And so, this begins my writing outlet.
Cigarette
The bar was deserted now. Deserted except for two people, a woman with an obnoxious cigarette pattern and a pianist who had to continue to play until each guest was gone. It was a pity that the bar was open all night. He was running out of tunes.
"When you gonna leave, sugar?" he asked from behind the upright.
"When I don't feel like smokin' no more," she replied, letting out a big puff.
"You know, smokin' that nicotine don't do you no good. My Mama used to smoke that stuff and she died before she turned sixty."
"Livin' 'til you sixty is a pretty sweet thang," she replied. "Besides, it feels good."
He chuckled. "Well, makin' love feels good, honey, but that don't mean you walk up to a stranger and give it to him."
"It's 1923, Roger. Women is doin' that all the time now. Not like I would."
"'Cause you's a civilized woman, ain't you?"
She nodded rather snobbily. "That's right."
"Then why ain't you gone back home to your civilized husband?"
"'Cause he out makin' love with the random women that walk up to him."
The pianist somehow drew a song from inside of him and began to play soft jazz. "I wasn't expectin' you to say that, Miss Dolores."
"Yeah, well, watch your mouth, nigger."
"That's something interestin' to say to someone that's been entertainin' you all night."
She didn't respond, only stared at him and let out another gigantic puff. "Why you talkin' to me anyway? You supposed to be playin'."
"Sure thing, Miss Dolores."
"Would you stop calling me that?"
"Why, Miss Dolores?"
"'Cause I'm married, Roger."
"You don't sound real happy 'bout that."
"Don't give you an excuse to take away my marriage from me."
"I guess not. Ya'll white folks take enough away from us, why can't I take somethin' away from you?"
"'Cause you can't afford to take somethin' away from me, honey," she retorted.
"I'm gonna take away them cigarettes."
"Why you care? You bein' paid by the hour."
"Yeah, but my family's waitin' for me at home."
She snorted, the nicotine making her brain rather crazy now. "Family? What is a damn family gonna do for anyone?"
He continued to play. "If you don't know what a family does for you, then I guess you wouldn't have one that does anything for you."
"That don't make no sense, Roger."
"Yeah, well you ain't a colored folk, so you wouldn't understand."
She took her ash tray and walked over to the piano.
"Oh, get your damn ash tray off this insterment," he said, shoving the porcelain off the piano.
It shattered into several pieces on the floor. "Fine, I don't need no ash tray," she replied, rubbing the butt of a cigarette on the piano top.
"You gonna pay for that, Miss Dolores."
"I don't know no Dolores that you keep talkin' 'bout."
"Fine then, Mrs. Thatcher."
"Mr. Boone."
She didn't talk, just continued to smoke. "How you able to play piana like that, boy?"
"I ain't a boy no more, Mrs. Thatcher." "You a boy to me, Roger. If I ain't married to you and I ain't sleepin' with you, then you's a boy."
He sighed and continued to play.
"You didn't answer my question."
"I don't know why I can play piana, but I can. Why do it matter?" he demanded, his hands off the ivory.
"It don't."
He shook his head. "Why don't you just go home, Dolores? You need your sleep."
"I need another cigarette, that's what I need."
"I can't keep playin' all night, Dolores."
"I'll pay you extra."
"Do anything matter to you, Dolores?"
"Smokin' and my husband. But he don' come around much."
"Why don't you jus' get rid of him?"
"And why would I do that? All the money he got? When he actually do take me out, buy me things and all that stuff, it's worth all the ignorin' he do."
"Yous had one too many drinks tonight."
"I don' drink!" she exclaimed rather indignantly.
"Don' you lie to me. I saw you chugging that whiskey like you was Davy Crockett."
"Fine then, but I ain't had much for a while."
"D'you want me to take you home, Dolores?" the pianist picked up his rather tattered briefcase.
"No, I'll catch myself a cab."
"Fine then. I'm leaving." He tip his broad hat. "Goodnight, Miss Dolores."
Dolores pretended to be packing up her purse, but instead stayed in the building to have another cigarette. She sat, alone in an almost completely dark building in her purple drop-waist dress.
The reason Dolores had been waiting all night was because her husband had said that he would finally talk to her about what he'd been doing the past six months and why he hadn't seen her. Somehow, the fact that he didn't show up didn't exactly surprise her.
