MyAn's Truth (Episode 5)

I swung with all my might, hoping I would destroy that smile he so cherished. He lucky that—oh. Wait…I jumped way too far ahead didn’t I? Haha. Let me slow down and start somewhere with some foundation.

Zye, as I mentioned many times before, is a very nice catch. So of course, he had been caught by many people before I came along. Compared to his past, my past doesn’t really exist. He’s had relationship after relationship, love after love, but one of those relationships tried its best to jump the broom. Let’s just say the broom had a nasty attitude and both of their asses [the grooms] ended up on the floor instead of the bed of a nice honeymoon suite.

Jackson Morris. That’s his name. The love of Zye’s life. The only background info I had on Jacky was that he was attractive, almost unbearably so. He could sing and he wrote his own songs. He’d laid down a few tracks and he even co-produced some music for some local artists who made it big. He was the dream guy, the guy that had people [men and women alike] fawning all over him constantly but he’d always ignored them until he met Zye on a rainy day in October making his way to a music studio while Zye had just been dumped by this rude bastard who left him on the corner of Main Street. I would beat the shit out of him too if he were still able to function without assistance from a machine. Karma is a tyrannical mother-you-know-what and it don’t play. Hahahaha. Oh, sorry. I did not mean to laugh at another’s misfortune.
Jackson took Zye by force. By the force of his words, his demeanor, his drive, and of course, his weapon of mass destruction—also known as—his voice. Those who had heard him sing compared him to a mix between Brian McKnight, Usher, and Jon B. That’s a killer mix if you ask me. Umm..oh, yeah. Back to the story…

Jackson and Zye had been dating for about seven months when Mr. Morris decided to make Zye his wifey [or hubby]. This nigga proposed to Zyiah Johnson and gave him this beast of an engagement ring. The proposal was worth an Oscar for its larger-than-life romance. Jackson sung to Zye at the wedding of a mutual friend of theirs. The song was supposed to be for the bride and groom only, but the soon-to-be newlyweds had decided to allow Jackson to propose as well as help join them in holy matrimony. Jackson walked down the aisle during his performance and grabbed Zye from his seat and bowed down on one knee while singing “He Proposed to Me” by Kelly Price. Don’t ask me why he was singing that particular song but that’s what he was getting paid for. While he was singing it he pulled out the ring and opened it while the entire church was holding their breath. Zye gave him a tearful yes and they embraced each other. Jackson Morrison and Zyiah Johnson were engaged to be married.

Marriage. A foundation deemed exclusively heterosexual by many supposedly open-minded individuals who sing the “Star Spangled Banner” with a straight face yet, have no problem frowning upon same sex individuals who deign to have the same delight of a wedding and an exchanging of vows amongst their families. Call me rude if you want. Call me blunt or what have you but I think these people are extremely idiotic. Claiming that America, this America, is a Christian nation which holds Christian values. This is not a home of the Christ-like, this is the home of the free, the home of the brave. And excuse me, but I find it brave for a people deemed morally inept and sometimes downright perverse to strive for something so outlandish as marriage in this fair country. [And by fair I mean totally incapable of knowing what fair was even if it bitch-slapped them across the oceans.] Cry religious freedom all you want, scream fairness and equality for all if you so choose, but if you have a lick of sense and eyes to see you will know these lies when you hear them. Two out of fifty of the “united” states of America uphold same-sex marriage as a legal institution. That’s pretty damned ludicrous if you ask me, and even if you don’t my opinion still stands.

Zye and this Jackson guy took on this task head on and made plans to head to either Massachusetts or California to make their love official and holy in the eyes of a God whom I don’t believe is as concerned with penis and vagina wars as religious fanatics would like us to believe. Weddings are already expensive but adding travel expenses to that makes their cost outright preposterous. But of course, Jackson had the funds to take care of the financial feat. Jackson could even afford to pay for those who weren’t financially endowed to fly to California for the wedding. Note: I really don’t like this guy. Just thought I should make that clear in case you did not notice.

The plans were in order. The wedding coordinator was Jackson’s sister so expenses were cut. Zye’s aunt was a caterer who loved charity work so they were pretty much in the clear with that too. Everything was set until Zye caught the illustrious Jackson Morris with his pants down—literally. Two weeks before their grand flight to holy matrimony Mr. Morris was caught red handed with a minor. This twenty something year old man was getting it on with a seventeen year old fella in the music studio that Zye frequented quite often to visit his fiancé.

