Short Story Sundays: Vol 1. Part 3.

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I needed something to drown out the slow tap-tap-tap-tappity-tap-tap of my fingers hitting the keyboard. I scanned my drive’s collection of music, minimizing the screen so I could still see the Word document I was attempting to complete. Still a third window to my right was also minimized in order for me to respond to any urgent needs immediately via email. I hurriedly scrolled up and down then back up with my mouse on the scroll bar. I repeated this a few times then let out a loud, annoyed sigh that linger three second longer than necessary. I closed the screen and clicked on the Google Chrome icon, navigated to Pandora and settled with Amel Larrieux radio; calm, relaxed and still thought-provoking music. I maximized the Word document and rolled my eyes at the mere three sentences that were starring poignantly back at me. I sat back in my chair so much so that its slight scoot from the wheels below jolted me upright. I glanced at the clock. 3:53 p.m. I looked back at the screen again, then once more at the time.

“Naomi!”

I was prompted out of my trance my Lydia Townes’ voice piercingly saying my name.

“Why are you so loud?” I answered annoyed.

“I’m sorry,” Lydia started. “I called your name twice but you didn’t respond.”

“Oh. Forgive me,” I said while looking down, pretending to straighten my blouse. “What do you need?”

“Have you heard from Sonny? He said we would receive the details regarding the grant funds on Wednesday. It’s Friday nearing 4 o’clock and I have yet to hear from him. With our deadlines so tight, I was getting anxious.”

“You haven’t heard from him yet? You should have told me on Friday!” At this news I gave my email and good look up and down to see if there was any unopened correspondence I had missed. Sonny was a community leader in Columbus’ Near Eastside. Precision was launching what I hoped to be an ongoing project to connect reading and literacy to children and adults. Lydia had come on to run the program. She had set up a team of volunteers for marketing purposes as well as made various appearances to get people excited about the project. And Sonny, provided us with the funds through his outreach organization called, Climb Higher. We were planning to hold first session adults in need of literacy outreach a week from today. In order to do so, we needed our curriculum printed, bound and delivered. And in order to do that, we needed the allocated funds. Something wasn't right.

I picked up the office phone to speed dial Sonny’s direct line. I motioned to Lydia, holding up my pointer finger, crossing my arms in anticipation of Sonny’s voice on the other line. When there was no answer, I hung up and dialed it again. Still, no answer. I could feel Lydia’s eyes watching me. I felt my temperature rise, anxiousness in my heart.

This must be what she felt like before coming to my office.

This time I hand-dialed Climb Higher offices directly. No one picked up there either. When I hung up, Lydia interjected.

“What should we do? We gave him a strict deadline of today,” she said.

“I know,” I said while again checking my email, certain I had missed something. I felt the silence again in the room before it had actually happened. I wasn’t sure what else to say and needed a few moments to think of something. But all I could here was Amel Larrieux’s piercing soprano voice on the bridge of her romantic song “For Real,” shrilling at me. There were so many screens up on my computer I couldn’t get to Pandora fast enough to mute her voice before the song faded on its own.

“Can you swing over to Climb Higher?” I said.

“Now?” Lydia attempted to clarify.

“Yes, absolutely now,” I said.

“But Naomi, it’s already after 4 o’clock. By the time I get there it will be close to 5,” she started. “And there’s traffic to consider also.”

“Just go please,” I said. “I’m sure Sonny or someone else is at the office who can explain and hand you the check.”

“Ok,” Lydia relented, throwing up her hands as she walked out of my office.

“And keep trying to call him on your way,” I shouted. “And call me when you get someone!”

I followed closely behind Lydia to close my office door. I motioned to Monica, our receptionist to hold all of my phone calls. I kicked off my heels and scurried back to my desk chair and let another loud sigh. With one click I was back starring at the three sentences that had been haunting me for weeks:

Thank you everyone. I’m very honored and humbled that I have been selected for this inaugural award. I am grateful for the opportunity to do what I do.

The previous draft had been two paragraphs long, written from my heart. I wrote it the very evening I was informed that I was been presented with the Young Trailblazer Award at the Columbus Black Leaders and Legends ceremony. Troy had thought it too emotional.

“And you say ‘I’ too many times,” he had said, tossing the paper down on his coffee table. I had printed out a copy to show him after leaving my office.

“Well,” I chuckled. “It is an award for me honey.”

“What’s this for again?” he asked.

“Well it’s for my work as a writer and publisher. But it’s mainly for my activist work in the community. They’re giving out the award for young people under 40 who maintain effectiveness in the community and business worlds.”

“And they chose you,” Troy said.

I flinched at this statement. I couldn’t tell if it was a question or a statement. If it was the former, I couldn’t tell if there was an emphasis on the word you, or if my emotions were delivering that message to my brain prematurely. My eyes squinted.

“What did you say?” I asked.

“They chose you?”

Ok, yes. I was sure it was a question, with emphasis delivered to the last word an effort to question my validity of my receiving of the award.

“I mean you don’t have a PH.D.,” he continued. “You books are not read by millions of people and honey you don’t make much money.”

“Yea, you’re right,” I said. “I don’t have any of those things. Why should I get this award?” I then rambled off two names of notable people in my same community, both under 40, both with higher degrees and even higher resources that were far more deserving of such an award.

