by Tiana Laveen
“Even though I don’t live here no more, my family still does. They let me know everything,” Danica said.
Tony nodded in understanding. Soon, their food arrived and the laughing and silliness began once again, feeding his soul.
“Tony’s mama was lookin’ at us like, ‘Somebody help that poor girl! She’s havin’ a seizure!’”
“Oh God, I forgot about that! My mother didn’t know she was dancing. She really thought something was wrong.” Tony picked up his napkin and dabbed at his eyes, tears of mirth pouring from them. “That was when I had that party and my mother made those sandwiches that no one ate.”
“Mrs. Romano thought she was helpin’!” Cassidy cackled. “Well, she’s remarried now… What’s her last name?”
“Roberts. I told her nobody wanted that shit but she told me I was being negative again. It was peanut butter and jelly, like it was fuckin’ Romper Room. T.J. and Maize made fun of me for a whole month after that, singing ‘I like bread ’nd butter! I like toast ’nd jam! Tony’s mom is crazy, and we don’t give uh damn!”
Cassidy and Danica about lost it, falling atop each other, turning red in the face as they laughed hard and slapped the table. He smiled and shook his head. “We ended up ordering some pizzas.”
After they regained their composure, Cassidy leaned forward, forearms on the table.
“So, speaking of food, Tony and I have decided to make the recipes from Grandmama’s cookbook, Danica. Each night, we’re going to try ’nd cook a dish.”
Danica put her hands to her mouth, her eyes wide.
“That is so beautiful and romantic! What a great idea! Damn, I wish I didn’t have to leave this afternoon.” Danica frowned as she glanced down at her phone, probably noting the time. “The fun is just getting started.”
“We wish you didn’t have to leave so soon, either. I miss you already.” Cassidy took her into her arms and gave the woman a big hug. Minutes later, Tony paid the bill and they were all walking towards his rental car. They piled in, Cassidy sitting up front while Danica climbed in the back. He rolled down the window and turned on the air and the radio. ‘Jesus Walks’ by Kanye came on.
“You need a ride to the airport?” He looked at her through the rear-view mirror. “I can take you to your cousin’s house where you’re staying, wait for you and your husband to get your luggage and take you. It wouldn’t be a problem.” He pulled out of the restaurant parking lot.
“Oh, that’s sweet of you, Montana, but I gotta take care of some last-minute thangs first. Thank you. I wanna come back soon, just for a couple of days but by myself… help Cassidy.”
“Cassidy told me you were considering that.”
“Yeah… this the last time I’ll be in Grandmama’s house.”
He could hear the sorrow in her tone.
“We have our memories though.” Cassidy smiled as she looked out the window, then hooked her hand over the headrest, reaching for Danica’s. The woman leaned forward and gripped it. “And I’m going to hold onto mine. I realized during breakfast, watching you two, talking about our childhoods and all the fun we had, that this is what she would’ve wanted… for us to be happy, not sad… not cry.” A tear streaked down Cassidy’s face, but she smiled as bright as the sun.
“You’re right.” He could hear Danica crying now, too. He gripped the steering wheel. Hard. “She’d also want us to accept love in all of its colors, ’cause that’s all memories are—streaks of a rainbow we can’t touch, only see. Sometimes that rainbow fades away, but it always comes back after a storm…”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Sweet Perfumed Memories
…The following day
Tony held the heavy book and breathed in the aromas that filled the kitchen as Cassidy placed the freshly battered catfish into the pan full of hot vegetable oil. Her fingertips were coated in flour with bits of red and black pepper speckled in the dull whiteness. The popping grease blended in with the music of the Red Hot Chili Peppers, ‘Under the Bridge’ playing from the old kitchen radio.
They stood there for a while, as though they were watching a great show, the greatest on Earth. Then, like a knot coming suddenly undone, Cassidy awoke from whatever daydream she was having. Turning away from the skillet, she thrust her hands into a stream of water bursting from the faucet.
