by Dyanne Davis
“What?”
“Why do we all have to engage in racial slurs?”
“Girl, that ain’t no slur. They have a dot on their forehead.” Peaches defended her words.
The women laughed, but Heaven turned toward Peaches. “First off, Hamid is from Pakistan, and he’s Muslim. I know for a fact that he doesn’t have a dot on his forehead. Even if he did it’s wrong to say that. How would you like it if they called us colored, or kiffer?” The women stopped and looked at her.
“It doesn’t feel so good when it’s on the other foot, does it?” Heaven asked. “It’s Hindus, who wear the dot in the center of their foreheads. They wear it for religious reasons. It represents divine sight. It’s the same as what some people think of as the third eye. They use the dot as a reminder to cultivate the spiritual vision, to see things not just physically but with the mind’s eye as well.”
“It was only a joke. And we didn’t ask for a lesson on religions. Dang, you must have felt something more than nausea when you met this guy. You have been acting crazy ever since it happened.”
“It has nothing to do with him. I just don’t know why people, and that includes us, have to degrade others with our put-downs.”
Heaven took a deep breath and blew it out. “I’ve done the same thing a million times without thinking. Do you know how long I thought Maxwell Street’s real name was Jew Town? I’d heard it said so long and had said it so often that I never thought about it being a slur.”
Heaven looked at her friends, knowing they were wishing she would just shut up, not shine a light on their own prejudices. After all, they didn’t mean anything by what they said, did they?
“You at least have to admit that we do it all the time and a lot of us don’t think about the words. Take, for example, the wife-beater T-shirt. Did you know that term came from Dago tees? Think about it, Dago is a racial slur.”
“Dang, Heaven, nobody asked you to police us. You weren’t talking like this a month ago.”
Heaven glanced at Latanya. “You’re right, I wasn’t, but I should have been.”
“So you want to meet this guy you’re defending and go out with him?”
Heaven rolled her eyes. “Look, Latanya, you just heard me say I won’t date anyone but a strong black man. Besides, I wasn’t defending Hamid. I was voicing my opinion.”
“That doesn’t answer the question. If you saw this guy again, would you date him if he asked?”
“I don’t want to deal with any drama, and to deal with a Muslim man would be too, too much drama, no thank you.”
“Heaven, isn’t that a contradiction? You’re on our case about using slurs and now you’re saying you won’t give a man a chance if he’s not black.”
“That has nothing to do with race or ethnicity. I just don’t want the drama. A black man comes with more than enough of his own. Another race or ethnicity and a person could get high blood pressure dealing with the problems.” Heaven laughed and ran her fingers through her twists, thinking of Hamid asking her what they were called.
“Whatcha doing then, dating Bob?”
“Bob? I don’t know any Bob.” Heaven frowned.
“You’re kidding,” Ongela laughed. “I’ve dated Bob. I think we all have.”
“Okay, I know this is a joke. Who is Bob?”
“Battery operated boyfriend,” the women shouted in unison and gave each other high fives once again. Heaven groaned inwardly; she should have known. They all laughed again, the mood lightened.
“Yeah, look at you.” Peaches hit her playfully. “Not even a date and you’re not eating pork. I can’t imagine what you would do if you did date him.”
Latanya smirked, looking around at the group before adding her comments. “I guess you would start covering up and reading the Koran and stop going to church.”
“What’s the big deal?” Ongela teased. “It’s not like she goes anyway.”
“But I believe in God,” Heaven cut in.
“Depending on his religion he might also, and you do know different people call God by a different name.”
“But I believe in Jesus as my Messiah. As far as I know Muslims believe in him only as a prophet. And I’d give up any man before giving up Jesus. So why even start something that has no possible way of working with someone who doesn’t?” Heaven said.
“You’ve got no choice but to believe. Look at the name your mama gave you.”
