Free When All Hell Breaks Loose by Camika Spencer Page B

reproduce without the aid of a penis. They had the egg and one sex determiner.”
    “But not the fertilizer,” I interject, making my point.
    “That’s bullshit. Crazy! Any man knows that women can’t
run
nothing but their mouths and niggas to their graves. And those two brothers in the Garden of Eden with Eve should have run a train on her and set her straight for listening to that snake and being disobedient.” Tim is practically hollering.
    “You and Phil are hopeless,” Jamal says as he takes a sip from his ginger beer. “The only two men in the world who think they know all there is to know about women in less than five sentences.”
    “Hey, don’t compare me to Phil,” Tim responds. “I got a degree from a decent school, I’m a businessman, and I personally think that I’m a good man. I don’t do drugs, I’m not gay, and I work every day at a legal job where I make good money. There is no way in the world I’m going to let some woman come in and melt me down to some sniggling boyfriend chump who will do anything for her. My woman will have to carry her fifty percent, while she watches me carry mine.”
    “What about being there for her?” I ask. “A woman needs a man’s support. Doesn’t all that go hand in hand?”
    “All these strong sisters want nowadays is a virile brother with stamina and bedroom skills, and I got that covered, you know what I’m talking about?” Tim flashes his white smile. “I’ll support her, that’s for sure.”
    Jamal lets out a small laugh. “Tim, you’ve made your point.”
    The waitress comes back with our food, and this time, Tim never looks her way. He remains quiet as he digs into his Family Reunion Platter, which consists of short ribs, potato salad, red beans, yams, and a side order of peach cobbler. I have a Black Power Special, which is meat loaf, black-eyed peas, cabbage, corn on the cob, and a large square piece of cornbread. Jamal is eating from a Be Light Plate, which is vegetarian meat loaf, elbow pasta, and a whole-wheat roll. We eat in silence for a little while, but it’s cool because the band is now playing “Caravan,” and I’m digging it.
    “So Greg, you and Adrian planning on getting a house before the wedding?” Tim asks. He acts as if the previous conversation never happened.
    “We’ve talked about it. I would like to.”
    “What about your honeymoon?” Jamal asks. “Where you going?”
    “Cozumel.”
    “Mexico. That sounds cool.”
    Jamal wipes his mouth. “So”—he smiles—“Adrian is really the one huh?”
    “Yeah, this is it for me. My girl is truly a good catch.”
    “What do you like about her?”
    “It’s a lot of things. She’s hangs with her girls just as much as I hang with you guys, and that’s liberating for me because I don’t like a woman who clings.”
    “Like Cheryl,” Tim says.
    I thought about Cheryl Coleman. Crazy Cheryl Coleman. She was an old college classmate I hooked up with before I met Adrian. We dated for three months and in that short period of time, she had my phone tapped and had me followed by one of her stupid girlfriends. She would even ask me to keep the bathroom door open whenever I took a piss. “Yeah, Cheryl, man.” I laugh a little. “Cheryl wouldn’t let a nigga breathe for shit.”
    “Straight.” Jamal drinks the last of his ginger beer. “I remember her. She wasn’t secure in herself.”
    “Yeah, but Adrian is really into this woman thing. She digs being a woman and she knows how to treat people from that aspect. It’s like she is a supreme version of a strong, feminine woman and I like that,” I say between bites of corn on the cob. “And she doesn’t keep tabs on me, even though she doesn’t have to.”
    “Ain’t many out there like her,” Tim adds. “I could marry a woman like Adrian. She’s all right with me. Watch out, Greg, I may take her,” he jokes.
    “Tim, I can’t see you getting married. Why do you say that about Adrian? What makes her