Oakland, California
November 1962
It's been very quiet in the Richardson home. Heather and I are once again, ice cold to each other and rarely converse. Well, we do talk but it's mostly about our boys, the news, or work. Part of me misses my wife. I miss how things were when we first moved out here and started our life together. Sadly, I don't think it will ever be like that again. Heather is so distant and very depressed around me now.
I, on the other hand, am very angry. I'm not mad at my wife but at myself. Things wouldn't have gotten this bad if it weren't for my carnal desires. Had I heeded the words of my stepfather on the day of my wedding, I wonder how everything would be right now. He told me to keep God first and I'm not even sure I believe in God. I don't believe he has black folk's interests at heart.
Not only are my home life and relationship damaged, but I'm also starting to believe my mother has mentally and emotionally disowned me. Although Heather promised and swore on her granny's grave that she never said a word to my mom about what I did, I don't believe her. My mom gave me a call a week ago and I'm still recovering from the straining, heartbreaking conversation...
["Frankie! Son! What on earth have you done?"
"Momma, what do you mean? I haven't done anything!" My voice trembles.
"Did you know your wife calls me? She sometimes calls and cries without saying a word. She'll say she only needs to hear my voice."
"Momma..." I cry. "I didn't-"
"Whatever you're doing, STOP DOING IT! GOD SEES EVERYTHING YOU DO, FRANK RICHARDSON!"
"I'm sorry, momma. I never want to ever hurt you! I cry.
"It's not me you've disappointed. The word says, 'whatsoever a man sows, that shall he also reap."]
My momma prayed for me so hard when I was coming up. She didn't want me to turn out like my father, Fred Richardson. He was a lying, abusive shyster who put my poor mother through hell during their short marriage. I saw some unspeakable things go down at times and often wondered if it was normal. Thankfully, my folks split up when I was a young kid. My Momma found real love and I finally got to see a real man for the first time in my life. I do wonder if I am destined to be how I am because of my biological father.
"Frank, could you come in here for a minute?" Heather calls from the kitchen.
I jump up from my desk and hurry to meet her.
"I can't reach the dishes from the very top of the cabinet." She struggles.
"I gotcha," I smile.
Heather gives me a weak grin and for a brief second, I connect with my wife for the first time in a long time. Her countenance is mournful. Heather was once a vibrant, ambitious, and jovial being. Now she is pale like a ghost, wandering around aimlessly. When I carefully grab the plates from the shelf, I place them on the counter swiftly.
"Baby, what's going on with you?" I gently touch her shoulder.
"Sometimes I wonder why we even continue going on together pretending like everything is normal. As if we are some happily married couple! Truth is, Frank, I'm miserable." Heather sobs.
"I know you are," I swallow.
"I don't know how to look at you. Knowing what you've done and will probably continue to do for the rest of your life. I don't know how to feel about you."
"Dear," I move closer to her. "Do you still love me?"
"Yes I do," Heather cries. "It's hard for me to go any further than see you as my children's father."
YOU ARE READING
Just A Man
Non-Fiction"Sometimes the truth doesn't doesn't matter. You just want to please the fans..." 'FTHW'
