Disclaimers: See Chapter 1. Any other comments can be sent to me at bironel@gmail.com
Synopsis: A novella about the an insanely wealthy white woman's search for her soul mate and the debt ridden black woman writer, with a vivid imagination, who tries to keep out of her way.
Epilogue
Danger, Nailah Brown, Danger!
I sit in this ridiculously cavernous living room, spread out on the red couch wearing a pair of my favorite jeans, drinking my favorite tea, able to read in peace and listen to soft music, while my daughter sleeps serenely in a bassinet beside me.
My daughter. A notion that gets stuck in my throat every time I think upon it. I didn't give birth to her yet she comes from me.
Strange how life is.
We had a wonderful day together Jessica and I - even though we were followed the entire time. I spotted the man and woman tailing us when we left the building for our hour in the park but I didn't mind.
I probably would have done the same if our situations were reversed - although I wouldn't have stolen Her nasty old eggs no matter how rich I was! But I look at my angel and I my anger stops at my chest dissipating through my pores.
What's done is done. It is what it is. How inane that sounds. It's a better insurance policy I have in that delightfully wretched Poverty widget I had Georgie discretely install on Her foundation's computer systems, especially the ones that monitors her total net worth and holdings. Let Her try that egg stealing trick again she's going learn real quick about the virtues of poverty.
She “who must be obeyed” - NOT! has granted concessions. I wouldn't have named my daughter Jessica but I wasn't around during her birth. However I have been “given” the honor of choosing her middle name. And I have been hard at work selecting the right one.
I want her to have a name which she will be proud to carry and I wish it to be a promise of all good things for her. Jessica is a pretty name too, I suppose… it grows on you.
I renew my attention to this mystery I am reading. The twists and turns have kept me enthralled and She isn't here, so I have the rare peace to float above the characters of the story, a disembodied voyeur.
After a few sips of lukewarm tea; checking on the sleeping angel who stole my heart with one gas bubble induced smile; the turn of about ten pages learning more about who-dun-it; it wasn't until I felt a tingle on the top of my head that I noticed Her standing in the doorway, wearing Her power designer suit, flattering Her figure as always ... staring at me.
I register her anger, counter with my own, setting it hard upon my face and I am resolved to ignore her - until the tears gush out of her green eyes, spilling over her cheeks, hitting the shiny parquet floor - completely.
Her body gets into this crying spell with her shoulders shaking and spilling more tears to the wood floor.
I rest the book I'm reading to the side, losing my place in the process.
My angel still sleeps and I am curious as to why my limbs and fluffy sock feet carry the rest of me towards... Her .
Face to tear streaked face. Nose to runny nose. I am surprised when a finger, my finger lifts and catches an errant tear from Her cheek. She gasps as if in pain and the most shocking thing is I... I slowly embrace her.
This gesture shocks Her as well for Her body jerks in my embrace. Before I can remove my arms from around her, She grabs hold of my torso, buries her face into my chest and holds on to me as though somehow I stabilize the violent way her body shakes.
The front of my tee shirt is soaked and where She has grabbed fists full of tee shirt, extensive ironing will be required.
And I don't let go.
This woman has been the catalyst of me discovering aspects of myself I not only didn't know, but I didn't particularly like about myself when they were revealed. Knowing her has caused me considerable heartache and confusion.
This woman plays with the darkest aspects of human nature and calls it pleasure.
This woman has stolen something more precious than my written work from Nailah: my genetic future and She had the audacity to develop it without my conscious input. Odds suggest she'll do it again, only because She can.
And I don't let go.
Not because she has molded herself to me, not because she hasn't stop crying - she has. I don't let go because... I don't know... how or I don't understand... why am doing this?
Hood Rat Nailah: back away from the She-devil ! This act of hugging is counter revolutionary to the liberation of our people!
Letting that factoid fire my mental synapses:
Detective Nailah: She doesn't deserve our compassion. You can't respond to evil with compassion, evil eats empathy like potato chips!
All this sage wisdom ends with the axiom of keeping the enemy close but this is much too close.
Yet a more ancient part of me, who for much of my life has been silent - surprisingly consuls me in a quiet, deep yet strong voice: Heal that which you can, be present and aware - baring witness to the rest.
The annoying hugging continues unabated and I still have this overall sense of not knowing what the hell I am doing.
I hate this - not being in control.
I hate Her for making me feel this way - and myself for allowing it. Yeah hate is a great tool to awaken my inner revolutionary. Che and pre-enlightened Malcolm would be proud.
And She lifts her head from my chest, her green eyes looking into mine and I realize in the slight space of her gaze - a space you couldn't fit a gnat in - I exist there, all of me, in her searching gaze.
From the distance between the red couch and the doorway, I realize I had mistaken forlorn for anger and my inner revolutionary yawns, blinks tired almond shaped eyes and takes a nap.
Crap!
She must know at some deep level, she has found in me, an ally because her smile reaches her bloodshot, watery eyes. She moves her arm from around my waist and cups my face with her warm hand. Her touch tingles against my skin. It feels like she leaves a part of herself there on my cheek when her fingers roam slowly through my hair on the top of my head, then slide down to the back of my neck.
