by Tiana Laveen
“I want my son to be happy.”
“I want your son to be happy, too, Mrs. Alexopoulos, and I want to be happy as well.” She crossed her arms over her breasts as she side-eyed the woman who was now surveying a large bag of peppermints.
“Angel will make you very happy, Sahara. Of that, I am certain. He will give you beautiful children, too. He is so handsome. All of my sons are, but especially Angel. And you being as pretty as you are, the children should come out quite lovely. Of course, sometimes two attractive people make hideous looking children. Geesh! I had a friend like that… she and her husband could have been models. Their kids looked like horses… horse shit, that is.” Sahara burst out laughing, but felt quickly ashamed for doing so. “You want children, correct? You’re a little older than I would have liked, but that’s fine. These things happen sometimes.”
Sahara smirked. “Yes, I do want children.”
“Good. If Angel gives me at least one grandchild, I can die happy. I never thought this day would come… the day he got married.”
“Really? Why’s that?”
“Because Angel fights conformity. He is a conformist, but fights it. So silly, really. He is traditional, but hates tradition. My son is crazy.” She cackled. “But crazy in a good way.”
“I can see how much you love him. That’s beautiful.”
“Yes, I love my family very much. I love my daughters-in-law, too, contrary to what they might think. I’m hard on them. I’ll be hard on you too, but just always remember, I do it because I love you. Love doesn’t always feel good.” The woman sighed as she looked at a bottle of sea salt.
“I beg to differ. Love doesn’t hurt, Mrs. Alexopoulos. If it does, it’s not love… it’s an imposter.”
The woman turned slowly in her direction and stared at her, holding tight to that sea salt. She carefully placed it down in the cart.
“An imposter,” the woman repeated, but said nothing further. “Stop walking around with those grapes, dear. Put them in my cart. I’ll get them.”
“Oh no, Mrs. Alexopoulos, I don’t need you to do that!”
“I insist. How does your family feel about you and my Angel dating one another?”
Sahara placed the grapes inside of one of the bags in the cart. “They’re all supportive with the exception of my brother, Leonard.”
“Hmmm, I see. Leonard is not supportive for what reason?”
They headed towards the bakery section.
“Well, actually, that just recently changed, to be fair. He wasn’t supportive initially because he was the one who actually introduced us.” The woman stopped walking, clearly interested now. “Vangelis was his doctor, and long story short, I’d had a car accident, one that landed me in a lot of pain and I needed help that I wasn’t getting. My brother referred me to Vangelis and we began to talk, and now… well, here we are.”
“Angel never told me how you two met. He was tightlipped about much of it, and after our fight, there was no way he was going to discuss you with me. Thank you for telling me.”
“Of course.”
The woman picked up a small, ready-made chocolate cake. She checked the price and date, then set it in her cart.
“Oh, I almost forgot the aspirin. We need to double back over, but my feet are killing me.”
“No problem. You just stay here and I’ll go get it. What brand would you like?”
“Oh, thank you. How nice of you. Please just pick the one that’s on sale… the cheapest.”
“No problem.”
Sahara made a mad dash towards the medicine aisle. She welcomed the reprieve, a chance to get away and collect her thoughts. For some strange reason, the little woman was quite intimidating. She didn’t know what it was exactly about Mrs. Alexopoulos, but even with her occasional bursts of humor and pretty smile, there was something about her that made you stand at attention and give her respect, right off the cuff.
She’s in a lot of pain… and it’s not the type of pain any aspirin can alleviate. I can identify with that… being all fucked up over what some man has done…
What was even more alarming was that the woman shared with her such a personal, traumatic story, and she’d just met her. And yet, her own husband and children were none the wiser to what had happened to the poor woman as a child.
Is she trying to build a rapport with me or is this some sort of test?
Sahara scanned the shelves and saw that one of the cheaper brands was the store brand. Knowing aspirin the way she did, she bypassed that and got a name brand that was higher in price by only twenty-five cents. Holding it close, she made her way back to Mrs. Alexopoulos who now had several croissants in a container in her hand.
