Something She Can Feel (18 page)

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Authors: Grace Octavia

BOOK: Something She Can Feel
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May began to cry, and we sat there, holding hands as she prayed for her marriage and I secretly prayed for myself.
Chapter Fourteen
M
ay's worries followed me from Sunday to Monday under a cloud of sadness. I was moving, but slowly and seemingly waiting for the day to pass. The children came and went, and the day clamored on with the kind of dull repetitiveness that kept me constantly checking my calendar to see what day it was. Only, I felt like I had nothing to look forward to. I was so ready to just let go of everything, to stop carrying the sadness around with me and be happy for a few minutes, that by the time the day ended and I was walking out of the building, I prayed it was Friday and not the beginning of the week. I wanted to relax. To sit down and just talk to someone about everything that was going on.
When I walked out of the building and looked toward the end of the lot where my car was parked, I remembered Dame pulling up behind me the other day when I almost felt the same way leaving work. How he cheered me up and we just talked about everything. It was an unexpected pleasure. I looked around, hoping I'd see the old pickup sneaking down another aisle, but it wasn't there. Dame was probably long gone now and not thinking about me or our conversation. And that was a good thing. It was best if I forgot whatever I was thinking about him.
“Mrs. DeLong! Mrs. DeLong!” someone screamed. I turned around toward the school to see Ms. Newberry, one of the secretaries from the front office running out the doors to me.
“Mrs. DeLong,” she repeated out of breath now and heaving as she caught up to me.
“Calm down,” I said. “We don't need you fainting on us.”
I walked toward her and extended my hand to pat her on the back.
“Oh, I'm fine,” she said. “I just wanted to make sure you got this message.”
She opened her hand to reveal a pink message slip with words and a number written on it.
“The person said you needed to get it today,” she said, finally catching her breath. “Something about a meeting.”
She handed me the message.
“Who is it?” I asked, reading the text above the number: FORMER STUDENT.
“He wouldn't say. Just said to tell you it was about going back to a dream ... or a dreamland... . Something like that.”
My heart jumped. Pulsated so quickly, I felt it vibrate down to my knees. Suddenly, Ms. Newberry wasn't standing before me. I wasn't even in the parking lot. It was just me and the pink slip of paper existing in a tunnel where all I could imagine was picking up the phone and dialing that number. It was striking how immediately this need came over me. A moment ago, I wasn't even thinking about this number, but now, it was like water in a desert, and I hadn't had a sip in days.
“Mrs. DeLong?” I heard Ms. Newberry say.
“Yes?” I answered, emerging from the tunnel.
“Who do you think it is?”
“No idea.” I widened my eyes comically to portray indifference.
“Hmm ...” She bounced from one hip to the other and flicked her hand in the air dismissively. “Oh, well.... At least I got it to you. Maybe they'll call back. I'll be on the lookout.”
“Thank you,” I said, jiggling my keys.
“See you later.”
I watched Ms. Newberry walk far enough from me so that she wouldn't see me look down at the paper. I felt I had to contemplate it on my own. In secret. When she neared the door leading back into the school, I looked down at the slip and felt my heart flutter again.
I looked around the lot and pulled the paper to my chest.
“Oh, my God,” I said. “Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God!”
I zipped through the lot, seeking a secret place to look at the note again in the refuge of my car.
What does he want? Why is he calling? Is he here? Is he in the lot?
Questions paraded themselves through my mind as I slid my purse into the backseat and eased into the driver's seat. I didn't even roll down the windows or turn on the air-conditioning. I just sat there with the note held to my chest and weighed what was happening. At first I wanted to ignore my feelings. To pretend that I couldn't understand why he was trying to contact me. But then I realized that that was only because a little part of me was illuminated by the idea that he had. But I was a married woman and he was my former student. Ten years younger than me. I shouldn't be illuminated. I shouldn't even have been sitting there with that note. My husband had said no. And then I thought that maybe that was it. Maybe this note meant nothing to me. And that the only reason I was even thinking about this whole thing was because Evan had acted so pig-headed. Maybe it was because I was just bored with my life and went out and had a good time and now I had a secret I was keeping from my husband. That was it. This was nothing. I looked down at the note again and thought if I should call. Dig myself deeper into this nothingness. Maybe I should've prayed. Called my mother. Went home to my husband. But I dialed.
“Yeah,” a voice said on the first ring. I knew who it was. Dreamland.
“Dame,” I said quietly, suddenly feeling the heat growing around me in the car.
