The Grandma’S Drama

By Beverly J. Walker and Katrice Williams Dredden

Some might say that she is an enigma: this sophisticated forty-year-old grandmother, a widow of twenty years, has been celibate for the duration. After Nyja raised her daughter, in an appropriate manner, she is ready to resume an active sex life. She finds the man of her dreams. However, after their marriage, all chaos breaks out. Nyja finds herself responsible for raising her grandson, just when all she really wants in life is the one thing she has denied herself of for so longa man. But can she turn her back on her daughter now, just when she needs her the most? Nyja finds that she is not the only grandmother, living the dilemma of grandmothers raising another generation; she and other grandmothers in this story learn that their will is strong, but what is even stronger is a grandmothers love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 24, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524524326

Beverly J. Walker

Beverly J. Walker is the author of three novels. The Grandma’s Drama published in 2007 was the first of her works, followed by Broken Crutch, published in 2010. Her current novel is, (the second edition of) The Grandma’s Drama. Beverly J. Walker loves pulling her audience into her imagination, as she captures life’s moments, both good and unpleasant and weaves them into something wonderful and intriguing. Her writing depicts the lives of the dysfunctional family dynamics. Beverly lives in New Jersey with her husband.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

I T FELT GOOD—DAMN good! All she wanted to do was to lie back and enjoy what her appreciative body was receiving. Her best friend, Jovada, had told her about multiple pleasure waves. However, Nyja figured Jovada was just talk, since talking was what Jovada did best. There she was, after close to twenty years of celibacy, receiving a fourth tingling sensation. She did not know whether she should tense her body or relax it. For the most part, her body made the decision for her, and just did what it damn well pleased.

She could not believe how comforting it felt being with him. He was beautiful, and well endowed, and he definitely knew his business there. He held her buttocks in the palms of his large strong hands and pulled her closer to him, as she opened the center of her world to him. Oooh. Yes, baby. Right there, she softly moaned, amazed that it was this simple to expose herself to him after so many years of being without a man, not to mention that her spiritual self would even allow her to welcome him into her body in the first place.

This was all opposing to her morals, and her spiritual beliefs. She began to wonder, just for a minute… how did I get caught up in this situation? Nevertheless, her body was so open to receive what it had been missing that she just went with it, thinking that she would have to repent afterwards. For now, she would just enjoy this wonderful feeling.

Nyja could not imagine the fourth one being any better than the first three, but something inside of her was telling her that it would. When he is done, I am going to return the favor, she impishly thought to herself. This boy is bad!

She was boiling, as her body was forced to remember what it was like to be with a man again. And to think, she had convinced herself that she was living just fine without one. Yeah, it was fine not having anyone dictating her life to her, chilling in bed as long as she wanted to, come and go a she pleased, shave her bikini area if she felt like it or grow damn forest because no one had to look at it except for her. Oh, the perks of being single.

However, the benefits of having a man overruled all those rewards, because at this minute, if Nyja ever questioned the existence of heaven in the past, her mind was perfectly convinced—there was a heaven, and she was in it! She was getting to that place again, slowly at first, then like a rushing volcano, she was going to explode!

Suddenly, there was a hard knock on the door. Knock! Knock! Knock! Please, not now, she thought. Go away! There was no way Nyja was going to end her lovemaking session just to answer the door—not after all these years.

Let them knock, she thought. They’ll go away eventually, when they don’t get an answer, they’ll just go away.

Yet, the knocking continued. In fact, it intensified, as did the need for one more moment to complete what was going on behind that closed door. Whoever it was, wanted in right that minute.

Nyja began to feel like she was in a marathon, of which she could, but not without difficulty, reach the finish line. The loud knocking was her competitor and this was a competition she was not going to let defeat her.

Knock! Knock! Knock! Knock!

Just a few more seconds, she thought, that’s all I need. Ooooh.

Suddenly, she looked up. There standing over her and her magnificent lover was the persistent knocker! How did they get in? What could she say? What could she do? She continued as if her visitor was not even there.

Knock! Knock! Knock! Knock!

Nyja! Girl, are you dead in there or what!

With that, Nyja woke up. She looked over at the clock on her bedside table. Flashing like a big old neon light: it read 7:30 a.m.

