Lady Next Door and Other Stories

by Girard, Dara

  Jonah came into the room. “What’s going on here?”

  For the first time Claire saw Adam jump and saw how frightened he was. She understood his fear and knew it had to end.

  She wearily stood. “I did it. I took the watch.”

  Jonah rested his hands on his hips and waited for her to explain.

  “I wanted you to send him away, but I don’t want that anymore.” She swallowed then walked over to Adam. “You frightened me because…it doesn’t matter anymore. Can you forgive me?”

  She expected him to nod or say ‘yes ma’am’, but instead he hugged her then burst into tears. Claire felt the weight of his relief and sorrow. She knew he cried for her, for he was a sensitive child and knew her anguish but he also cried because of his own pain. The pain of his years of rejection of being tossed aside and discarded; years of having no place to settle, no one to claim him. Despite his gifts, he was still a boy whose mother had sent him away. She could feel that pain wash over her as his tears flowed. And she understood his need, having had a mother who was equally distant. He wanted a home with a mother and father who loved him.

  Claire held him close and tight, filled with a love so great it almost scared her. As she held him she imagined holding the young girl she’d once been who desperately needed a safe place to grow and be loved. “Adam, I’ll never send you away. You not only have a place in this house, but you’ll always have a place in my heart.”

  The End

  ***

  Lola's Decision

  “Lie!”

  “I couldn’t lie to them.” Lola Fusamusi looked at her friend Sanya Kahn as they sat outside the campus hub of their local university. Spring seemed barely visible behind the overhead clouds, a chilly breeze blew the bare trees that had only started to bud.

  On the table between them sat an empty ashtray, Sanya’s half eaten veggie burger, a pile of fries and two sodas, while Sanya’s overdue biology paper sat at her elbow. “The problem with you is that you’re too honest,” Sanya said squirting more ketchup on her fries until they were drowning. “If you don’t tell your parents anything, nobody gets hurt.”

  Hurt. Yes, Lola wanted to avoid anyone getting hurt, but that seemed impossible. She knew her parents would be devastated if she told them she wanted to switch her major from Microbiology to Art Design. She was supposed to be a doctor and nothing else. She’d been given a plastic stethoscope at three, her own anatomy book at nine, sent off to science camp at thirteen and given a pen inscribed with ‘Dr. Lola Fusamusi’ at sixteen. Her life was planned. It was not only expected, it was destined. But she wanted to fight destiny.

  “You have to lie,” Sanya said taking a sip of her drink. "It’s not like you’ve never done it before. You lied for me.”

  Yes, many times. Sanya’s parents trusted Lola and she had provided her friend an alibi for a number of dates and party escapades. To this day Mr. and Mrs. Kahn thought their second youngest had never looked at a boy, let alone kissed one. “What they don’t know will make your life easier. Parents like to be kept in the dark. They want you to be their good little girl--always. Just do what Renee did.”

  That was too bold even for her. Renee had spent three years convincing her parents that she was going for a Nursing degree while getting one in Dance. Yes, Renee had gotten to fulfill the dream she wanted, but she had lost her parents’ trust forever. People in their small community still didn’t say her name. Could she risk that? Did her parents' trust matter even when it felt like a noose? If she remained the daughter they wanted her to be there would be no fights, no disappointments, and no heartbreaks. If she became the woman she needed to be, the fights and heartbreaks would come, but she would be free. Free to be herself. Lola lit up a cigarette and sighed. “I could never lie for that long.”

  “I thought you were quitting,” Sanya said munching on a French fry.

  Lola shrugged and exhaled watching the smoke dissipate. Her parents didn’t even know she smoked. She hoped to quit before they found out. This time she’d lasted eight days. She looked at her friend’s plate—the burger loaded with ketchup and mustard that seeped out the sides and the greasy fries. A large sugary carbonated drink sat to the side half empty. “And I thought you were on a diet.”

  Sanya grinned taking no offense. “It starts tomorrow.”

  Lola returned her grin. “Me too.” Tomorrow. Tomorrow was always so sweet. So perfect. So full of promises. She looked forward to all her tomorrows, it was the present she struggled with.

  Lola studied her friend’s lovely round face. Sanya had twenty pounds to lose which she hid under dark clothes—usually black, dark blue or brown—instead of the colorful pinks, purples and yellows she wished to wear. She styled her long black hair around her face hoping it would give her face a slimming affect. Lola glanced again at her friend’s plate seeing that with each fry her friend was that much further from the swimsuit she had hiding in the back of her closet. And with each puff of her cigarette Lola knew she was that much further from the healthy woman she wanted to be. Tomorrow had lied to both of them, because it was always out of reach. All they had was now. Lola absently tapped the ashes from her cigarette slowly coming to a decision. She was ready to face the consequences. Tomorrow had to start now. No more false goals. She stubbed out her cigarette. “That’s the last one. I’m quitting now.”

  “Good luck,” Sanya said with little interest.

  “And I’ll tell him.”

  Sanya paused with her burger halfway to her mouth, suspicious. “Tell him what?”

  “The truth.”

  Sanya set her burger down and sat back amazed. "Then you’re right. That is your last cigarette because your father’s going to kill you.”

