a Creole story

The story within the story
June 19, 2009


My coach says the women are strong and the men are part of the chorus. I didn’t intend to do that, but I wanted to tell the story of a strong woman overcoming and be-coming…something bigger, better and higher than her previous self. I wanted her to connect to a power that would transcend the problem of the moment. I wanted her to live a supernatural existence, not by earning it, but learning it. She lives the Creole expression: Pushed times make a monkey chew pepper. From chapter two: Stacy and I had a history of public arguments and I regret to say, at least one hair-pulling, cat fight at a wedding. She had pushed my buttons, so I pushed her face into a dessert tray.

“Well, if you are in the market, Robert and me know of a really nice bachelor who moved to town last month. He is working on some type of fellowship or research grant in geology and came here to study the soil in this area. Can we introduce you? He’s been to dinner with us a couple of times and he never brings a woman.” Stacy tried to embarrass me and unfortunately, she succeeded.

“Stacy, I am seeing someone,” I let it out with conviction and made it sound true.

“Oh, you have a man this time. Is he coming?” she spit the question out with a pinch of sarcasm and doubt.

Snide bitch.

“No, unfortunately, he’s a doctor and couldn’t get away,” I was feeling heat at the back of my neck.

Stacy was one of those women who wore her marriages and husbands like a social badge of honor. She was on her third husband. The first husband divorced her because he caught her with another man. The second husband was the other man. The third husband was Robert, a mouse. Stacy also had a weird habit of wearing all of her old wedding and engagement rings. Her right hand was a monument to former lovers. She adored jewelry and wore it with jogging outfits as her signature casual look. On this day, she was wearing her favorite color, pink and despite her horrible personality, she was an extraordinarily attractive woman. She had huge breasts, a small waist and generous hips. Her wavy, shoulder-length hair was jet black, shiny and framed her olive-colored face. Her eyes were large, deep brown almonds and she had the nose and cheekbones of our mothers. Her lips were full and perfectly shaped. Despite the supposed trend favoring the waif-look, most men licked their lips when they saw Stacy.

“Yes, I do have a man. Lance is a doctor and he is on call at the hospital this weekend.” I answered her with intentional anger.

“Oh, well just let us know.” Stacy backed down. She had won.

I could sense that the rest of the family members had turned their attentions away from Stacy and me. I was humiliated and trumped again by this uneducated shrew. I held a plastered smile on my face and climbed three steps to enter the screened porch when I met my mother’s pitying eyes.

- creolestories by jolivet