4/7/12

Humility
By Linda M. Crate


Morgan gazed out at the sea of women that had unfurled their wings around his ex-girlfriend protectively. They were all sassy black women that had so much attitude he was surprised that their heads didn't snap completely off as much as they would shake them. Tugging his mind away from these thoughts, he wondered how he could devise a plot to break through this gaggle of angry women.

They said that hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

He knew that was probably true - but he felt that there might be a lot less fury if women didn't involve their friends in every little aspect of their life. He avoided the glares from the five women that stood around her.

"Oh, no, honey, I dun think so," Tequila piped up. She was by far the most feisty of the women there. "Symone dun want to see you. Little wonder why, player!"

"I need to talk to Symone without all of you guys listening in," he protested, trying to part through them like Moses and the Red Sea. This was an obvious mistake for this made them pull their ranks in even tighter. "Oh, would you guys stop acting like children?!" he snarled, temper blazing to the surface like a sea of white hot flames. "Yes, I hurt her, I'm well aware, and I'm sorry for it. But I'm not going to listen to you guys talk about how immature men are when you're acting like the mean girls in high school. I mean, seriously, Tequila, what makes you think I came here to talk to you?"

"Well, I've never - ."

"Quila, it's okay," Symone remarked, pushing the girls aside. "I'll at least listen what he has to say. Come on," she remarked, pulling Morgan away from the rest of the women there. They clucked their disapproval behind them. "What part of I don't want to see you again, don't you understand?"

"I know I hurt you, Symone." Morgan ran a hand through his flaxen strands. "I know I did," he repeated, glancing into her green eyes. He had always thought they were so beautiful as they contrasted with her dark skin, but in a way that was flattering and quite lovely. "The thing is, I love you. I can't just walk away, I can't just let you hate me forever. I'm not saying that I deserve a second chance, but I'm asking for one. I love you. Not anybody else, and I had a really poor way of showing it. I know, she was a mistake. I didn't even like her - ."

"Then why do it?" Symone interjected. "If you didn't even like her?"

"Because you weren't there emotionally or physically. You were always gone, and I always missed you. When you came home it was always a fight about something, and it was wearying."

She paused to think about it, brushing black hair from her eyes. She gave him a small smile. "Well, I'm not saying that I don't appreciate this, Morgan, but you really hurt me. I love you, I've always loved you. I'll give you another chance, but if you go back to your old ways, we're through. Got it?"

"I understand."

"Good." Symone grinned. "The first thing you can do is straighten things out with Tequila."

"She isn't one to be straightened out easily, and I think she hates me."

"She does, but I'm worth it, aren't I?"

"Yes," he answered. Morgan inwardly cursed himself. Why had he been so foolish? He ought to have known that it would come to something like this. Yet he would suck it up because he really wanted a chance to prove to Symone that he could be everything she needed, and that was everything she wanted.


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Linda Crate is a Pennsylvanian native born in Pittsburgh yet raised in the rural town of Conneautville. She has a Bachelor's in English-Literature from Edinboro University. Her poetry and short stories have been published in several magazines.