Covered with perspiration, her heart was palpitating 120 times per minute. She was glad not to have been caught with her drawers down, but was displeased by her friend’s uncanny sense of timing. It’s just like Jovada, she thought, as she tried to catch her breath, to be waking a Sistah up so damn early. I’mmah tell her behind today, don’t even knock on my door until after 10: a.m. Damn girl’s like a rooster!

Nyja Joyner was not your average grandmother. You would never catch her sitting in somebody’s rocking chair, knitting baby booties, or meeting her friend at the local bingo hall. After celebrating her 40th birthday, she still held the appearance of a youthful woman. In fact, people often mistook her for the older sister of her daughter, Meosha, which suited Nyja just fine. Meosha had actually stopped bringing dates home until she was sure of them because of the way they could never seem to take their eyes off her mother. Some of them even asked embarrassing questions concerning her mother, or made comments like: Damn! I should have met her first. Momma’s got it goin’ on! One person asked, Why didn’t you tell me you had such a beautiful roommate? Then the secret thought. Look at the junk in that trunk! She could save that money she uses at the gym: hell, I’ll work that ass off her, and I wouldn’t charge her a dime. It was never anything Nyja said or did to promote the young men’s attention toward her, and Meosha knew it. Meosha figured the best way to stop the problem was to keep her friends away, because no matter how young Nyja looked, she was still her mother and she deserved respect.

However, after a while of not seeing any of her daughter’s friends again, Nyja would ask, Meosha, whatever happened to this one, or that one? Meosha would respond with, Oh, he was a dog. You would not have liked him for me anyway.

Nyja’s beauty was not just physical. Her beauty was demonstrated and the matter of which she carried herself, her walk softly said, notice me, not because of my physical beauty, but because I have self-assurance. I have poise; I don’t take any stuff from anybody, but more importantly, I don’t have time for anybody’s nonsense.

She had no beauty secrets. She was simply a natural beautiful black woman. She was also one of the most warmhearted people you could ever meet. She never presented herself loud or in a rude manner, though she was very fun loving. Although she was not what you might call a Holy Roller, she did try to live by strong spiritual standard.

Nyja was not much on make up; actually, she did not need any. Her skin was blemish free, kind of pecan brown you might say, and as smooth as the skin on a Georgia peach. It seemed that her clothing had a way of fitting her, not so much sexy, but in a sensual way. They just seem to follow the course of her fine curvaceous female figure. She possessed a sweet quiet, peaceful spirit that seemed to affect others when they were in her company. Many women envied her. It was not a hate thing—they just wanted to learn how they could carry themselves like her. However, what Nyja had could not be learned from charm school: it was a natural, innate thing that she owned.

Nyja was a single parent, not by choice, but chance. Her husband and childhood sweetheart, Levi Joyner, died shortly after their marriage, leaving Nyja alone and pregnant.

Nyja was never the one to allow her circumstances to contain. She had to move on with her life in spite of her husband’s death. Therefore, it took no time after the funeral to move back home with her parents in Pennsauken, New Jersey. There she would have their support in many ways.

After the birth of a daughter, Meosha, Nyja decided to go back to school. She attended Burlington County College and took up nursing. Four years of schooling benefit her immensely. It took her mind off being a widow at such a young age, and moving back to her parent’s home gave her the security and comfort of home without spending a dime.

Of course, her parents enjoyed their first grandchild while Nyja attended classes. So naturally, they were a bit saddened when Nyja, being the independent woman that she was, decided that it was time to take her baby and move out on her own.

She was able to save enough money to put a nice down payment on a house. Her parents finally accepted their only daughter’s decision to move, but Nyja’s choice to move to Pemberton, New Jersey seemed so far away from them. Nyja explain that they were only 45 minutes away, and that it could be a beautiful Sunday afternoon drive when they visited her there.

There were times when Nyja thought of having another child: for Meosha’s sake of course. Nyja was an only child—a very lonely only child. She wanted her daughter to understand sharing, and to have a real person to play with, not just dolls and imaginary friends. However, after a few years of parenthood, she had found that she did not want a repeat performance: Meosha had proven to be quite enough. For the life of her, she could not understand how other single parent handle more than one child. It seemed that with each stage of childhood a different problem occurred.

