by Tiana Laveen
The letters and boxes all had the same name written on them…
Mr. Kane Westbrook.
But he couldn’t live in that big house by himself, now could he? What sense does that make?
She smiled as she said his name over and over in her mind, then continued on with her day, making a mental note to call Mama back and finish the discussion about Doris’ funeral that she would not be attending…
CHAPTER TWO
The Lights Are On, But Nobody’s Home
…The following day
‘In a world full of chaos, home is where peace thrives…’
Two crumpled paper bags loaded with fresh groceries sat on the dining room table. Kane crossed his arms and studied them as if at any moment, they were going to start talking. He turned away with a sigh.
It’s a wreck in here… I have to stop making excuses about it and get this done. Something has to give.
Dipping into one of the bags, he pulled out a large head of lettuce, a ruby red tomato and a small package of country ham slices. The grocery company always delivered within two hours of his ordering, and today he had a hankering for a BLT sandwich, an ice cold cola and a bowl of pretzels mixed with salty potato chips.
I’ll fix me that dinner in about an hour.
He put the items back into the bag after he’d checked everything was in there, then hauled everything to the kitchen. The next few minutes he spent putting the food away, enjoying the quiet as his mind wandered and he dived headfirst into daydreams. Once he finished, he checked out the refrigerator, making sure everything was exactly where he wanted it to be. The refrigerator was the only thing in the kitchen that was free of clutter and he had a compulsion of sorts to keep it and his master suite bathroom sanitary at all times.
Just as he finished placing a pack of crackers in the pantry, his doorbell rang. Ignoring it, he walked back over to the refrigerator to get himself a bottle of chilled water. The doorbell rang once again. Who the hell could it be? He was used to ignoring people, tuning them out, but when they rang the bell a third time, he knew that may not be the best solution. What if it is something important? Taking a deep breath, he made his way over to the front door and looked out the peephole.
That mail lady… Damn! I forgot to put her bin back out there. I meant to set it outside on the front porch so she could get it.
It was marked with a government logo, so surely not something he could just keep. He contemplated whether he should open the door and fling it out there like a frisbee, then close and lock it back up, or try to pretend he had some manners and do the right thing. On a deep sigh, he opened the door and was greeted with one of the friendliest, sweetest smiles ever.
The woman’s skin was darker than he’d ever seen, reminding him of plum fruit. There was not one pimple, wrinkle, blemish, smile line, or crease. She was ageless. It was impossible to guess how old she was, but he figured she might be in her early to mid-thirties. Her teeth were sparkling white like snow caps and so were the whites of her eyes, too. She had straight jet black hair with a widow’s peak that was pulled back in a little bun adorned with a light blue ribbon. Her breasts appeared rather large but were flattened by her uniform, and she was a bit plump about the waist. Her legs were long, or perhaps she had shoes with a lift. She could be about five foot seven… When the wind blew, it picked up a sweet scent that reminded him of cherry jasmine perfume. It danced and teased his nose, sending him somewhere special, soft and feminine. He missed that…
Mmmm… she smells good. Real good.
“Hi, there. It’s me again.” She gave a little wave. “I, uh, I came to—”
“I know.” He cleared his throat. “I remember. You came to get that bin. Hold on a second.” As he navigated his house to retrieve it, he was certain the woman was standing there, peeking inside, taking it all in. He didn’t need to see her doing it; he could feel it. He picked up the bin and walked back to her. Just as he expected, he caught the woman craning her neck like a turtle’s, her eyes wide, full lips parted as she checked out his digs.
“Here you go.” She quickly straightened and tossed on a quick smile, though curiosity still shone in her eyes. And a little confusion and disgust, too.
“Thank you.” She took it from him, remaining rooted to the spot, as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t figure out what. He kinda liked her standing there for some reason. A bit less lonely, perhaps? He liked the way she looked in her uniform, all put together. She looked professional, as if she were someone who could be trusted. Her blue uniform was in perfect condition and her black shoes were shiny, the laces tied just right. They looked practically new.