After washing her hands, she took the book from his grip, re-read the recipe, then flipped the page. Casually leaning against the sink, she flipped again, then again, smiling along the way. At one point, she paused, and her smile slowly faded. Tony watched all of this as if he were looking in the mirror, only it was Cassidy’s face, her eyes the windows to his own soul.
He couldn’t quite describe it, couldn’t fathom such a thing, but that’s what it felt like… and he often went with his gut.
“Is something wrong?” he asked when she continued to stare into the book, her brows rutted.
“No… listen to this.”
She began to read her grandmama’s words that were scrolled along the bottom of that page…
‘One day, my man brought some catfish home for me to skin and fry. He’d been out fishing and smelled like Earth and clay, and a bit of perfume, too. I took the catfish from him as he came bustling into the door, then sniffed the air. Fresh catfish don’t stink, but the thought of my man dipping and dabbing in another woman does. My thoughts went immediately against everything I was taught… My mama taught me that all men cheat. That if you got one that pays the bills, keeps you in pretty dresses, and makes sure all the babies are fed, you just turn away, act like you don’t know. Her mama taught her that if the man is pretty and love the Lord, you keep holding on tight to him.
My man wasn’t pretty and he didn’t always go to church with me or pray much, either. He kept the bills paid but I didn’t care about no pretty dresses and I earned my own wage at the hospital.
Our daughter was out in the streets, our son dead. I stood there, plotting in my mind how long it would take me to pack, because one thing about me is that I’m not like the women before me, and I am not like the ones to come after. I am not better. I am not worse. I am just me. As I opened my mouth to tell him that I was leaving, he reached into his pocket and out fell a little covered cup of worms for his bait. Then out came a small glass bottle filled with something clear, like water. He took the top off, and that perfume filled the whole room.
My man said to me, ‘Somebody was sellin’ some nice perfume down on the dock. Baby, I’m sorry, a little spilled out into my pocket, but most of it is still in the bottle. It smells like flowers and rain if you ask me, smells like you…’ Then he handed it to me. I took the fish and the perfume, laid a kiss on his cheek, and carried on back into the kitchen. I fried up the catfish and learned a lesson that day.
You have to have all the facts. You have to be open to receive new information because things change, people change, but the heart stays the same. Being reactionary don’t mean strength; only fools rush in and pride kicks you aside. My mind was always working, but I often ignored my heart, believing it was stupid, not smart enough to lead the way. I love my man so much, the thought of him being with someone else almost uprooted me, but God had other plans. Trust is a lesson to be learned. I needed to learn how to trust. Where did the distrust come from? Not from my husband, but from fear of what he could be capable of, actions yet unseen.
The Lord told me, ‘Some things smell sweet, but they’re sour and bitter to the taste. And some things are sour or rotten, but they smell sweet and are golden, perfect in appearance. Sniff and taste the fruit first, don’t do anything without due diligence of the heart. Pay attention to the signs and follow them. The heart can lead, too; don’t let your mind do all the work. They must work as a team.’ That smell of perfume in the air was a sign, and so were the catfish and the worms. He brought dinner, but all I saw were worms… He brought the smell of heaven, but all I imagined was the stench of my marriage falling apart. My man left me in that house to go out into the w
orld. He needed that time, but then he came back. He returned to me. And when he returned, he arrived better than when he’d left, and now I am forever changed.’
Tony and Cassidy looked at one another for a long while. Magic flowed between them like catfish-filled rivers in pebble-bottomed streams.
“I hated you for leaving me,” she said in such a quiet tone as she set the cookbook down onto the counter. “I held out hope that your sentence would be lessened. I paid attention from a distance. It wasn’t. During the first two years of our separation, I hoped that you’d change your mind about me visiting you, writing you… you hadn’t.” She began to pace, then drifted towards the stove and grabbed the spatula. With a steady hand, she flipped the fish over. One side was a beautiful golden brown now. “Some of the girls we went to school with seemed to gloat, happy we were apart.
“In some ways, we had a storybook romance, Tony. People wanted what we had, even though they talked about us behind our backs as if they didn’t. Misery loves company. Our friends were distraught; they’d lost Maize and you, all within twenty-four hours.” He swallowed, her words hitting him hard.