Heaven ignored the teasing. She’d always taken a razzing about her name and had hated it until her daddy said when she’d been born he looked at her and thought he had everything he had ever wanted, and that at that moment he could have died and gone to Heaven. When he told that to her mother, well, Heaven was the only name that seemed appropriate.
“Peaches, your name is not any better.” Heaven looked at her friend. Besides herself, Peaches was the only other one who was teased because of her name.
“But that’s a nickname.”
“So what?”
For the next two hours the women bantered back and forth, bashing black men in general and the scarcity of good ones, like them or not. Heaven understood them all. She was also wondering when and if she would ever find a good black man. Because, like it or not, a good portion of them were either gay, selling drugs, gang banging, or in prison. And the ones that weren’t were trying single-handedly to populate the planet or were dating someone other than black women. It was a wonder that any of them still wanted to keep looking for a black man.
* * *
Heaven walked the aisles of the grocery store thinking about the conversation she’d had with her friends the night before. She didn’t know why she’d even talked about Hamid, a man she’d met once in her life, a man that she would more than likely not meet again. But she had talked about him.
And the conversation had been the same as it always was with her friends. Date black men only, nurture them. Baloney. But she would do it because, one day, she hoped to be the mother of a strong black male.
She picked up a package of ham, determined to put the remark Hamid had made about pork having worms behind her. This should do it, she thought. She would buy a bottle of wine and wash the ham down.
She did.
* * *
Heaven woke from a dream she’d rather not have had. It was of Brandon and the girl he’d left her for. They were happy. In the dream Brandon told her he’d found his soul mate. Heaven could still feel the sting of tears on her cheeks, the ones she’d shed in her dreams. Hamid had been there in her dreams and had stood a ways off, smiling at her. That in itself was freaky enough. But she’d seen herself walking toward him in a sari. She remembered the knowledge that had been in her heart. She’d forgiven Brandon at last because she had also found her soul mate.
Heaven hopped from the bed and went for water. She knew she could interpret her dream as nothing more than the residue of the night out with her friends, the conversation about Brandon and Hamid, their teasing her about getting off pork. All of that, coupled with the ham sandwich she’d had before bedtime, had likely produced the dream. That and the fact that for the first time in nearly a month she was returning to Rush Presbyterian St. Luke hospital.
She finished her water, returned to bed, punched her pillow, and ordered her mind not to dream. This time it obeyed her.
* * *
The sound of voices and running feet alerted Heaven. She stopped and looked around the parking garage. She’d been jumpy the entire day. And since the day was over, she could admit it. From the moment she’d set foot inside the hospital, she had been searching for Hamid. Why, she wasn’t sure.
As she’d eaten her breakfast and lunch, she’d peeked across the crowded cafeteria, expecting a voice to tell her that her food was going to kill her.
And now in the parking garage she was listening for a helpless male voice. She laughed at her foolishness; the dream had gotten to her.
Hamid whatever-his-last-name-was had gotten to her. She supposed in a way it was a g
ood thing. Alone in the garage she could admit to herself that, for the past year, her animosity toward Brandon had left her feeling angrier than she could ever remember being.
For a year it had all been directed at Brandon, but a few weeks ago it had spilled onto Hamid. She would probably never see the man again, but if she did she might apologize for her abrupt behavior in the garage. She would not apologize for anything else.
Heaven sat in her truck, started it, and drove away, thinking that maybe it was time she put away some of her anger.
Chapter Four
As Sassa and Hamid walked down Ashland Avenue, Hamid came to a dead stop. He couldn’t believe it. He stared at the sticker on the SUV, his heart pounding. He knew there could be another nurse somewhere with the same sticker, but his heart told him this was his nurse.
“Come on, what are you doing?”
Hamid glanced in his cousin’s direction. “I know the person who owns this truck.”
“Big deal.”
“I want to see them.”
Sassa came back toward him. “You want to see her.”
“I didn’t say her.”
“I would hope that you’re not waiting out here hoping to see a man.” Sassa frowned. “Are you?”