Infancy brought on loads of dirty diapers, diaper rash, colic, and plenty of sleepless nights. Those sweet little toddlers will cry out in excruciating pain from teething. They were always trying to rearrange something on the coffee table, creating more dirty diapers, and, of course, sleepless nights. From preschool to junior high, there were PTA meetings to attend, the outbreak of chickenpox, breaking up fights, lots of questions, which owned no answers, and don’t forget those sleepless nights. Now that Meosha had become a young woman, there were times of rebelliousness, constant power struggle between mother and daughter, and yes even still—sleepless nights!

Nyja never remarried, nor did she date again after her husband’s death. Aside from her strong spiritual upbringing, Nyja did not trust bringing a strange man into her home around her daughter. She had heard far too many horrifying stories of child abuse and child molestation to trust any man around her little girl. She had seen for herself the painful outcome of children who were mistreated by their stepparents, and there was no way on God’s green earth she would ever let anyone close enough to hurt her precious daughter. There was also the possibility of the child just not liking the intruder. That was what she knew many children saw in the stepparent. She was very pragmatic about it all. She could imagine walking on broken glass, trying desperately not to step on anyone’s toes, trying to make peace out of unnecessary ruckus and trying to please both child and spouse: all of these problems complemented with superficial conversation at the dinner table. No! She did not want that. Not in her well managed home. Nyja’s theory was that you never really know people, no matter how long they have been acquaintances of yours.

Nyja had been a good parent, and a very understanding parent. Even up to the day when Meosha came home with the heartbreaking news of her pregnancy: Nyja did not flip out. Although she cried a lot in the privacy of her own bathroom, in the car on her way to and from work, at the checkout line at the supermarket, and whenever Meosha was not around.

She remembered her own struggles of being a single parent. Of course, she wanted better for her daughter. Thought she had taught her better. However, Nyja knew this was not a time to be critical or judgmental. Her first obligation was to her daughter and her grandchild.

Meosha’s plan was to marry her son’s father as soon as he finished boot camp. Nyja’s plan for Meosha was for her to go to college. Her vision of her only daughter’s life was pretty much like her own—finish high school, go to college, and pursue a career in something that would allow her to take care of herself, without relying on a man all of her life. Education is power, Nyja would tell her daughter. "Never allow a man to control every aspect of your life, baby. Women should always have a trump card. That card should always be something that no one can take away from you. I’m not sayin’ not to let the man love you… let him love you and shower you with all the affection your little heart can stand. And you love and respect him just as much, but always keep yourself an iron in the fire, just in case things don’t work out."

Nyja often approached Meosha with the subject of college after the birth of her son. Meosha would just give her mother negative feedback, making Nyja feel guilty, by telling her how she could never consider leaving her son, Darkell Jr (whom she chose to call DJ) in the care of someone she did not trust. Funny how she turned and twisted her mother’s teaching around to backfire into her mother’s own face. She was now protecting her son as her mother had done for her. She did promise her mother that she would go to college when little DJ was able to speak. This way, she said, my baby will be able to tell his mommy and daddy if the bad person hurts him.

Nyja found herself going through periods of resentment since the birth of her grandson, as if she was going through some type of postpartum depression. It was Nyja’s turn. She was not ready to be a grandmother yet. It actually took her several months to accept the fact that no matter how young people said she looked; a grandma was what she was. Although she loved her daughter and grandson, she looked forward to her freedom to start an intimate relationship with some mother’s son.

It seemed to Nyja that nineteen years took forever to come. Now that Meosha had one more comfortable year in the nest, Nyja found herself experiencing anxiety—thinking that something was going to go wrong. There were so many what ifs running through her mind. What will happen if Meosha’s fiancé changed his mind about marrying her? What will happen if he found someone else while he was in the service? What will happen if Meosha decided she no longer wanted to get married? What will happen if she became pregnant again? And how in the hell could she simply turn her back on her daughter, if… in fact, any of those what ifs actually came to pass?

****

The weekend had finally arrived. Meosha left early, leaving Nyja in bed to sleep in. Meosha knew how much her mother looked forward to her Saturday morning sleep-ins. Saturdays were Nyja’s day of rest. There was no job to rush off to; inconsiderate bosses was the farthest thing from her mind. She only had herself to please. Sleeping in pleased her just fine.

