provides an excellent escape from the harsh realities I endure day in and day out." "Ok," she said, standing up. "You don't have to reeducate me. Will you be coming to bed anytime soon?" she said. He looked at the cable box and read the time, it read 10:45. "Give me fifteen more minutes," he said. "Ok sweetie. I'll be waiting for you." Her face was one of anticipation and expectancy. They made love that night. It was sweet and passionate in every way. He genuinely cared about how she felt during love making, and that was one of the reasons why she had fallen so in love with him. Medina reflected on this for a short while as she watched the latest soap opera. She smiled to herself and put her right index finger to her lip. She wasn't particularly too keen on watching these kinds of shows, but she'd check in every once in a while to see how the storyline was progressing. At the moment, Paige and Alexi were on the verge of a breakup, thanks to the interference of Donna. She continued watching the soap opera for a short while. It was her three friends, Kathy, Carrol, and Regina that had got her watching soap operas. She could never see what it was that they saw in these shows, the plotting was sometimes so overblown and unrealistic as to induce headaches, at least she thought so. After a time, when she decided that she couldn't take anymore updates, she flipped through the channels again. Then the phone rang. She made her way to the receiver and answered the telephone. "Hello?" "Hi, Dina." It was April, her mother. Medina prevented herself from producing a sigh. Her mother was quite the persistent one, always busying herself by checking up on Medina whenever she felt the time was ripe for it. Medina tried to be civil with her, but inwardly she was very frustrated with the way her mother seemingly handled the fact that she was now married. "I'm calling because I was heading to the supermarket and I was wondering if you needed anything." This was a relatively new tactic that her mother and father had used (though predominately her mother), going to the grocery store and buying groceries for Medina and her husband, with--seemingly--no strings attached. Medina was very appreciative of it though. Her husband barely made enough to pay the rent, let alone enough to buy groceries. Indeed, if her parents didn't know that the couple was suffering financially, Medina didn't know what they'd do in terms of feeding themselves. "Yes mother, that would be lovely," said Medina. "And how's dad doing?" "Oh," said April, "well, you know how much your father loves golf and, since his retirement, that's been taking up most of his time. Why, just this morning he went out to the golf course with his buddies and what have you, and I haven't seen or heard from him all day. You know the country club has a number of pool tables, so after play he might get in a game of that. Then--too--he is also quite stricken with playing card games, as you know, so he may have started a game of cards." "Yes, mother, I know," said Medina. Now she felt the need to specify some of the items that she and her husband would like from the grocery store. "Mother, about the items that you'll be purchasing for us?" "Yes, Dina?" "Well, you know I like beef, and of course a few packets of lunch meat would be nice. Will you also be going to the bread store?" This was something that her parents had made a habit of when she was very young. Instead of buying bakery items from a supermarket, they went to a specialty store. "Yes, I can make a trip to the bread store. What will you be wanting?" "Well, some bread, of course. And then you know how fond we are of doughnuts and what have you, so would it be too much of a problem for you to purchase some sweets?" "I can get you some sweets, Dina, if that's what you really want," said her mother April who was taking all of this down. This was something that she could do for her daughter, even though she was an adult, and she was reveling in it. It was satisfying for April to be able to have some means of control over her daughter (there was no use denying what it was) even in her adult years. She made sure to copy everything down that Medina requested of her and before long she had two lists, one for her household and one for her daughter's. "And some chicken wings. There, I think that should do it. Did you get it all down, mum?" asked Medina of her mother. "Yes, Dina. I think I've copied it all. Are you sure that's all you'll be needing?" "Yes, mum," said Medina. "That's all we'll be needing." "Now Medina, I want you to know that your father and I will always be there for you in the event that you need us. Okay? And, just like the other times, you don't have to worry about paying us back. Okay?" April felt it necessary to convey this sentiment to her daughter just about each and every time that something monetarily was done for her and her husband. It was to reassure her that what she was doing out of the goodness of her heart, even though she had alterior motives. "Thank you mum. I can assure you, I won't be losing sleep over it." "Ok, Dina. I'll bring the food over as soon as I get from the supermarket. You'll be there, right?" "Yes," said Dina. "In fact," and she thought on this for a short while, "both of us should be here by then. I'll be on the lookout for you." "Ok, Dina. Bye-bye now." "Good-bye, mum." Medina placed the phone back on the receiver. It was a little past midday, being 1:30. He should be home any moment now, she thought to herself. Just then, there was a knock on the door. Who could it be? If it was her husband then he would most surely be using his key. Maybe he lost it, she thought to herself as she sauntered toward the door and found the landlord Larry standing in the hall. "Oh hi, Larry. I thought you were my husband, which is weird because you knocked and he would have used a key. But then too the thought came to me that he could have lost his key." "Yep, it's just me alright. Larry the landlord. Wait. Let me check. Just to be sure." Larry commenced to looking himself up and down and all around, making sure that he was indeed himself. "Yep. I'm still good ol' Larry alright," said he with a smile.
Copyright © 2004 Michael Harris |