“No. I’ve got this.”
I journey back into the living room to toy around with the song before Biggie and I retire for the night. The following day, Fernàn never leaves his room which makes me worry. I watch Aunt Ruthie shuffle in and out between his room and the kitchen, still cooking this huge meal that I have no idea who’s eating it.
“Is he alright?” I ask her, walking into the kitchen.
“Fine. He just needs his rest.”
“Is he dying?” I whisper.
“He’s putting up a fight,” she replies stirring the pot.
Aunt Ruthie has been in the kitchen cooking for two days. I don’t know if she’s expecting company or about to send the food to America to feed the homeless or something and every time I offer to help, she declines.
I’m sitting on the porch, enjoying the ocean air and writing in my journal.
“You didn’t give up on me, did you?” Fernàn asks with a bright smile on his face as he wheels himself out on the porch. He has been down for three days. I guess he has found some fight left in him after all. I smile brightly before helping him onto the porch.
“Biggie, move,” I scold, shooing him out of Fernàn’s way.
“No, I didn’t give up on you. You made me a promise and I am holding you to that,” I smile.
“Here. I figured out what your song is missing,” he says handing me a sheet of paper with lyrics and music notes written on it.
“Wow. Where did you plagiarize this from?” I joke.
“They were part of my wedding vows. I’m very romantic,” he smiles with a wink.
“Don’t try to charm me old man,” I laugh, wheeling him back into the house and sitting at the keyboard. Fernàn and I sit all afternoon arranging music.
“I think you got it,” he smiles.
“Not quite. Almost there,” I laugh.
“Such a perfectionist. I feel like eating a hearty meal,” he says pulling out a marijuana cigarette. “Do you mind?”
“No. It’s okay,” I tell him sure of my sobriety.
“I’m not pushing you, but you do understand that it is all mental,” he says tapping his temple. “All mental,” he repeats before wheeling himself outside. I follow behind him and sit on the porch next to him while he smokes. I think I accidentally catch contact from Fernàn’s weed because I find myself laughing at little dumb random stuff as we sit and enjoy each other’s company.
“Aneesah,” Aunt Ruthie barks at me coming out onto the porch.
“I didn’t do anything,” I tell her jumping to my feet. Fernàn is boiling over in laughter.
“Aunt Ruthie, I’m fine. I promise. I didn’t do anything,” I laugh, effects of the contact as I watch the steam come off her body.
“Dinner’s ready,” she snaps, storming back inside the house as Fernàn and I share a hearty laugh.
“See what you did?” I giggle. “You got me in trouble.”
“She’ll get over it. I had her prepare all my favorites. Let’s eat,” he chuckles.
Aunt Ruthie sure did make a feast. I am staring at a variety of different Soul, Spanish, and Italian foods.
“Wow. What is this? The Last Supper,” I giggle, taking a seat at the table.
“We shall have fine dining tonight,” Fernàn states while popping open a bottle of wine.
“You’ve got to try this wine ladies,” Fernàn speaks in English as he talks to both Aunt Ruthie and me.
“I’m working and this one doesn’t need a drink,” Aunt Ruthie politely responds.
“Ruth, the child is fine. She’s okay,” Fernàn winks at me. “And you mean to tell me that you are going to pass up a $500,000.00 bottle of 1787 Chateau Margaux?”
“Wait. How did you get this?” I stare at the bottle. I read somewhere that the last bottle was accidentally broken years ago and the insurance company had to pay out damn near $225,000.00 for it.
“Was the bottle broken or stolen?” Fernàn chuckles, pouring himself a glass.
“Cheers then,” I smile holding up my glass. Aunt Ruthie cuts her eyes at me.
“I was on coke and pills, Aunt Ruthie. I can handle a glass of wine. Have some.” I pour her a glass before she can object.
“My, this is absolutely delicious,” she says taking a sip.
We load our plates up and enjoy each other’s company; laughing, drinking, and talking at the table. I sampled everything that Aunt Ruthie prepared and feel like I just gained twenty pounds.
