An Angry-Ass Black Woman by Karen E. Quinones Miller

Author:Karen E. Quinones Miller [Miller, Karen E. Quinones]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, General, African American, Urban, Family Life
ISBN: 9781451607826
Google: du0m7tTV3TUC
Amazon: 1451607822
Publisher: Simon and Schuster
Published: 2012-10-02T04:00:00+00:00

eleven

He hit me! This big-ass fucking bastard just slapped the shit out of me! I lay there on the floor for just a moment, trying to get my head together, and the stupid motherfucker made the mistake of walking away. Did he really think that was going to be the end of it? I leaped up, grabbed a hammer from the counter, and tried to kill my husband.

He was six foot three, and I was five feet—so though I tried to smash the back of his head in, my blow only landed on his shoulder. He yelled, and I hoped I’d broken it, but no such luck. He swung around and lunged at me. I raised the hammer to try and knock the shit out of him, but he managed to grab my arm, pull the hammer from my hand, and throw me across the room. I landed on the floor next to the coffee table, and as he rushed toward me I picked up the telephone and smashed it into his face. Bam! That got results.

“You bitch, I’m going to kill you!” he yelled as he backed up. Both his nose and lips were bleeding.

“Yeah, motherfucker, I got your bitch right here,” I taunted while swinging the telephone receiver by its curly cord. “Come on and get some more of this!”

He lunged again, and I took that receiver and started going upside his head like I was banging on a set of steel drums. He was punching me, and I was banging on him. We went like this for about five minutes, then somehow we retreated to mutual corners. It was our first fight, but it wouldn’t be our last.

I married him in January 1985, a month before I got out of the U.S. Navy after doing five years’ active duty. I did my military time in Keflavik, Iceland; Mountain View, California; Port Hueneme, California (which is where I first met him); and lastly Lakehurst, New Jersey. And when it came time for me to get out, I had no idea what I would do with my life. He was in the navy, and a Seabee—meaning he was in the highly respected Construction Battalion unit of the navy. He was two years younger than me, and he was crazy about me. I’d met him in 1982, and even though we weren’t always in the same duty station, he always stayed in touch by phone or by mail. We’d occasionally visit each other for a weekend or something, but it was nothing serious. I never even mentioned him to my family, and as far as I knew he’d never mentioned me to his. So I was shocked when, one day—just two weeks before I was due to get out of the military—he proposed to me. I thought about it, and figured, why the hell not? If I married him it would mean that I would at least have health insurance since he was still in the navy. And I figured

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