I can remember when I realized I loved writing. I was in 5th grade, and we were doing a standardized testing, but in this test, they gave us a small notebook and told us to write a story. And I just went for it. Who knows what I wrote that day? All I remember was that it was the most enjoyable time I had in school up to that point.
I ended up switching classes later that year (another story for another day) and my new teacher recognized my love for writing and told my mom to sign me up for a special creative writing seminar they were having at the school on Saturday. One thing to note here: I was raised Seventh-Day Adventist, so Saturday activities were out of the question. We observed the sabbath from sunset Friday to sunset Saturday, and in between no “work” was allowed. And even the definition of work varied depending on who you were around. And in general, it also meant fun too. Anything considered “worldly” had to wait until the sun set.
I don’t know how I convinced her, but my mother made an exception and allowed me to go. For hours, I sat, and wrote, and listened to others as they spoke about their writing, and I was enthralled. In my own personal heaven.
Writing and storytelling have always felt like that for me.
Until I started trying to write a novel. Lawdddd is it hard! I have been stuck at about 40,000 words for the past two months. Like, I’m almost done, only 10,000 more words to go. And the tank is empty, the tires are flat. I gotta put this car in neutral and push it the rest of the way if I want to finish.
And I sincerely do want to finish.
But life has been kicking my butt and honestly, every time I open my project, my mind goes blank. And it is so frustrating that I have a hard time even opening the project now. I keep thinking maybe I just need more time, maybe I should focus on other things like building this Substack or writing scripts.
It’s all distractions though. Ultimately, I just gotta get it done.
Today’s Story—
Some days you just gotta let it go. The back and forth, on and off situations can be draining. Today’s story is about getting off that wheel.
“Once they walk out the door, close it and lock it behind them.”
by Katrina Mitchell
This is the third time Tristen called, and Zhari was still refusing to pick up. She tried to focus on the computer screen in front of her, and the numbers she was trying to interpret. Anyway, she knew why he was calling. He’d left his stuff, some clothes and important documents, in her closets, and wanted to retrieve them. But the last few times she let him come by (for his toothbrush, for a drink, for closure), they’d ended up naked and in bed and by the time he left, she was more confused than before. This was their cycle, and by the tenth time around, Zhari was tired of it.
Zhari did not want to be a sneaky link. She didn’t want to be the person who let him come by whenever he needed to get his dick wet, then disappeared later. Or made her the bad guy for “wanting more from him.” He always gets his needs met, she thought. Why can’t I get mines?
Her needs were simple. She wanted consistency. She wanted effort. She wanted someone to put the same energy into her that they were expecting from her. But apparently, asking for that was like asking for a kidney or a million dollars. It was always more than anyone was willing to give.
Thunder rolled and lightning flashed outside. Rain started beating against the window. Zhari looked longingly out the window, then back to the screen. The numbers in front of her were bleeding together. Zhari looked at the clock. It was approaching midnight. She closed her computer screen, then trudged to her bed.
Before she could close her eyes, a loud knock came from the front door. A heavy, incessant knock. She walked slowly to the door, picking up a bat nearby before yelling out, “Who is it?”
“Open the door Zhari!” It was Tristen.
Zhari gripped the bat near her waist. She opened the door slowly.
“You can’t just be popping up here,” Zhari said. “We’re not together anymore.”
“Why you dodging my calls?” he responded.
“Cuz I knew you ain’t had nothing new to say.”
“You ain’t know that,” he said, smirking. Tristen slid past her, his hoodie soaking wet from the rain.
“Excuse me, I didn’t invite you in.”
He turned his back to her, running his hands across the furniture like it was his first time seeing it.
“Tristen!” she yelled. “You can’t stay.”
“It’s cool,” he said. “I just came to get the last of my things.” He walked into her bedroom. “I’m glad you ain’t got no niggas here.”
Zhari pushed past him and opened the closet door. She pulled out a box packed with his clothes. “I was going to mail it tomorrow.”
“Good, I saved you a trip.”
