"How could you even think that?" Latrice asked tensely, slamming pots and pans around more than was necessary as she did dishes. Jonathan cowered in the living room, knowing that he could go stay here, out of direct eye contact but still within hearing range, without angering her anymore.

"Well, sweetie, I just figured that if you were upset, that..." Latrice did not let him finish, but interrupted him over the crash of dishes. "You just thought that if I was angry, you had to have missed a birthday or an anniversary or something. A woman can't be upset unless she didn't get a present when she was supposed to. Is that what you were thinking, huh? Was it?"

Jonathan knew that he had better come up with an answer, and quick. Unfortunately, his brain had turned to mush, and could put forth no suitable reply. "Uhhh... Well, you see... I just thought..." "No, you didn't!" she screamed from the kitchen, her voice echoing off the tiles. "You didn't think at all. That's just your problem, you don't use the head god gave you. All men have that problem. Spend too much time thinking with one head and ignoring the one on their shoulders. You men are always whining that you don't understand women, you don't know what to do to make us happy. But you damn fools won't listen when we tell you. Say that we're just being confusing, that we don't know what we want. I'll tell you something, boy, I know what I want. And I know how to get it. Yes sir..." Latrice had trailed off, muttering to herself. Jonathan breathed a sigh of relief. When she began preaching about men, he was usually home free. She would often forget what they had been arguing about before, and then they would have a cozy evening.

Tonight, however, was not to be one of those nights. Latrice's attention snapped back to Jonathan and the issue at hand, and she picked up the topic as if she had never left it. "So you think that I'm angry because you forgot my birthday? You don't even know what day my birthday is, do you?" Jonathan frantically did mental calculations, trying desperately to remember.

"Ummm... it's sometime in November, isn't it honey?"

A pot being slammed into the sink was his reply, and it was enough to tell him that he had guessed horribly wrong.

"My birthday is August 10!"

Oh damn, he thought mentally, it was Lydia, his ex-girlfriend's birthday that was in November. The kitchen became deathly silent, and Jonathan held his breath, waiting for some outburst, the slamming of cook ware, something. But only silence leaked out of the kitchen. He tentatively entered the kitchen, keeping his head low as if he were entering a war zone. But to his utter surprise, he found Latrice sitting at the table with her head resting on her folded arms, her shoulders heaving up and down without a sound. If he didn't know better, Jonathan would have sworn she was crying. But that just couldn't be. Latrice had never cried in front of him in the five years they had been together. It seemed inconceivable to him that she would begin now.

His eyes, however, confirmed that she was crying, sobbing in fact. No sound escaped her wracked frame, though. Latrice was like a television on mute. Jonathan sat down gingerly in the plastic chair beside her, and gently began to stroke her weave. He opened his mouth several times to say something, but closed it without uttering a syllable. The truth of that matter was he just had no idea what to say to her. What does a man say when he sees a mountain crumble, or an ocean dry up?

Finally, as the minutes dragged by and Latrice's body quieted down, Jonathan felt the need to say something. "Look, baby..." Latrice raised her head to look him straight in the eye. Her mascara made dark tracks down her already dark cheeks, and she had chewed most of her lipstick off. She had a nervous habit of chewing on her lip until it was ragged. She stared at him for a very long time, and then said in a voice deathly quiet, "Get the fuck out of my house." Jonathan blinked, and stared at her with his mouth agape. Of all the words that could have come out of her mouth, he would have never guessed in a million years that those would pop out. "But... But, darling..." She stood up slowly, throwing her shoulders back and holding her head high. "You heard me. A man who has been with me for five years and still doesn't know when my birthday is is a man I don't need."

He was speechless, and groped for words. "This... this is about your birthday?" She sneered at him. "You don't know nothing, do you? Well, it's not my problem now. Just get out." "But... but.... but...." "See, that's why you get on my damn nerves. You never can finish a sentence." "You just going to throw away five years, everything we had, just like that?" he asked incredulously. She sighed, and looked down at the ground for a moment. But then she folded her arms across her chest and met his gaze. "Sometimes you got to throw things out, no matter how long you had them. "Now, please, just get out of my house. You can come pick up your stuff tomorrow, I'll have it boxed up."

Jonathan glanced around the room, lost and confused. His hands clenched and unclenched, fluttered as if they didn't know what to do anymore than he did. He looked deep into her eyes, and said the words that he knew she had been longing to hear for five long years. "But I love you with all my heart, Latrice." She flinched s if she had been hit, and she closed her eyes to keep back the tears. But when she opened her eyes, they were clear and calm. "Well, baby, that just ain't enough. "Now go."

WALIDAH IMARISHA, 73741.500@compuserve.com, is currently a sophomore at Portland State University in Oregon. She's majoring in history and is the Opinions Editor for the school newspaper.