“Of course not. I need to find her,” Hamid answered, looking up and down the block. “She could be anywhere.” He bent down and before he had a chance to stop himself he pulled the valve stem cap off her front tire and was holding his fingernail against the valve stem to allow the air to escape.
“What are you doing?” Sassa hissed angrily, looking up and down the street. “You’re going to get us both in trouble.”
“What does it look like I’m doing? I told you, I have to see this woman. Fate has put her in my path.”
“Fate!” Now Sassa was shouting. “It is not fate when you help yourself.”
Hamid grinned before glancing at his handiwork and deciding to let out more air. When the tire was sufficiently flat, he recapped it and stood.
“You think that’s fate?” Sassa asked. “That’s called vandalism.”
“Don’t worry, I’m going to fix it for her.” Hamid knew the moment his cousin put the pieces together, but he ignored the smug look. “Come on, I have to find her.”
After going through most of the stores on the strip and three of the restaurants, Hamid saw her sitting at a table in a Hala deli. He rushed inside with Sassa following.
He walked directly to the table and smiled down at her. “Hello.”
Heaven glanced at her friends before looking up at Hamid. She needed the time to make sure her face would remain emotionless. She tilted her head to the right as if for a better look. “Do I know you?” she asked at last, knowing that the slight tremble in her voice gave away the fact that she remembered him.
“How’s your chicken?” Hamid asked, grinning, knowing she remembered him. “You didn’t tell me your name before.”
“Heaven,” three feminine voices piped in. “Heaven Adams.”
Hamid turned in their direction. “Thank you. My name is Hamid Ahmad. I’m sorry to have interrupted your dinner. I just wanted to say hello to Heaven, and to thank her for her previous kindness to me.” He slipped his hand into his pocket, withdrew his card case and handed a card to Heaven.
“If you should ever find yourself in need of assistance, please call me. I’d love to return the favor.”
“I don’t think so.” Heaven looked away at the grinning, questioning faces of her friends. She glanced back toward Hamid.
“You never know,” he said. “You might find your car disabled one day.” He smiled and walked away.
“I think we should stay,” Sassa said softly, touching Hamid’s arm to stop him in his tracks.
Hamid looked down at his cousin. “Why?”
“For starters, you just told her you disabled her car. Let’s eat so she won’t suspect us immediately.”
Hamid smiled in acquiescence. He definitely wouldn’t mind staying in the restaurant and watching Heaven. He almost laughed aloud at her name. Of course, someone with such a sour disposition would be named after the sweetest place man could think of. Regardless of the faith, everyone wanted to go to Heaven. He laughed again, amused that fate had seen fit to send him a woman named Heaven.
* * *
Heaven felt her cheeks flaming, and for once in her life was happy that her skin tone was so dark no one would notice. She did her best to pretend that Hamid was not sitting a few tables away staring at her. She knew ignoring her friends wouldn’t be quite as easy.
Peaches started the ball rolling. “So that’s him.”
“Who?” Heaven replied, taking a bite of her food, still pretending.
“Yeah, right, and you tried to pretend that you didn’t know what he looked like.”
“I didn’t notice,” Heaven lied.
“How the hell could you not notice? The guy is fine,” Ongela almost shouted in a louder than necessary voice. “A blind woman would have noticed it. Look at the way he’s staring at you. Come on, Heaven.”
“Didn’t we have this conversation? I like black men.”
“Hamid’s close.”
“Close, but I’m not ready for more drama in my life.”
“Heaven, I didn’t hear the guy ask you out. He only said he’d like to help you with your car. Maybe you’re all reading too much into it.”
Heaven looked at Ongela sharply before turning and catching Hamid smiling at her. That was not the look of a man interested only in starting her battery. Heaven looked again. At least not my car battery, she thought.
She would have to put an end to this before it got started. She would admit that she was glad to see Hamid again and she would make it her business to apologize to him before she left the restaurant. As for any more, well, no thanks.
