Grievances

Oh no, not Pikachu. At the base of the wooden staircase was a ruptured poke ball and Pikachu figurine lying defeated in someone’s doorway. Pooh started to daydream about all the chaos that led to his demise. All the way up the stairs she over thought each step wondering how much money she’d get if she fell through the rickety boards. Her stomach lurched and she rebuked it imagining the universe making her an example of why not to stare evil in the face hoping for a settlement. Reaching for the knob she started thinking about a pedicure when suddenly the door swung open,

“What? Did you get lost on the way to the garbage?” Tre turned his back to her and tossed a button-down over his shoulder “My shirt is wrinkled. Fix it. Hurry up.”

The studio was muggy and the floor was wet because he always paced while brushing his teeth. She plugged in the steamer and hung the shirt on a velvet hanger. Waiting for the steamer to get hot, she took a quick survey of the fridge. Why a dress shirt? Where is he going? He literally doesn’t do anything. Jotting a list down on a post-it: basil, peppers, greens, tomatoes...She was startled by his voice again,

“What are you doing? It’s not ironing my shirt.” She inhaled through her nose just as she heard the steam release. Stupid. He sat on the edge of their bed hunched over fixated on his phone. While passing the steamer, she cleared her throat trying to sound curious and not investigative,

“Boo, you seem anxious. What you got planned today?” Despite the fact that she’d barely spoken all morning, she could tell he rolled his eyes by the way he threw his head back. Literally nevermind, bro. You are literally no one. He responded with an arrogant sigh,

“I’m credited as the executive producer on the shoot today. Jabria said her uncle is in town to see what she’s been up to creatively. I want to make a good impression.” She carried the shirt to him prying just a little more,

“Who is her uncle? I never seen you this nervous.”

“Director X.” Her eyebrows lifted and chin dropped. “Right, I handled all the rentals, finalized every location and model, chose the director. It’s a big deal.”

As he finalized the details of his outfit, she laid and wrapped her edges. He threw on his loafers, grabbed his backpack, and let the door slam behind him. You’re welcome. She took a moment to pen her daily affirmations, said a prayer, and hopped in the shower.

An hour later, her bun was neat, her scrubs were crisp and she looked forward to clocking out in six hours. She grabbed her grocery post-it, stuck it in her little black notebook, stuffed the book in her bag, and mosied out the door. Traffic was light so she stopped at the Peet’s right off the exit. She pulled into the parking deck and got up to the eighth floor with seven minutes to spare. High on caffeine she bopped to the bulletin board and exhaled the disappointment over the day’s assignment. She added her first grievance of the day behind her affirmations:

Today it’s Dr. Hot Air. I’ve never met a more disingenuous person. He’s charming to people who’ve never been bitten by a snake. He tries to pry into my life to pass judgment and give unsolicited advice, but I maintain a safe distance from him. I refuse to laugh at his terrible jokes like the other girls. That’s why I wouldn’t dare unleash my passive-aggressive sarcasm as he’d be dangerously offended. I say dangerously because he could snap his fingers to have me escorted off the premises. He doesn’t understand I need my job for bills and not validation.

Buzzing through the day on autopilot, she gave her coworkers just enough to seem present. Dr. Hot Air disappeared into his office giving her a second to check Tre’s story. Even though she didn’t want to know she needed to know about this production he was involved in. The man who directed the Rihanna work, work, work, work, work and you don’t mention it until the morning of? Since signing the lease, she and he became passing ships in the night while sleeping in the same bed. Three-hundred and twenty arguments later, he’d lost respect for her 9-5, sleep schedule, and spending habits. Concurrently she grew to hate his lifestyle, his friends, and all the lies he told himself about how to achieve success.

The posts started off innocently, but the nature of the business is a lituation. The video looked great though. He was sexy in his element and then boom, a woman built like a brick house was stretched across his body having casual conversation. She could never prove cheating. She could ask a million questions, he could stonewall for days, and suspicious things were never explained. Once she caught him with a burner account, but it was easy to flip it and make her the toxic one for such calculated deception.

Look at him, hoes everywhere. And for real, they not even hoes. They’re just at work. He just let them do anything. She rolled her eyes and stuffed the phone back in her pocket. She blamed her mood swing on the coffee wearing off. This excuse always worked and people accepted her working quietly the remainder of the day.

The traffic on the beltway was worse than usual due to the rain. Light from the street lamps was dancing in the puddles. She creeped along with the sound of the wiper blades drowning out the music and creating a tempo for her thoughts. He does all that knowing I can see his story. Why not just leave me? She walked inside and there were no traces of him. Instead of sitting inside speculating about his last 4 hours, she decided to skip the grocery store and go to the gym checking her phone the whole ride there.

