We visited Florence, drove through Tuscany, and when we got to Pisa, I rushed her out of the car, shouting, “Come on! Come on before it falls,” as we laughingly rushed toward the Leaning Tower. In Rome, we went shopping around the Spanish Steps and I bought her two prom dresses. We were lucky enough to catch the last tour of the Vatican before it was announced that Pope John Paul II had died. We were scheduled to go home the next day, but flights had been cancelled because of the onslaught of people who had rushed to Rome for the Pope’s funeral and selection of the new Pontiff. We even saw the smoke from the chimney.
Between having to stay a couple of extra nights and the long trip back to Los Angeles, I totaled four days off my medication, which triggered a manic episode when I got home.
That first morning, I took a spin in my car, still thinking about the wonderful trip to Italy, but happy to be back in our beautiful neighborhood which was awash in purple Jacaranda blooms. I turned a corner and found myself looking at a brand new tile-roofed home that reminded me of Tuscany. The house was beige with green shutters and in classic Tuscan-style, every window had a different shape. I had to see inside.
When the man who built the house walked me through it, I began to sing. The house matched what was going on inside of me. I was inside a manic episode and this house was as big as my feelings. The contractor, Joseph Aviv, brought his father, Moses, with him. Joseph and Moses—what an audience! I started singing “You Raise Me Up” by Josh Groban at the top of my lungs ahh, the acoustics in an empty house! I fawned over Moses and asked if he knew the Ten Commandments and who Nefertiti was. Apparently other people were bidding on the house, but Moses was entranced by my joy and told Joseph to sell it to me. Thus, in a highly manic state, and without due consideration, I bought the house. But when my manic mood subsided, one night I sat straight up in bed and thought, “How much did I just spend? What the fuck have I done?”
We moved into our new home a few weeks before Charmaine finished high school. She enrolled in college that fall, but dropped out two years later. I was terribly disappointed. She promised to return to college, and I set her up with an apartment, car, and an allowance. But when she told me she wasn’t going back to school, our relationship hit a low point. Nearly three years passed, during which time LaRhonda passed away. When Charmaine and I finally reconciled, we talked about the great and not-so-great times. From her perspective, I gave her a voice in the way that I raised her, then I took that voice away. From my perspective, I encouraged her to have a voice, but when she used it to be disrespectful, I had to shut it down.
I wasn’t the perfect mother, but I am grateful that Charmaine understands I did my best. Working through all this with Charmaine has helped me come to terms with my Mama; to see that she also did her best—even if I felt it wasn’t enough.
After Charmaine moved out, I had time to face the fact that things with Terrence were pretty bad. For one thing, I realized I was getting a little tired of picking up the tab all the time. This has been a running issue in my life. Though I’ve never minded sharing my success, we all must be careful of becoming a damn fool. Another thing was Terrence couldn’t really talk about his deepest feelings. I realized that his horrible experiences as a child caused him to become emotionally disconnected. There was nothing mean about Terrence. Though intelligent, he was still a scared little boy that had major arrested development.
But I wasn’t willing to give up on us yet. I was asked to perform on a gay cruise to Alaska. But like a damn fool, I took Terrence with me. What came of that? Me threatening gay men left and right. When I thought I caught them looking at Terrence, I’d say: “this one’s mine. Fuck with him and I’ll sink this ship like the Titanic.” They laughed, not realizing I was dead serious. (I love my gay babies!)
Ultimately, Terrence broke up with me. The first man who ever did that. It was usually me, who ended my relationships. In a last-ditch effort to heal our relationship, we ran off to Japan—Tokyo, Kyoto, Kamakura, Osaka, and, dear God, Hiroshima, where the United States dropped the atom bomb at the end of World War II. As I entered the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum, I saw a banner hanging low. It was written in Japanese, but in my mind it read, “Look upon this shame. Look what you did to us.” There was a concrete block that still had the shadow of a man who had been disintegrated in less than a second. There were photographs of children and families and animals that I cannot begin to describe nor will I try. Just know I vomited when I came out of the museum.
After nearly eight years together, Terrence abandoned me half way up Mount Fuji. We had taken the train out from Tokyo one afternoon and then grabbed a taxi from the station to the base of the mountain. We did not realize the taxi driver took us to the wrong side of the mountain, leaving us at the path reserved for expert climbers and military training. Thus, not only was the trail of crushed lava rocks difficult to walk on, the angle of incline was extreme. Nevertheless, it was beautiful and the cumulus clouds gathering at the mountaintop seemed to call us upward. after about an hour of climbing, despite my athleticism, I was out of breath, drenched in sweat and knew that I couldn’t go on. When I told Terrence, he half-heartedly offered to descend with me. I said, “Nah, you go on, I’ll be okay,” trusting he would, of course, insist on accompanying me back down, especially given my obvious physical distress. To my surprise, however, he was relieved. “That cloud is calling me,” he said. “I want to go all the way to the top, Jenifer, so you go on and I’ll meet you back at the hotel.” I slowly and precariously crunched my way down the mountain. The temperature dropped a good ten degrees as the sun set. Within moments, it was damned near pitch black and I could neither see or hear anyone else on the trail. Okay y’all, my alpha ass was no match for Miss Mighty Mount Fuji. JeniferMothaFuckinLewis became plain old scared. Worst of all, I could not avoid acknowledging that “actions speak louder than words.” Terrence’s actions had shown me what he was not man enough to tell me: that he was no longer there for me, that he no longer prioritized my well-being, and that our relationship was, in fact, over. I managed to climb down the dangerous trail by myself and make it back to the hotel okay.
JOURNAL ENTRY: Help me God that I was ever with a man like this.
The bottom line is I was too much of a goddamn man myself. There was a part of me that chose men I could dominate. It wasn’t my fault that I made more money than they did. Dumb bastards. Why couldn’t they enjoy it and just be nice?