There was music in the air alright. Music and high pitched screams that had nothing to do with harmony and such things. The seventeen year old had been a mentee of Zye’s and he had even introduced the boy to Jackson in hopes of getting the boy on to something positive. Irony is a hateful, conniving thing isn’t it?

Now the cheating isn’t the worst part. Here is the kicker…Jackson had no remorse. This arrogant negro had the nerve to even blame Zye for his infidelity. Asking him “How could you leave me alone with someone that fine and fit?” It was apparently Zye’s fault for not trusting a grown ass man around a high school senior. The teen never pressed charges so Jackson didn’t face any legal backlash but it left a mean scar on Zye’s heart. A blistering scar if you ask me. When I heard how bad this guy had treated Zye I wanted to hunt the cheating bastard down and just beat the living hell out of him for old time’s sake. Zye had been so hurt at the betrayal that his anger never sat in. The rawness of his love and pain caused him to shut down for a little while. He even went into therapy to help get over the contempt and enable him to move on. And move on he did. He took so many steps into the future until one warm summer night when he and I were on a date and we saw the pompous Jackson Morris riding up in a very nice Benz.

[For the rest of this particular chapter in my life, it might be best if the kiddies were told to go play with their toys or something. Parental Guidance is strongly, and I do mean strongly, encouraged.]

“Bay, I love the way your hand fits mine. Our fingers always interlace so…so…easily. Like they were meant to interlace.” Zye said this to me as we were walking on the sidewalk. In our city, just like in many cities, we have a strip full of stores, clubs, restaurants and all that stuff. The streets are always lit and people flood them, friends, teens, adults, club-hoppers, everyone with a nightlife.

We were heading to a nice lounge spot. Clubs just weren’t our thing. We honestly didn’t see the point in clubbing because most people go to the club to find someone and, well, I had who I wanted. We were about to cross the street when this sleek Benz pulled up. Rims were all ablaze, soft R&B music blaring. It caught the attention of many of the drunks and what have you who were going about their mess. I just stared…because I’m nosey. And that curiosity caused me to overlook Zye’s sudden stillness. He had even stopped talking.

The driver’s door opened and this tall, light skinned black guy steps out. He did absolutely nothing for me but if I had been a woman or a “regular” gay guy I would have gawked just like the people around us. Dude was very attractive. I heard a couple of people, both male and female, say ‘damn’. But I heard one distinct voice say “Fuck.” That was the voice of Zye. I looked at him then.

His eyes had gotten wide. There was even a tear [of all things] in one of them. My hand was holding his more than his was holding mine. I looked from Zye to the mystery guy and I suddenly knew. I had this psychic moment, a moment of clairvoyance. The guy was Jackson.

“Zye, honey, how have you been?” The cheerfulness in this bastard’s voice was sickening. For some reason he stayed near the car. Leaning on it, profiling—almost like there was a photographer and a dressing room waiting for him. He suddenly wasn’t as attractive as he had been at first.

“You.” Said Zye, and it seemed like that took a lot out of him.
I was in a limbo. I didn’t know whether to say something or walk over and stick him in his jaw so, when uncertainty is around, do nothing. I just stood there watching the scene unfold.

“Yes me. So you gonna act like you don’t know me now, baby? Am I suddenly strange to you?” I looked at the bastard then. I gave him my full on gaze because I was getting heated. Patronization is my thing, I knew sarcasm as if it were my own little baby that I had nurtured and cared for.

“You…you fuckin’ piece of shit!” Zye took a step toward the asshole. I held him back. It was like I wasn’t even there. Jackson simply smiled and gave this innocent face.

“Oh, don’t be like that. Zyiah, you know me. Its me…Jackson. I know you remember the good times we had. You remember…” I could tell he was insinuating sexual memories. This let me know that he didn’t know Zye. Zye wasn’t a sex fiend. You couldn’t appeal to him sexually unless you already had him emotionally.

“Fuck you, Jacky. Just go straight to hell.” Zye turned, grabbed my hand and pulled me with him. “My, let’s just go.” I almost protested but I went along with it.
“Oh, ok. Is this your new flavor of the weak Zyiah? Some dick on the side? You know I am really the one you want. This broke nigga can’t do nothing for you.” Broke? Me? I’m not rich but poor I am not in the least. I kept walking. We were going further away from the drama but sometimes drama has a habit of following you. Jackson left his car and walked after us, talking rather loudly.