“Here you are. Is this okay? This is a good brand by the way. It’s the one that I purchase and trust. It was a few cents higher, but nothing major. They are also coated which will help protect the lining of your stomach.”
The woman took it from her grip and looked it over, then placed it inside her cart.
That was it. She didn’t ask how much it was; she didn’t say ‘thank you.’ She just put it away.
Hmmm, strange.
“So, let’s go over to dairy and that’ll be it.”
“Okay.” Off they went and soon the woman was looking at expiration dates on the whole milk cartons, reaching in the back to get the freshest one. She selected a couple of blocks of cheddar cheese, then a canister of Feta, too.
“I already did all of my green vegetable shopping two days ago,” the woman explained. “I go to a specialty store for my meats and vegetables.”
“Ahhh, understood.”
“I am picky when it comes to that. What is your favorite meal, Sahara?”
“I’d say Chilean sea bass, scalloped potatoes, and asparagus.”
“That sounds delicious. Can you cook well?” The woman’s brow rose as if life and death may hinge on this question.
“I do. I think I am darn good.”
“Just say damn. I know you curse.”
Sahara burst out laughing. “I am trying to be respectful, Mrs. Alexopoulos.”
“Show respect then by being yourself, as you have been pretty much up to this point. Oh, just so we’re clear. Please do not ever tell my son about what I told you regarding my rape as a child.”
“I would never.” Sahara placed her hand over her heart and swore she wouldn’t, and she meant that.
“Thank you. It will not help him to have that information and I don’t want anyone trying to psychologically analyze me from the distance of their armchair based on it. It seems that once you tell most people something like that, they think it suddenly explains why a person is the way they are. Maybe I’m just an angry old bitch, or an asshole like my husband for the sheer hell of it. I may have been this same way if it hadn’t happened at all. Who the hell knows?”
She shrugged and chuckled. It was uncanny how the woman could mix humor and horror like that at the drop of a dime. It was both unsettling and wonderful.
“Let me tell you a few things about my son.” They neared the checkout line.
“Yes, I’m listening.”
“He will keep things from you, even when he doesn’t want to. He will treat you like a queen. He has to, for it benefits both of you. He is always looking for my replacement, though he’s never realized this. He used to be a Mama’s boy. Those days are long gone but he still wants someone who has one important quality like mine—someone who can hold their own. The stronger you appear, the more he is drawn to you. He will appear not self-aware at times, but he is. That’s all an act. He will do strange things sexually. Prepare yourself.”
“Mrs. Alexopoulos! Oh my God.” Sahara laughed loudly, drawing eyes their way. “Why would you say something like that to me?!”
The older woman burst out laughing so hard, she nearly fell down. Resting her hand against Sahara’s shoulder, she leaned in and whispered, “I’m sorry, but that’s just the truth. I found out the hard way, trust me, I wasn’t loo
king for such information. He used to have a huge, and I mean huuuuge porn magazine collection he kept under his bed. They were these fetish type things!”
The woman wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Like, women being tied up, spanked with feathers. Nothing violent… I looked them over, believe you me! If I’d seen anything like that I would have rushed him over to a head doctor immediately.” She looked around them, trying to make sure no one could overhear. “But… Angel seems to have some sort of proclivity to engage in things like that. Even when I visited him in his college dorm, I would tidy up his room without his permission and find them hidden in various places, the same old thing—naked woman tied up with socks shoved in their mouths. Crazy shit!
“Lord only knows what was hidden on that computer of his! He loved porn! He had a massive DVD collection that he had stored in a locked box. I found the key and saw that most of the movies where about the same damn thing. I have no idea how he got any of his schooling done. But he managed… made the Dean’s list each time, too.” She shrugged as she reached into her pocketbook. “Not trying to scare you… he would never hurt you. He’s a very gentle person. I imagine he is rather sensual behind closed doors, in tune with a woman’s needs.” The woman looked back at her with earnest eyes. “Just, when it comes to the bedroom, brace yourself. He’ll probably turn into some dungeon master.”
