The Drug Dealer's Wife.

#13 - Damsel In Distress

The wind blew viciously on this sunny August afternoon, throwing me off balance as I walked hand and hand with Bryson. The Harding's were stepping out the box on this warm day, as I challenged my husband to do an activity that favored me for a change. He apprehensively accepted, and decided to join me to visit one of my friend's outdoor art galleries. This venture was surely different for him, and my poor baby looked uncomfortable at some points of the visitation. But boy did he look good in a white polo and khakis.

"So you're telling me that your friend really thought it was okay to buy out the entire park, just to display her art? Now that's a playa move." Bryson commented.

I giggled as I analyzed the piece that was in front of us. The picture showcased a couple that was from two different worlds, fighting to be together despite the odds. Both counterparts were being pulled different directions, but their love was what was keeping them together. Hmm, that sounded a lot like Bryson and I.

"So you see, it's not that bad, right?" I encouraged. "Sharee's art is relatable."

"I mean, it's alright." Bryson responded. "From all the pieces we saw so far it clearly shows that she has a problem with men, love and commitment but I respect the craft. To each its own."

I nudged Bryson playfully and we continued viewing my friend's presentations. Sharee really did her thing and I was so proud of her. She was an underground artist who worked endlessly to become mainstream and her work was finally paying off. Every opportunity I got to support her I did, for she was so inspiring. I was all for women making a change and dominating their field of choice.

"So where is this magnificent artist anyways?" Bryson asked wrapping his arm around my shoulder. "She too prissy and important to associate with us commoners?"

"She's probably around here somewhere." I answered, looking around. "But I really think you're going to like her when you meet her. She's not as prude and upper class as you think."

"I hope not." Bryson sighed. "I ain't in no mood to be laughing at rich people jokes. Babe, you seen me at the party Divine threw for me. They were killing me in there. Some of your folks need to realize they just ain't funny."

Rolling my eyes, I glanced up at my husband and smiled. The way he handled himself at the party Divine threw for him was a true testament that he was willing and trying to be more open. I had to give him his props. The Bryson Harding I met was a rough tough street hustla. He walked around with an I don't give a fuck attitude, and had most people catering to his every need. It was refreshing to see him shift his stance a bit and do things differently. That effort was a serious turn on.

"We should cop some art." Bryson said meeting my gaze and kissing my forehead. "I haven't seen anything that spoke to me, but if you do lemme know. I'll get it for you."

My eyes were glued to the piece with the couple but I kept looking around to see if something else was worth purchasing first. If I was going to let this man buy me one of Sharee's expensive pieces, it had to be symbolic for us both. If none of Sharee's other art suffice, then the painting of the couple going through it even though they loved each other would be my pick. Bryson and I did after all share a similar story.

"Keisha! Yo Keisha, is that you?" my husband called.

I made a face, trying to get Bryson to stop yelling in the public park. He was yelling at someone I couldn't quite see, for the woman was out of my eye range. I shushed Bryson, but he only pulled me forward to this unknown woman. The nerve of him chasing after another woman whose name wasn't Nova Harding.

I tried to keep my footing in my heels as Bryson dragged me along. I don't know what made him think that my 4'10 built could compete with his lanky 6'3 self. This small run was a workout in itself, my muscles were already aching.