She pulls my head closer to hers and for a moment I am able to resist as I jerk my head away.
I refuse to allow such an intimate display-
With the patience of... mother earth, she gently guides my face closer to her and... our lips touch.
After quiet long moment, of there being no empty space between she and I, we slowly pull away our lips, releasing held breathes, still connected by a thin clear string of saliva.
She closes her eyes resting her ear against my chest, then moves her nose and lips against my neck.
I shiver: Zeus! Yahwah! Merciful Allah! Great Orishas of antiquity, is there no escape from this madness!
Detective Nailah: Umm, we're not in “straightopia” anymore, are we?
Hood Rat Nailah: Really? What gave that away? The intimate armful of FEMALE we're currently experiencing????
Detective Nailah: I think… I need… to analyze the situation… from a considerable distance. The floor is yours.
Hood Rat Nailah: Oh great now when we're in a situation I know nothing about, you give ME total control! You do realize I'm the one who loves explosives! Don't come crying to me if I screw up!
I stand in a ridiculously large living room which could comfortably house a family of twenty, financially in the black, releasing my past to the ether behind me, holding onto my present accepting all Her imperfections, while my future sleeps, clutching her teddy bear and a big part of my heart.
Although I wasn't as repulsed as I thought I would be after THAT. IT will not be repeated - Word is bond!
Objects in the Mirror Are Closer Than They Appear
As toddlers run through the seated crowds under the watchful eyes of their parents and caretakers, Amanda, locks the front wheel of her TREK Soho bicycle to the frame and front wheel of a larger TREK Sport Urban touring bike with a child GOBUG Trailer attached, already secured to the outdoor park bike rack.
She removes a large wicker basket from the front handlebars of her bike and walks down a gravel path towards a large meadow filled with couples and small gatherings of friends picnicking in front of a large stage where musicians are playing jazz underneath a large white screen overhead.
Amanda stops at a open spot among the sea of people, spreads out a large blanket and sets the wicker basket down on top of it before removing her sneakers and reclining on the blanket.
After two years of the delightful game, I like to call “Fishing with Nailah”, I smirk realizing is now due time to start reeling my skittish “catch du jour” in , Amanda contemplates.
As she bops her head to the rhythm of the music, she takes her cell phone out of the pocket of her khaki cargo shorts and her eyes scan the growing crowd. Amanda notices young attractive people handing out trays of free goodies from the sponsor of the concert and movie in the park this evening and people warmly greeting friends who have arrived late.
Her eyes rest on her quarry, the tall woman wearing the Afro carrying a rambunctious toddler who recently turned two years old in the past week. Their two tight curly haired heads are close together engaged in some secret conspiracy which results in laughter shared between them.
Amanda is still amazed how much Jessie resembles Nailah down to the cloud of curly reddish brown hair on her head. Except for Jessie's vivid green eyes which matches Amanda's, one would think Nailah her birth mother.
Nailah's cell phone rings. She opens it with one hand and holds it to her ear while the other arm cradles Jessie. Her eyes scan the crowd and quickly finds Amanda looking at her with her cellphone against her ear. Nailah disconnects the call, pockets her cellphone and walks herself and Jessie in that direction. When Nailah and Jessie reach the blanket they plop down on it still plagued with bouts of laughter.
Amanda: What's so funny?
Nailah: The bathroom line was long. Really long.
Silly laughter and giggles from Jessie and Nailah. Amanda eyes them both suspiciously.
Amanda: Do I have to call Gerald for his assistance?
Nailah: Don't worry. We didn't do anything that will result in litigation.
More silly giggles from Jessie and Nailah.
Amanda: Then it's more serious than I thought.
Amanda takes out some sandwiches and beverages from the wicker basket.
Amanda: Anyone hungry?
Jessie grabs for her sandwich which Nailah skillfully keeps from her greedy little fingers.
Nailah: You know better. What's the word?
Jessie pouts and looks at her mommy for sympathy. None is forth coming. Sheepishly she battles her long eyelashes at Nailah, her other mom.
Jessie: Jess peas
Nailah: Better.
Nailah hands Jessie the sandwich which she takes and bites with gusto.
Jessie (mouth full of almond butter, apricot preserves and bread): Tank ewe.
Nailah: You're welcome.
Nailah opens a bottle of water, takes a healthy swig from it leaving the bottle empty and dry when she is done. She finishes off with a tiny burp and a smile of relief.
Amanda: Thirsty much? And you're the one to teach manners…
Nailah: That was a natural reflex. I take no shame in it. What's this movie about again?
Amanda: It's three Harold Lloyd shorts. You know the silent movie actor.
Nailah: Why are we all the way back here when we could be up front in those fold out chairs? It will be hard enough to hear back here with it being a silent movie.
Amanda: (rolls her eyes) It's nicer here on the grass, besides Jessie will probably N-A-P soon so she can stretch out here on the blanket.