Nevertheless, like every Saturday morning, the knock came to the door right on cue. Nyja knew even before she woke out of her erotic dream that it was Jovada, her oldest and dearest friend. Nyja was expecting her, but was just hoping that for once… just once, she would come a little later. Nyja hated that Jovada came over so damn early. She never could get up the nerves to tell her that she was being a pain in the butt by waking her that time of morning.

The knocking continued. I’m coming, Jo! Nyja yelled, as she climbed out of her warm, comfortable bed. Wearing a black silk oversized shirt, with her hair going every which way, she moseyed toward the door. She thought, I’m gon’ tell her behind off today; don’t even come to my house until after 10: a.m. That’s all there is to it! Her ass is gettin’ told this day!

As Nyja opened the door to let her in, Jovada’s drama came in right along with her, as it did every Saturday morning.

Heeey, girl! Jovada sang, as she strutted past Nyja and found her usual seat at Nyja’s dinette set. Hope I didn’t wake yeah. That was what Jovada said every Saturday morning. Took your butt long enough to come to the door. What… you got a man up in here? Where he at? Where he at? She jokingly peeked behind a door or two.

You didn’t wake me. Nyja lied, as she did every Saturday morning, thinking she had just missed her chance to tell the truth. Mind putting some coffee on while I make myself presentable? she asked Jovada.

Nyja did not wait for an answer. She moseyed on into the bathroom and brushed her teeth, and thought, mouth smelling like bat shit and I’ve got to entertain first thing in the morning. Nyja came back from the bathroom, still wearing her oversized shirt, which covered only half of her shapely pecan-brown thighs. Jovada had the coffee brewing and smelling good. She had already found the coffee cups, and had put them on the counter. Jovada was used to the Saturday morning ritual.

So, what’s on the agenda for today, girlfrien’? Jovada asked. She took a cigarette from her purse, lit it, took a puff from it, and then blew the smoke out the corner of her mouth.

Oh nothing much, just kinda wanna cool out today. You know what I mean?

Damn right, I know what you mean. You just wanna chill, so you’ll be fresh and ready for tonight. Chil’, I can’t believe—twenty years without some lawd have mercy! That was Jovada’s nice way of saying having sex. Come on now, Nyja, you can tell me the truth. Hell, I’m supposed to be your best friend! You been gettin’ your groove on with somebody all these years, ain’t cha?

You my best friend, you ought to know. Nyja got up to pour the coffee.

Well, hell! I ain’t with you twenty-fo’-seven! But come to think about it, you do be acting a little bit slow about some thangs. Jovada said as she reached for her coffee.

Excuse me? Slow? So… what you tryin’ to say, Jovada?

Oh, nothing… just that I can tell that you ain’t getting’ none.

Really? Nyja looked at Jovada with disbelief. How? she asked, a bit defensively, not knowing that her celibate lifestyle was so obviously displayed or on trial.

You know; girl you be acting like you scared to death whenever there’s a man around. Like you gon’ get bit or something. Hmm, might do you some good to get a little nibble on—if you ask me.

Well, ain’t nobody asked you nothin’! Nyja said, not realizing that she was putting the fifth spoon of sugar in her cup. The conversation was making her a bit uncomfortable.

"Awe, come on, Nyja, you and I both know that whenever a brother starts getting too close to you, you make up some lame ass excuse ’bout how you gotta be to work early the next day. You say it so much that I figured you should just wear a big old sign, stating, ‘GOTTA BE TO WORK EARLY. A SISTAH AIN’T GOT NO TIME TO BE TALKING TO NO BROTHA!’"

I do have to be to work early.

Yeah, right! You work the three to eleven shift, so how is that early?

What’s late for some is considered early for others. After the first sip of over sweetened coffee, Nyja got up and poured it out.

Girl… you so full of stuff. Jovada said, taking a sip of her coffee. Good coffee maker, but still full of stuff.

At that time, the phone rang. Nyja looked at the caller ID. It was Mrs. Martha, Meosha best friend’s mother. Nyja allowed the answering machine to pick up the call. Mrs. Martha’s calls were also a regular unwelcome Saturday morning ritual, which Nyja often chose not to deal with.

Mrs. Martha would call, looking for her daughter, burning Nyja’s ears with half-truths about what was going on in her holy home from hell. Nyja just was not up to hearing Mrs. Martha’s theatrical performance this morning. She had enough dealing with Jovada and her foolish accusation.