Something gleamed around her neck, catching his eye. A gold chain with a chess board pendant. His lips kinked in a smile.
“You play chess?” He pointed to it.
She looked down and her cheeks blushed with a dark ruby glow. How sweet that was…
“Yes, I like to play all sorts of board games, actually. Chess is one of my favorites.”
“A woman playin’ chess.” He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a cigarette. Lighting it, he leaned against the doorframe. “That’s different.”
“Not really. Lots of women play chess.”
“Not from what I’m used to, where I come from. Are you good at it?”
“I’d like to think so. Do you play?”
“I certainly do. I’ve won online championships years ago, too. That was a long time ago though, but yeah, I love it.” He blew smoke rings out the side of his mouth and crossed his ankles. He found himself staring at her breasts, then turned away when she looked down at her cleavage, as if to see what the hell he was ogling. “I haven’t played in a while now. Years. I’m rusty.” He licked his lower lip, finding her scent overwhelming. In a good way.
“Rusty is all right. If you’re good, all you need is a little practice to get back into the swing of things.” He nodded in agreement. “Do you mind if I ask you a question, Mr. Westbrook?”
“Kane is fine. What do you want to ask me?” He took another drag of his cigarette. Today her hair was slicked back again in the same way, only the bun was braided. She’d switched it up. This time she wore small pearl earrings, too.
“You say you’ve been here a bit over a year?”
“Mmm hmm.” He blew out more smoke.
“Do you need help unpackin’? Not that I’m offering, but I know of some companies that do that sort of thing.”
“Do you now?” He sucked his teeth. Should he be annoyed or humored with the meddling woman?
“Yeah. Seems a shame to have such a big pretty house and have it all filled up to the point you can’t enjoy it. If I could afford to live over here, you bet your bottom dollar I’d have it looking beautiful, everything just so. It just seems a pity is all.”
“I don’t need help unpacking.”
“Well, all right then. Oh! Before I forget, you had mail in the box again, only it wasn’t from me.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out some real estate flyer. It featured a glossy postcard size photo of some lady in a white suit jacket with her light auburn hair tossed over one shoulder. “Someone must’ve popped it into your box.” He scanned it then tossed it behind him. The woman’s eyes widened as she watched it flutter and land somewhere. “Are you okay?” Her perfectly shaped brows rumpled.
“No, I’m not okay. I bet you weren’t expecting that answer, were ya? And no, I don’t really want to talk about it, because nobody is okay all the time anyway. Nonetheless, thank you for cutting me some slack yesterday. I’ll turn you loose. It’s been a nice chat. I gotta go but before I do, what’s your name? Since you’re my mail lady I think I should know.”
“My name is Jessica.”
“Jessica…” He grinned. “That’s a pretty name.”
“Thank you.”
“My very first girlfriend was called Jessica.”
“Aww, that’s nice!”
“She dumped me for my best friend.” The
woman’s grin quickly faded. “I’m just fuckin’ with you!” He burst out laughing, causing her to do the same. That same blushing glow cast across her cheeks. She really had unbelievable cheekbones… amazing.
“You had me going.” She waved her finger at him before turning away. “Take care, Mr. Westbrook. I mean, Kane. Play some chess again. Enjoy the rest of your day.”
“You do the same, Jessica. And thank you for leavin’ the bin. That was mighty kind of you.”
She looked at him over her shoulder and smiled.
“It was no problem.”
“Maybe one day we’ll play chess together!” He laughed, knowing he was just talking shit. Chances were high they’d never even speak again. He was going to try to do better about handling his mail, going out every other day to get it like he promised himself he would, versus just twice a week.
“First, you gotta clear a spot for us to sit in that big, pretty house of yours. I don’t mind standing in line for a fish dinner, but I sit for my games.” She winked at him and moseyed on away. He watched her get in her truck, head off to the next house, and then the next. After a while, he slowly closed and locked his door. He turned on the foyer light—a large gold chandelier—and exposed the terrible truth. The mess stretched from his dining room to his sitting area. All he could do was try to figure out where to begin.