“Dessert anyone?” Aunt Ruthie asks as we are sitting in the family room, finishing up the last of the wine and listening to old Flamenco records.
“Ugh, Aunt Ruthie, I’m about to burst,” I laugh, patting my stomach. I look over at Biggie who is joyfully eating some left-over steak.
“Ruth, how did you make out with the Boniatillo?” Fernàn asks about the Cuban dessert.
“I think I nailed it. I’ll get you some.” Aunt Ruthie stands and walks into the kitchen.
“What else you got back there?” I yell out to her.
“This has been quite a day,” Fernàn states as he lights up another marijuana cigarette.
“It has been,” I agree, throwing my head back and listening to the smooth sounds of Willie Colòn playing on his trumpet.
“The song, once you complete it, I know that it’s going to be something special,” Fernàn states, exhaling smoke out of his mouth.
“Thank you and thank you for all of your help.”
Aunt Ruthie returns out of the kitchen wheeling a dessert cart filled with pies, cakes, puddings, and cookies.
“What is this?” I laugh. “It’s like Thanksgiving and Christmas wrapped up in one. So, this is what you’ve been doing in the kitchen?” I smirk, picking up a banana custard tart.
“An early Christmas treat it is,” Fernàn chuckles while helping himself to the Boniatillo. “Not bad, Ruth. Not bad at all,” he compliments while spooning some more into his mouth.
We eat our sweets in silence savoring every bite.
“Well if you ladies excuse me, I am going to go sit out on the porch and smoke a Cuban,” Fernàn announces, patting his suit jacket.
“I’ll join you.” I grab the handles of his wheelchair and walk out onto the porch.
“What a beautiful night,” I let out, staring up at the stars.
“It sure is. My Catalina would have loved a night like this, surrounded with good food and great people.”
“I’m sure she would have. I can see why this island was her personal favorite. It’s my favorite; away from civilization and noise. It’s so peaceful here.” I look over at Fernàn who has somehow managed to fall asleep sitting in his chair that fast. I laugh to myself while getting up and putting out his cigar before wheeling him back inside.
“I’ll put him to bed,” Aunt Ruthie says jumping up.
“I got it.”
“Aneesah, don’t,” she says politely while taking over. “Let him keep what dignity he feels that he has left.” She wheels him inside the bedroom and returns fifteen minutes later joining me in the family room.
“How come you won’t let me help you?” I ask.
“Because Fernàn doesn’t want you to. You have to understand, when a person no longer has control over their own body, it can be embarrassing. He was once a strong man but now feels weak and frail. It’s a pride thing,” she explains. We hear the sound of glass breaking coming out of his room and we both jump up to see if he’s alright.
“Stay here,” she informs, shutting his door in my face. I hover by the door listening to them argue like an old married couple because Fernàn doesn’t want Aunt Ruthie’s help either. I laugh at him for being stubborn and laugh at Aunt Ruthie for her no non-sense attitude. I listen to the sounds of vomit coming from Fernàn and water running. I let out a breath, back away from the door and walk back into the family room taking a seat at my keyboard to work on the song.
When I look up hours later, a feeling of accomplishment sweeps through my body letting me know th
at I had finally completed the song to my liking. I look over at the clock. It’s 3:34 in the morning. I breakdown the keyboard and carry it to Fernàn’s room.
“Fernàn, are you awake?” I whisper. I peek at his face. Even though the oxygen mask covers most of his face, he looks very pale, weak and fragile.
“I finished the song,” I whisper. “I’m going to play it for you,” I tell him while plugging the keyboard into the wall. I stroke the keys and start to sing “Forever” for Fernàn. When I’m done, Fernàn is smiling under his mask with his eyes closed.
“Did I nail it?” I ask. He nods his head yes and struggles to lift his arm, giving me a weak thumbs-up before dropping it back to the mattress.
“You can rest now,” I whisper in his ear. He gently places his hand on top of mine. I kiss his forehead, straighten the mask on his face and fix his blankets before exiting out the room.