Hello—hello, Nyja—Meosha, pick up baby. It’s me… Mrs. Martha. Listen, has either of you seen or heard from LaShonda? That gal don’ left these babies on me again! I don’t know who she thinks she is that she can just up and leave these babies on me whenever she wants to! Nyja and Jovada listen quietly, shaking their heads as to pity Mrs. Martha. I got things to do! I ain’t got no time to be taking care of these babies all day. I gotta make these pies fo’ the church. How am I gonna be able to make these pies and take care of these babies too. This gal makes a churchwoman wanna cuss her behind out! LaShonda just doesn’t do right by me, Nyja. She doesn’t do right at all. Look, if y’all see her, can you please tell her to get here with her babies so I can make these pies. Oh, and by the way, Nyja, your pies will be ready…

She something else, huh? Jovada asked.

She’s really a nice woman; it’s that demon spawn child of hers that’s the problem.

Yeah… Meosha’s best friend, said Jovada, giving Nyja a look that said, you had better check that.

Please, don’t remind me, said Nyja. It’s just something about her that makes my skin crawl. Nyja’s whole body shook as she spoke of LaShonda.

Damn, girl, is it that bad? Jovada asked.

There’s something about her, Jo. I can’t quite put my hands on it, but something pulls at my spirit when that girl’s around. It’s like… when she comes into the room, everything that is good and wholesome just up and leaves. Nyja crossed her arms and rubbed them as she continued to talk about her daughter’s best friend.

Just maybe, it’s because you don’t like her? I mean, has she ever given you a reason to dislike her so?

"Not personally. Heard some bad things ’bout her, though. You know me; unless I see it for myself, I leave it alone. But I’ve felt this way about her ever since she was a small child. Now, she was a pretty little child, but there was something about her that rubbed me the wrong way, even as a preschooler. Every time she came near me, she gave me the heebie-jeebies. I thought that as she grew older, I’d grow out of this feeling. But it’s only gotten worst. I don’t know—call it mother’s intuition’"

You can call it mother’s intuition if you like, I call it, mother needs a man! If you stop being so afraid of men and go get one, you wouldn’t have the time, and certainly not the energy to be worried about your grown behind daughter.

That’s my only baby now. You know, there isn’t anything you, or anybody else can tell me about my child.

Look, I’mmah leave that alone. I know you well enough not to argue with you when it comes to Meosha. But on the real, she gon’ be okay. You taught her well, girl. And anything you forgot, I took up the slack. She’s good, but let’s get back to her mother.

Her mother?

Yes, her mother, who ain’t got no man, said Jovada, now with her arms folded.

Okay—okay, I guess I owe you some kind of explanation, being that you’re my best bud and everything. Plus, I don’t want you around here thinking that your best friend’s a Lesbos or something. Both women laughed. Jo, you know the story of my life. I’ve been telling it to you for years.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know how you didn’t trust bringing strange men around Meosha, being that they weren’t her biological father and all. But that does not explain why you stopped having sex. It ain’t like you had to bring the man home to have a little sex thang going on. Jovada wiggled her body in a sexual motion as she spoke.

Nyja said, Listen, girl, it was just that at that time in my life, I wasn’t interested in no sex! I mean—well, the foreplay, that was cool, but the actual penetration was not all that! Not the way everyone was bragging about it!

But what about your husband, didn’t you enjoy sex with him? Jovada asked.

"Girl, I see we’re on different planets here. I loved Levy for who he was. Shoot, I can still see that pretty smile that captured my heart when we first met. But, Jovada, just because you love someone, it does not make sex less painful. That shit hurt! That is why it was easy for me to turn down sex after Levy died. All I could remember about lovemaking was how much it hurt, and then wondered why they called it making love when I hated the way it felt."

Jovada was astonished, shaking her head as to pity Nyja.

I guess if I would have kept on doing it, eventually it would have felt good, huh? asked Nyja. Jo, you know I was a virgin when I got married. Levy and I had only been together sexually just a couple of times before his death. I didn’t get a lot of training you know.

Both women laughed.

But Nyja… twenty-years? Girl, that’s a long time to just be sittin’ on it. Don’t you ever get the horny pangs? Jovada asked.

