“Which one? Which island?”
“Dominica.”
“But you don’t speak Spanish, Amelia,” she wailed.
I clenched my teeth. I patiently explained to her that it’s not that Dominica. She didn’t sound impressed.
“Since when you have the money to go on fancy vacations? What about saving up for a house?”
How did I know she was going to try to find some way to make me feel bad about this? And it’s funny that she didn’t mention that I was about to spend a sizable chunk of money to pay for the result of her and Gerard’s drunken shenanigans.
“Ma, when was the last time I ever went anywhere? Did something nice for myself?”
“You go shopping all the time.”
Yes, I did. But what the heck? My life was none of her business. And it was me who made sure that all her basic needs were taken care of.
“Anyway, I’m leaving in a few days. I’ll stop by before I leave.”
She sighed dramatically. “Could you bring me some groceries before you go?”
“I will.”
Of course, she had to squeeze something out of me before I went off and had a good time. But I didn’t mind. I’d call Gerard and do the same thing and he would be more impressed. He would ask if he could come with me and I’d actually wish that he could. Gerard and I could have fun together if he wouldn’t drink. I would have even considered asking him if he hadn’t banged up Ma’s car and not told her about it. Not that it was my place to punish him, but I couldn’t allow him to think that I condoned that kind of behavior.
I read an article once about families like ours. Where there was one person who had “made it out” however, the family members who were still struggling continued to be a drain on the escapee’s success. That bothered me. I shouldn’t have been seeing myself in that article. For one thing, Gerard is smarter than I am. Better at everything, math especially. He’d kill the A’s in algebra while I flailed and flagged with the most basic calculations. Gerard’s weakness was partying; he did too much of it, and Ma never was as hard on him as she was on me. If he’d spent his teenage years under lockdown as I did, he’d be a doctor or a lawyer or on his way to becoming a U.S. senator today. Ma always indulged him, especially after my dad died. It’s sad that her version of love hurt him more than it helped.
From day one, he was the little overachiever in elementary school, a star at Pop Warner games, the best swimmer at the public pool, and every teacher’s great hope.
Gerard was the one who helped me study for the test to get into Boston Latin. He himself had gotten a perfect score, but he refused to go. He said that it was a sissy school; all his friends were going to the other publics like Dorchester High, Jeremiah Burke, and Madison Park. He didn’t want to feel left out. And Ma, true to character, told him, “Go where you’ll be happy.” But even at Madison Park he excelled without even trying. Even after Dad died Gerard never needed motivation to do well in school. He performed well despite his laissez-faire attitude.
He’d flirted with light rebellion since he was old enough to talk, but Dad had always set him straight. Dad was a god to him, even though they fought a lot. Sometimes I think that Gerard did so well at everything not because he wanted to but because he wanted our father to be proud of him.
But eventually he just stopped trying. He began to run the streets like the other boys who had one parent, no parents, or two parents and zero hope. I passed him almost every day on my way home from school hanging out on the corner with his friends, all of them trying to affect menacing looks. He hardly ever came home for dinner as I was forced to; he slept out of the house most nights, something I’d never have gotten away with. My mother soon gave up on trying to set him straight and turned to the bottle.
I resented him most of my teenage years mostly because I felt helpless. I was in denial about my dad’s death, and Gerard’s problems were an added annoyance to me. I’d ignore him sometimes, lecture him at others, but he just laughed at me. “You need to stay in school and study ’cause ain’t no man gonna wanna marry your nagging ass.” In retrospect, I realized that I was no better than Ma. I’d given up on him, too, and sometimes I felt guilty about it.
We were all hurting after Dad died. Our family never emerged from crisis mode. My mother buried my father, then enveloped me in her prison of depression and alcoholism. She created random rules that stifled me most of my teenage years into a life of schoolwork, housework, and not much else. She let Gerard run free, hoping that the freedom would somehow ease his pain. It didn’t. Instead, she limited his options by throwing him into the hungry maw of the streets. Now there seemed to be little hope for my brother.
