Easier Said Than Done (19 page)

I smiled. Essence had built such a wall around herself that it was hard to see how big her heart was, but when a little of her softness broke through, it shined like a bright ray of hope. “ Thanks, baby.” I sniffed in a not-so-fake show of sentiment and Essence giggled as I asked, “ Who's the sucker tonight?”

“Girl, the new player for the Bulls. He just signed a five year, twenty-five million-dollar contract. I'm trying to help him spend some of that. He doesn't play like Michael Jordan, but he sure looks like him and that's good enough for me. He's taking me to the Signature Room in The John Hancock Building. I know it's kind of passé, but you know he's gotta pass the test.”

I shook my head, well aware of the test. On a first date, Essence liked to be taken to a very expensive restaurant. This way she could judge her date's reaction to the prices on the menu. The less shock he showed, the more money Essence knew he would drop. “All right, girl, don't hurt him too much!”

“It's his ex-girlfriend I'm talking about hurting. Can you believe she's calling me already? ”

“Why?”

“'Cause women are haters. Women don't want to see another woman doing good.

Whether it's in the workplace or in a relationship, women just don't want to see another woman making it. Instead of congratulating a sister, they're too busy trying to figure out if she has a weave. Do you know how many dirty looks I get in the club because some insecure chick thinks that I'm gonna take her man? Women are petty and insecure—haters. Well, I'm here to tell you, play with me and I'll take your man.”

“See, that's why they're hating on you.”

“I gotta have some fun, too! By the way, I dropped your flea bag of a dog off at the doggy hotel.” We laughed together before Essence added, “And tell Damon I said hello.”

After agreeing to pass the message and assuring Essence that I didn't need a ride home when I returned to Chicago, we hung up.

In the living room, the conversation between Damon and Bianca was going strong. Bianca's words seemed slightly slurred and I couldn't tell if it was from the brandy or just for effect. I got my answer when I spotted the dry canister on the floor by the rocking chair. As I
turned the corner, I also saw that the seating arrangements had changed. Bianca was lounging next to Damon on the couch and I thought I heard the words “physical examination” slip from her pouty lips.

Damon's head shot up and his mouth dropped open when I entered the room. Bianca didn't even notice. She was too busy rubbing her leg up and down Damon's and angling herself to get closer to him, her left breast almost exposed. Damon tried to untangle her limbs from his, but from where I was standing, he wasn't trying hard enough.

“Don't mean to disturb you. I mean, I see you're getting to know each other. I just came to say good night.” My words sounded catty, even to my own ears; and even though I knew that Bianca was unaware of my history with Damon, I was offended at an invasion of my territory. Damon on the other hand, knew better.

Bianca purred as Damon pushed her gently to the side so that he could stand.

“So early?” the idiot asked.

“The funeral is tomorrow so I want to get some sleep,” I replied. “Goodnight to you both. And Bianca,” I inserted an overdrawn pause, “desperation is not attractive on a woman.” As she gave me a blank stare, I turned to Damon. “At least, not to most men.” Cattiness wasn't attractive on a woman either, but I pushed that thought to the back of my mind. As I walked away, I heard Damon stuttering my name, but I didn't turn around, the tears of remembered hurt welling up in
my throat, causing a painful lump that burst, sending tears streaming down my face.

Chapter 15

The edge of the sharp rocks sliced into the pads of my toes as I worked my way down the sandy bank. Warm blood oozed, mixing with the sandy earth to create a reddish mud. I sank deeper into the giving soil with each step, while the wind whistled through the willowy trees, providing the perfect soundtrack for the blurry neon-colored images that swirled in front of my eyes.

It was the dead of summer, but a definite chill permeated the air, making it so thick and heavy that I could hardly breathe. As I moved closer to the river
'
s edge, the chill reached out to me with long fingers and icily caressed my cheek before invading my body, my mind, and finally my soul. The water stretched in front of me, lapping softly on the bank, taunting me with its misleading innocence. It seemed that for as long as it had been in existence, generations of my family had been served well by Swift River, named so because of its deceptively fast current. For years, it had provided the only source of water for bathing, cooking, and washing clothes. But that was no more. The river had turned the tables and belying its innocence, taken something very precious from me. As I looked closer, a watery smile mocked me, laughed at me for trusting and believing it was my friend. And I had believed, still wanted to believe because not doing so would unveil a reality too frightening to fathom.

