Submission {UNFIN}

Chapter Eight.

7:23 p.m., Brooklyn, New York.

That putrid smell of marijuana oozed in and out of the crevices of my mother's apartment, causing me to lower my heavy eyelids in a reconciliation with my patience that I was on the verge of losing. I hadn't called to inform my mother of my visit, but I knew she would be home; Her schedule was ingrained into my memory, especially since there wasn't too much to recall but Bible study and her knitting and jewelry clubs. At 7:23 on a halcyon Wednesday night, nothing too imperative recruited my mother's presence but the re-runs of Empire that came on prior to the new episode. Goosebumps crept up the sides of my arms at the recurring gusts of wind that chiseled their ways through the slender walls of the run-down home. I'd made note that Trent was supposed to pay the heat bill, since the autumn months were emerging rather expeditiously, but it was quite apparent that he hadn't done so, and I knew I would have to do it the next day when the heating company was open.

"Shawn, baby!" My mother's tender voice inhabited the otherwise dreary room. "You didn't tell me you were coming over!" I opened my tired eyes and smiled, standing to hug my mother tightly, feeling that same amenity that her embraces always brought me from the time I was child. Her sugary but still pachouli smelling perfume that I never particularly liked seeped into my nostrils, though the smell was familiar so I inhaled it contentedly.

"I didn't know I had to call my momma before I came over," I defended, light-heartedly and a bit jokingly as I sat unto the couch and my mother retired to her adored, tattered recliner.

"You don't have to, son," she said. "It was just a bit of a surprise," she finished with a slight laugh and a wide grin.

"I thought I'd just stop by today. You know I always come to see you at least once a week." Her eyes closed in remembrance whilst her head shook in confirmation of my declarations, her shoulder length, natural hair shaking with her. I was fairly certain that it was a twist out; Vogue taught me some things that I needn't know but stuck with me, nonetheless.

"And you know your old momma appreciates that," she bantered. "How have you been?"

In quite brutal and frightening honesty, I'd stopped over at my mother's because when things were on my mind, it was the first place I went to clear my head and level myself.

After teasingly rejecting Beyoncé roughly two weeks prior, I tried to call her seven or eight times, mainly to pester her about the article. Despite work being the reason for my calls, my mind still wandered to theories of why she freaked out on me. I'd even tried to go to her office a few times, only for her annoying ass assistant, Rita, to deny me access.

Why was I thinking about a manipulative, abhorrent, often-times impolite woman who clearly couldn't possibly care less about me? I wondered that very question many nights after our exchange.

"I've been a little.. unsettled," I confessed. If there was anywhere that I felt secure in releasing my jabbing emotions, it was with my momma. "How about you?"

"I've been blessed, baby, always blessed. But back to you. Why are you unsettled?"

For obvious reasons, I hadn't told my mother about my dominant-submissive relationships, and I didn't plan on ever telling her. So, I would have to leave out some major details in explaining my perturbed thoughts about Beyoncé.

"This girl.. Well, this woman.. I keep wondering about her, and I don't know why. It's weird for me," I told her, hesitantly.

"Do you know her well?"

"No, not at all."

"Maybe you should get to know her. Why do you wonder about her?" She seemed a bit confused, most likely because I never really asked for relationship advice from my mother, and that was because I didn't engage in emotional relationships.