Mr. Lucky #Slevin : The Backseat of His Jeep.

I was about 21 years old.  I was living on Kessler Blvd, a pretty quiet and good neighborhood on the Westside of Indianapolis.  It was an area of teenagers and older, retired adults. My aunt lived there and after being placed in a nursing home and ultimately passing away, I was gifted the opportunity to move into her  modest two bedroom home with the massive kitchen, enclosed back porch that overlooked a decently sized and fenced in backyard.  I had a driveway, a garage, a big living room, separate dining room, a basement with a pool table and a fireplace; I was essentially a spoiled brat.  I brought Mr. Slevin*** with me.  I loved him. I had loved him since we were young teenagers.  We had been in a ‘relationship’ for about a year and a half by the time I moved on Kessler Blvd.

At the time, I couldn't really ask for more. I was in love, I lived in a beautiful house in a great neighborhood and I had money: I was a stripper at the Sunset Strip and was pulling in pretty great amounts of money.  Slevin approved.  We had a strange relationship. We had a long conversation about me stripping prior to me starting.  My first night at the club, him and some of his friends came to ‘support me’.  I remember when he was in there, I wanted to spend the night sitting on his lap in my outfit, flaunting myself past his friends just to show them how much of THE MAN Slevin was. I wanted to make him proud on stage. I wanted his love, his affection and his attention.  Somehow, I thought all of this made sense.  And in a weird sense, it did, given the nature of our relationship.  We had met when I was 12 and he was 14 years old, but from the first time he walked up to me and kissed me until the first time I saw him again after a couple of years when I was 19, I knew I loved him. We had a back and forth of teenaged sex, rumors and hurt feelings. I was the one with the hurt feelings and he was the one that kept the rumor mill brewing, but so as not to victimize myself, I’ll leave all that off. Let’s just say, things were always hectic between us but for some reason, I LOVED him.  I genuinely did. He was my first in so many ways. He introduced me to life in ways that intrigued me, confused me and sometimes got me in trouble, but I always came back for more. I was the prodigal friend who was a girl but not really a ‘friend.’  I did think he was mine tho.  So the truth is, it was no surprise that after all the childish back and forth, upon finally getting in a relationship with each other, I was a stripper and he was a hood dude, so to speak. 

I didn't have a car at the time.  I was making good money, but I loved to shop.  I loved to eat. I loved to enjoy things, so I had foregone buying a car and hoped that my love would help me find out how to buy a car and put some money down on one.  That hadn't happened as of this particular summer night, but it didn't matter much because I lived five minutes from work. Catching a ride or a cab if I was running late wasn't really that much of an issue.  One night, after work, I needed a ride home. My pride has always been a bit of a dick, and for some reason, on this night, I didn't want to ask anyone for a ride. So I didn't.  He didn't ‘work’ and was always home before me; I worked the night shift aka the late shift. I went in at 9 pm and got off at 3 in the morning.  I called him prior to getting off of work and requested the presence of him picking me up. If memory serves me right, he only said yes after suggesting I find a ride with someone at the club or catch a cab. Mind you, we lived essentially around the corner.  Finally, he told me he would be there.

He came.  He was a little late and a lot of the girls had already left, but shortly after they unlocked the doors and let the cattle loose, I saw his blue Suburban pull up out front.  I grabbed my bags, said my goodbyes and went outside to the truck.  As I walked out the door, I saw his friend sitting in the passenger side of the truck.  I walked towards the truck and expected his friend to jump out at the last minute.  We knew each other. All three of us had known each other for years.

His friend never moved.

I walked up to the truck, and slowly walked past the passenger door in quiet confusion and got in the back. He put the truck in drive and we left the parking lot.  The conversation in the front seat kept on rolling like I wasn't there.  I sat in the back of the truck, with two men riding dick-shotgun in the front and no one thought anything; except me. The entire ride home felt like it lasted for months and I kept staring and glaring holes into both of them from behind in hopes that someone would step up and put themselves in charge of being apologetic for their blatant rudeness.  No one did.  In fact, I was dropped off at home and Mr. Slevin and his friend kept going.  I got in the truck in the backseat and got out the truck from the backseat.

I had a hard time believing the tears falling down my face as I walked in the house. I could not believe that I had just rode home in the backseat of my man’s truck. The man whom I was sleeping with, daily, the man who I had loved since before I knew I loved him; the one I was giving my body and my heart to, had just allowed me to climb into the backseat of his truck after barely being willing to come pick me up from work.  And more than that, I didn't know why I allowed that to happen.  But I think I was so stunned that it did, that I kept the scene moving just to see how it would play out.

Looking back on that day, when I was 21 years old, it’s easy to see that my worth was something that was always in question by me. I was mentally challenged and unable to see or notice or feel like I was deserving of the ACTIONS my mind was telling should be taking place. I knew a woman was never supposed to ride in the backseat of her man’s car. I knew that his friend, who also knew me (not that, THAT should even matter), should have gotten out of the front seat when I came out the door. I KNEW that riding home in the back was wrong.  I knew the fact that no one turning around or rear viewing a glimpse of my stifled crying meant that I was everything I didn't want to be: a non factor. But I didn't say anything.

 I did just as I had always done: stored my feelings away and told myself

 ‘one day, there will be a reason to bring up how wrong this is, but not now”. 

Well. …later in life, I went on to move across the street from him, his wife and their family. Oh joy, the irony  And our relationship continued the entire time, as we attempted to keep our FRIENDSHIP alive but struggled to get beyond the many things that took place in our relationship, some of which I may share. After that plus two failed relationships and a one TOTAL & complete regret later, the clock has finally gone off. Yes, that is how long I have allowed the silencer to remain at my temple. But after my last stint in the Fools Gold Mine, I decided that silence is no longer the virtue I wish to possess. Someone needs to hear SOME of these stories. Maybe my life can be prevention for another woman. Maybe it can be healing for me. Or maybe me circling my past and searching for reasons why I would allow a man to come into my life, take my money, my body, my time, my emotions and heart and then so deliberately and nonchalantly start a full bodied relationship with another woman that leaked online, publicly humiliating and embarrassing me, more to myself than anyone else, will allow me to heal properly and NEVER allow myself on Love’s roller-coaster again.  Maybe that was even a run-on sentence. 

I started with this particular story because the backseat is where I have more often than not, found myself sitting in my relationships. Even the last 'courtship' (for COMPLETE lack of better word or denial) saw me sitting in the back of the nword's car, beneath his DJ equipment. #HeavyLoad 

The first day I sat in the backseat of my man's car was the first day of the rest of my dignity being disrespected at all costs. 

Maybe THIS blog….will save a shitload of us from being shitted on....and from opening the door to the backseat. Because truth is, once you are back there in sitting position, all you can do is watch it all play out. 

Its official. Welcome to A.M(use.D.)

~jY

#AmusedBy #Slevin*** #InmateNumber19912009

***names slightly altered to protect the dick-o-cent