I continued down the embankment, navigating more carefully because the leafy green moss was still slick from the morning dew. Every ragged breath I drew brought me closer to my
newfound nemesis. The coolness in the air continued to shimmy up my spine, doing an almost deathly dance, its tapping toes moving one vertebra at a time. The wind now joined the fray, whipping leaves and branches in an upward spiral. The three-quarter moon bounced off the water, making the thick blanket of fog that hung above seem almost translucent. The waves continued to lap slowly against the shore. I went closer still. A promise of a new beginning beamed down from the moon but that promise soon died to a twinkle, and then an occasional shimmer as time and time again it was rejected and sent spiraling to the water below. My breathing was now shallow, my pulse beating a distinctive calypso rhythm in my ears, my fingers curled, bending into a fist. My eyes focused and the blurry visions became clear. A scream started to work its way up my throat, beginning on disbelief and ending on a name.

And I couldn
'
t breathe. I couldn
'
t breathe because the memory of the two of us standing in front of Mammy
'
s mirror, her twirling with arms wide and me making funny faces to make her smile. I told her how pretty she looked and not to worry
‘
bout her little potbelly.
“
Gwan
'
now,
”
I urged her.
“
A likkle
'
fat make ya
'
look healthy.
”
She laughed over her shoulder as she ran out the door. I slowly followed. Thinking about something
—
obviously not of importance now
—
but thinking nonetheless as I often did. That was earlier. Before we made it to the river where the picnic was being held. Before we stuffed ourselves on bammy, crispy fried fish, and fat plums. Before Mammy yelled that we had time for one more swim in the river while the adults cleaned up and readied to head back up the hill to the big house. Now everyone was looking at me. I felt their eyes attempting to hold mine, but I kept my gaze on the ants that were burrowing holes in the ground. I scrunched my toes in the damp sand. Already, I had seen enough. Their sorrow was
reflected in the single fat tear that rolled over my cheek and down my chin. My knees buckled and I thought how sweetly fragrant the earth smelled as it rose to meet me, to provide comfort for me
—
if only for a little while. Then,
“
Why didn
'
t you take me? I am the only reason she
'
s here.
”

Hands stronger than my nightmare tightly gripped my shoulders. My name pricked my subconscious and I opened my eyes. A shadow blocked most of the red glow being cast across my bed by the rising sun. I blinked, believing that I was still dreaming; but I wasn't. Sitting on the edge of my bed was my real life knight-in-shining-armor, Damon.

“Kingston? Can you hear me, baby? Are you awake? Talk to me, honey!” Concern pulled at the corners of his mouth and resonated in his voice as he shook me gently, then caressed my back.

“I'm awake.” I moved closer to him and my tears mixed with the dampness of Damon's shirt. My body relaxed as I once again got used to the feel of Damon's arms around me. His sweaty scent was causing warm sensations in the pit of my stomach. Damon's breath whispered across my collarbone. Shockwaves rippled through each of my limbs as my soft chest rubbed against his hard one. My cotton nightgown provided friction, not protection.

Damon shifted his weight and pulled me even closer, smoothing damp tendrils of hair that were plastered to the side of my face. Butterfly kisses followed, beginning at my temples before slowly tracing the line of my jaw. His touch was familiar and overwhelming.

My mouth was dry and I swallowed deeply before I spoke. “Why are you here, Damon?”

“I was jogging past the house and heard you screaming so loud, you had the hairs on my neck on end. I thought someone had broken in or something. I came to check and noticed your window was cracked, so I jimmied it wider and crawled through.”