He opened the door again and sniffed the air, like a wolf about to howl at the moon. Her scent lingered in the air… Just… beautiful. She’d left him a present and didn’t even know it. She’d cured his loneliness, even if only for a moment. Her voice was full of life, her smile a band of stars. He played back their conversation in his head and the memory made him giddy.
Closing the door, he walked over to his laptop that sat on a small desk littered with papers and small boxes and selected a playlist from his music database. LL Cool J’s, ‘Rock the Bells’ began to play. After pulling out two trash bags from the pantry in his kitchen and a sharp pair of scissors from the drawer, he returned to the front room and began to tackle his boxes. One after another, he studied the contents, discarding some and putting other items aside. He moved like a robot with the music blaring, the perspiration pouring. Determined. This continued until 2 a.m., after which he took a break. That had been the most work he’d done in the house since he’d moved in. He went on for a few more minutes and contemplated resuming the following day.
Covered in sweat, he surveyed his handiwork: eight bags of trash, over fifteen empty boxes, and the room was clean from top to bottom.
He grabbed the bags, two by two, and made his way to the back of the house, his anxiety shooting through the roof. He took a deep breath, his heart pounding as he caught sight of the dark, looming trees, the bright full moon, and the way the wind blew the leaves about, making the world come alive. It was as if the universe had teeth, a lapping tongue and rumbling belly… eager to swallow him whole. The hairs on his arms stood at attention and his eyes burned as if he were about to turn into some creature of the night. His adrenaline soared, the strain real. Flinging the back patio door open, he stepped out, one bare foot in front of the other, his eyes now almost completely shut. He could feel the wooden boards of the deck below his soles, then the cool, lush grass as he kept going, step after step, inch by inch.
Nothing is going to happen… Nothing is going to happen… You’re in control! Everything is fine! Nothing is going to happen…
He kept repeating the words to himself until all eight bags were jammed in the two trash containers and the broken-down boxes sat folded in the recycle bin. He moved like a flash of lightning back into the house, his chest heaving up and down. The cool air had brushed against his wet body, making him clammy, lightheaded and ill. After a few minutes of deep breathing, he calmed down and poured himself a glass of water, then returned to the dining room. The space was bright, big and airy… like he’d walked into an entire new world. It smelled like lemon Pledge and optimism.
“Look at this…” He smiled, pleased with himself.
Two large framed pictures hung on the wall, perfectly centered. The one above a buffet unit was a painting of a park with two benches sitting side by side. The other depicted a young son and father fishing on a bank. He’d put a lot of thought into the placement of the plants in the room. They were artificial but convincing looking shrubs nevertheless. The dining room table, which seated eight, was made of rich cherry wood. Each chair had soft black cushioning and the table highlighted a burgundy and cream place mat for each seat. In the center of the table was a silky black runner with delicately woven fringes and a gold and ivory bowl filled with potpourri ornament spheres. Most of the items he’d brought from his grandmother’s home after her passing, while some he’d ordered online but had never checked to see if the item met his expectations.
Kane pulled out one of the chairs and sat in it, elbows on knees, linked his hands. His stringy hair fell before him like a final curtain call and darkness crept in. His eyes turned to lakes… wet and endless, bleak and dark. He clasped his fingers so hard together, they hurt. N.W.A. blared ‘Straight Outta Compton.’ He burst out laughing, shaking himself out of his murky thoughts. He sat straight, looked up at the bright chandelier and smiled before running his hand along his face, pushing the hair back with sprawled fingers. He relaxed, enjoying the music.
I remember this. Those were great days, special days… Just me and Eric, Gene, Jason, Kyle, Mike, Lamont and Aaron partying, sneaking over to what Dad called the wrong side of town. He couldn’t understand why we’d do that, ’specially me, but I loved it. I wanted to D.J. so I did.