“Some questioned me, asked me what happened, wondered why E.T. didn’t shoot him and you did instead… ’specially since it was his idea to go and find Street in the first place. But as time passed, as with all things…” She took a deep, exasperated breath. “They treated it like just another day in the hood. I treated it like a three-person funeral. Maize. You. And me. In my own way, a piece of me died, too… It chased after you and withered away, like petals on a flower.”
Walking to the refrigerator, Tony removed a large bowl of tossed salad he’d made with her earlier in the day. He grabbed the ranch dressing, too. He could feel his jaw tightening, clenching…
“I stand by my decision to not have you wait for me, Cassidy. You were young… fresh out of high school.”
“But I had—”
“AND YOU WOULD’VE DONE IT IF I ASKED YOU TO!” He shook with sorrow as those old, burrowed feelings crept out of him. “I loved you enough to not put that on you… a terrible burden. You had your whole life ahead of you, baby. We all… we all go through things that change us, better us, worsen us.” He placed the dressing and salad on the small kitchen table.
“What if my marriage would have worked? What if we never made our way back to one another again?”
“I am not worried about what if? I am concentrating on what now? My mistake wasn’t letting you go, Cassidy. My mistake would’ve been to never come back…”
…The following day
“They came an’ got ’em! I’m surprised, but they did.” Tony laughed as he slammed the front door and locked it.
“See, the trash collectors around here are still flaky so I wasn’t sure. It was a lot of bags and mess, but that’s good. It’s all gone now, thank goodness. Okay.” She clasped her hands together. “Let’s finish Grandmama’s closet, take care of the rest of my old room today and if we have the energy, clear out the bathroom. Tony, if you want any of her unopened toiletries or anything, put it aside for yourself. I’ll have them mailed to you.” He shrugged and grabbed a roll of packing tape.
“Nah, I’m good.”
“No, seriously. She has a lot of soap and deodorant and mouthwash. That woman had started that couponing craze.” She giggled. “Now why would Grandmama need ten tubes of Colgate toothpaste, 6 bottles of shampoo, and four bottles of bubble bath?! That’s just crazy. I don’t want it to go to waste. If you don’t want any of it, I’m sure we can donate the items to a shelter or something along those lines.”
Tony went to the back of the house, saying nothing.
Cassidy stood there in her rolled-up capris and light white tank top, wondering… Tony had been awfully quiet that afternoon. He came over around seven that morning wearing a pair of loose gray shorts and a matching gray t-shirt. By lunchtime, the shirt was off; he was covered in sweat after pulling weeds from the front yard, mowing the entire lawn, and clearing out Grandmama’s old broken down furniture that was piled in the small guest room, which was only big enough to serve as an office or large closet. He’d been such a great help, tirelessly moving about, not asking for instruction, just jumping in with both feet. She noticed his phone had been ringing quite a lot, but she surmised it was business. After all, he took on a lot of gigs to make ends meet.
“Cass.”
“Uh, yeah.” He popped back out in the hall and entered the living room, shaking her out of her thoughts. “What’s up?”
“Come here. You’ll want to see this.”
In Grandmama’s bedroom, a mellow pink light shone down upon their heads. Grandmama was partial to yellow and pink lightbulbs in her boudoir, a guilty pleasure. He pulled out an old pink plastic bin, faded with time, and removed the cracked lid. “Now, I saw this and started flipping through it, then had to stop. I put it back how it was… but uh, just look…” He stepped back, giving her space as she dropped to her knees and began to remove the various folders inside.
“Oh my gosh! Class photos! Grandmama kept all of my yearbooks and pictures.” Tony smiled and leaned against the wall as she continued to mosey on down memory lane. “Oh… no way…” She held a polaroid photo of the whole gang…
E.T., Maize, T.J., Sonya, Tony, Danica and several others… all of them sitting around in Grandmama’s backyard grubbing on some BBQ chicken, baked beans, and macaroni salad.
“I remember this day.” She held the photo gently as she stood to her feet. “I remember the outside smelled like smoked meats and Key Lime pie, Spring and joy. Maize was sitting there telling us about Malcom X.”