“You got the message.” His voice was strong but still excited. It sounded like my heart felt when Ms. Newberr y finally said “dream.”
“Yeah.” I replied. And then there was silence. It was like all of the things I was thinking before I dialed the number were floating in the air. We weren't saying anything, but somehow we both knew that this phone call wasn't as simple as me listening to another one of his songs. I wanted it not to be true. Wanted then to hang up and drive right home to Evan. But then he spoke.
“I want to see you,” he said, the strength in his voice lost in a nervous, short breath.
“You know, I just have so much going on,” my mind sent my lips to say. “That thing with my brother and my family. I really need to focus on—”
“Journey,” he said. And it was as if no one had ever said my name before. Like I'd never heard it. Not really. And then I realized that I'd never heard him say it.
“Yes.”
“I need to see you.”
“When?”
“I'm in Miami right now, but I'll be in Atlanta in two days. I want you to come to my show.”
“What?”
“I'm sending a car over there for you and I want you to come to my show.”
“I can't just go to Atlanta. I'm a ... Dame, I'm a married woman. I can't just leave. Evan won't have it.” I imagined telling Evan I was just going to Atlanta. It would sound absurd. It wasn't far, but I never went to Atlanta. Not even to see Justin. I didn't have the time. And if I did, Evan would come with me.
“Tell him you're coming to see me perform,” he said.
“It's not that simple.”
Dame sighed deeply.
“Look, I'm going to have a car waiting for you in the parking lot at Dreamland at 9 p.m. on Wednesday,” he said. The excitement had surrendered from his voice and I wondered what he looked like right then. “He'll have two tickets to the show. If you don't show up, it's cool.”
“Okay,” I said. “But there's no way I can do it.”
“I really need to see you,” he repeated and this time he sounded like he was the one in need of water.
“I'll see what I can do.”
I hung up knowing I could do nothing. This was impossible. Dame was making my life sound like some rap video where I could just jump into the back of a Bentley and ride out of town to a concert. I was not young. Not one of the white girls at the Cypress Inn or one of the teenagers stalking him from the curb as we rode down University Boulevard. I was a grown woman and sneaking away like that could rock every surface of my life. What was happening with Jr could possibly be happening with my parents, and Evan concerned about his career, I could not afford to shake anything. The secret had to end there. I crumpled the paper and threw it into a trash can as I pulled out of the school parking lot.
 
 
That night, as he had almost every night since my birthday, Evan reached out for me when I climbed into bed. He ran his hand suggestively down my arm and kissed me on the cheek. Before he could move to my lips, I turned away and said I was tired. That fast. I said I was tired and exhaled in show before turning away.
“You sure?” he asked. I could see him raised up on his elbow behind me.
“Yes,” I said, my eyes wide as I looked out into the night. “I had a long day.”
“Okay.” He fell back down, hitting the bed hard and in a huff.
I blew out again, but in relief this time. I just couldn't bring myself to sleep with Evan after I knew I'd been on the phone with Dame. I had to get a hold of my feelings before I could have Evan again. This was all new emotion to me. And I thought that just by touching Evan, I'd be adding more to the secrecy.
As the clouds shifted in the sky, ambling about like tumbleweeds, my thoughts buoyed between not wanting to think about Dame and hearing him call my name. I tried so hard to block it out, but then, when I felt Evan's body loosen and then freeze next to me as he descended into sleep, I heard the silence in the room and realized I was alone again. I could sink into my mind and have my secret to myself.
And then I saw him. The brown skin on his arm as we sat at the table at the Cypress Inn. It was so chocolatey, so smooth, I could hardly see the hairs curling up at his elbow. He moved his arm from the table and then to his chin, where I stroked it as he smiled at me, laughing and saying something I couldn't even hear, because I was looking at his lips, his teeth, the dimples in his cheeks.
In the bed, with this image in my mind, I looked up at the moon and slid my hand between my legs. I thought of Dame until I fell asleep next to Evan.
 
 
“Journey!” Evan's voice crashed into my dream. Still between both worlds, I began to open my eyes.
“Huh?”
“Your alarm clock—it went off ten minutes ago. You have to get up to get ready for work.”
I rubbed my eyes and looked at Evan, who was standing in front of me, wet and with a towel wrapped around his waist. He was leaning toward me, his yellow face was so close to mine he looked like a little bobblehead threatening to bash in my brains.
“You must've been really tired,” he said, hitting the alarm beside me.
“I guess.” I looked around the room quickly.
“What?” Evan asked.
“What?” I was still laying in the same spot.
