To be clear, you have no plans for the weekend. You just want to chill in the house and tag along for the rough ride with Pablo Escobar in Narcos. You even hang a “DO NOT DISTURB” sign on your door to keep your neighbors (and their kids) off. And you have added “DISTURBERS WILL BE BURNT WITH CIGARETTES” warning at the bottom of the sign with a felt pen. And you smile and chill with a little bit of Smirnoff and lemons and it’s just you and Pablo and lots of Spanish.
Then she calls. That woman you have been wanting to take out for the better part of the year but she’s always had something better to do. The reason why you have always wanted to do that is because she is the only other human being in this world that is as damaged as you. You both have a way of destroying yourselves and everything good around you. You are like a wildfire; vicious as you burn everything green and beautiful in your way.
Reason for the call: Can you take her out tonight? And of course your answer is “hell’s yeah!” Could you pick her up at her place at 1900h?
1900h: You are at her doorstep but she is not home. You call, she doesn’t answer. This is so much like her. Why did you even deceive yourself that she would keep time? Time is an unknown and a highly unappreciated concept to her. And you remember the many times she has had to explain her bad behavior to magistrates and judges in courts all over the country and the many complaints lodged against her to the Advocates Complaints Commission. If she doesn’t take herself seriously as a lawyer and as a human being, how can she take you seriously? Which is why you are so damn intrigued by her!
1930h: She is not home yet and she is still not answering her phone. So you head back to your place angrier with yourself than with her. “We all get what we think we deserve” is the aphorism rolling around your head at this juncture. You can’t believe she came between you and Pablo for this crap.
2200: She calls. In that 16 year old daddy-I-am-so-sorry voice and your heart melt. Could you quickly rush to her place? She is waiting for you. And rush is exactly what you do. And there she stands in a mini that could put a eunuch on fire and heels. She might be the most mordant woman you have ever met, but she is also the most gorgeous. Oh, and she is holding a bottle of whiskey in hand and a tot glass.
Her: Come on in. And have a shot. (She says as she pours you a shot)
You: Whiskey makes me puke. (You are pouting. Pretending to be mad at her for making you wait.)
Her: Well, my ex makes me puke. Doesn’t keep me from answering the phone when he calls. Have a drink.
Bottoms up. And she disappears into her bedroom ostensibly to put on some more make up. But then she calls you over. You have been to her room many times and you have always been awed by how ‘unwomanly’ it looks.
She has a safe in the closet which she opens and in there are a few stacks of cash, some documents and TWO GUNS. TWO GUNS. And you stare at them all pan faced – you are so confused that you are numb and all that escapes your lips is;
Her: Which gun do you think I should take with me tonight?
You always knew she is a licensed gun holder; a fact that’s always made you doubt the Chief Licensing Officer’s sanity. You don’t allow her to legally be a gun holder. You just don’t.
You: Who does the other gun belong to?
Her: (Unfazed as she picks a very shiny piece) What, the 1911? It belongs to my ex. (Whispering) I doubt it’s legal. (And you are dumbfounded which forces your words to stay crammed in your throat.) Come on. You are the one who advocated for the right to be armed in your undergrad dissertation, remember?
You: So your ex doesn’t have any guns now, right?
Her: Why? You worried he’ll shoot you?
And finally you talk her out of carrying a gun to the club. Legal or not. And you walk her down the stairs like she is a trophy you have just won at some tournament. She deals only in superlatives. She is the smartest, deepest, scariest and most dazzling woman you have ever met. And she is also the worst person for you. And you know it or you wouldn’t be with her. And as she gets in the uber, she says;
Her: Oh, my dad kinda died today. (The way she says it…it’s like she is throwing it out there like it has no significance to her whatsoever.) So make sure I get really wasted tonight.
It’s going to be a hell of a ride; and you smile to yourself because you are going to have a front row seat to this mass destruction.
You: Should I say ‘sorry for your loss’ or ‘finally it looks like you have a valid reason to act crazy’?
Her: How about, ‘we are so going to make mistakes tonight’?
That goes without saying.
And she turns heads at the dimly lit club. It is karaoke night and it is fun. And she gets on the stage and sings Alexander Burke’s “Hallelujah” and you get lost in her voice and her eyes as she sings staring right at you.
Her: (Singing) … and from your lips she drew the Hallelujah…”
You: (Sigh) Hallelujah…
She is going to be the death of you and you know it.
Y’all order a bottle of Vodka just for the both of you and a bucketful of ice. She (of course) orders some lemons and the poor waitress saying they are out of lemons. And she sends her out to get some. At 2330h. She tells the waitress to run out and fetch some lemons. And I tell her to be reasonable. And she tells the waitress not to show her face around that corner of the club for the rest of the night or…
Her: I’ll cripple you.
And the waitress disappears never to return.
0300h: The bottle is empty. You crammed most of the ice somewhere in her anatomy and she returned the favor earlier in the night. Now neither of y’all can feel the parts where the ice went. You just know that you are really drunk and you have had the utmost fun.
