Original Love

by J. J. Murray

  “Why’d she make you wait so long?”

  “To punish me, I guess. To keep me from running off immediately to find Ebony. Maybe to make me so old that I wouldn’t be attractive to anyone anymore, I don’t know. Despite her father’s millions, she still gets half the money from those two novels she hates. And the house.”

  “That is all so…twisted.” She sighs. “I’m almost sorry I asked.”

  I shrug. “Don’t be.”

  She shakes her head. “Didn’t you try to rewrite your third novel from memory?”

  “Sure. But I had it right the first time, or at least I thought I had it right. I gave up trying after a few days.”

  “And then you gave up trying to be married.”

  Giving up seems to be the theme of the evening. “I really think I gave up before I got married. If only I had stayed here, I know things would have been different.”

  “Yeah. If only you had stayed.” Destiny squeezes my arm. “It’s getting late, and I have to work tomorrow.” She stands and arches her back, yawning.

  “See, I did bore you.”

  “No, you didn’t. I’m just tired.” She looks across the bay. “Is your father’s boat out there somewhere?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Where?”

  I point to a dark speck.

  “I’ve never been on a boat before.”

  “Never?”

  “Nope.”

  She can’t be serious. “You live on Long Island and have never been on a boat? Not even a ferry?”

  “The ferry doesn’t count. So, are you going to take me to see it?”

  “Now?”

  “Why not?”

  Is she asking what I think she’s asking? “But I thought you said you had to work.”

  She sighs. “I do, but I can always call in sick.”

  Oh, shit. She wants to spend the night. “I want to, uh, show you my boat, Destiny, but—”

  “You tryin’ to get nasty with me?”

  “I meant—”

  “I know what you meant. I’m the one getting nasty. I shouldn’t have had that Mocha Kiss.” She smiles. “So…can I go on your boat, Peter?”

  “Uh, we just met, and I’m…attracted to you—I am, really, you’re so full of life and you’re heartbreakingly beautiful—but, if we went out there, I don’t know if I—”

  Destiny kisses my cheek and giggles. “Dag, I just wanted to see the boat, that’s all.”

  “Really?”

  “I have a steady man, Peter.”

  “You do?” Of course she does. Every goddess has a god.

  “Yes. Did you think—” Her eyes widen. “You thought—”

  “I’m sorry, Destiny. I’m, uh, a little out of practice. I couldn’t tell if, you know, if you were…”

  “If I was what?”

  “If you were hitting on me.” I turn away and listen to the waves hitting the rocks.

  “You thought I was—” She laughs. “Listen, Peter, that was the furthest thing from my mind. I mean, I can tell you’re still in love with Ebony, and I’m not here to get between you two, right?”

  I nod.

  “I’m trying to bring you two together, and I would never…try to jump your bones.”

  I turn to her. “What’d you say?”

  Destiny slides two cold hands to my face and searches my eyes. “And tomorrow you’re going to find her.” She winks and walks off the jetty to the beach.

  I try to catch up to her, but she’s far more nimble than I am. “What did you say just now? Something about bones.”

  “Um, don’t you want to know where she is?”

  “Of course, but—”

  “Go to Ebony’s mama’s house.”

  “What?”

  “The house on Grace Lane.”

  I shake my head. “A white woman lives there now. I saw her in the yard planting bulbs or something.”

  “Really?”

  I nod.

  “Hmm. So you didn’t go up to the door?”

  “No.”

  “Dag, all you had to do was ring the doorbell.” She opens her car door.

  “But the lady—”

  She slips into her seat. “Maybe the white lady is her gardener. All I know is that Ebony’s mama still lives there.”

  I was that close! “She still lives there? But twenty years ago they moved away. She wasn’t there.”

  Destiny shrugs. “All I know is that she’s there now.” She starts her car. “Can I at least get a kiss on the cheek for all my hard work?”

  I lean into the car and kiss her silken cheek. “Thank you, Destiny.”

  She looks away and clears her throat, and when she smiles back at me, I see her eyes welling with tears. “See you.”