She was from the mountains of West Virginia and their meeting had been rather lucky. His grandmother had moved to West Virginia for her health and during his stay in the mountains he met her. Her English wasn't anywhere near proper and she wasn't a sophisticated New Yorker like he was, but he told her that it didn't matter. It didn't matter at first.
The marriage had been happy at first. They were happy that way. And then, he found himself a raise and she found herself a job and the relationship crumbled. "I'm staying later at work, baby," he'd say, and never come how that night at all. She knew better, but didn't say anything. What was the point? If he wanted to ruin their marriage, it was up to him. She had to submit to everything, after all. Wasn't that what she agreed to?
"Sorry I'm late, Dolores," came a voice rather quietly from the back door.
"Where you been?" she asked, puffing out smoke.
"Work."
"Damn, Cedric, why you gotta lie? You and I both know that you don' work for eighteen hours of the day."
He sighed and slid into the booth. "I lie because it's easier than telling the truth to you."
"Tellin' the truth is always easier. And if it ain't easy, then it's the right thing to do. So, I'm sick of your games."
"Well, if you haven't guessed, there's another woman in the picture now. And you're a smart woman, so you ought to know."
"I just wanted to hear them words cross your lips. Of course I knew. But as long as you were gonna hide it from me, I might as well have played along. Who is she? Some smart-ass from work? A whore?"
"What does it matter to you?"
"I can't believe a whore stole your heart."
"Yeah, well, she isn't a whore for nothing."
Dolores narrowed her eyes. "Then I guess you wanna divorce me then, right?"
"Your family doesn't like divorce, do they?"
"No, they don't like it at all, but if it means getting away from you..."
"You can't afford to live without me."
She knew that he was right. "Then I guess we both gonna live out our lives like this? You cheatin' on me?"
"Well, she's moving to Boston soon."
"Yeah, and then you just gonna find another thing to spend your time with. What gonna happen then?"
He was silent.
"We ain't divorced. We just separated until furtha' notice. I sent my resignation letta to the company this mornin'. I'm leavin'. Gettin' gone."
She packed up her purse and headed out the door. "Hey Dolores, you forgot your pack of cigarettes."
Dolores looked at him. "You could use yourself a cigarette."
The bar was deserted now. Deserted except for two people, a woman with an obnoxious cigarette pattern and a pianist who had to continue to play until each guest was gone. It was a pity that the bar was open all night. He was running out of tunes.
"When you gonna leave, sugar?" he asked from behind the upright.
"When I don't feel like smokin' no more," she replied, letting out a big puff.
"You know, smokin' that nicotine don't do you no good. My Mama used to smoke that stuff and she died before she turned sixty."
"Livin' 'til you sixty is a pretty sweet thang," she replied. "Besides, it feels good."
He chuckled. "Well, makin' love feels good, honey, but that don't mean you walk up to a stranger and give it to him."
"It's 1923, Roger. Women is doin' that all the time now. Not like I would."
"'Cause you's a civilized woman, ain't you?"
She nodded rather snobbily. "That's right."
"Then why ain't you gone back home to your civilized husband?"
"'Cause he out makin' love with the random women that walk up to him."
The pianist somehow drew a song from inside of him and began to play soft jazz. "I wasn't expectin' you to say that, Miss Dolores."
"Yeah, well, watch your mouth, nigger."
"That's something interestin' to say to someone that's been entertainin' you all night."
She didn't respond, only stared at him and let out another gigantic puff. "Why you talkin' to me anyway? You supposed to be playin'."
"Sure thing, Miss Dolores."
"Would you stop calling me that?"
"Why, Miss Dolores?"
"'Cause I'm married, Roger."
"You don't sound real happy 'bout that."
"Don't give you an excuse to take away my marriage from me."
"I guess not. Ya'll white folks take enough away from us, why can't I take somethin' away from you?"
"'Cause you can't afford to take somethin' away from me, honey," she retorted.
"I'm gonna take away them cigarettes."
"Why you care? You bein' paid by the hour."
"Yeah, but my family's waitin' for me at home."
She snorted, the nicotine making her brain rather crazy now. "Family? What is a damn family gonna do for anyone?"
He continued to play. "If you don't know what a family does for you, then I guess you wouldn't have one that does anything for you."
"That don't make no sense, Roger."
"Yeah, well you ain't a colored folk, so you wouldn't understand."
She took her ash tray and walked over to the piano.
"Oh, get your damn ash tray off this insterment," he said, shoving the porcelain off the piano.