I’d read so many books about alcoholism and addiction that I had my family’s problems all figured out. I knew all about enabling and tough love and all the jargon. That’s why I tried to take a firm line with Ma and Gerard, but sometimes it was hard to turn away.
This trip would be a break from all of this. I planned not to think about them at all. And maybe I would just run away and never come back.
Chapter 13
When the tiny, fourteen-seater plane landed, passengers cheered loudly, whistling and clapping. I looked around dazed. What was all the fuss about? Then the flight attendant announced that Dominica presents one of the most challenging landings in the world for even the most experienced pilots—because of the mountains. The CIA World Factbook seemed to have omitted this pertinent fact from its otherwise comprehensive overview.
Fortunately, I’d been oblivious because I’d closed my eyes when I looked out the window and saw that a mountain peak was within touching distance of my window. That sight had convinced me that I didn’t need to see anything else until the plane was safely on terra firma. Challenging landing? Ignorance sure is bliss.
A curtain of heat overwhelmed me as soon as I stepped out of the plane, but I didn’t dwell on it because I was in jaw-dropping awe. Everything around me was so wildly green. Not spring green after a snowy winter or deep autumn green about to turn red, orange, or yellow. But emerald-green-green, like the way you imagined God had truly intended when He said, “Let there be green.” There were also wildflowers everywhere in the brightest pinks, purples, and reds I’d ever seen, and we were surrounded by mountains, formidable peaks that seemed to be peering down at me in disapproval.
The airport terminal could have been an outdoor shed in some rich person’s backyard. It looked like a garage, with its one-story, concrete building painted pink with white design cement blocks. What looked like a 1979 fire engine idled nearby. A group of uniformed men smoked and gazed at the passengers alighting. They seemed unimpressed by us. I had only one bag and I’d carried it under my seat the whole way. Drew had warned me not to bring too much luggage. Where was he, by the way?
I walked into the airport building, feeling sweat prickle the skin of my back, and joined the line for customs. I’m in the Third World, I thought, and tried not to stare at the black people all around me whom I couldn’t recognize or identify with. They spoke quickly and harshly in English I didn’t quite understand. They obviously knew what they were doing as they pulled out documents and signaled to what looked like drivers on the other side of the counter. They acted as if they were right at home. Well, of course, they were. It was me who was out of place. When it was my turn in the front of the line, I showed the stocky, stern-looking officer with the bad perm my passport.
“Tourist?”
“Um…yes?”
She stamped my passport and looked past me. Next in line! Wow. Weren’t all Caribbean people supposed to be warm and friendly?
I lugged my travel bag and followed the signs through the packed terminal toward the exit. Where was he? What if he didn’t show? What if I was stuck in this tiny airport, which closed at sunset, for a whole week? All I saw beyond the walls of the airport were trees and mountains. There were some men, cabdrivers I presumed, looking at me with a question in their eyes. I averted mine. I had a ride. I hoped.
&nb
sp; Then a black Range Rover pulled up to where I was standing. My heart lurched, then my stomach tightened. He was taller than I thought he would be. Darker than in his picture. He had cut his hair. He looked neat and handsome. Crisp white T-shirt, blue shorts. Tevas. Oh. My. God. I don’t care anymore.
I don’t know when or how I ended up kissing this guy I’d never met before, but that was just how it went down. I guess I was that kind of girl, after all. When I finally came up for air, he looked at me and laughed. “How was the flight?”
“Long,” I said, embarrassed.
Then he kissed me again, this time harder.
I heard a few whistles in the background.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said.
Once we pulled away from the airport he drove with one hand and held my hand with the other. I couldn’t stop talking. About the delays in Puerto Rico. The fact that I could see the pilot from my seat on the small Cessna that brought us here. That I had to close my eyes when I noticed how low we were flying, but that the water looked absolutely gorgeous. The fact that the airport terminal seemed to be about the size of my mother’s house. He laughed and brought my hand to his mouth a couple times.
“See, I told you we’d hit it off,” he said.
