Aniya was the color of Jiffy cornbread. She drove a 2012 Dodge Dart. She was 5’9″ about 190 lbs. She had 14% body fat and it was all in one place. She was proud of her masterpiece. No use in describing her face. It didn’t matter. It never would. Men admired her body. She was well aware of that. She decided a long time ago she wasn’t working a day job. She was going to work a traditional job though. Nothing was more traditional, proven, and no one was more hard working than a stripper. She made about $400-600 a night at “Biddies.” Men and women loved her.
They would watch her “fireman spin” down the poll. They marveled at her “body wave.” You could see her abdominal muscles working and the bruises on her thighs from the pole. She called them her “battle scars” and she charged clients $50 per leg to kiss or touch them. She was the most talented at “Biddies” because this was her career. She wasn’t working her way through school or a single mother supporting her kid. This was what she wanted to be…a fantasy.
Aniya’s husband was 42 years old. He was his wife’s senior by 15 years. He was her anger management counselor when she was mandated by a judge to “get right or go to jail.” He was stereotypically “tall, dark and handsome.” Yet, he was socially awkward and always had trouble keeping a woman. A great smile and pretty lips would draw the women in but then he would speak and stumble all over himself. Goofy behavior is woman repellent and DJ had a lifetime supply of goof. Aniya was different. She was self assured and confident enough for the both of them. She would twerk on a one armed handstand at work. Then she would come home and order dinner (not the domestic type.) She paid for a cleaning service visit once a week. DJ was happy. As long as she fell asleep in his lap at least twice a month, he had nothing to complain about.
One night Aniya came in the house and there was a bit of commotion. She pranced into the bedroom and DJ was straightening up.
“What are you doing?” she asked in an accusing manner.
“Cleaning”, he said dryly.
“Why? I pay for that. I pay for your lifestyle.”
“Oh please. You drive a Dart and you wanna act like a boss! When I met you, you were nothing. Well I want more, I want something. ”
Aniya took a breath of calm. Ironically, DJ taught her that in anger management. Something was up. DJ isn’t stern. That’s what made him attractive. He was easily controlled.
She walked over to the bed and she looked underneath it. She saw a few condom wrappers. Aniya made a mental note to talk to the cleaning lady about that. No big deal. She knew of DJ’s affairs the same as he knew of her “champagne room” escapades at “Biddies.” That was the dynamic of their relationship. No judgement.
It was what she saw beyond the wrappers that took all the air out of her lungs. Her skin turned blue and her fingertips lost feeling. Her breaths became shallow. She could no longer hear anything and all she could see was red. She couldn’t even stand up to confront DJ. She could hear her friends chuckling. The conversations they had about her “great relationship” and “unconditional love.” “Girl bye!” is all they would say. She felt stupid. There was no conversation to be had. She felt like her body was inside out.
“DJ”, she whispered.
He just stood smiling.
“What the hell is this?”
Day 3 of the writing challenge. Let me know what you think or if you want more! For entries like this one, check out my “Chest Naked In The Park” archived category. Tweet your feedback @shutyamouthnow