  “Are you crying?”

  She wipes her eyes. “Yeah.”

  “Why?”

  “Twenty years and you’re still in love with someone. My man’s about as romantic as a brick. It’s all just so beautiful.”

  I kiss her cheek again. “And so are you, Destiny. So are you.”

  She bites her bottom lip. “Thank you.”

  “It was a pleasure to meet you, Destiny. I really hope I can see you again.”

  She turns on her radio, reggae music thumping the night. “I’m sure you will. I’m your Destiny, remember?” She pulls away then backs up, rolling down her window. “And get that Cece wench’s numbers off your hand, okay?”

  “I will.”

  I watch her car until her taillights wink out of sight, and instead of warming up in the Nova, I return to the jetty—to talk to the Captain.

  “I know you’re still out there, Captain, because evil never sleeps.” I launch a large rock and wait until it splashes. “You’ve taught me so much, Captain, how good does not always win, how most of life is tragic, how nothing in life is guaranteed.”

  I close my eyes and see the Captain’s fiery red eyes, see his hands ripping open the door to my berth in the Argo the night of the prom, feel his cold grip on my arms, see the stars on deck, the sudden warmth of Ebony’s body replaced by the chilly blasts of the Captain’s cursing and shouting, “Nothing you can say or do could hurt me more than this!”

  I open my eyes. “It was your fault we had to go to the prom that way, Captain,” I say to the shadowy shape of the Argo. “It was your fault we had to sneak around. God, how you tried to ruin us! But I was ready for you, wasn’t I? I was ready that night.”

  I close my eyes again, seeing Ebony, that beautiful cream dress held in front of her naked body, her eyes unashamed of what we had finally done, had finally shared amid so many tears and kisses, hearing the Captain bellowing: “You have desecrated my ship!” Then I hear myself howling as I tear at my father, wrestling him right there on the deck of the Argo, trying to rip his arms off while Ebony with the cream dress and unashamed eyes looks on, hurting my father and leaving him bleeding and weeping on his ship while Ebony and I swim almost naked to shore, making love again under the deck for old time’s sake before going into my own house to share tears and kisses in my own bed with the only girl I’ve ever loved…

  “Your hate kept us together, Captain. At least I can thank you for that.”

  I toss one final rock, but my heart’s not in it. It clatters off other rocks on the jetty before rolling into the waves.

  Since it’s too late to catch a taxi to the Argo, I plug the laptop into the Nova’s lighter using an adapter and finish Chapter 5 of Promises to Keep right there in the parking lot of West Shore Beach:

  After the one-sided boxing match and sermon, Peter took an ice bag to his room, turned out all the lights, and watched the woods darken, the leaves in never-ending flight as a thunderstorm rumbled through and lashed at them. He felt no hope, not even the hope of hope. He wailed, not to release his pain, but to feel it, to grow strong by it. He added his tears to the rain battering his window, a window too high off the ground to jump from to go to Ebony in the Cave, but high enough to give him a final release from h
is pain.

  He shook his head. No. That’s too easy. No. Ebony’s out there somewhere waiting for me. She wouldn’t understand.

  He searched through the wildly whipping trees, through the darkness, through the sheets of rain for a glimpse of Ebony and suddenly spied a light in the crack of the Cave.

  “She’s there,” he whispered. He cracked his door and heard the rumblings of a stuck bilge pump coming from the TV room. “And the Captain’s asleep.”

  He took a deep breath and didn’t let it out until he was safely outside and slipping down the muddy slope, crashing through the brush to the Cave. He climbed to the top and tumbled down into her arms, out of the whirlwind with only the skittering of unseen animals as witnesses.

  Ebony didn’t speak, and she gave Peter no chance to speak, kissing the swelling on his face, kissing his split lip, kissing away his tears. Then they lay together, her sweet body, her sweet sighs, their green and young desire breathing on their lips fierce tremors of heat, her hands guiding him, urging him, helping him until they were nearly one body in a hell not of their own making.

  “Are you sure you want to do this, Ebony?”