And I agreed, wanting to burst with happiness. I needn’t have worried. I didn’t feel weird or afraid. I felt that I belonged with this man in this truck on this narrow, bumpy road with all these mountains surrounding us, azure sky and big sun just beaming down and digging the two of us together.
The drive to the capital was long and I had to disengage from Drew’s hand several times so I could snap pictures. Dominica reminded me of documentary film shots of central African countries. It was lush, wet, wild, and colorful. There were fruit trees and flowers everywhere. My eyes drank in the sights greedily. I’d never been in a place where nature’s beauty just seemed to overflow in such ridiculous, obscene abundance. I saw tiny, neat houses off the road with small gardens on the side. A man was riding a donkey just ahead of us to the side of the narrow road. I had to snap that. Two minutes later, a late-model Mercedes flew past us in the opposite direction.
As if reading my mind, Drew explained. The country had always operated with a vast inequality of wealth. If you were part of the one percent who had money, or among the Arab, Chinese, and Taiwanese businessmen who often came here to hide, or a high-level government worker or professional, then you would be fine. You could send your children abroad to be educated. You could build yourself a huge mansion with an amazing view of the ocean. You could make enough money to live a life insulated from the poverty that struck the other ninety-nine percent of the population. That ninety-nine percent was well educated enough thanks to a decent British-based school system, but jobs were scarce, so most of the young were underemployed and frustrated, hence the high emigration rate.
I saw further evidence of the disparity in the huge mansions atop mini-mountains that looked down on tiny villages filled with rows of corrugated iron shacks. I took pictures of all of it; I would think about the injustice later. Drew seemed content to provide commentary as we drove, but I was so taken in by the sights I don’t think I was paying close attention.
Two hours later, we pulled into a long, circular driveway that led up to a white house, or maybe estate would be a more appropriate word. A big, ornate one that I think I wouldn’t dare dream of living in even in my wildest dreams.
“This is your place?”
He laughed. “I wish.” It was his family’s place, and I guess for a former prime minister’s residence it wasn’t too bad.
A tall woman who looked a lot like Drew ran out of the heavy oak front door, laughing. She looked young enough to be his older sister. She wore her hair in long, tiny black braids; a colorful dress came down almost to her toes. She was barefoot and her toenails were painted coral. Scads of bracelets jingled on her arms. She was Diana Ross, in an earth-mother kind of way.
“Amelia! It’s so nice to meet you.” Her accent was sing-songy and pleasant. I think I liked her on the spot.
I walked into her arms and smiled. Wow. A hugger.
“How was the flight?”
Before I could answer, more people came streaming out of the door, I was meeting the whole Anderson clan: Drew’s mom, Vanessa, the hugger, his sisters Sophie and Stella, their husbands, their kids, a few aunts and uncles.
“I’m well. It’s great to meet you, too,” I said, hoping I sounded as open and friendly as his family.
“Come on in, let’s eat,” Vanessa said, putting her arm around my shoulder.
I was overwhelmed and a little bit uneasy as I answered questions from strange, smiling people. Where was Drew? I noticed him teasing somebody’s baby.
“Yes, I had a great flight. Your home is magnificent,” I complimented Vanessa.
She beamed at me. “My husband and I built it once we outgrew the prime minister’s mansion.”
Vanessa continued to refer to Drew’s father as her husband although he’d been dead for several years. It was almost as if she expected him to come walking in the door at any moment.
“You sit right next to me,” she said, guiding me to a chair near the head of a large, long table.
“Mom, don’t scare her away just yet,” Drew’s sister said.
“Don’t mind my daughters,” Vanessa said. “They get jealous whenever another woman competes with them for my attention.”
“Oh, get over yourself, woman,” Sophie scoffed and everyone laughed.
As we sat down to eat, a trio of uniformed waiters appeared out of nowhere and began to pour us drinks.
“Some wine, ma’am?” one of them asked me.
I politely asked for sparkling water.
“She doesn’t drink,” Drew said, taking the chair next to me, leaving me flanked between him and Vanessa.