Tony nodded.
“Yeah. He was talking about the activist’s early life, and then he went on and discussed the differences between him and Marcus Garvey and Martin Luther King Jr. Maize would give us a rap concert while E.T. beat-boxed and I’d play drums on any hard service, then he’d go into a Black history lesson that would have us glued to our seats. He was fucking brilliant. He was rare, Cass… he was my brother. I always used to tell him he was a smart motherfucker, that he needed to do somethin’ with that. He could move people. He had a way of making people want to listen. He was magic. I would sometimes call him ‘Magic Maize.’”
His laughter bore the breadth of sorrow. Cassidy drew closer to him and wrapped her arms around him. Tony’s body heat was immense, and she doubted that was due to him working so hard. A memory flashed in her mind…
That’s right, when Tony was mad, he would literally be hot to the touch, as if he’d just burst from blazes hatched straight out of Hell. His entire body would feel like it was engulfed in flames. It was the damnedest thing…
She released him and looked into his beautiful gray eyes. They were still so clear, so innocent looking, the whites of them like snow. She reached up and stroked his jaw. He leaned into her touch, like a cat needing a good scratch. Then, he grabbed her hand and kissed it. He smelled like freshly cut grass and drizzly grief, dank earth and clay… He smelled like spilled perfume in an old Dungaree pocket… He smelled like her heart’s despair and her heart’s desire…
Tony sat up in his hotel bed, stroking his forehead. A budding headache was taking over like a change in command. He’d only had a few hours of sleep because the evening prior he’d stayed up talking to Cassidy. They’d sat in the middle of the living room floor chatting about stuff while they shared a bowl of popcorn and a bottle of wine. His phone rang once again, shaking him out of his daze, reminding him why’d he awoken in the first place.
“Hello? Okay, here we go again…” Nothing but heavy panting… “Who tha fuck is this? Why in the hell do you keep callin’ my phone and just breathing?!” There was no response… “Do you have asthma? Bronchitis? Do you need a CPAP machine, you post-nasal-drip, allergies-comin’-out-tha-ass, son of uh bitch?!” More breathing… “Who tha hell calls a man and just breathes on the gotdamn phone? You fuckin’ PUSSY! You fuckin’ punk! Did ya get cha rocks off, huh? Fuckin’ sicko. S
top fuckin’ calling me!”
He quickly disconnected the call, blocked the number, and glared at the alarm clock in the room. It was three in the damn morning.
He’d blocked several different numbers now; it was the same thing over and over again. The calls came initially once a day, and now happened at least eight to ten times per day. He looked up at the ceiling, breathing in, breathing out… until he finally fell asleep once again.
He screamed and shot up in his bed after hearing a loud knock at his hotel room door. He glanced at the time. 6:14 A.M.
There was another knock at the door… and then another.
He quickly got to his feet, a bit disoriented. Taking a couple of deep breaths, he grabbed his gun and made his way over. Placing his eye next to the peephole, he sighed with relief and relaxed his shoulders.
“Hey, Cass, I forgot you said you were comin’ by. Hold on a sec.”
“Okay.”
The woman stood in black jeans and a sheer blue blouse over a tank top. Her hair in two braids and a pair of large gold hoop earrings framing her face, she was gorgeous. He put his gun away and opened the door.
“Come on in. Just give me a sec to wash up and we can be on our way. Have a seat.” He pointed to the unmade bed and she stepped in, the cookbook in her hand. “Want some coffee?” He pointed to the empty pot in the small kitchenette. “I can make some.”
“No, that’s okay. I had some before I left.”
“Cool. Be right back,” he said, then headed to the bathroom to shower. Ten minutes later, as he dried off, he opened the door and allowed the steam to escape the small enclosure… and to spy. Cass sat on his bed, looking at the television. He could tell a cartoon was on from the silly music and dialogue and she was grinning from ear to ear as she held tight to the remote. She swung a leg to and fro, her beautiful feet encased in white sandals. She was thoroughly enjoying herself.
