TAKE ME as I am

by C Osborne, Laurina

  It’s Mark.

  “Shit,” I mouth.

  I open the door.

  “Hi.”

  “I know I should’ve called, but I didn’t want to hear no.”

  “Come in.”

  I close my eyes tightly before I turn around to face him.

  “I’m packing and unpacking and making a mess. Hope you don’t mind talking to me while I do that.”

  “I don’t mind,” he says as he follows me into the bedroom.

  I gather up everything on the lone chair and toss them on the floor near the pole.

  “Please have a seat.”

  I pick up the jeans and start rolling again.

  I glance over at Mark and his eyes are fastened on my short shorts and my behind.

  “If I knew you were coming I would’ve dressed decently, but since you didn’t call, you get what you get.”

  He laughs. “You have the most defined behind I have ever seen. Is that because you use that?” he asks, pointing to the pole.

  “It probably helps.”

  He can’t stop looking.

  “If we have sex right now, would that help you to relax and talk to me?”

  “Oh God, Nella, do you have to be so direct?”

  I walk to the closet, move some hangers around, pull out a jeans skirt, shake it out, open the top button, put it around my waist and secure it.

  “Will you talk to me now?” I ask, grinning at him.

  He covers his face and laughs out loud.

  “Okay, so why are you going and why now?”

  “After we got together in Canada I realized just how screwed up I am, so I decided to make an effort to become a little less crazy. Do you know what a decree absolute is?”

  “Yes, I actually went to law school and studied international law.”

  “Well done,” I say, wishing Darnell was here. “I’m going back to get that.”

  “If you got this far without being there in person, why do you have to show up now?”

  “The judge is a friend of Keith’s, my ex, and he imagines I could be dead, so I need to pick it up in person. I got the decree nisi nine years ago.”

  “Do you want to get married again?”

  I stop and sit down on the bed on top of whatever is still outside the suitcase.

  “No. When I was married I didn’t know that he didn’t love me or that I was the maid or that marriages were any different. The person I talked to and told everything was Zoi. She was already here after the first eighteen months. I’m okay never going there again even if it’s a bright and sunny place. Was your marriage happy … at any time?” I ask him.

  “It was at first. We met in law school and fell in love, but we were busy trying to be all we could be and before long it was time to get married. We did, but we both expected to be the bread winner and neither of us wanted to give even after the children came. We separated four years ago and kept trying to make up even after the divorce.”

  “Will you get married again?” I ask.

  He stares at me.

  I look away.

  “I would. I like the closeness of marriage, knowing that I am one with her, loving her, giving to her and getting it all back.”

  I like the way he sounds saying it.

  “I hope you find her,” I say. “You sound like you could be happy in marriage.”

  “I hope I find her too,” he replies.

  I purposely don’t look his way as I fight to close the suitcase.

  “Are you sure you’re done?” Mark asks as he presses on the top trying to help me.

  “Why? Did you notice that I’ve left something out?”

  “Did you pack a swimsuit?”

  “It’s not that type of trip. It’s a get in, do the business at hand, visit my grandmother’s grave, make sure her house is still standing, say a few choice words to my mother-in-law and get the hell out.”

  “You’re not going to see your ex-husband?”

  “Not if I can help it.”

  “Why?”

  I lift the case off the bed and sit it on the floor near the door. The bed is almost empty. I grab what’s on the floor and start to put them back on hangers.

  “Nella, above all, I would like us to be friends. I’m not judging you.”

  I stop. I sit on the bed then immediately stand.

  “From your experience, why do I need to see him again?”

  “To confront him, so you can be fair to him, but mostly so you can be fair to yourself.”

  “How can I be fair to someone who has treated me with violence?” I ask with tears running down my face.

  “You let him see your pain and that he has not broken you and you’re not a victim.”

  “But I am a victim. The shame still marks me.”

  He comes up behind me, puts his arms around me and squeezes tight. He puts his chin on top of my head and says, “You’re not a victim, Nella. You’re a strong black woman who weathered the storm. You remember the pain and it still hurts, but soon, very soon, it will be your strength.”

  I turn around in his arms and hug him tightly as I bawl.

  “What you feel is not shame. Shame is toxic and says you feel bad about who you are. What you feel is guilt. You feel bad about what happened and what you’ve done about it.”

  He picks me up as he would a child and sits on the bed holding me. For the first time in my life I feel comforted and valued. I dry my eyes.

  “Mark,” I say, still holding him. “Is it hard to be you?”

  “You mean to look the way I do knowing there’s so much more to me than they can imagine?”

  I ease out of his arms, off him and stand.

  “Yes.”

  “No, it isn’t hard at all. I told you, I lived with a grandmother who knew everything.”

  “Can I meet her?” I ask him, seriously.

  “Only if we’re dating. I can’t be taking any and every girl to Jamaica to meet my Granny.” For a minute he sounds West Indian.

  “How come you always make me give something to get something? Can’t you just do something nice for me out of the goodness of your heart?”