Chapter Three
September 2015
“Well old man, we’re back,” I say to Fernàn as I step off the boat. Biggie breaks free from me to chase the birds as Aunt Ruthie waits patiently on the boat. It’s been weeks since we left off the island to travel to Cuba.
I open the front door and walk inside the house.
“Happy to be home?” I ask Fernàn, placing him on top of the mantel next to his beloved wife.
“I know, I know. Just give me a minute. I have to use the bathroom.” As promised, I am here to combine his ashes with his wife’s.
As I’m heading towards the bathroom, I stop abruptly in my tracks. There is a long envelop sitting on the table in the hallway with my name written on it. Behind it is another envelope with the name Maritsa scribbled on it. I walk into the kitchen and take a seat at the table, opening my letter.
Mamacita,
If you are reading this, that means I am no longer here. I want to thank you and Ruth for spending my last days with me. They were memorable, and it was a comfort to know that I was not dying alone. It was a comfort to have you with me because you were right; nobody wants to battle this disease alone. I have a few favors to ask of you and can completely understand if you are unable to oblige my request.
I left my daughter Maritsa a letter as well. Please see to it that she gets it. Her address is written on the last sheet of paper in this letter. She no longer goes by her birth name of Maritsa Delgado but Mary Daniels. She is currently re-running for the governor’s seat in Seattle. Please, if you can, please get her letter to her. I owe her an apology, and this is the only way I know how to do that.
In the year 2022, my wife and I will be celebrating our 50th anniversary. Please promise me that you will return to the island and spread our ashes over the ocean. I hope that is not too weird of a request, but I promise, after doing these two things for me, you are off the hook of putting up with me forever. LOL (isn’t that what you kids say when you’re joking but kind of serious?)
Now, in regards to you. You might not like what I have to say but it needs to be said. Know that I am saying this out of sincere love. You have deeply rooted abandonment issues and once you deal with that and realize that you are all you need, you will be unstoppable. You are not a victim in this world and you do not need some sort of super hero to save you because in the end, you have to be willing to save yourself. Shit is always going to happen but that doesn’t mean you get to give up and feel sorry for yourself. When you are having a bad day, you have to shout FUCK IT and move on. That is life. Life is messy and there is no such thing as the perfect life despite what you see with your own eyes. Stop allowing people to dictate your emotions and feelings. I know that is easier said than done but Mamacita, losing a loved one does not mean you are losing out on love. Love is often used, abused, misguided, misplaced, and sometimes lost but NEVER lose the love that you have for yourself. Never lose sight that you are loved in this world.
Be thankful for your struggles because it shows how strong you truly are. You are strong and never forget that. God has placed angels in your life to help you along the way however, you are not indebted to these people. You are not indebted to James, Capree, or anyone else who has helped you overcome your struggles because I am pretty sure that you have helped them in many ways as well.
I believe in you and I know that your little mishap with your drug usage is over…it better be. Think about the time you lost and wasted by being in that frame of mind. Be strong and be smart. Life is a mental game and only the strong survive. YOU ARE NOT A VICTIM BUT A VICTOR so go on out into the world and enjoy all that life has to offer even if it means that you sometimes have to create your own sunshine. BUT if you ever feel that the clouds are just too dark and there is no escape, come visit your island and take some time off from the stresses of the world. Yes. You read that right. I am leaving you Isle Catalina. She now belongs to you so please take care of her. Maritsa and Enacio may try to fight you on this but you mustn’t sell to them. Promise that you will not sell this to them. They won’t respect it the way that I know you will. I have many other reasons for my decision as well and I explain my decision in the letters I left for them individually. Now Enacio may try to use his man power to intimidate you, after all, he is inheriting my army and empire but know that he is under strict instructions that not one hair is to be touched on your head or he will have to SUFFER the consequences (yes, even from the grave I am able to move people and no, I did not extend this protection for James. This is for you solely) but if Enacio is ever feeling bold, you tell him “El Diablo Esta Vivo” and that should get him to back off.
