You start a kettle of warm water on the stove for tea. You cut the stove on, then pour yourself a glass of wine.
“Drinking?”
“Yes.”
“Why?…”
“Dauhd, let’s just talk okay. I am drinking, sometimes I drink. Sometimes you drink! We-“
“Stop. Lana. It’s okay, okay? I just want you to stop drinking. Just stop—“
A knock at the door snatches my next few words from my mouth.
“Yo!” I head for the door and open it.
Right.
It is Monica.
I slam the door behind me stepping out into the dim sunlight and brisk air of that Fall evening.
”Hi. I was going to call You—“
”Dauhd. Are you serious? So you left my crib, to come here and play…what? House?”
”Okay. Okay. Just listen for a minute please? You cannot be here right now. Alright? Is everything cool?”
”Um, no. I lost my job the night you left. I blew off a shift—“
”You can just stop right now, okay? I did not ask you to blow off work. If you need an interview or something I can see what I can do about something local, part time. But you literally cannot be here right now…so—“
”Why not?”
I look into Monica’s eyes and try not see the strained look of emotion.
“Look do not be mad…”
”Dauhd…”
”Something bad happened to Villana. I am taking care of Her,” I explain.
”Look I never needed your help. You can keep Your job offer. Have fun babysitting.”
”Look I will email you the files. Plenty of companies You qualify for. If you want them, they are Yours. If not, delete them. We can talk later.”
”Or not.”
I watch gently as Monica speeds off, tires screeching against the asphalt.
Try not to be too hard on yourself, I think aloud. I knew this whole thing with Villana would change me as a person, but never to this extent. I had known Monica for years, and for a second there was even a ring of sadness in my heart for blowing her off. But Lana was important. I needed to be there. She wants me there.
I spend fifteen minutes breathing and convincing myself that I am not some player or some narcissist. This all felt too familiar. A part of me wanted to believe that this relationship, this connection with Lana was healthy. New. Hip, but healthy. Love? Commitment? I felt like a fraud. A nobody for hurting Monica. I just, could not pass up an opportunity to help Villana. To be her rock. To protect Her.
I continued breathing. Panting even. Excitement rose in my chest for the following days. A decision of normalcy plagued me. Usually I would write this all down, turn into some theme for a song. Right now, it all felt surreal: Monica, what happened to Villana, and my duty to protect them both from my own inhibitions.
Inside The Mind of a Black Artist 