My Love (Bwwm)

The Strange Thing About Floyd

The house was so quiet, a stark contrast to the recent days filled with his presence. It left me feeling a bit disoriented. The usual routine was disrupted, and an unfamiliar sense of loneliness settled in. I guess Artie had business to attend to but I've grown used to us just talking in the house.

As I moved through the quiet house, the sudden sound of pebbles hitting my window startled me. A quick glance outside revealed Floyd standing in the shadows, an unexpected visitor in the muted landscape of solitude. Confusion mingled with surprise as I opened the window to greet him.

"Hey, Dorothy. Everything okay?" Floyd's voice carried a hint of annoyance, his eyes searching mine for answers.

I hesitated for a moment, caught off guard by his unexpected presence. "Yeah, everything's fine. Just wasn't expecting to see you here." A faint smile masked the unease beneath the surface.

Floyd, undeterred, mentioned, "I waited for you last night, but you didn't show up. Is everything alright?" His tone, more irritated than caring, hinted at the annoyance that underscored our conversation.

A pang of guilt tugged at me as I recalled the lie I had crafted the night before. "Sorry about that, Floyd. Artie had me cleaning all the bathrooms. Weird, right?" The lie slipped effortlessly from my lips, and a sense of unease settled within me.

Floyd's expression shifted, registering a mix of irritation and disappointment. "Yeah, that's weird. But it's alright, Dorothy. Just wanted to make sure you were okay."

As Floyd lingered in the shadows, the weight of my deception settled upon me. I couldn't shake the feeling that something, was off.

As Floyd stood in the shadows beneath my window, an unsettling vibe emanated from him. His agitated demeanor and the faint scent of liquor wafting through the air raised an instinctual unease within me. His eyes, avoiding direct contact, spoke volumes of a restlessness that sent a subtle shiver down my spine.

Despite my reservations, a conflicting sense of guilt and curiosity prompted me to invite him in. "Come on, Floyd. Let's go inside," I offered, though my own discernment warned against it.

As we entered the house, the tension between us hung in the air like an unspoken secret. Floyd's presence felt intrusive, and the unease grew as he moved through the space, his unpredictable energy at odds with the quiet familiarity of the surroundings.

Attempting to dispel the tension, I reluctantly suggested, "I'll make breakfast. You waited for me last night, and I feel bad about that." The invitation to share a meal was a hesitant gesture, an attempt to bridge the gap created by my absence the night before.

As I moved through the motions of preparing breakfast, the clashing energies between Floyd and me lingered. The subtle discord in his presence and the unspoken tension formed a delicate dance beneath the surface of our interactions, adding an unexpected layer of complexity to the quiet morning in Artie's home.

As Floyd and I sat at the kitchen table, attempting to engage in conversation, an unsettling feeling lingered in the air. The usual ease in our interactions seemed disrupted, and words didn't flow as naturally as they used to. Floyd's agitated demeanor and the unspoken tension added an unexpected layer of discomfort.

A nagging feeling whispered that Floyd might be up to no good, a perception that clashed with the laid-back camaraderie we had shared before. I couldn't shake the unease, but in a puzzling twist, I found myself blaming it on the growing feelings I harbored for Artie. As if my newfound emotions had painted Floyd in a bad light, I shoved the gut feeling aside, questioning my own judgment.

Floyd, attempting to steer the conversation into more neutral territory, asked if I had explored the city much. "You're too pretty to be locked up in a house," he remarked with a tone that heightened my discomfort.

As his words hung in the air, my mind drifted back to my days in Louisiana. Memories of my mom, cautious and protective, flashed before me. She rarely let me venture outside, and the yearning to explore the vibrant city of Chicago clashed with the uneasy feeling of doing so in Floyd's company.

Feeling the weight of Floyd's scrutinizing gaze, I mustered a lie about having explored the city. However, his probing eyes lingered on me for a moment longer, and an uncomfortable silence settled between us. The unspoken suspicion hung in the air, leaving me with the uneasy feeling that he saw through my fabricated words.

"Why haven't you mentioned it in any of our meetings, then?" Floyd's question cut through the awkward atmosphere, forcing me to conjure up more excuses. "I guess I just prefer talking about other things," I replied, attempting to steer the conversation away from the discomfort of my own deceit.

Floyd, undeterred, expressed his desire to show me the "better" side of the city – the black side. The proposition caught me off guard, and I hesitated for a moment, uncertain about delving into unknown territories with a man whose intentions felt increasingly ambiguous.

With a lack of connections in Chicago and Floyd being the only black person I knew, I found myself reluctantly agreeing to his invitation. I shifted my attention back to the fridge.

As I opened the fridge, my intention was to retrieve eggs for breakfast, but the stark emptiness on the egg shelf caught me by surprise. A flicker of annoyance crossed my face as I realized we were out of eggs. Seizing the opportunity, I used it as an excuse to alter our breakfast plans.

"Floyd, we're out of eggs. I won't be able to make you breakfast as planned," I said, attempting to maintain a casual tone while secretly relieved at the change of plans.

He brushed it off, stating that he was already on his way. As he made his departure, he reminded me to be ready on Friday, his tone carrying a hint of authority that left a bitter taste in my mouth. "I'm a busy man, Dorothy. Don't stand me up again," he warned, leaving me unsettled.

Though I disliked his commanding tone, he vanished so swiftly that I couldn't muster a response. The unspoken tension lingered in the air, leaving me to grapple with the conflicting emotions stirred by the abrupt encounter with Floyd in Artie's home.

"Whatever" I thought to myself. I just sat on the couch waiting for Artie to come home.