  ***

  Bowls of food crowded the table including the colorful reds and greens of jollof rice and a savory meat stew, the doughy consistency of fufu and a pitcher of lemonade. Lola let the dinner conversation pass her until her father directed a question at her. “How was school?”

  She swallowed hard, gathering courage then said, “I’ve decided to change my major to Art Design.”

  “What?” her mother said.

  Her younger sister Bumi stared at her dumbfounded.

  Her father blinked and stared at her for a long moment then said in a calm tone, “No, you won’t,” before returning to his meal.

  “Dad--”

  He paused after skewering a mushroom with his fork. “Have I not made myself clear?”

  Lola glanced at her sister, careful not to meet the accusatory glare of her mother. “I’ve written a few papers on art history --”

  “I don’t care what you do as a hobby. I am talking about your career. You don't know who you are or what you are. University won't tell you that. The Arts are for Whites, Science is for everyone. Do you think they’ll welcome your work into their homes? You’ll become one of the Invisible Outsiders. They only let in a few minorities. The Sciences are a more equalizing field. There’s no subjectivity.”

  Lola bit her lip and gripped her hands at her side, trembling from rage. A rage she didn't even know she had. “I want to at least try,” she said as softly as she could although she wanted to shout Dad why don’t you understand me?

  Mr. Fusamusi set his utensils down. “Try to do what? Fail? In your extracurricular activities you’re free to do whatever you want. You can study Art, Philosophy, Impressionism or Literature, but your major will remain the same. I know how seductive and romantic the Liberal Arts can be. I’ve studied Latin and Shakespeare. I can recite the entire text of Treasure Island. I am familiar with the works of Plato, Aristotle and Goethe, but a person can’t live on theories. That isn’t real life. There is no certainty in studying the Arts and no place for you in it. Science knows no class, no race, no limitation. It is a sound foundation."

  Lola shifted in her seat, facing the cruel irony her parents had presented. The very life her parents had exposed her to they also wanted to deny her. When her mother had taken her to t
he opera with its Italian and French lyrics and extravagant costumes and set designs the experience entranced her, the ballet had thrilled her, the works of Charlotte Bronte and her British peers ignited her imagination. But now they were saying that wasn’t her world.

  Lola met her father’s eyes. “Please let me try.”

  “You will not try with my money. I am paying for you to go to school to get a proper education and have a prosperous future.” He shook his head and for a moment she saw his fears because they mirrored her own. “You are young and you believe that life can be fair, but the Arts offer you no certainty.”

  “There are few certainties in life and--”

  “Says the girl who is only in her second decade,” he scoffed. “What do you know about the world that you haven’t read in a book? Do you think that studying great minds makes you one?”

  Lola took a deep, steadying breath. “I'm not asking you to understand my desire to major in Art Design. I don't even ask that you completely accept my decision. I just want you to let me try." What she didn't say was what her heart wished. Dad I want you to let me go. Let me be. I don’t want you to feel guilty that I was born here and not back home. I know you think I have rejected my heritage, but I haven't. I carry my ancestors in my heart, in a tiny place I’ve slowly started to open. A place, that at times, I’m afraid to look at for fear it will be too foreign to me. Dad, father...I am still learning about myself. Let me discover who I am. No, I don’t know a lot, but I do know what I want to do now. But Lola knew better than to say this.

  Mr. Fusamusi lifted his utensils and started to eat again. “You will go to sleep tonight and forget we ever had this conversation.”

  Lola didn’t reply because what her father asked was impossible.

  ***

  Lola went outside craving a cigarette and hating herself for it. She paced then decided to run around the block. She ran, not caring how the cool air burned her lungs and how pounding the pavement made her legs ache. She had to do something to keep her emotions under control--to keep the carefully concealed rage, pain and despair from reaching the surface. The battle had sapped her energy for anything else but survival. If she surrendered to his will, she would be even more drained. At times she felt so drained that getting out of bed felt like a hassle and while awake all she could think about was getting back under the covers, shielding herself from the world and its problems. She’d felt the same way at fourteen when she’d been ‘encouraged’ to stay in the math club instead of trying for the school play.

  As she raced past the familiar sights of her neighborhood--the pristine lawns and gardens-- she wondered how anyone managed to stay true to themselves. Or did everyone just wear a mask? She didn’t really know her parents. They were just professionals who raised her. Identity didn’t matter. Only duty. Lola slowed to a jog as she approached her house. She’d never had a close talk with her mother and her opinions were barely audible now so Lola no longer asked for them anymore.

  She saw her mother sitting on the verandah of their suburban home. Her mother liked to sit in the wicker chair and listen to the wind chimes, humming at times or being silent. Lola remembered her saying that the chimes played a different tune each time. Lola imagined her mother anxiously waiting for the next arrangement, as if she were at a concert waiting for the orchestra to play: The wind as conductor; the chimes as the violins. Lola wasn’t sure she believed the chimes played a different tune, but she’d never taken the time to listen. She was too busy. Too busy making decisions.

  She walked up the steps, meeting her mother’s piercing look. Her mother could always read her better than her father.

  “Do you have good news for us?” she demanded.