It shattered into several pieces on the floor. "Fine, I don't need no ash tray," she replied, rubbing the butt of a cigarette on the piano top.
"You gonna pay for that, Miss Dolores."
"I don't know no Dolores that you keep talkin' 'bout."
"Fine then, Mrs. Thatcher."
"Mr. Boone."
She didn't talk, just continued to smoke. "How you able to play piana like that, boy?"
"I ain't a boy no more, Mrs. Thatcher." "You a boy to me, Roger. If I ain't married to you and I ain't sleepin' with you, then you's a boy."
He sighed and continued to play.
"You didn't answer my question."
"I don't know why I can play piana, but I can. Why do it matter?" he demanded, his hands off the ivory.
"It don't."
He shook his head. "Why don't you just go home, Dolores? You need your sleep."
"I need another cigarette, that's what I need."
"I can't keep playin' all night, Dolores."
"I'll pay you extra."
"Do anything matter to you, Dolores?"
"Smokin' and my husband. But he don' come around much."
"Why don't you jus' get rid of him?"
"And why would I do that? All the money he got? When he actually do take me out, buy me things and all that stuff, it's worth all the ignorin' he do."
"Yous had one too many drinks tonight."
"I don' drink!" she exclaimed rather indignantly.
"Don' you lie to me. I saw you chugging that whiskey like you was Davy Crockett."
"Fine then, but I ain't had much for a while."
"D'you want me to take you home, Dolores?" the pianist picked up his rather tattered briefcase.
"No, I'll catch myself a cab."
"Fine then. I'm leaving." He tip his broad hat. "Goodnight, Miss Dolores."
Dolores pretended to be packing up her purse, but instead stayed in the building to have another cigarette. She sat, alone in an almost completely dark building in her purple drop-waist dress.
The reason Dolores had been waiting all night was because her husband had said that he would finally talk to her about what he'd been doing the past six months and why he hadn't seen her. Somehow, the fact that he didn't show up didn't exactly surprise her.
She was from the mountains of West Virginia and their meeting had been rather lucky. His grandmother had moved to West Virginia for her health and during his stay in the mountains he met her. Her English wasn't anywhere near proper and she wasn't a sophisticated New Yorker like he was, but he told her that it didn't matter. It didn't matter at first.
The marriage had been happy at first. They were happy that way. And then, he found himself a raise and she found herself a job and the relationship crumbled. "I'm staying later at work, baby," he'd say, and never come how that night at all. She knew better, but didn't say anything. What was the point? If he wanted to ruin their marriage, it was up to him. She had to submit to everything, after all. Wasn't that what she agreed to?
"Sorry I'm late, Dolores," came a voice rather quietly from the back door.
"Where you been?" she asked, puffing out smoke.
"Work."
"Damn, Cedric, why you gotta lie? You and I both know that you don' work for eighteen hours of the day."
He sighed and slid into the booth. "I lie because it's easier than telling the truth to you."
"Tellin' the truth is always easier. And if it ain't easy, then it's the right thing to do. So, I'm sick of your games."
"Well, if you haven't guessed, there's another woman in the picture now. And you're a smart woman, so you ought to know."
"I just wanted to hear them words cross your lips. Of course I knew. But as long as you were gonna hide it from me, I might as well have played along. Who is she? Some smart-ass from work? A whore?"
"What does it matter to you?"
"I can't believe a whore stole your heart."
"Yeah, well, she isn't a whore for nothing."
Dolores narrowed her eyes. "Then I guess you wanna divorce me then, right?"
"Your family doesn't like divorce, do they?"
"No, they don't like it at all, but if it means getting away from you..."
"You can't afford to live without me."
She knew that he was right. "Then I guess we both gonna live out our lives like this? You cheatin' on me?"
"Well, she's moving to Boston soon."
"Yeah, and then you just gonna find another thing to spend your time with. What gonna happen then?"
He was silent.
"We ain't divorced. We just separated until furtha' notice. I sent my resignation letta to the company this mornin'. I'm leavin'. Gettin' gone."
She packed up her purse and headed out the door. "Hey Dolores, you forgot your pack of cigarettes."
Dolores looked at him. "You could use yourself a cigarette."
This work is mine, Kathryn M.'s. In Microsoft Word, it is about six pages double-spaced. From now on, I shall try to post as often as possible, although I admit to being a very busy young woman (come on, marching band, opera, piano, AP classes...I am going to be busy). Hopefully, I shall update with some more writing soon.
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