Tamara was leaving me behind yet again.
"You can function on your own. Now, it's my turn to do a little traveling," she said to me as she was preparing to go to New Orleans for the Essence Music Festival with her girls, then to Houston for an additional 11 days on her own.
"You got it on the homefront, king. Your queen will return, and we'll plan for the next trip!"
"Tam" held down the homefront for 24 of my 30 years in the Navy, as we were married for 23, but together for 24 and had three beautiful children as a result. While I missed a lot of winters, summers, holidays and milestones, I still managed to visit 30 countries, albeit on the Navy's dime, yet I had a good, damned time while she hustled in raising our babies. She deserved every bit of travel that came to her at this point in life, for our kids were grown and on their own, and now she could prance and dance all over the map as she saw fit.
"You find yourself getting hungry, Tawonna is cooking all week. Stop over there and eat with them," she said, alluding to her younger sister and my archrival, for Tawonna was someone that didn't want me and Tam getting married.
Tam and her friends were driving down to New Orleans at a time where I was feeling a little more sensitive about her being on her own. Five years prior was the first year I was retired, and we did everything together whether it was the grocery store run or a fishing trip, just making up for all the lost time she and I missed. In doing so, we also learned that we enjoyed our time apart, for it made us more fond of each other, enhanced our bond.
"You never have to worry about me cheating on you, Vince, if that's what you're saying," she said to me when we laid down the rules for solo travel, with solo defined as she and I not together during transit.
I trusted my woman, and agreed to periodic solitude, but the truth was, I loved the woman that gave me the life I earned, as I never had to worry about a thing when I was away from reality.
"Babe, that's my ride. I gotta go," she said to me as she was expediting her movements to the sound of a beeping horn.
She kissed me, and I grabbed her bag to take out to the Sprinter van full of dolled up, black women, all looking and smelling good. We kissed once more before they jeered at us, then she jumped in the "freak wagon" and carried on down the street, leaving me staring at the exhaust pipe as they sped off. I walked back into the house, and grabbed a cold beer as it was only 10 a.m. on a humid Thursday morning in June when my boy Phil texted me:
"Waddup playa? What you doing right now?"
"Tam just left. Sipping a brew," I responded.
"Wanna stop through? I'm off today, and about to roll this blunt," he noted.
I hadn't put my face to marijuana in a very long time, so the offer was hard to refuse.
Phil and I were the same age at 55 and both from Washington D.C., as I learned when he and his wife Shirley moved in beside us some years prior. Our kids bonded with their kids, and the rest was history as the master electrician with his own business always prided me on my military service.
"You firing it up, but where Shirley," I asked as I knew of Phil being a smoker, but knew of his wife being against it.
"She's out front, she just came in from the gym and actually wanna blow one for old times sake. You should swing through," he messaged, and I got off the couch, gulped down the last of the beer I was drinking before coming out the front door to walk a quarter of a mile to Phil and Shirley's.
Five minutes passed when I rang their doorbell as Shirley would answer right away, still sweaty, and glistening from her workout.
"Hi broooooooooooo," she said as she reached up to hug me.
Shirley, a high school teacher, was a little older than us at 57, but had the face and the body of a 30 to 35 year old, with her light caramel colored skin, her bright eyes and dark red lipstick, and she was in great shape with obvious abs and a nice, thick onion.
"Girl, you get older and look better and better," I told her after she let go.
She was the mother of Phil's four sons, but you wouldn't know it as running miles every other day kept her stunningly beautiful, and upstaging most women I saw half her age.
"Vince baby, I do what I can. If Phil decides to throw me to the wolves, well then at least I'll be a treat," she joked.
A "treat" she was, for I took one hard look at this specimen and second guessed for a brief moment if I married the right one. She'd hug me again tightly as I noticed her sweet perfume mixed in with her perspiration, as this time she allowed me to wrap my hands around her tight waist, with my hands landing just above that firm ass.
"Get your hands off my woman," the burly Phill yelled, as I tried to figure for the life of me how this gorgeous woman was stuck with this bearded beast.
He and I happily shook hands and greeted each other as it was always love when we linked, while she ran into the kitchen to pour some cognac.