Now the damp t-shirt, musky scent, and knee bandage made sense. Too many years of football on the rocky streets of Jamaica with inadequate shoes had caused major damage to the cartilage in his knees. He eventually had surgery, but still needed to wrap one knee for support. Damon slowly separated his body from mine and immediately I sensed the loss. It felt unnatural—as if our bodies were destined to be intertwined. But the separation didn't last long,Damon switched positions, then settled me on his lap before cradling me to his chest once again.

“Tell me about it,” he said.

The words danced about in my head, but it was hard to vocalize them. It's been haunting my dreams since that fateful summer in Swift River. More than two decades had slipped away since I'd talked about it. Just the thought made me tremble and Damon tucked me more securely under his armpit. The bond between Damon and me went so much deeper than the relationship we had at Howard University. Damon and I would be attached forever, linked by the death of his sister and my friend, Joanne.

“I have nightmares,” I said. Damon's heart beat wildly beneath my ear and his cheek rubbed the top of my head as he nodded in agreement. “Very bad nightmares about Joanne.”

“I figured as much. I knew while we were at Howard. You would talk in your sleep—mumble Joanne's name. I would try to broach the subject, but it was like you wouldn't even hear me. It was as if you had blocked out the experience in Swift River while you were awake, but relived it while you slept. It's been twenty-five years, Kingston; you need to let it go. Yes, she died a horrible death, but it was an accident. She wouldn't want you to suffer so. She'd want you to be happy.”

“I know,” I said, shaking my head. “I just keep picturing her posing in my swimsuit, laughing and playing without a care in the world. She made that summer so special for me. The way she looked at things and accepted me no matter what. We were so different, but yet, the same. My grandmother would say, there goes Fric so Frac must not be far behind. I know she wouldn't want me to be in so much pain over it. She'd probably be pretty pissed, actually. But still, I can't help but feel guilty.”

“What do you feel guilty about?”

I pulled back and looked into his eyes. “It should have been me.” I shrugged, and repeated quietly, “It should have been me.”

“You weren't the only one there, Kingston. It was a picnic full of people. No one understood what was going on until it was too late.”

“Yeah, but I'm the reason she was in Swift River. I'm the reason that she went swimming so soon after eating, that she went so far out. I didn't realize that she was so tired, didn't check to make sure she was behind me. I should have taken better care of her.” I breathed deeply; the words that had played nonstop in my head like a broken record since her death were now out in the open. “It should have been me.” Sobs racked my body as the well of stored-up pain released from my soul.

Damon was murmuring nonsensical words against my ear, then my neck, finally my hair; words that comforted in their repetition. He cupped my face in his hands and asked, “Kingston, how can you say it should have been you? Do you have a direct line to God that you haven't told me about? Everything happens for a reason. Whether good or bad, there is a reason. Maybe we were supposed to learn something or be motivated to do something. You know that I am not a religious fanatic, but just as the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, I believe that there is a natural and divine order. The real pain in life comes when we fight against that order. Losing Joanne was a tragedy, but it was a tragedy that didn't happen to you because it simply was not supposed to. He spared your life. God must have something pretty important for you to do. Have you stopped to figure out what it is?

"All of us felt bad about what happened. Why do you think I became a doctor? Why do you think I was so hell bent on coming back to Jamaica to practice, continue with my
grandfather's health center? So that there are no more Joannes, no more deaths that could have been prevented by just a little bit of knowledge.

"Health care is so lacking in Jamaica because everyone wants to practice abroad to make good money. But if we aren't willing to stay and help our own, who will?”

I felt the passion in each rise and fall of Damon's chest.

“Why do you think it was so easy for me to leave you and come back after my grandmother fell ill? I didn't have a choice, Kingston. I owed it to Joanne. I feel the guilt, too. I was her older brother. If anyone was supposed to protect her, it was me. But I was only ten and you were seven. We were just kids ourselves, too young to shoulder such a heavy burden.”

And as we sat there, rocking gently, the sun rose, shining so much light that there was no room for darkness to hide. In this kind of light, healing began and I fell into a deep restful sleep.