“Oh,” Vanessa raised an eyebrow. “That’s admirable.”
The conversation flowed around the table. I noticed that they were a big, happy family. Drew joked around with his sisters, their husbands, his nieces and nephews. He teased Vanessa mercilessly, and she obviously enjoyed every minute of it. They were indeed best friends. I racked my brain to recall a time I’d sat down at a table with Ma and Gerard and just laughed and laughed. Ugh. I had come straight from the airport to a family gathering that only made me see how short my family fell.
The doorbell rang and soon more people walked into the dining room, pulling up chairs. It was a bit off-putting. Here I thought that Drew and I would be all alone this week getting to know each other, and it seemed that I’d just walked into a huge welcome dinner. And I was the guest of honor! I began to feel uncomfortable.
I smiled as aunts, uncles, and close friends of the family greeted me and asked about my flight, my job as a teacher, life in America. Drew was so busy introducing me to everyone that we never even got a chance to talk. What was going on? I wasn’t ready for all this attention.
“So, Amelia, tell me all about you. What do you like to do? Besides work, of course,” Vanessa said this as the staff took away our appetizer dishes. There were about thirty people at the never-ending mahogany table. I noticed a few impressive-looking paintings on the wall. My knowledge of art left a lot to be desired, but I think I recognized a Basquiat.
I shrugged off any talk about my lowly profession and tried to steer the conversation to Vanessa. But she wanted to talk about me. Was I getting the old overprotective mom shakedown?
“You’re such a pretty girl. I’m surprised you’re not married yet. Or at least have been married.”
“Well, women in America get married much later in life these days.”
“I think a woman should start building a family by at least age twenty-five. But I’m old-fashioned…”
“Mom, tell her about the time you spent in Boston,” Drew said as the three waiters began to serve us. I wondered if these people worked for Vanessa permanently or were hired just for the day. The food smelled delicious.
“Oh, that was a long time ago,” Vanessa said. “I was a model…I did some print work for Filene’s and Macy’s.”
“Oh, how interesting,” I said. Great, she just had to be a former model! She must think I’m a cow.
“It was very boring,” Vanessa said. “I was glad when my husband rescued me from it all.” Then her expression changed from sunlight to gathering storm. “Excuse me, Amelia.” She turned to the waiter, a burly middle-aged man. “Charles, you’re going to have to move a little bit faster,” Vanessa hissed.
“Yes, ma’am,” Charles replied, his eyes falling.
Drew rolled his eyes. “Sorry,” he patted my hand. “She gets a little crazy…”
Vanessa sniffed. “Andrew, you don’t have to apologize for me. I’m not being unreasonable.”
Drew’s sister Sophie leaned over in my direction. “Amelia, your hair is just gorgeous. But you’re going to have a hard time keeping it looking like this in this weather.”
“Thanks,” I told her. “I’m thinking of going natural anyway.”
“Oh, really?” Vanessa said. “You could pull off a look like that very nicely.”
Ha! Take that, Grace Wilson, I thought.
An hour later, the table was cleared and I hadn’t embarrassed myself by eating too much. I noticed that Vanessa and both her daughters refused dessert, so I did, too. But I felt absolutely sick with desire as I watched Drew and the other men and a few women devour chocolate raspberry rum cake. I wanted a slice so bad I could have snatched it off his plate. Oh my God. I’m such a pig. I sipped sparkling water and tried to imagine that I was swallowing chocolate raspberry rum cake. All I tasted was fizzy nothing.
Soon after dinner some of the aunts and uncles said their good-byes. It was a Monday evening, an early night, they explained. While Vanessa was off hobnobbing, Drew grabbed my hand and led me out through the huge kitchen to the back of the house, where there was an Olympic-size swimming pool in the back.
“This place is unbelievable!” I exclaimed. It was cut into the side of a mountain, so from one side there’s a view of the Atlantic and a range of mountains from the other. “You must have had a lot of fun living here,” I told him as I stared off into a shimmering blue ocean miles and miles away.
Letting Loose Page 7
