Saturday Morning Shorts: “Get your life”

By Downtowngal (Own work) [CC-BY-SA-3.0 (], via Wikimedia Commons

By Downtowngal (Own work) [CC-BY-SA-3.0 (, via Wikimedia Commons

“Damn, you sure all the stuff you’re taking is yours?” Max asked me, looking around. The apartment was so empty Max’s voice left a slight echo. Only the TV and a lamp remained in the living room, a desk in the office space, a microwave in the kitchen, and a few towels in the bathroom.

“Yeah. He got rid of all his stuff when I moved in,” I replied. “Thank you guys for helping me with this.”

Jason shrugged his shoulders and said, “No problem. Sometimes you do what you got to do, right?”

“Right,” I replied softly.

He gently placed a hand on my shoulder. Giving it a gentle squeeze, he asked, “You’re okay?”

I nodded and gave him a smile. “I will be.”

Mel, we’ve got to get going. Are you ready?” Tracey, Jason’s wife, Max’s cousin, and my friend, called out, poking her head in the front door.

“Almost. You guys go on and head down, I’ll be out in a minute.”

Tracey nodded and motioned for Max and Jason to leave with her. A moment later, I’m in the apartment alone. I took one last walk through to make sure every trace of my existence in this place was wiped clean. Once satisfied, I headed over to the desk and found some paper and a pen.

You wanted your space. You got it. All 1100 square feet of it. I’m done and I’m gone.

I found an envelope, put his name on it, and slipped the note inside. I took a deep breath before I walked out and locked the door behind me. I then put the keys into the envelope and slipped it under the door. I stood there, facing the door for a few minutes, the weight of my decision bearing down on me.

I no longer had a key.

I wondered when I’d lost the key to his heart, if I ever had it in the first place.

Either way, both keys are no longer in my possession. There was no turning back.

That apartment was supposed to symbolize the beginning of our life together. Instead, it turned into a place where I shed many tears, questioned my purpose, wondered about my sanity, and fought many losing battles.

But I’m over crying over it. Over him.

Cue the Mary J. Blige song because I should’ve left his ass long ago.

But I didn’t. I stuck around hoping for him to have an “a-ha” moment. But when it didn’t come for him, it came for me. I wasn’t living in that place – I was dying.

Dying was unacceptable.

I wanted, no, I needed my life back. And I wouldn’t get it back until I left the place and the person that was draining it out of me. Finally, I turned away from the door and headed down the steps, confident in my decision.

That evening, after my furniture had been sold to consignment, other items donated or boxed up to be shipped to me, and my helpers well fed, the airplane landed in my new location. The place where I thought I’d found love but instead found hurt, confusion, pain, and foolishness was now hundreds of miles away. Once off the plane, I turned on my phone to call Tracey. And as soon as my phone powered up, it chimed with five voicemails. All from him.

7:03 pm – “Melanie, you need to call me as soon as you get this message. I can’t believe we just got robbed.”

7:09 pm – “So, you’re the culprit behind this? You need to turn your damn phone on and call me back. I got your little note.”

7:26 pm – “You must think you real cute right about now, huh? What the hell am I supposed to eat with? You took all the dishes. I don’t appreciate having to go the store and buy soap and shit. How you just gonna take all the stuff and not leave me with anything to wash my damn ass? I never knew you could be such a bitch.”

8:04 pm – “Alright, you made your damn point. I’m tired of leaving you voicemails. We need to talk.”

8:12 pm – “I know this much, I’m done playing games with you, Melanie. I’m not one to play games with. I know you’re at Tracey’s and I’m coming over to get my stuff. “

With each increasingly frantic message, I couldn’t help but smile a little wider and laugh a little. He was spazzing out, and I had to admit, I loved it. I had been fighting long and hard in this relationship, and got knocked down many times over it.  But, in the 13th round, I knocked him out.  Just as I began to declare myself the winner, accept my championship belt, and revel in that fact, I realized that he likely went over to my friend’s house all indignant. I dialed Tracey’s number and she answered on the first ring with, “Girl, I was about to leave you a message. That crazy ass ex of yours just left here.”

“I just finished listening to his voicemails.”

“Whoa, plural. How many?”


She began to laugh and I joined in. After I gave her a brief rundown on each message, I asked, “He came to your place? What did he do?”

“Apparently he thought he could try me and scare me with his foolishness. Girl, but Jason was here and set his ass straight.”

“What happened?” I said, as I approached the baggage carousel. I immediately spotted my first suitcase and quickened my pace to go retrieve it.

“Banging on my door like the police with a warrant, demanding to see you. I tell him you’re not here and he thinks I’m lying to him, telling me to go get you. Then he started raving about his stuff. I tell him most of it was yours and if you did take it, you were well within your rights to. Girl, did you really take the toilet tissue?”

“I took everything out of there that I bought in,” I replied. “Sundries included.”

Tracey chuckled again before continuing, “Anyhow, he didn’t like hearing that, so he really starting feeling himself and tried to get loud with me, and that’s when Jason stepped in. They went outside for a few minutes and when Jason came back, he was gone.”

I grabbed my second bag off the belt. “I can’t thank you and Jason enough,”

“You’re our friend and we want what’s best for you. But Mel, you should’ve seen it. If he was a cartoon, steam would’ve been coming out of his ears, he was so hot. Dude was totally taking you for granted. He just didn’t know how good he had it, so I say he got what he deserved.”

My call waiting beeped.  I checked the display. Him again. “Speak of the devil, he’s calling for the sixth time. Look, I need to get out of here. Let me call you back when I get settled.”

“Alright, girl. Go on and get your life back.”

I smiled, disconnecting the phone.

Because getting my life back was my intent.

And leaving him without a pot to piss in or toilet tissue to wipe it up was the first step in reclaiming it.

 © 2013 — Dahlia Savage



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