“Zyiah. Boo, you know what it is. You remember the screams? The moans in the night. You remember? Don’t fuckin’ walk away from me!” Jackson was trailing us by a few yards. Zye didn’t respond or turn around. His force of will was ironclad unlike mine. But I followed his lead.

Do you know that this man started singing? Like…what the fuck? Who does that? He started hitting all kinds of notes singing, “Boy, I know you hear me talking,” his voice was sultry and strong, “so how you just gonna keep on walking.” Zye never lost his stride but I did see him wince slightly, as if he had been struck by invisible hands. My rage flared with that wince.

“Now you deaf. You can’t hear me when I’m clearly talking to you. You always had the mindset of a bitch Zye. Even that kid knew that and that’s why he showed me what a real man was.” Zye stopped and I looked at him. He was crying. I know ya’ll are getting tired of something in me snapping but once again, that is exactly what happened. This tipsy chick walked by me at this moment with a bottle of some type of liquor in her hand. Without thinking I grabbed it.

Zye was crying and his back was still turned to Jackson. By this time, since we had stopped, Jackson was only a couple of feet away from us. With the bottle in my hand I faced him.

“So you gonna speak for Zye now? He doesn’t have a mouth? Or do you wanna fight me? Is that it? You a thug, nigga?” Taunting me does one of two things; it annoys me and/or it causes me to react. At that moment it simply annoyed me. But I did take a step closer.

“Jackson, right? Let me tell you something. You, my friend, are the BITCH. You are the bastard, the child molester, the perverse motha fucka that gives gay men a bad name. YOU are the asshole, the callous arrogant piece of shit who only has himself to blame for his losses in life.” My teeth were clenched. I had borrowed my boo’s will power. It took all my might and then some not to crack that bottle on his head just for smirking at me the way he was. Zye’s tears were fresh in my mind too.

“I’m all that? Hmm. I may be but what I am not is afraid of you. I took classes in self defense. So come at me if you want to, be brave if you want to, but I promise you. I promise you that one of us is going to be on the ground and it won’t be me. ” Jackson Morris proclaimed this with the utmost surety.

He lucky that jail is not a place I am willing to go over foolishness. But I am willing to go to jail and back for the one I love. I needed him to come at me first. I needed it to be self-defense so I’d be less likely to face charges. He wanted to taunt me to move first but I needed the same thing so I said the only thing that came to mind. I said:
“Yo momma.”
“What the hell?” Jackson responded.

“Yo momma is a stupid bitch for raising a demon of a son like you.” I hit the mark and apologized to his momma. I’m pretty sure she didn’t know that she had raised Lucifer himself. He came at me in anger and some crazy looking fighting stance.
With all of his tae-qwon-whatever I never seen someone hit the ground so fast. I barely tapped him with the bottle. I struck him right across the face. It didn’t even break but he went down on the sidewalk…hard. The impact was so crucial that he just laid there groaning. He could barely turn on his back, blood on his face. His expensive clothing marred and torn. I took a certain amount of gratification from it.
“Next time you make a promise Jackson, make sure you keep it. You broke your promise twice motha fucka, and next time the ground might be six feet deep instead.” I said this and grabbed Zye who had a satisfied expression on his face. Jackson was left there, in all his glory, moaning. No doubt his pride hurt more than he was.

“Baby…I can’t believe you did that…for me. Jackson just affects me in such a way. I thought I was over it but…” Zye trailed off while we sat in The Lounge, the spot for the grown and sexy. I wiped his tears and smiled at him.

“Sweetheart, I’d do that and more for you. I don’t ever wanna see you cry and if I do then I’ll do what I can to stop it.” We stared at each other while a sexy soul song played in the background.

I rubbed his cheek and saw the hurt in his eyes melt away. The pain and embarrassment that Jackson Morris’s betrayal had left him with. I saw it take flight like an adolescent eagle, leaving the nest never to return again. When it was completely gone I cemented the importance of that moment with a soft kiss on the lips. Nothing lingering and sexual—just a chaste touch of lips. Closure is a beautiful thing, especially when it ends with the beginning of something that will never need to be closed.