“Mm-hmm.” She handed him the box and headed back to the door. “You can go now.”
Tristen placed the box on the floor and sat on the couch. “Uh-uh,” Zhari said. “You are not staying.”
“I just want to talk, Zee.”
Zhari started to calculate. Tristen was clearly not leaving until he got what he wanted. Again, his needs mattered more than hers. But what could she do? If she gave in, he would leave temporarily, but for sure would be back. She needed him out of her life NOW. She also didn’t want a fight. He stood at least nine inches taller than her and was built strong and solid. It was one of the things that attracted her in the first place. His arms at one point made her feel safe. Now all she saw was danger. And calling the police wasn’t an option. She didn’t need this minor dispute turning into a news headline.
So Zhari closed her front door and sat down beside him on the couch. “What do you want, Tris?”
“I miss you Zee.”
Zhari was taken aback. She did not expect those words to come out of his mouth. “Umm… hmm. Okay, and what does that mean?”
“It means what I said. I miss you.”
“Yeah, but what’s different?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, what has changed? You plan on stepping up now?”
Tristen sat back. His shoulders sank. “I know you don’t believe me.”
“It’s not about believing you, it’s about being clear. What do you actually want? Because right now it seems like you’re trying to manipulate me, and I’m not here for it.”
“No one is trying to manipulate you,” he said. “It’s just that what you’re asking for is--”
“Too much, right?”
“I ain’t say that.”
“But what you are trying to say is I need to let go of my needs, so you can continue to get your needs met, right?”
“I didn’t say that either.”
“You right,” she said. “You haven’t said much of anything, actually.” Zhari stood up and yawned. “Look, it’s late. I have to finish this report in the morning, so I’m going to bed. I need you to head on home.”
There was a large flash of lightning that lit up the sky. Thunder rolled and shook the house. The lights almost immediately cut out.
“Oh fuck,” she whispered.
Tristen stood up and gripped her shoulders. “Don’t worry, I’ll go out and switch the breakers. You got a flashlight?”
“Just on my phone,” Zhari said.
“That’ll work. You coming with me?”
Zhari shrugged her shoulders, loosening his grip. “I guess so.”
They went outside, despite the storm being at its peak. The wind was howling and the rain was beating them with fury. In the backyard, they found the breaker box and flipped all the switches. The lights turned back on inside. “We make a good team,” Tristen said.
“Corny,” Zhari laughed.
“It’s true though.”
Back inside, Tristen slid out of his wet hoodie and tossed it on the ground. His shirt was wet too, and she could see the outlines of his chest through it. He smiled when he noticed her looking. Zhari didn’t attempt to look away.
Tristen approached her and pulled her close to him. Zhari thought about giving in to the heat that pulsated from him. She knew why he was over there, and it damn sure wasn’t for that box. She let her head lay against his chest for a moment. He squeezed her tighter. His fingers slid under the waistband of her shorts.
Zhari pushed away. She picked up Tristen’s wet hoodie and handed it back to him.
Tristen picked up his box. “I guess I’ll be leaving, then.”
Zhari smiled. She walked over to the front door and opened it. “Drive safely.”
Tristen stood in front of her, his entire body shading hers. He bent down to kiss her forehead, but she turned her head.
“Oh it’s like that?”
“Yeah,” she responded.
“I was serious, you know.”
“I know. But, we shouldn’t speak anymore.”
“Why you have to take it that far?”
“I’m not taking it far. You cannot give me what I need, and you really aren’t willing to try.”
“You make it sound like it’s all my fault.”
“Not trying to place fault, but stating facts.”
“It ain’t facts. It’s what you assume.”
“I asked you directly, what’s different, and you had no answer.”
“Yeah cuz maybe nothing needs to be different.”
“Clearly it does if I’m saying I’m not happy with the situation as is.”
“Well maybe that’s your problem that you’re just pushing on me.”
Zhari exhaled deeply. “Yeah, if that’s true, then this is what I need to do for me.”
Tristen nodded. He turned slowly and walked out the door. Zhari closed and locked the door.
