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    Gina

 

H-E-B is half-empty. I’m walking around the grocery store aimlessly. A few of the store clerks give me odd looks. One of the women next to the food court is giving away sample nuts. I take a cup from her on my way to the magazine rack. As I browse through a few magazines, a brother sporting locks strolls over to my left and grabs a Muscle & Fitness magazine. Not bad looking, he is roguishly attractive, tall, and muscular. He glances my way and catches me staring. For a brief moment probing eyes meet, lock. Neither of us speaks or looks away.

    He puts the magazine down. “See anything you like?”

    “No,” I reply, not caring for his presumptuous attitude.

    He sighs and digs his hands into his pockets. “So in all those magazines you’ve been flipping through for the past half hour, you found none you like?”

    I’m unsettled and hope it doesn’t show on my face. I thought he was talking about my interest in him, and now I feel a little silly. “Yes, well. No.” What is this brother’s game?

    He rocks back on his heel. “You thought I was talking about me, didn’t you?”

    “No… Yes, well sort of,” my response is baffled.

    He chuckles and it pleases me. “No, yes which is it, sweetheart?” Oblivious to his teasing, I become tense and don’t like that I find his smile pleasing.  

    “No… Yes. I was just about to leave, so excuse me.” I say, tossing down the magazine then brushing by him.

    “Hey what’s your name?” he inquires.

    “I don’t have one,” I respond and keep moving toward the exit of the store.

The drive back home seems a bit longer than usual. I park my car in the garage, get out, close the car door behind me, then walk to the mailbox at the end of my driveway. I scan through the mail. Nothing but sales letters, people wanting donations, and a travel magazine. I walk back up the driveway to my front door and the security light comes on. I reach into my purse to take out my keys. They jingle as I stick them in the keyhole, turn the lock, and push the door open. 

All the lights are off in the house. I had turned off the kitchen light and forgotten to turn the foyer light on. As soon as the thought pops into my head, I trip over the coffee table and bump my knee trying to turn the light switch on. Bending over, I rub the bruised spot.

    I turn the lights on and groan in horror. 

The living room looks like Hurricane Rita has passed through it. I missed the fiasco when I came home earlier because I never ventured past the kitchen. It’s inconceivable that Bernard did this, but somehow I know that he did it. How did he get in? All my electronic equipment is gone. The stereo, a brand new laptop I purchased recently. The bastard even took my flat screen TV. I move quickly into the bedroom to check the jewelry box. Nothing is missing. I call his cell phone. I am preparing to leave him a message after several rings, but then the call waiting beeps in and Bernard’s number pops up on the screen.

    “Bernard, why did you break into my place?” I ask, immediately tearing into him. “I should call the law on you. You ignorant fool and I thought I told you to drop off my keys.”

    “Is that all you called for? See and you wonder why another woman was filling your place. You don’t know how to take care of a man, that mouth you got on you. You’re too argumentative. A man don’t want to hear that all the time. It was cute the first couple of times, but it got old.”

After he tells me that, it suddenly hits me that this entire year was only a guilt trip for him. He only gave me a ring to make up for his guilty conscience. I knew there was something strange about his behavior, but I was too eager to get a ring to question him. Bernard was never going to marry me. The fact that he wouldn’t set a date should have been an obvious sign. “Baby there’s no need to rush, we have our whole life ahead of us,” were the words he uttered on the night I told him our wedding date was set.

    “You reap what you sow, Bernard,” I manage to choke out.

    “Whatever, man, don’t call me again.” Click. I close the cell phone, sit down on the edge of the sofa, rest my head in my hands, and cry in anger.