During high school and college, he’d spun records at parties, he’d even garnered the nickname of ‘D.J. Kandy Kane,’ rockin’ ’em on the wheels of steel, sweet beatz for your eargasm.
I loved the music… the way it made me feel deep down in my soul. I got my appreciation for it from my grandmother. I loved ALL music. I loved listening to Grandma’s Willie Nelson and Loretta Lynn albums, and her Blues tunes, too. I used to mix them, and people would laugh. But they’d dance because it was different and it sounded good. And I loved hearing Eric’s family’s music. His mama sung like a songbird, his father played the piano, and Eric, his three brothers, and four sisters could play instruments. I felt at home there, fit right in… But those days are gone…
He smoked his cigarettes one after another, listening to his old school Rap playlist and fighting sleep. Several times, he dozed off, only to be awakened by the start of a new song blaring some wonderfully nasty bass or his own light snoring.
He noted the time. It was now almost four in the morning. Treacherous Three’s ‘Feel the Heartbeat’ played him a goodbye melody as he got to his feet. Dragging himself up the winding staircase, he somehow made it to the bedroom without falling out. He quickly got settled, pulling the white sheets over his sore muscles, but his eyes zoomed in on the piled-up boxes, stacked high like bricks and interrupting his quest for slumber. It had given him a sense of comfort and protection, all that shit jammed up like that, but now, it was beginning to feel like a jail cell, closing in, caving in on him, cutting off his air. Making it hard to breathe.
Something had flipped inside his brain that evening.
A lock was sprung and the door was slowly opening, creaking like the entrance to a wizard’s lair…
He closed his eyes, praying he didn’t have a nightmare, an anxiety-driven rush where reality and dreams became blurred. After all, the evening had gone so well. His eyes fluttered as he entered the zone of sleep. The soft edges of lucidity turned fuzzy and before long, he was swallowed by the darkness once again as inertia took him to a place far, far away…
…A week later
‘I am the air beneath the wind. I go unnoticed, the one carrying the weight, helping you feel the coolness of the breeze against your skin. The wind cannot move without me. I am the Coriolis effect but few know me by my name. I am in the air, constantly rotating, this powerful, quiet, invisible thing. You cannot fee
l me, you cannot see me. Everyone else takes the credit for my glory. I am a mere cluster of particles that make the world turn, the stars bright, and the waves in the ocean roll. I do all the heavy lifting. I am the mule. I am undetected. I am never thanked. No one writes poems about me. They only love the wind, the rain, and chase tornados for sport. No one sings about my grace or beauty. But I am here… Unapologetically here…’
—Tiana Laveen
“He finer than a mothafucka!” Melissa cackled as she sashayed about in her tight bright pink dress and matching heels. She slammed her ass down in her chair at the table, her beer sloshing about in the bottle. “Go talk to him, Jessica!” Jessica rolled her eyes and sucked her teeth. When pigs fly… “I’m for real! He been lookin’ at you for a while now!” the woman stated with a serious face.
They sat with their friends in the club, all of them holding drinks.
“I’m not going up to that man and saying anything! No way! That’s not my style, girl. You know that. You can’t go around chasing men. You should let them come to you. If he wants somethin’ over this way, he can come to me.” Jessica crossed her legs, her black and silver leggings hugging them tight. Her feet hurt like a bitch. She’d jammed them into some four-inch black stilettos and though they did in fact make her look sexy, she wasn’t certain they were worth the pain. She’d been dancing all night, giving the damn things a workout. They’d all finished dancing to ‘Dynamite’, by Taio Cruz, which had become a classic in her circle. The beat definitely got the party started.
Melissa pursed her lips. She rolled her eyes and in her typical unladylike fashion, took her martini to the head. Abby, who worked in administration at the post office with her, checked out the scene. She was pretty and thin, with a model physique. The woman had a rich milk chocolate complexion with long, natural kinky hair that was soft like cotton to the touch. She had the most incredible bone structure. Although soft spoken, she was known to be an undercover freak.