Forty minutes of cardio and another thirty of going through the motions. Between each set of crunches, she scrolled through his profile. The group chat was on fire but she wasn’t ready to face it. Here he was flirting as part of his job, having the time of his life, and not acknowledging her all day. She read a text from her best friend,

“Heyyy! I heard it’s a party at Rosebar after the shoot, we should goooo.” She called his phone for details but it went to voicemail. She sent a text,

“Boo, me and Nashay wanna come out, where can we meet you? I don’t wanna get stuck at the door.” He didn’t take her out enough for people to recognize her as his girlfriend. He didn’t even have enough pull for her to cut the line if people did know. She was embarrassed for people to know he was so inconsiderate. After cleaning up her equipment she read his response,

“Oh my bad, I got back to the house thinking you’d be here so we could leave together. Me and the guys are meeting up and leaving from Rod’s house.”

“You couldn’t wait for me?”

“I didn’t know where you were or how long you would be.” She wasn’t even disappointed. He just lies. She responded to Nashay,

“I don’t have anything to wear. And for real girl, I’m bloated. You can chill here. I got bottles, but I understand if yall go without me.”

Once at home, she rinsed the gym off and decided to relax in her robe and slippers. Instead of being emotional, she would journal for a few minutes about how she actually didn’t care. In a few weeks, their lease would end and their relationship would resolve. She’d been looking at places. He may have been expecting her to remain complacent, but he wouldn’t even fight for her if she left. His connections were the only currency he had. His dreams had no depth. He only wanted to travel the world to film it. Most of his friends were fake, and once she left him he’d replace her with someone fake.

Suddenly, her heart started racing. Her little black book wasn’t in her bag. She scrambled to put on a hoodie and sweats to check the car because surely, it was just under the seat. Using her phone light, legs stretched into the parking lot she triple-checked, rubbing her hand across the floor wishfully thinking the contrast was getting the best of her. The panic was unbearable.

The last time she had it was work but that was the worst place for it to be. She sprinted up the stairs and swung open the coat closet. Breathing in through her nose trying to calm herself, Pooh unzipped her gym bag but found nothing but ankle weights, resistance bands but no journal. What if he found it and was taking his time reading it? He doesn't respect her time or space so he definitely wouldn’t think twice about skimming a journal. She’d rather he found it than someone at her job.

She’d written something about everyone in her life. She’d dragged each doctor, the front desk staff, the stringy-haired blonde girl at Peet’s, and basically anyone who ruffled her feathers that she’d never actually confronted. She started tossing the studio knowing it wasn’t there. She imagined the very honest cleaning lady who left misplaced things on the manager’s desk and imagined the manager reading the full page about her incompetence.

Then, while lifting the sheets she saw a black duffle she’d never seen. Not that the notebook wasn’t the priority but maybe if her curiosity killed her the notebook wouldn’t matter. Upon opening the zipper, she was floored. She wasn’t sure how much money it was but where did it come from? She immediately started calling Tre. How dare you be the plug and stingy like that? The call was ignored. She poured a glass of wine and tried again. She rolled a blunt and started pacing. In her slippers and sweats, she paced and checked his story watching random women rub their asses on him. She kept calling, sipping, and puffing and suddenly the intoxication took over.

This was enough money to disappear for a few weeks. He probably got it illegally, so could he even report it stolen? Is it stealing if your girlfriend that you live with borrows a little for a getaway? She would definitely need something to hold her over until she found a new job. It was late and she was running out of time to decide. If she waited until he got home, she would never get the truth. If he came about the money dishonestly, it was karma for her to take some of it.

She grabbed her favorite tote and threw in a toothbrush, some underwear, hand sanitizer, lotion, and her passport. Miles away from her best judgment, she took three water bottles, and some snacks to soak up the liquor for the ride. 30 minutes from Reagan she survived Fairfax county and parked at the Hyatt in Pentagon City. Too early for the shuttle, she called an uber. Once inside, she scanned the digital board for flights with open seats going somewhere warm.

For a moment she panicked. Can you even carry this much money on a plane? I look suspicious as hell. Fuck it. She walked up to the counter with a destination in mind. Her heart pounded approaching TSA. Since no flight was departing for hours, there weren’t many people there. Still, she watched the duffle like a hawk. She brought a blanket once past the gates, set an alarm and curled up with her cash as a pillow, an arm through each loop. Tre would be home soon, but too gone to notice she was missing let alone the duffle. Goofy. Boarding happened before sunrise.

There was an adrenaline rush taking the phone off airplane mode. The texts rolled in ferociously.

“Hey love, I think you picked up my duffle by mistake. Call me ASAP.”

“Baby, call me.”

“Hey babe, the money we used to throw around in the shoot is rented. We don’t actually keep the money. I pay insurance in case we lose some of it but I HAVE to give it back.”

“Bitch, I know you have the money. I don’t know what point you’re trying to prove but stop playing.”

“All this because you got an attitude???”

“You took twenty thousand dollars Pooh. Do you understand what you’re doing is grand larceny?”

She wished he could see the smirk on her face. After all the insults about how she wasn’t built, here was the revenge she’d always wanted. She knew his stomach was in knots and hoped he was crying and throwing up. She’d only be gone for a week, but it was enough time to decide her next move. He obviously wouldn’t get all his money back but she wasn’t completely unreasonable. She just had to leave her mark. She needed him to understand. I’m not one to be played with.