  “I love you, Peter.”

  “I love you, too, Ebony.”

  A few seconds later, Peter’s body spasmed, and they lay still, hands gently touching.

  “Did we just do it?” Ebony asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Peter said.

  She felt down between her legs. “I think you missed.”

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay.”

  Then as the flashlight dimmed and the storm raged all around them, they took a blood oath to seal their love, a simple penknife turning two bloody index fingers into more sighs, more tears, more kisses, and more attempts.

  “I think you missed again.”

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I know you love me.”

  “And I know you love me.”

  I save my work, shut down, and leave the laptop connected to the lighter to restore the laptop’s battery. Then for the second straight night, I recline on the front seat of a rented Nova and try to sleep.

  So many “misses.” Too many. I wouldn’t get it completely right until that night on the Argo, and all that summer, we were getting it right every time.

  And I still have the scar on my finger, built up over time because of the way I hold a pencil, a callous of love, so much thicker after twenty years.

  9

  Barking wakes me just after sunrise. Someone’s walking a dog at this hour on a Sunday morning? I sit up and see a couple putting a toy poodle through its paces in the park. My back aches, but I don’t take any muscle relaxers. I want to be completely awake today.

  Today I’m going to find Ebony.

  During a long, hot shower at the clubhouse, the steam sorting out the wrinkles on my outfit from last night, I remember the first time I ever met Ebony’s mama, Candace Mills.

  Candace Mills was Foxy Brown, but I didn’t know it at the time because I wasn’t allowed to watch those kinds of movies. I was hanging out in Ebony’s room one day after school, and we lost track of the time. I think time stood still in Ebony’s room. Candace crashed through the front door with some groceries, and I had only gotten into the living room on my way to the kitchen door when she said, “Who you?”

  I stood there in front of that fake Christmas tree with black, red, and green ornaments, a black Santa ornament swinging back and forth as if to say, “You’re in trouble now, boy.” Candace wore a black beret, powder blue shirt, black leather jacket, black pants, shiny black shoes, and a puffy Afro. I would later compare Candace to a picture of Angela Davis on a book in Ebony’s room, Angela Davis: An Autobiography. She and Angela Davis were almost sisters.

  Ebony rushed from the back shouting, “Mama, I can explain!”

  Candace stared me down and said, “You the flavor of the month?”

  “Mama, please,” Ebony cried.

  “Gotta stop you watching Happy Days, girl. You messin’ with Richie Cunningham now. Tuck your shirt in, girl.”

  I couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

  Ebony tucked in the shirt that I enjoyed untucking. “Mama, please don’t start.”

  Candace put the groceries on the coffee table. “Wasn’t the last boy a Puerto Rican?”

  “Italian and Puerto Rican, Mama.”

  “He spoke Spantalian or something. Couldn’t understand a damn thing comin’ out of his mouth.”

  “So he had an accent.”

  “And you’re wearin’ your good clothes, too? Girl, go change.”

  I didn’t want Ebony to leave, but an “Oh, geez, Mama!” later, and she had vanished to her room.

  “Have a seat.”

  I sat on the couch and stared at the presents under the tree.

  “You’re Peter, huh?”

  I nodded, not looking at her.

  “You look like a Peter, all skinny and white. Can you talk?”

  I found my voice. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Candace raised an eyebrow. “You been Ebony’s friend for a while now, huh?”

  I nodded.

  “Why haven’t I seen you before?”

  I prayed hard then. “I, uh, I usually leave before you, uh, get home, ma’am.”

  “So honest!” She sat next to me. “I know you been here. Every day I get home my little girl’s all sweaty. You been gettin’ her sweaty, Peter? No, don’t answer. Of course you have. You know I’m crazy, right?”

  I didn’t have an answer for that one.

  “Ebony didn’t tell you?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “You got nice manners, boy. We got to fix that.” She pointed at the Christmas tree. “I got a Christmas tree up in my family room in the middle of May. Ain’t that a little crazy?”