Oh, and PS, that politician you were telling me about; the one that helped you get James out of jail, you no longer have to worry about him either. I took care of it.
Goodbye my Mamacita and live well.
XOXOXO
-Fernàn
Enclosed is the deed to the island, Maritsa’s address, and information for me in regards to the person I asked Fernàn to locate prior to his death.
“What the hell were you thinking, Fernàn?” I ask myself as I stare at the deed through teary eyes. I, in no way, want any trouble with Nas regardless of what his father says. Instead of signing my name on the dotted line to send back to the lawyers, I fold the papers back up and slide them into my purse. Fernàn’s letter is honest and eye opening and only fuels the fire I feel burning in my belly.
I check the time on my watch before picking up my cell phone and walking back into the family room.
“I’m coming through. Be ready,” I tell Chink, one of the producers from illADELPHIA Records.
“Been waiting for you. Welcome back Queen. I’m home in Atlanta.”
“Okay. See you in the A.M.,” I advise, hanging up.
“What the hell were you thinking old man?” I ask again, speaking to Fernàn’s ashes. I use the bathroom before combining Fernàn and Catalina’s ashes together as promised, and leave the island with Biggie and Aunt Ruthie in tow.
Chapter Four
I arrive in Atlanta and immediately go to Chink’s estate. After being cleared by his security, I knock on his door and wait patiently for him to answer.
“Miss me?” I smile when he opens the door.
“Girl, get in here,” he says giving me a big hug. Biggie snaps.
“Sorry,” I apologize as Chink backs away from me.
“Man, let his ass out back. Oh, I’m sorry ma’am,” Chink apologizes when Aunt Ruthie steps inside.
“Oh, this is Aunt Ruthie…Aunt Ruthie, Chink AND how the hell do you get to your backyard in this fortress?”
“Follow me,” Chink responds walking through the foyer. I let Big out and turn to face Chink. He’s all smiles.
“You look well,” he says.
“Thank you. You’re looking mighty good too—happy,” I smile. For a man of 52, Chink still looks like a young-boi. I guess not having a wife or kids keeps him young.
“When you gonna settle down, Chink?” I laugh.
“Well, hello Miss,” Aja, my old vocal coach when I was just starting out
greets me.
“Uh, what are you doing here?” I ask cautiously. “OMG, y’all are doin’ the grown-up,” I laugh.
“Shut-up girl,” she says giving me a hug. “And keep your mouth shut. Our relationship is still under wraps.”
“Lips are sealed as long as I don’t have to pay you to whip me back in shape.”
“Yeah, right,” she laughs.
“It was worth a try,” I shrug. “I’ve been working on something, a serious something, something that’s going to require some serious vocal pipes and because I haven’t really sung in almost three years, I’m afraid my voice is gone.”
“You know I got you, girl. Let me see this serious something you’re talking about,” Aja says as I follow her and Chink into his home studio. We work on “Forever”, trying to perfect my vocal range and chords.
“Higher. You have to bring that octave up a notch,” Chink yells at me as I am trying to hit the note. My voice cracks.
“I can’t,” I yell throwing the ear phones in frustration.
“Girl, what happened to your soprano?” Aja questions.
“I know right,” I mumble, sipping my tea. Come on Aneesah. You got this, I chant in my head.
“You want to try again?” Chink asks.
“No. That’s enough. She’s straining herself. Back to the basics for you,” Aja chimes in before stepping into the booth. “Here you go,” she smiles handing me a cork. “Now sing your vowels.”
“Ugh,” I growl, placing the cork in my mouth.
“And new diet. No dairy, caffeine, chocolate, fried foods, butter…”
“I know Aja. I’m not new to this,” I snap in frustration.
“Okay smarty-pants. We will go to the market to get you some nuts, raw honey and pineapples. Some licorice root will help too.”
“Thanks Aja. Sorry for snapping at you.”
“Girl, you got something here. When you win Song of the Year, don’t forget to shout me out at the Grammy’s,” she winks.
“Be back y’all,” Chink excuses himself.
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