Jessie looks her mommy. Mommy was doing that letter thing again and she mentioned her name which meant mommy was talking about her. Jessie instinctively knew when The Mommies spoke letters instead of words they were probably speaking about words she didn't like - like bath time, eating oatmeal (yuck) and most especially nap time. Even though Jessie got very sleepy lots of times she never wanted to miss anything so she fought nap time. She seemed to know that most things seem to happen when she was napping and she didn't want to miss anything.
After finishing her sandwich and drinking a bit of apple juice from her favorite Powerpuff Girls sippy cup, Jessie yawns. Amanda smiles and gently messages Jessie's head as she lays down next to her mommy.
Nailah: Will I like this Harold Lloyd?
Amanda: You like comedies.
Nailah: I guess.
Amanda: You guess?
Nailah: We'll… I went on a date with this guy during college where we went to a movie revival to see a free Woody Allen movie. He was real cheap that guy. Anyway he said it was a comedy but I didn't think it was funny. It made me cry actually.
Amanda: A Woody Allen movie made you cry? What could possibly have been so sad in a Woody Allen movie?
Nailah: When they tried to boil those lobsters alive! The poor things tried desperately to escape. And all they did was laugh and scream, heartless bastards! Just because you're ugly it doesn't make it right for people to eat you.
Amanda blinked slowly three times looking at Nailah as though she were from another planet. Then she smiled a smile that reach her eyes and ended with a belly laugh.
Amanda: Goodness. The point of that movie wasn't about the lobsters survival! It was about a man who was unwilling to change to have the kind of relationship which was best for him. You should take copious notes about that.
Nailah: That's depressing too.
Amanda: All comedy comes from tragedy.
Nailah: Maybe I'll N-A-P too.
Jessie eyes Nailah suspiciously.
Nailah: She does that just like you do.
Jessie looks at her mommy then her mom expectantly. Bored with that activity she yawns and then looks at the other people in her park.
Amanda: Ok, do you like slapstick comedies?
Nailah: That sounds violent.
Amanda: Then you'll love this.
Nailah: But can you be sure I'll love it? I tend to be very critical.
Amanda: I would have never guessed that about you.
Nailah stares at Amanda. As her almond shaped eyes narrow, she senses a joke at her expense in that seemingly innocent comment - but it was too cleverly masked. Hmm.
Amanda: What is there to critique? Either you'll laugh or you won't.
Nailah: It isn't the event of laughter that's of concern but the frequency of laughter.
Amanda: You are impossible.
Nailah: I exist so I am very possible. Back to the topic though, if I don't laugh in a high enough frequency then the movie isn't funny.
Amanda: Okay Professor Nailah what's your laugh benchmark for a funny movie?
Nailah: A stomach ache.
Amanda: What???
Nailah (repeats): A stomach ache. If my stomach doesn't hurt by the end credit roll, it wasn't funny.
Amanda: And if I can guarantee you a decent stomach ache by the end of the evening, then what's my reward?
Nailah: How did this turn into something for you? If my stomach hurts I will have enjoyed the movie.
Amanda: But your commentary infers that I might have selected a unfunny, depressing series of movie shorts. I want a reward when I prove your assumptions wrong.
Nailah: Competitive much? Fine name your prize.
Amanda: A kiss and not on the forehead or cheek. Full blown lip on lip action. It need not be public, actually I'd prefer if it wasn't.
Nailah: Nope select something else.
Amanda: My other choices might make you blush. Besides afraid you might lose?
Nailah: That circular psycho babble doesn't work on me.
Amanda moves closer to Nailah.
Amanda: Put your lips where my mouth is.
Nailah (pouts): Back up, you're invading my space.
Amanda: Honey I haven't begun to invade your space... yet.
Amanda unexpectedly moves in and brushes her lips against Nailah. Nailah jumps back aghast.
Nailah: Hey what was that? The movies hasn't even started yet!
Amanda: That was a preemptive strike. Your cuteness drew me in.
Nailah moves away from Amanda to the farthest edge of the blanket. Elbows rest on knees, as tight fists cradle her chin and a permanent pout threatens to settles across her mouth. Nailah absolutely refuses to acknowledge the tingle on her lips nor address how that tingle got there. Nor any tings anywhere else on her traitorous body.
Detective Nailah: The thievery! Steal this, take that! Doesn't matter if it doesn't belong to her, she sees it, she takes it. How is that an admirable quality? Many people with this POV are in jail, you know!
Hood Rat Nailah: This egg stealing… We should have blown up her house!
Detective Nailah: We live in the same house numbskull with Jessie. You want us all to be homeless?
Hoot Rat Nailah: If she's got the ovaries to take stuff with abandon then we should be allowed to blow her stuff up on general principles.
Detective Nailah: Then technically we'd be destroying the stuff she most probably stole.
Hood Rat Nailah: That's just blows!
Nailah smirked inwardly at her mental freudian slip. She facing the screen to watch the film with a scowl on her face as Amanda gently smiles at Nailah's back.
As the lights dim, the orchestra begins playing, Jessie settles into a light sleep and the first Harold Lloyd short begins.
The End