  Lola bit her lip, wondering if she should lie. “No.”

  “Education isn’t free.”

  “I know.”

  Her mother stood. “I don’t think you do.” She went inside, letting the screen door close in Lola’s face.

  ***

  The phone started shrieking the next day. Her grandmother from Abuja, Nigeria called to persuade her to change her mind. Her uncle living on Victoria Island in Canada called and begged her to reconsider her choice. Her aunt in London spent an hour telling her about all the trouble that could befall her for ignoring her parents’ wishes. Not only had news reached abroad but the community where they lived also buzzed with the news of Fusamusi's daughter who wanted to get a useless degree. Soon the elders arrived.

  “What will you do?” Mrs. Agusi said as she and two other elders of the community sat in the living room of the Fusamusi home. She was a tall woman with a booming voice as deep as a man’s.

  “What can we do?” Mr. Fusamusi said in a weary tone.

  “Put her to work early,” Dr. Alban said, his second chin quivering with indignation. He was a big man with a large appetite for food and making money. He was successful in indulging in both. “Then she will know how hard it is.”

  “I say marry her off,” Ms. Okocha said. She was a twice divorced woman with no children, but no one held that against her because she knew how to make advantageous matrimonial matches so her advice was always requested. “I know of an excellent prospect. His family is well respected and he’s ready to settle down.”

  Mr. Fusamusi shook his head. “It’s not that simple. She’s not ready to marry.”

  “And a woman should be able to support herself in case something happens,” Mrs. Agusi added.

  “Nothing will happen. The family is very wealthy and will take care of her.”

  Dr. Alban nodded. “You must do something before she completely shames you by wasting your money on a completely useless degree. She could end up like the Adesokan girl.”

  Mr. Fusamusi shuddered. The Adesokan’ s forty year old daughter still lived at home after trying to be an actress and failing miserable. She ended up working in a local diner and living in her parent’s basement. They didn’t have the heart to tell her to go out on her own.”

  “Remind her of the family from which she comes,” Ms. Okocha said. “The Fusamusis have been either doctors, lawyers or engineers for generations. Always. Who is she to come into this world and break that tradition? She has a great mind and so many opportunities in this country if she travels the right path.”

  “She knows, but she doesn’t care.”

  The three elders released an audible gasp.

  “She doesn’t care?” Mrs. Agusi said. “She is that careless with her mouth?”

  “She didn’t say that exactly,” Mr. Fusamusi corrected, ashamed he’d presented his daughter in such a bad light.

  “If she won’t marry or change her mind,” Mrs. Agusi said. “there is only one other solution, do you agree?”

  Mr. Fusamusi release a heavy sigh as he looked around the room. “Yes.”

  ***

  In the other room Lola listened by the door with Bumi.

  “I don’t see what the big deal is,” Bumi said. “it’s not like you’re dropping out.”

  Lola did. She was not just their daughter, but an extension of them. This wasn’t a private family battle, but a public problem. American’s celebrated individuality above all else, but not in their culture--There was 'us' not 'I'. Trying to balance the two was a constant battle. At least she knew the elders would not encourage her parents to throw her out of the house. In their community, fathers didn’t do that to their daughters—sons yes, not daughters. Her friend, Titus, faced his father disowning him and kicking him out of the house when he decided to become a dentist instead of a cardiologist.

  Lola thought of Titus’s last email sharing his hope and pain and thought about getting a cigarette, but pushed the thought aside. She knew her disobedience would come with a punishment, but she had to be strong enough to face it.

  She met her sister’s worried expression with a smile. “You don’t have to stay.” She knew the tension in the house scared her sister; there were dark circles under her eyes. Lola kept her smile. She knew that later that evening
her sister and mother would sit on the verandah and try to forget the argument that had ensued only three days ago.

  “I wish I could be like you,” Bumi said.

  No, you don’t, Lola wanted to say but she just playfully punched her sister in the arm. “Go away. I’m trying to listen.” She turned away, letting her smile fade, wishing her sister didn’t admire her. She admired her because she could still fight while most of their friends had stopped. Most of them played the game of being one thing at home and something different outside. Lola wondered if there would come a day when the impetuousness, strength and arrogance of her youth no longer motivated her or if she would simply wear a mask too. Would she one day be the one sitting in the wicker chair listening to the wind chimes, watching the leaves of the trees sway in a choreographed rhythm, casting shadows on the ground, moving like the ripples of waves down a stream, waiting and hoping for the storm in the house to pass. Too tired to move, too tired to think or try to comprehend.

  Perhaps she should just give in then everything would return to normal.

  “Lola. Come!”

  Like a defendant standing in court to hear the jury’s verdict she walked into the room and greeted the elders with an expected curtsey and then sat and waited.

  “I never knew you to be a selfish girl,” Dr. Alban said.

  She lowered her gaze, careful to remain respectful though she wanted to argue.

  “You cannot shame your father,” Mrs. Agusi said. “ but we’ve put into consideration your desires so you have two choices. Finish your degree in Microbiology or switch and lose your parent’s financial support. We don’t expect you to answer now. And it would be wise to think it over. That is all.”

  ***