And so I deleted that eloquently written acceptance speech and saved it for another time, another day. I saved it for another me in another space in the future. I decided to write a more toned-down speech with sprinkles of words like humble and modest with an underlying theme of undeserving. And so, those three sentences were it since then.

But today was the day. The awards ceremony was tonight at 7 pm. My funder was MIA and Troy had not yet confirmed what time he was picking me up to accompany me. In addition, there were still seven soft rings on my computer that were continuously reminding me that I was late for some previous deadline from days before. The incompleteness of the speech had been weighing on me so heavily that I was putting off other urgent matters. Procrastination was not normally my style. But the last few weeks had gotten so unbalanced that I could not seem to get ahead. Still, I mustered up the mental focus to type up a few more lines for tonight’s speech, words I didn't mean or remember the moment I pressed send. I emailed to the award director and hurried out of Precision Publishing at approximately 5:07 pm, exactly 37 minutes after I had planned. I hadn't heard from Sonny or Lydia and my cell phone had died.

My car was at Troy’s house while he was preparing to take it to the mechanic this weekend. Columbus had a new car-sharing service I was interested in. With this, I could get home from my office downtown to my side of town in Olde Town East in less than 20 minutes. The car-sharing parking lot was a 5 minute walk from my 2 bedroom condo.  I was able to get a small charge on my phone while driving but still wasn't able to reach Troy.

I still continued to get prepare myself for tonight. The event was a black-tie gala. I had shopped around for weeks before deciding on an all back, lace gown I found at a cute vintage shop downtown. It was floor length with a plunging back line. I paired it with my favorite red heels I save for special occassions. When I had gotten fully dressed and was ready to pull out my shoes, I realized that Troy still had not called. By this time, my phone had gotten a full charge and there were no missed calls, text messages or emails from him. I started to get angry. It was now 6:02 pm. Award recipients had been asked to arrive at 6:30 pm in order to be properly seated in designated areas and to be acknowledged according to the programs' order of events. All correspondence also indicated that the ceremony would start on time. Troy knew all of this. I called him again, hanging up and calling back again another four times until I told myself to stop. My first indication was to leave without him. But I had no car. The car-sharing service only took you so far within the city limits and the awards ceremony was just outside of Columbus in a banquet hall in Westerville, a suburb north of the city. A bus ride was out of the question. And I didn't do taxis. So I waited.

When 7 pm rolled around my anger was swapped out for worry. Could something have happened to him? Why wasn't he answering his phone? I paced the floor in my gown and reapplied my red lipstick numerous times. I had emailed Troy the night’s program so he could know how to plan should he be running a little late. When the clock approached 7:30 pm, I received a call from Lydia.

“Where are you? They’re starting awards!” she said in a quiet but panicky voice. I could hear the speaker’s voice overpower our phone conversation. I was allotted four tickets to the gala. I gave the other two tickets to Lydia and her husband. Lydia had been instrumental with merging in my community vision with my work in publishing and so it seemed fitting that she be there to see me accept the award.

“I’m waiting on Troy! I don’t know where he is and I don’t have my car!” I told her.

“What? He’s not there yet?” Lydia said. “Why didn't you call me? I could have come by to pick you up!”

I hadn't thought of that option and immediately felt powerless. Before hanging up, Lydia said she would attempt to stall the order of the awards but she wasn't sure if she would pull it off. I hung up the phone even more enraged at Troy’s thoughtlessness. I called him another countless amount of times before sulking into the couch in my living room. Followed by tears, I threw my phone across the room.

It was 7:52 pm when Troy’s car pulled up in front of my condo. I could see him from my position on my couch. By that time, I had picked up my phone from the other side of the room and had saw three text messages from Lydia:

I couldn't reach them in time to move your award to another segment, sorry. They just called your name.

They’ll try again for you later. Hopefully you’ll be here soon?

Where are you??

Troy walked in, polished in his all black tuxedo, black dress shirt and red bow tie. He had the nerve to smile, followed by one of the most ridiculous questions anyone has ever asked me.

“You ready babe?”

I’ll always remember his tone when he asked that question: buttery, soft and sure.

“Give me my key and get out,” I said.

He started to say something else but I lifted up my hand.

“Put my key on the table and leave.”

“What? You’re made ‘cause I’m late?” he started. “That awards ceremony doesn't mean nothing honey. We can still go.”

I chuckled and shook my head.

“And that’s the problem” I said. “It doesn't mean anything to you. You've embarrassed me for the last time Troy. Put my key that I gave you on the table and get out. Please.”

And he did. Quietly and without incident he adjusted his key ring so that my key loosened. He held it up in his hand to show it to me as evidence and then laid it on the end table next to the couch that I’d made my home for the last hour. He walked out the door without a goodbye.

But I knew tomorrow he’d call. Or perhaps, the next day. We had been here before; a bad fight leading to a pseudo breakup that involved his key on my coffee table and me slamming the door behind him. But today was different; it was my epiphany. Similar to Chrisette Michelle’s lyrics, I had watched myself become isolated, embarrassed and belittled. Troy was emotionless and careless with my needs, desires and dreams. Life was hard enough and why should I share it with him? An important night honoring me and my work and where was I? Absent. I was alone in my home, unable to make a move, just waiting. Unable to decide for myself, I needed him to decide for me. Life was in front of me, and I was waiting for life to begin.