“Are you going to get up?”
“Yeah,” I said, sitting up.
“And what were you dreaming about?” He turned to walk toward his closet. “You kept groaning all night.”
Chapter Fifteen
“I
t was a wet dream?”
“Shh ! Don't be so loud,” I said to Billie, who was supposed to be in the downward facing dog position. We were in the middle of a class at the yoga studio I sometimes let Billie believe she was dragging me to, talking about the dream I'd had that morning. Billie jumped out of position totally and just sat in Indian style next to me. “And it wasn't a wet dream,” I went on. “Only a man can have one of those. It was just a fantasy. Like I used to have when I was younger.”
“First off, I have wet dreams all of the time,” she whispered.
“Too much information ...”
The namaste transitioned into the next pose.
“And second, you haven't had one of your freaky fantasies since college.”
I flipped over with the rest of the class, but Billie just sat there. A woman in front of us was bending over and I could see her head from between her legs. She rolled her eyes.
“I know,” I said. “And that's what was so odd to me. It was just like it came from out of nowhere. It was so real.... So hot. I could really feel him touching me. And—”I lowered my voice a bit more—“when I woke up, my”—I looked down between my own legs—“was still ...”
“Oh, girl, that's some damn dream,” Billie said, patting herself with her towel.
The woman in front of Billie rolled her eyes visibly this time and Billie rolled her eyes right back.
“So maybe it's because you and Evan are having more sex right now,” Billie added. “Like your sexual life is being reawakened and so is your sexual psychological mind.”
“Well, thank you, Dr. Billie Freud.”
“It's either that or you're really sexually frustrated about something else.” Billie transformed with the rest of the class into the traditional resting position where we laid on our backs with our elbows tucked beside our torsos.
My head cocked toward the ceiling to open my airways. I didn't say a word to respond to her suggestion. I hadn't told her about Dame. About him showing up at the school and us riding around. I also failed to bring up the phone call. I didn't know why. I usually shared everything with her. But this made me feel embarrassed. And gossiping about the situation would only make it more real to me. More like an actual situation and not just some misguided events I needed to forget about.
“So?” Billie called.
“So what?”
I looked over and her head was turned toward me. She jerked back and glared at me.
“You're not saying something,” she said finally.
“What?”
“There it is again. Your eyes got wider and you looked away from me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Journey Lynn Cash, I have known you since hup was pup. I know when you're keeping something from me. You get quiet and try to look away,” she lectured me.
“I'm not.” I sat up alone and looked around. I had to get out of there. I couldn't breathe. I got up and rushed out.
“What's going on?” Billie asked, following me out of the door. She was wearing an electric blue tank top and white biker shorts. She looked like we'd just stepped out of some eighties movie. I was wearing an old black sweat suit that made me look slender and long like the other ladies.
“It's Dame,” I said slowly.
“Dame?”
There were a few other women standing in the lobby of the studio, so she pulled me into a corner.
“You're still thinking about him?”
I nodded.
“Don't feel bad about it, Journey. That's natural. Shit, he's fine as hell, young, and rich. Who wouldn't think about him?” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “You did spend a lot of time with him when he came to the school. So, it's only natural for you to have fantasies.”
“I guess so.” I looked over at the women who were beginning to file out of the classroom, hoping Billie wouldn't ask any more questions.
“You're looking away again.” She jabbed me on the shoulder with her fingers. “Wait ... something happened. Something really happened. Did you see him again? Did you go out with Dame?”
“We didn't go out. We just went—”
“And you didn't tell me? You didn't tell your best friend that you went out with a rapper, who happens to be your former student, who's ten years younger than you, and completely fine and filthy rich?” she said with mock seriousness. “That's completely scandalous. I'm your best friend! That's why I'm here!”
“Billie, there's no scandal. And I didn't tell you because you're so busy running around with Mustafa and there was nothing to tell. He just wanted me to hear his music, so we went for a ride and then we went to listen to some music at Fat Albert's.” I tried to sound as cool and nonchalant as possible. If I got excited, Billie was sure to double it.
“You went to Fat Albert's? After all these years, you went to Fat Albert's without me?”
Billie and I went into the locker room and I told the entire story about the time Dame and I spent together. About how I felt when we danced. And how afraid I was to continue to feel this way about him.
“Don't worry about it, Journey,” she said after we'd gotten dressed and were standing outside in the parking lot near our cars. “It's just a crush. He's new and exciting and I'm sure married people go through this all the time.”
“Well, what am I supposed to do?”