  He takes the clothes off the bed and tosses them on the chair. He takes off his shoes, then his pants, his shirt then his socks. He turns to me and pulls my T-shirt over my head, unbuttons the skirt and lets it drop, pulls down my shorts and underwear and unclasps my bra. He sits on the bed in his underpants and kisses me slowly. I force him backward and partially cover his body with mine. Everything is slow and unhurried and he works his magic all over my body from my lips to my hips, from the top of my head to the bright red polish on my toes. When he enters me, I feel the spirit of all that’s good and blankness takes over that’s so pure I swear I glimpse the light of God himself as Mark sends me beyond me, over and over again. I lay in his arms clinging to his scent, to his persona, to him.

  After a while, my brain kicks in and tries to spoil it.

  Why would any woman give this up?

  She hasn’t.

  “Mark, that was all for me, right? Tell me I gave you nothing,” I say, smiling against his chest as I play with his nipple.

  “It was all for you, but you know me very well. The next time it’ll be your turn.”

  “I knew it,” I say, smiling as I move my head back and kiss his lips.

  Mark leaves at three in the morning and I catch a cab for the airport two hours later. At five-twenty-five in the afternoon, for the second time in my life, I touch down on the island of St. Matthews. I don’t remember the landing being this miserable the first time, but what I remember is getting on Granny Nanny’s last nerves begging her to take us to the airport every Sunday to see if Daddy came. I’m older now. I didn’t leave anyone behind, so I don’t expect anyone to greet me at the airport.

  On the immigration line, I rack my brain trying to remember the officer’s name. I know her face; it’s either Eslyn or Jaslyn. It was a complete waste of brain power because she wears a name tag. I greet her by
name anyway and see recognition flash in her eyes.

  “Welcome back, Eunella Blakely.”

  I wonder if mine is a special greeting or if she welcomes everyone by name.

  Outside, a taxi driver approaches me. I tell him, The Village Inn. After I’m seated, I pop on my sun glasses, so he wouldn’t try to figure out who I am. It works and the chatting is minimal. At the hotel, I change my mind about hiding and check in under my real name. I had planned to keep a low profile, but after talking to Mark I’ve decided to be strong, for me.

  Even before I unpack my things, I step out on the small balcony outside my room to see if I have a signal to call Zoi. The relief in her voice makes me smile. I ask about the baby; she questions me about St. Matthews.

  “Who did you see that you know?”

  “What does it look like now?”

  “Can you find my friend Daisy tomorrow and tell her I say hi?”

  She doesn’t wait for any answers. It’s as if she’s here and feeling the excitement.

  “Zo, ley me go. My phone bill is gonna be sky high.”

  “Nella, call Mark.” She says it as a question.

  “As soon as I hang up from you.”

  “Nell? Darnell, Etienne, Roland, Zander, the baby and I love you very much. Whatever happens remember that, okay?”

  “Okay,” I say with tears in my eyes. “I love you too, Zo.”

  “Bye.”

  I hang up and dial again. It rings twice.

  “Hi,” he says tenderly.

  “Hi,” I reply as I blink back the tears that threaten to escape.

  “All went well?”

  “Yes, surprisingly so.”

  “Is everything smaller than you remember?”

  I laugh. “The roads are. People are darker too. I feel less black somehow.”

  “I like you black.”

  “I like that I’m getting to know you,” I say.

  “Me too, Nella. I missed seeing you at work today; be safe and try to have a good time.”

  “I will. Bye, Mark.”

  “Bye.”

  I go back in and lie on the twin-sized bed. I see a trail of crazy ants climbing the pink wall and I refuse to get up and see where they’re coming from. I glare at the ceiling fan that is so small it’s impossible to feel its effect. My eyes move to the open window and watch the curtain sway in the breeze. I’m hungry and, if I could trade, I wouldn’t mind sitting in the conference room across from Mark chatting and laughing. I still wish he was black, really dark skinned like me, so he could never say I’m black like pot. I get up, change my clothes and move all my papers and money into a flat purse I can wear attached to my belt. It would be nice to go for a run, but tomorrow is another day.

  In the dining room, which is arranged like a diner, I sit at a vacant booth beneath a lamp attached to the wall. There are three other diners, two at one table and one at another. I sit reading and make no effort to see if I recognize anyone. Soon after, the waitress comes over to take my order.

  She’s not a native. She speaks with a heavy Spanish accent.

  After I order, I return to my book.

  “I keep waiting for you to look my way, but that book must be good,” a voice says.

  I look up and he squeezes into the other side of the booth. As I pull the table closer to me to give him more space, he laughs.

  “Thank you, Miss Eunella. I’m not always rude, but see that guy over there eyeing you? As soon as he got ready to make his move, I couldn’t wait any longer.”

  I look and he’s indeed eyeing me. My companion’s name comes to me as if by magic.

  “So you’re still the same Mr. Tumbo, no matter how many times you got your knuckles wrapped for impatience you still haven’t learnt,” I say, reaching over the table and hugging him. He smells like he showered in cologne.

  “And you’re still as pretty as ever and still out of my league.”

  “I was out of your league?”