The what? asked Nyja. This expression was new to Nyja; however, she knew exactly what Jovada was hitting on.

You know, girl, continued Jovada, when you be needin’ some really bad—so bad it hurts! So what do you do when that happens? And don’t tell me that you never got the horny pangs. Shucks, every hot-blooded man or woman who has ever had sex gets the horny pangs after a while of not gettin’ none.

Nyja did not know how to answer that question, nor did she care to answer it. She did not mind sharing with her friend that she lived twenty-years without a man, but she felt very uncomfortable sharing even with her best friend how she dealt with her sexual desire. This subject was off limits, even with Jovada. A big part of Nyja personality was still as much a virgin as she was. Nyja would call this, her personal side—her own damn business.

Jovada! she shouted. Don’t you know when to stop?

Well—I mean; it seems that your daughter done beat you at getting a man. I mean—just sayin’. The comment was cutting. Nyja could feel it in the pit of her stomach. If there was anything that Nyja hated about her best friend, it was her candid opinions, which Jovada felt should always be spoken.

Now, that was just plain out ugly, even for you, Jovada. Anyhow, I wasn’t aware of the fact that I was competing with my daughter to see who would get laid first. said Nyja, thinking she really could use a cup of coffee, but she dared to attempt making another cup, fearing that it would go as awry as their conversation.

The phone rang. Once again, it was Mrs. Martha. Again, Nyja allowed the answering machine to take the call.

Nyja? Meosha? Hi, it’s me again: Mrs. Martha. If you see LaShonda, would you please tell that gal to get here with those Pampers. This doesn’t make any sense at all. Can you believe that she left here last night to get a box of Pampers fo’ these babies, and I haven’t heard from her yet! I don’t know why she doesn’t use dippers on these babies. These young mothers these days are just plain old lazy if you ask me. Now would you please tell me where she had to go to get them Pampers? Maybe she’s in China, ’cause the store is right around the corner. She should have been back here hours ago! Oh, huh, and Nyja, your pies are ready. You can….

You had better go and get your pie, girl. When did you start eatin’ pie? I ain’t never seen you eat sweets.

Yeah, I’ll get the pies. But I don’t eat them. I take them to work with me for my co-workers; watch their behinds spread. You know I do not have time for sweets: they go straight to my hips, and they big enough.

Why you worried about your shape? Ain’t no man gon’ ever see it.

Shut up, girl; don’t you have somewhere to go? said Nyja playfully. Round here all up in a sistah’s business.

You know what I think, Nyja? I think you scared.

Scared? answered Nyja, obviously annoyed. She looked at Jovada askew.

Yeah, you scared. So how long you gon’ keep a cap on it, Nyja? Stuff probably potent as hell; probably kill a brotha by now. Jovada laugh historically, while Nyja smiled.

Jovada crossed her legs and folded her arms as if she actually deserved an answer.

Jovada, I’ve been looking. That’s what to night’s all about, isn’t it?

Well, said Jovada, let me tell yah, I know this brotha. Chil’ he so f….

Hold up, Ms. Matchmaker, I said I was looking, not desperately looking! I’m perfectly capable of finding my own man, thank you. When Mr. Right comes along, I’ll know him, and I’m the one who’ll be doing the choosing around here, Nyja said, now in a state of confusion. This conversation was truly becoming unbearable. Look, can’t we puh-leez talk about something else?

Okay, I give up. But, Ny, you’ll have to admit, you’re scared to death about being with a man again. But it’s okay, girl… it’s like riding a bike; once you get back on, it’ll all come back to you, said Jovada. Now me….

Yes, my sistah, let’s talk about you!

With the change of subject, Nyja felt comfortable about attempting to make another cup of coffee.

Well, honey, let me tell you, I don’t miss a lick—if you know what I mean. started Jovada. Like the other night, g-i-r-l, I met this brotha. Talkin’ ’bout Mr. Look So Good! Chil’ he was all that! Black and pretty! And, girl, you know how I like my men black. Y’all can have all them yellow niggah, lookin’ like somebody dipped them in a bowl of cream. Just give me all the pretty black ones. I know what to do with them. She winked her eye at Nyja, as if this was a code of secrecy. Well let me tell you—the boy was packin’, girl! And do you know how when you get one of them fine young thangs, and you think he can’t do nothing, ’cause you figure that his looks are his best attribute—well, not this brotha. Girl, he was on like a mother f—

Excuse me?