“What do you mean? You can't possibly be thinking of really, really doing anything with him?” She looked at me. “It could never work. It's like that old saying, a dog and a fish can marry, but where will they live?”
“I think that was a bird and a fish.”
“You know what I mean. Look, the point is it can't work. Now, you can either pretend it didn't happen until the feeling goes away, or you can try to see Dame for who he really is. A young rapper, who's still trying to figure himself out. He's in no way ready for the things you're doing. He's a kid. Probably doesn't even have a retirement fund in his own name. And I'm sure, once you get past the muscles, and the money, and the fame, and the success, and the car—what kind of car was that again?”
“A Bentley.”
“Yes—and the car, and the travel, and that chocolate skin, and those tattoos, and the way he walks, and the—”
“I get your point,” I interrupted.
“Then, you'll see that our good old Evan is the one for you. It's like when Diana Ross finally got to see the big, strong, all-powerful Wizard for who he was in
The Wiz—
they pulled back that curtain and there was Richard Pryor looking like every other ashy negro,” she said, and we both giggled. “I guess the only problem with this plan is that he's long gone now and there's no way you'll ever see him again, until he comes back to Tuscaloosa anyway.”
“Not exactly,” I said, looking away from Billie again.
“There's more?” she pleaded. “There's more than Fat Albert's?”
“Yes, he wants to see me again. He invited me to see him perform in Atlanta.”
Billie looked like she was about to fall over.
“Okay,” she started, pacing back and forth. “We can't panic. This is the perfect opportunity for you to pull back the curtain and see who he really is.”
“You're not suggesting I go, are you? Because that's just bad advice. Because I can't go. It's crazy.”
She looked at me all wide-eyed.
“You want me to go?” I asked. “But it's tomorrow night. It's impossible.”
“Look, all we need is a plan.”
 
 
If nothing else, Billie knew how to put together a good scheme. She organized schemes like lesson plans, blinding the most suspecting participants. And this time was no different. After convincing me that I had to see Dame again to get over what she kept calling my “little crush” and to stop the dreams, she planned for me to ask Evan to accompany me, her, and Mustafa to see August Wilson's
Fences
in Atlanta on Wednesday night. It was last minute, but she'd just gotten the tickets and wouldn't it be so fun? Now, Evan didn't like Billie, hated plays, and detested Atlanta. No matter how sweetly I said it, he'd say no, and feeling bad he'd tell me to go on my own. It was pure black genius and when I got home and unfolded it to Evan, he bowed out before I even finished my sell.
“Please, I'm not in the mood to go see a play about some man cheating on his wife. You go, and maybe if you're in a good mood when you get back, we can talk about something,” he said, sitting beside me on the couch as we watched the news.
“About what?”
“Just your going back to school and working at the church.”
“The church? You mean, what Jr keeps talking about?” I clicked off the television and turned to him. “You know how I feel about that. Why would you even bring it up?”
“Well, he's kind of right. You could do better things with your time and the job will pay well,” he said nonchalantly, but it sounded as if Jr had listed these things for him. “You're a smart woman.”
“I don't need either you or Jr to say how smart I am.”
“There you go, trying to argue.” Evan moved his arm from around me.
“I'm not arguing. I just don't see how you could even think to ask me about that,” I complained.
“Look, I didn't want to talk about this now, but when the baby comes, I need some help around here and your father and I just think things will be easier.”
“What does he have to do with how we live?”
Evan looked away and I repeated my question.
“He helped me a little when I got the house,” he mumbled.
“Helped you?” I got up. “Helped you how?”
“It's nothing. I just didn't have the money and he helped us out.”
“See, I knew we couldn't afford this.” I looked around angrily. I didn't like my parents being involved in any of my finances. Even in his best form and intentions, my father used that to control me when I was in college. He chose my major. He said where I could live. He planned everything. When I graduated and started teaching, I immediately started paying my own bills. It was the only way I could claim any independence from them.
“How much, Evan?” I asked. “How much did he give you?”
“He gave us half.”
“Half ? My father paid for half of this house?”
“He volunteered. Went to the bank himself. I thought it was the best thing to do. This is what you wanted.”
“Yes, but not like this,” I said. “Damn... . That's why Jr's so sure he can get me to come work at the church. He knows I owe my father.”
“You don't owe him anything. I just think it'll be a good gesture.”
“You don't know him like I do. My father cares. He loves me a lot. I know that, but if I don't pay attention, he'll plan the rest of my life.... Sometimes I think he already has.”

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