  “Of course, beautiful and smart. So you came home to campaign for the hubby?”

  “Hubby? Keith and I’ve been divorced for nine years.”

  “A States side divorce?”

  “No, a St. Matthew’s divorce.”

  “I guess it’s convenient to still be married to you. Can’t blame the guy; I would find it hard to let you go too.”

  “You’re still full o shit too,” I say laughing. “Did you get married? Any kids?”

  “Married? Me? No. Three kids though.”

  “I hope they’re girls, so you’re getting a taste of your own medicine.”

  He laughs out loud. “You know Jah’s a vengeful God. Three girls and my head ain’t gray for nothing. They’re making me old fast.”

  “You still look good.”

  He blushes and asks, “How’s ma girl, Zoi?”

  “Zo’s great. She’s a lawyer, married and very pregnant.”

  “Pregnant? Is this her second?”

  “Yes, she’s very brave.”

  “Give her my best.”

  Over dinner I find out that sleaze bag Clyde, Etienne’s father, is visiting. His grandmother died. I wonder how I will handle him.

  At six the next morning, I go running over hills, on rough roads with loose gravel and across fields. I visit Granny Nanny’s grave and sit with her for a little while. I tell her about the attachment I still have to Daddy and ask for her help.

  “Granny Nanny, there’s Mark. I have so much to lose.”

  I listen, but she doesn’t give me any insight. I weed her grave and touch the three crotons I planted with loving care. I laugh. This particular flower, Granny Nanny could never get to grow. I thank her for being our parents when she didn’t have to. I still hear her voice, especially when I’m about to break one of the Ten Commandments. It’s something she always accused me of making her do.

  Back at the inn, I shower, dress and eat breakfast. At eight-forty-five the inn keeper’s husband drives me to the court house. I’m the first in line and I ask for Samantha, Matt’s wife. We pretend not to know each other and I give her my driver’s license as proof of identification. She makes a copy and takes the decree to get it signed by the judge. I sit and wait with my heart in my hands. When she returns, she looks as scared as me. I quickly invite her out to lunch then walk a few short blocks to the airline office to fax a copy to Zoi and then to the post office to send it to myself via registered mail.

  At ten-thirty, I visit my lawyer’s office to talk about Granny Nanny’s house and the property it’s on. The woman I left in it fifteen years ago is still there and wants to buy it. Zoi and I agree to sell it to her and I want to give the lawyer permission to act on our behalf. After about an hour, the lawyer tells me the property cannot be sold and can only be transferred to blood relatives on my grandmother’s side. Those relatives are me and Zoi and our children because my grandmother’s sister in the States signed over all rights to Granny Nanny who in turn transferred them to Zoi and me.

  Lawyer Henry also recommends that I attach an annual rental charge to the property. He suggests the amount should at least equal the property taxes and all repairs. I agree to talk to the occupant before I leave and he will make sure the agreement is signed.

  “Eunella, I don’t quite know what this means, but I will mention it anyway. About six to eight months ago a white fellow, older, showed up here asking for both you and Zoi. Actually, he originally asked for your grandmother and when I told him she passed he asked for both of you. I told him you were both in the states and I offered to write to you on his behalf, but he declined the offer.

  “Lawyer Henry, do you remember what he looked like?”

  “He had a scar along his right cheek,” he says and stops.

  He’s staring at me intensely.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “Turn your face, so I can see your profile,” he says. “I could be wrong, Eunella, but he has that … that slight bump that you have on your nose.”

  “He didn’t say why he
was looking for my grandmother?”

  “He just said he lost touch some years ago in England and since he was in the area he thought he would look her up.”

  “Was he hurt, old, look like he’s wounded or anything?”

  “He looked as if he’s seen some hard times and he’s wrinkled as most white people get, so it’s hard to guess his age. Who do you think he is?”

  “My father. About five months ago, I started feeling his presence for lack of a better way to describe it. I thought I was going crazy because I can remember in detail events from when I was four. Sometimes I feel as if I’m been watched.”

  “If he’s alive and is in the States then that makes sense. When are you leaving?” he asks.

  In the space of a few hours, I accomplished what I came to do. I hand him a copy of the decree absolute and he laughs out loud.

  “Don’t tell me how you got this,” he says still laughing. “Did you see the judge?”

  “No. The clerk took my identification and came back with it signed. I faxed a copy to Zoi and mailed the original to myself.”

  “Well done. He’s off island, but I think you should maybe hang out one more day and then leave on the noon flight on Thursday. If you run into him in Antigua, there isn’t much, other than words, he can do up there. Eunella, being married to you gives him an advantage in the election because there are rumors about his sexuality. Having you physically here will guarantee him a win and keeping you here will be his parents’ greatest desire. Do you understand?”

  “I understand. I wanted to talk to his mother, but I guess I can live without that knowledge.”

  “What did you need to know from her?”

  “Why she picked me of all people when she knew exactly what her son was?”

  “You were beautiful and strong willed. I imagine at some point she hoped you would be able to change him. We here in St. Matthews still don’t understand homosexuality or how it works and I don’t think we really care to learn.”