You have also talked a bit about your disparaging characters. Like how she once showed up at a magistrate’s chambers and called the unfortunate officer of the court “… a mentally underdeveloped toilet seat whose appreciation and interpretation of matters of the law stinks as much as the gargantuan fecal matter going through it…” or how she had got into a physical fight with cops at a police station after alleging that they had tortured one of her clients in a cell… and you would have dwelt on that hadn’t she stated, “…yeah and you are a total saint. You who poured a glass of water in open court on your senior for refusing to hold your brief…”
You: Wo! Wo! I didn’t pour it on him for refusing to hold my brief… it was the way he did it… like he was in direct communication with God and I was just some fly pissing in his tea.
Her: (Proposing a toast) Well, here’s to being held in contempt
You: And to not being disbarred… yet.
And she excuses herself to powder her nose.
And the next thing you hear is a brawl emanating from the exit. And out of dull curiosity you check to see which of these poor devils can’t handle their drink. And lo and behold, there she is, punching the hell out of the waitress from earlier and yelling something about lemons and bitches and rolling eyes.
Punches. Slaps. Hair pulling. Kicks. You haven’t seen a fight since… well, two days ago when you were in one… but you have always heard that she fights and that she is good at it, but you have never seen her in action before. She is bad.
You and everyone else around try to pull them apart and you manage to yank her away from the scene and hold her in a boxer’s embrace at a banister rail outside the club which is four floors above the ground.
You: Really? You just had to fight with a waitress over bloody lemons? Haven’t you noticed that we are out of vodka! What the hell are you doing?
Her: (Cups your cheeks in her palms and looks right into your eyes) Sweetie, baby, honey, love, I am really into you and I am so turned on by your right now, but if you don’t get out of my way right now, (Says it out real slow so you don’t miss it) I will fuck you up…
And you take a moment to weigh your options. Do you choke her? Do you knock her out? Do you shove her down four floors? Do you unleash her unto the world and let her wreck havoc? You choose the last option. Only because it is the only legal option you have.
She kicks off her heels and off she goes. She is Leila Ali punching, kicking, elbowing and biting her way through the crowd toward the waitress who by the way is about 50 pounds heavier than she is. You hate yourself for this but you feel a sense of pride slipping into you. You are proud of the monster that is your date.
And she gets her ass kicked to the floor and you burst with pride when she gets up and gets right back into it. Finally when you think she has given and taken enough, you join the people trying to pull them apart and grab her and haul her over your shoulder back to the banister rail which is kinda like her corner for this boxing match.
You: Have you had enough?
Her: Why did you make me leave my gun?
Her: That bitch rolled her eyes at me. My father is dead! You think I am going to take crap from anyone?
You: Oh! So that’s what this is about? Your daddy is dead? You think you are the first person to lose a parent? (You never were the sensitive type)
Her: Your father is alive! Now let go!
You: Well you can have him!
And she manages to wriggle out of your hold and kicks you right on the stomach and you’d have fallen on your backside hadn’t you supported yourself on the banister rail. And you watch as she gets back to her fight.
You decide you have had enough so you head for the elevators. You are leaving her and her toxicity behind. The elevator doors slide open, swallow you and spit you out at the ground floor. But then you remember who it is that you are leaving behind. She is toxic but she is yours. And she would leave you behind without a second thought but you aren’t her. Well, you are kinda like her, but tonight ain’t the night you are leaving her behind.
So you climb the elevator back to the fourth floor and find her right in the middle of a full blown war. There are people grabbing her and trying to pull her away from the mayhem and you just don’t like their paws all over her so you start punching and kicking until you get to her.
And she sees you and yells something about how she thought she asked you to leave her the fuck alone. And it takes all you have in you to not punch her lights out. You grab her and haul her over your shoulder and head for the elevator. She is kicking and screaming and scratching you but she is yours. You made your mind up a long time ago that there’s nothing she can hurl your way that you can’t handle.
You dump her in the elevator and when she tries to leave, you grab her by the throat and nail her to the wall. Her eyes are little fireballs as she struggles to be free… you let go once the elevator is shut and headed downstairs.
Her: What are you going to do? Beat me?
You: (Chuckling condescendingly) Honey, I wouldn’t spend a joule of my energy hitting you. You are simply not worth it.
She takes a step closer to you and devours you with those eyes. She is barefoot. Her shoes must be somewhere upstairs but nobody cares about them anymore.
Her: Hit me. You know you want to. (She places her hands on your chest and pushes you back violently) Hit me!
You: (You regain your balance and stand real close to her. Behind y’all the elevator opens and she pushes you out. You again do nothing but stand in front of her.) I’d have to feel something for you to hit you. You’d have to be a woman for me to hit you. All I see in front of me is a little girl who is insecure and who won’t stop whining about her daddy’s death. You are not worth my energy sweetheart.
You have hurt her. You can see it in her eyes.
Her: You always were better with words than fists.
She turns and leaves. You watch as she climbs into a cab and leaves and you are sure that that is the last time y’all will be seeing each other. You are not sure you ever want to see her again because there is a huge chance that she will only go down a rabbit hole of pain and misery and she will drag anyone close to her down with her.
0900h: Next morning she calls and you answer. You don’t know why you do, but you do and you can see the both of you spending the rest of your crazy lives fighting, hurting and loving each other in your crazy and destructive ways. When she says, “Hi baby, I am so sorry about last night. Can I come over and make it up to you?” You fight to contain your excitement as you say, “I don’t see why not.” And as an afterthought you add, “Just leave your guns behind though.”
It’s just you two damaged souls on the highway to hell. Just how you want it.