* * *
Hamid picked at his salad, not taking his eyes from Heaven. There was something that intrigued him about her. He thought of what the prophet had said, that if you saved one life, it was like saving a hundred. She was the one he wanted to save. He owed her that much for her help. He would teach her about a better way, but leave the choice to her.
“You should stop staring before the woman thinks you’re a stalker.”
Hamid turned toward Sassa. He’d almost forgotten that his cousin was there. “I was not staring, merely looking.”
“Well, you look any harder and her clothes will melt. Come on, stop it. Besides, I’ve never seen a black woman with a Pakistani.”
Sassa’s remarks caused Hamid to frown. “I did not tell you I wanted to bed the woman.”
“You didn’t have to,” Sassa answered. “Your look says it all. You’re embarrassing her. Can’t you tell?””
“Do you think she would be embarrassed if she wasn’t interested?”
“How would I know? I just met her.” Sassa smiled. “Is she the tow truck driver?”
* * *
“I don’t believe it,” Heaven almost screamed. Her friends had gotten into their vehicles and driven away. How could she have a flat? She stopped and checked the tire. The cap was on; she must have driven over a nail.
Now was not the night to change a tire. Heaven groaned as her eyes fell on the new black pumps she was wearing and the short mini skirt. She was dressed for clubbing, not for this. In fact, she was supposed to be following her friends to the club. Just as she snapped her purse open to retrieve her phone and call for help, she saw Hamid walking out of the door with the man he’d introduced as his cousin.
She glanced at the tire again before glaring at Hamid. This was no accident. The man was a moron, plain and simple. She wondered if he’d been following her, waiting for an opportunity to do this. Was he so macho that he had to prove himself? Would he go to such lengths?
But Hamid appeared to be going in the opposite direction. He wouldn’t do that if he had wanted to prove himself. “Hamid,” she yelled angrily. She called his name twice more, annoyed when he didn’t turn around. T
hen she remembered. This was a macho game. “Hamid, I need your help,” she yelled, barely keeping the anger from her tone.
He immediately turned and smiled, then walked toward her.
“Heaven, what’s wrong?”
Innocence, she thought, his voice reeked of it, but his eyes sparkled with mischief.
“Hamid, I do hope you know how to re-inflate my tire. Don’t bother denying that you did it, just fix it.” She leaned back against the hood of her truck and waited until he walked away. When Hamid returned he was alone, but carrying an air pump. So he’d learned and wanted to show off. Considering the way she’d treated him, she couldn’t much blame him. Still, she made him watch while she expertly pumped air into her tire.
“Listen, Hamid,” Heaven began as soon as she was done. “I’m sorry that I was so rude to you in the garage. I was having a bad day.” She’d wanted to say year but didn’t. “Anyway, I took it out on you, so I’m sorry. But you didn’t have to flatten my tire.”
“I wanted to return the favor.”
“But you didn’t return the favor,” Heaven reprimanded. “You caused a problem. You can only…” She stopped. “Oh, never mind. Listen, Hamid, if you have anything in mind, like hitting on me, forget it. Okay?”
“Why would I hit you?”
His eyes narrowed and he peered at her in such a way that her heart lurched again. Heaven realized he might not know what she meant.
“Hitting on me, I mean trying to date me.” Hamid’s chin lifted and he held her gaze, his own unwavering. “I only date black men,” she explained.
“I didn’t ask you for a date, Heaven.”
“But…I thought…never mind, I guess I got it wrong. But you were looking for me tonight and you let the air out of my tire. There was a reason for that. What are you looking for?”
Hamid thought over the question. “I’m looking for a friend.”
“Why? You seem to have friends.”
“That’s my cousin. I’m looking to make American friends. I want to learn more about American culture.”
If she believed that… “I’ll bet,” Heaven said softly. “What do you want to know about our culture?”
