If I Have To

The Business Decision Pt. 1

Seattle, Washington
February 20th

Xena M.

THIS was not a joke. And I enjoy jokes. Comedians like Kevin Hart, Bernie Mac, and Dave Chappelle knew how to make me laugh. I'm talking about the hunched over, holding stomach, wheezing for air type of laughter. I could hear their jokes all day and always have tears in my eyes from laughing too hard. This was not a joke. I say that because I was sitting here, straight-faced, eyes dry, and sides not hurting. I wasn't holding my stomach or gasping for air either.

There was nothing.

I was staring with a blank expression and I never did that when told a joke. Once again, this was not one. It had to be though because it couldn't be real life. There was no way this was actually happening. I praying that any moment now the laughing track in those sitcoms turn on. Someone crack a smile. Give me a chuckle or giggle. Something to let me know that this was indeed a joke.

Still nothing.

"Xena!" My mother, Cynthia, shouted my name.

I made no effort to look at her. Her presence, let alone her face, would only make me more mad. I faced ahead, my attention on the man sitting behind the large brown desk with a large window behind him. The city and its lights shinning brightly, creating a beautiful background. If only I cared enough to compliment it. I was more focused on this terrible joke these so-called 'comedians' were telling me. Tomatoes. I wished I had tomatoes to throw to end this act.

The set up was terrible. It was all over the place. It ended up flying right over my head. The crickets track playing now. It was time for them to either wrap it up or move on to the next one. I still wished I had tomatoes to punish them for the last joke. Not one smile coming from me. Disastrous. Disappointing.

"Xena," Cynthia's voice was heard again.

I finally came out of my daze and back to this reality. I turned my head away from the man at the desk and to the woman standing beside me. My God, my mother. She was a bit much. A flamboyant personality and style. In this massively big office we were conversing in, she stood out the most. Not because of her ear bleeding voice that sounded like nails scrapping a black board either. Her clothes were obnoxiously bright. It was like she wanted to be seen which made no sense.

Her face and name was damn near everywhere. You can walk down the street and see her poorly blended makeup on a billboard, a window, or the side of the bus that drove by. Still dressing bright was her signature style. I wasn't a fan of her style. I wasn't a fan of any of this that was going on.

This show was surely taking forever to end.

"Xena," I quickly turned my head back to the man behind the desk. His hands were now folded on top and his face expressing seriousness. Jokes were not supposed to be taken serious. And that led me back to my first statement.

This was not a joke.

For the first time since being in here, I spoke. "You're not playing?" I stupidly asked.

I knew they were being serious from the moment they said it. I was just having a hard time taking in the news. Arranged. Marriage. White man. They had to be kidding, right? By the indifferent stare this man was giving me that let me know he wasn't kidding.