Man Curse Read Online Free PDF

North Carolina, leaving behind a pregnant, penniless wife. This lady, Peggy, had eventually found out where Bill lived by tracking a postmarked envelope he’d sent containing five dollars and a handwritten letter with three words: “For your troubles.”
    Fey and Peggy cried together, sharing dates, experiences, similar occurrences, anguishing over their pain. And when the meeting was over, Fey prepared for the confrontation.
    â€œI’ma kill his ass,” she said, as Peggy smiled and replied, “I understand.”
    Hours later . . .
    â€œMotherfucker, where you been?” she asked as her drunken mate faked a smooth swagger through the front door, before tripping over the edge of the living room rug. He held himself up by digging his nails into the plastic coating on the arm of the couch.
    â€œI been out, I told you,” he slurred. “Why you worrying?”
    â€œâ€™Cause I smell your breath. And you said you’d be home by ten. It’s three a.m.”
    â€œDamn, you always questioning me, woman. I don’t question you when you out at your church events all day long. Let me be.”
    SMACK.
    The slap across his face caused sideways slobber to fly across the room, splattering against the window. Stunned, he pushed himself up off the chair to receive a beating of words.
    â€œWhat kind of man leaves his pregnant wife home without a call? You ain’t shit. I knew I shouldn’t have married you,” she screamed, right hand steady on her hip. “And you got the nerve to bring my church into this? You need Jesus.”
    â€œBitch,” Bill replied slowly, stumbling up straight. “I don’t care who the hell you are, the mother of my child, my wife, whatever, don’t you touch me.” He balled up his fist and punched her so hard that she fell into the living room shelf. Family photos in their frames tumbled to the floor. Blood-soaked tears streamed down her face as a gash oozed from her forehead.
    â€œSee what you done made me do?” he said. “Damn!”
    â€œI hate you,” she screamed back, one hand rubbing her pregnant belly. “I hope you go to hell for what you did to me and your other wife.”
    Bill paused, shaken, before saying, “I don’t know what you talking about.”
    â€œYes, you do. Peggy? Your other wife?” His mouth opened slightly. “Yeah, the one from Raleigh. She came to visit today. You left her pregnant and had the nerve to send her five dollars ‘for her troubles,’ ” she said, holding a porcelain angel that had slipped off the shelf. “You remember that, don’t you?”
    â€œI don’t need this,” he said, waving his hand in the air. Stumbling toward the front door, Bill stopped before leaving, staring through the screen in shock at a woman walking quickly up the sidewalk, grabbing a boy’s hand. The four-year-old tried to keep up as his tiny legs dragged behind. His mother clenched his fingers and the straps of a large black purse, holding it tightly to the side of an oversize pregnant stomach.
    Turning to help Fey stand, he caressed her arm, easing her up off the shelf, lifting his woman high. And with the angel figurine, she bashed him on the side of the head.
    â€œOwww!”
    Grandma Fey always laughed when she told this part of the story. “Owwww,” she’d say in a high-pitched voice, mocking Bill’s pussylike whimper. Continuing the saga, she told the parts where he cussed and held his throbbing head. And then the final moment, when he stared at Fey’s bloated belly, turned without a word, and left. Decades later, my mother, who was a fetus at the time of the fight, had yet to meet her dad. And the story, as it always did, left an awkward moment of silence, which Grandma Fey broke by looking up and yelling at me.
    â€œMeena, don’t you bring no crazy boys home. Get you a nice one,” she said, pointing at me.