Well, hell—he was all that! Nyja, he turned every way but loose. It was good, girl!

"I’m sure it was, Jovada," said Nyja as she stirred her coffee, pleased with the success of the second cup.

"All I’m sayin’ is that the boy was good, Nyja. Made me want to go home and throw Joe’s old sorry ass out.

Jovada, didn’t you just meet Joe?

Yeah… but, well… chil’, you know me. I get tired of the same old lazy ass niggah after a while, sittin’ around waitin’ on me to come home, always asking me where I been, where I’m goin’, and how long I’m gonna be? None of that stuff is his business. Hell, if you ask me, they’re all in the same damn club.

What club is that, Jo?

"You know girl… the three F club."

"The three F club?"

Yeah—fuckin’, food and football, and not necessarily in that order.

Both of the women laughed. Then, Nyja turned to a more serious subject.

Jo, girl… I sure hope you’re having safe sex. Damn, you change men as if you’re changing dirty drawers! It’s stuff out there, you know. Real ugly stuff.

Shit, yeah, I protect myself! I just want that feel good; ain’t tryin’ to die gettin’ it! It’s just that I get bored after a while with the same old man—night after night after night. Shit gets old after a while. Anyhow, after the newness wears off, what good are they? See, you don’t know, but some men get too damn comfortable after they know they in, you’ll see.

Nyja just shook her head, wondering, where in the hell she got Jovada from as a best friend. The both of them were the total antithesis of each other, different as day and night: Jovada, conquering and getting every man she could get her hands on, and Nyja, not getting her hands on any. Jovada, a devouring she-devil, and Nyja, as pure as an angel. However, the love they had for one another was as wholesome as any sisterly love could be. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that neither of them had sisters, or any siblings at that.

Wow! It’s getting late, said Jovada, looking at her watch. She got up from the table, put her cup in the sink and headed for the door, but not leaving until she had her last say on Nyja’s sexless lifestyle. And that thing about the pang, you can’t convince me that you ain’t ever had ’em. Take my advice; one good screw’ll take all the pangs away. Remember, darling, if you don’t use it, you’ll lose it! See you tonight, girl.

Nyja waved, not saying a word. She was pissed off. How dare Jovada come off as if she was filling in for Dr. Ruth. However, Jovada was right about her suspicions. Nyja was frightened to death about dating again. She had lived such a reclusive lifestyle, isolating herself from the intimate company of men for so long, that she had become complacent with living that way.

She had married at such a young age, and was rather proud of the fact that she was a virgin on her wedding night. Nonetheless, the consummation of her marriage was the worst night of her life. She could still remember the sweet promises follow by bitter pain: It is going to be wonderful, her groom had told her. I’ll be gentle, he said. It’ll be a night you will never forget. That was the only truth he had made that night.

Still, something was not right. Something inside her was yearning to be with a man again. She wanted the scent of a man in her nostrils. She wanted the feel of manhood in her hands. The thought of being held and caressed thrilled her every sense. Because it had been so long since she had actually done any of those things other than in her dreams, the very thought of it embarrassed her.

Nyja began to rationalize countless reasons why she should not date again. She could not use her daughter as an excuse anymore. Meosha was an adult now with a child of her own. Besides, Meosha would sometimes encourage her mother to date. Mom, Meosha would say, you got it goin’ on for an old babe!

Nyja would respond with, Oh, I’m not that darn old! That was as deep as the conversation got.

Actually, any man would have felt privileged to have Nyja as their significant other. She was intelligent, as well as beautiful. She had a secure job, and she owned her own home. Her daughter was practically out of the home, which meant that there would not be any excess baggage from her previous relationship to place restrain upon any new relationships. All a man had to do was move his clothes in, and he would be set for life.

This frightened Nyja as well, thinking that she would wind up with one of those men who were looking for a woman to take care of him.

She thought of her patients. As a psychiatric nurse, she observed many female patients, who were there with the common diagnoses of men problem; although they were admitted with severe depression, after a few therapy groups with the women, you were sure to find that their problems were nothing short of men problems.

When asked what had caused them to come to the hospital, there it will all come out: He never spent any time with me, someone would say. He beats me, said another. "He never let