  I could only shrug. Crazy was where I lived, and a beautiful Christmas tree in a living room in May seemed sane by comparison.

  “I’m waiting for Ebony’s daddy to come home from Vietnam.” She dangled a POW-MIA bracelet in front of me. “I know he’s probably dead and rotting in the jungle. He been missin’ since sixty-nine. Wanna know why I keep it up?”

  “Sure.”

  “Cuz it scares the shit out of people. It scares them and it makes them remember Vietnam all over again. Makes them think I’m crazy. Good thing, too. Ain’t nobody gonna mess with us out here in Huntington. People riding by will see that tree in the window and say, ‘That’s where the crazy Negro lady lives, still waitin’ on her man.’ You dance?”

  All of Candace’s conversations went off in tangents at a moment’s notice, yet there was always a purpose. I didn’t answer that day.

  “Can you dance? Wait, don’t answer that. Of course you can’t. Me and Ebony gotta teach you so you don’t look foolish on the dance floor.”

  And they did try to teach me to dance, right there on that orange shag carpet. I gave them hours of entertainment to the music of Parliament, the Temptations, Bob Marley, Isaac Hayes, KC & the Sunshine Band, and Sly and the Family Stone.

  She grabbed my knee. “You like my Ebony a lot?”

  “Yeah, I—”

  “You been kissin’ on her, right?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “It’s okay, long as you don’t leave any marks or babies, hear?”

  I gulped. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I ain’t your ‘ma’am,’ Peter. You got to call me by my name, and it ain’t my slave name neither. You know what a slave name is, right? Don’t answer that. Of course you don’t know. My last name, Mills, belong to some old honky down in Virginia from way back in the day. Wasn’t my choice. My new name is Luwanna, so you call me Luwanna.”

  “Okay.”

  “Go on. Call me by my new name.”

  “Okay…Luwanna.”

  “I got my new name from the Panthers, boy. The Black Panthers. Joined up when Angela came a-runnin’ to New York six years ago, worked a free breakfast program and everything. Not much goi
n’ on now. Bobby’s in Pennsylvania somewhere, heard Eldridge got religion, Stokely’s in Uganda…and little Luwanna is all alone, all alone.”

  I didn’t connect the names to major movers and shakers in the Black Power movement until much later. Candace ran with a very powerful group.

  Ebony had rescued me that day, returning to the living room in tight jeans and a pink T-shirt. “Is Mama boring you, Peter?”

  “No.”

  “What you talkin’ about, boring him?” Candace asked. “I’m schoolin’ him.”

  Ebony sat next to me then, the three of us on a couch built for two. “She tell you the Ten Point Plan yet?”

  “No. Not yet.”

  Ebony ticked them off on her fingers. “We want freedom, we want employment, we want housing, we want education, we want bread—and there are five more I can’t remember.”

  “At least I’m tryin’ to school him, girl. What you should have been doing instead of rolling around in that room of yours that I know ain’t been clean since Christmas morning. You clean it today like I asked you to?”

  “Mama, I—”

  Candace stood. “This date is over.”

  “Come on, Mama! He just got here.”

  She collected her groceries, and I stood. “And he’s just about to leave, now get to that room and clean it up.”

  Ebony left us once again, and Candace spoke to me from the kitchen, cupboard doors opening and closing. “Your room as messy as hers, Peter?”

  “No. But I don’t have all the stuff she has.”

  “That’s no excuse. Next time you come when I ain’t around, that room will be clean.”

  I went to Ebony’s room where she was furiously throwing things into her closet. “I’ll see ya later,” I said, gathering my books.

  “I’m almost through.”

  I backed out of her room. “I better go.”

  Ebony followed me to the kitchen, whispering, “You don’t have to go, Peter.”

  I stopped at the kitchen door. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Mills.”

  “Luwanna,” Candace said.

  “I mean, Luwanna.”

  Ebony slumped to a chair at the kitchen table. “Luwanna? Mama, yesterday it was Kenyatta. Who you gonna be tomorrow?”

  “No matter who I claim to be, child, I am still your mama.”