Sahara’s face heated up, and she was certain she’d turned bright red. It was true… Vangelis had tied her up at least four other times since that first encounter. The climaxes he’d experience during those trysts would at times make him look as if he were going to pass out he’d get so worked up and excited. She loved it, too… it was their own little secret. Or so she’d thought.
Dr. Vangelis ‘Angel’ Alexopoulos was a bona fide freak!
Sahara nervously scratched the back of her head as they moved in the line. She helped place the items on the conveyer belt and after the woman presented at least fourteen coupons and paid for the groceries, they headed out towards the parking lot to Mrs. Alexopoulos’ bright red Mercedes. It was gorgeous.
As if reading her mind, the woman popped the trunk and said, “A gift from my boys. They all pitched in for it last Christmas.”
“Oh, how nice! It’s so pretty!” Sahara began to remove the bags from the cart and place them in the lady’s trunk.
“Don’t forget your grapes.”
“Oh, yes, that’s right.” She grabbed the bag of fruit, jammed it in her oversized purse, then continued to unload the cart on the woman’s behalf.
Thank you… uh, Sahara, I didn’t get to finish telling you the fairytale story about the Princess and the Pea.”
“Oh…” She placed the last bag inside. “Okay, please do.”
What in the world?! Well, if she insists…
“So, the prince trusted his mother to find out if the princess was truly who she presented herself to be. The young woman had been invited to sleep over at his castle after she’d been caught in the rain. After getting cleaned up and eating, the Queen, the prince’s mother, placed a tiny pea under a bunch of mattresses for the princess to sleep on. Only a true princess would know that a pea was there. The following morning, the Queen and prince asked her how did she sleep and she was honest, admitting that she had not rested well because under all of those thick mattresses was a tiny pea, and then, she showed them. The queen then knew that this was the right woman for her son… the son she loved… the son that was her miracle child…” The woman’s eyes sheened over.
“That is how the Queen knew that Sahara was who she said she was, when she said she loved olives, and there was truth in her answer—not something just to make the Queen approve of her. The Queen knew that Sahara was a good listener, and not so bullheaded as to not take good advice when she put the bruised, old grapes back, and got the fresh, juicy sweet ones recommended. But it didn’t stop there, Princess Sahara looked over that bag too, even the ones suggested, because she uses her brain… and didn’t just take someone’s word for it on face value. The Queen knew that Sahara would make a good daughter-in-law when she did not choose the cheapest aspirin as instructed; she chose the best one that was economically priced based on her experience but was the healthiest, while still trying to maintain the Queen’s wishes to the best of her ability. The Queen knew that Sahara was the right woman for her son, when she corrected her about love hurting—not to be rude, but to let her know she would never hurt her son, either!”
Tears streamed down the older woman’s face. Mrs. Alexopoulos took Sahara into her arms.
“This hardheaded Greek Queen you are looking at, dear, can either be your worst enemy or your best friend. I told you what I told you to prove to you that you are taking my most precious jewel away from me… my first born! I’ve wanted him to get married for years, but I wanted to tell him who to marry so that he would be happy… and well, that’s just how we do things in my family. I now see that I was wrong to do that to him. He wanted to make his own decisions.”
Sahara ran her thumb against the woman’s soft face, wiping away the tears that cascaded out of her eyes. Mrs. Alexopoulos reached up and held onto her wrists.
“My son has chosen his bride on his own, and I must respect that. I do not know what my son has told you about me, Sahara, but I do not hate Black people!” The woman’s lip trembled with emotion. “I love all people! I think he has chosen a fine woman! A woman who will want to kill me once she gets to know me better, but a fine woman nevertheless!” They both were crying now, and laughing, too. “I’m a damn good mother, wife, grandmother and friend. My children are a reflection of me. I am sorry, but in my culture, that is how we see it.”
Sahara nodded.
“So, they must walk the straight and narrow. They must do the right thing or it shames the family. I know you need to go, but before we part ways…” She lowered her hands and they clung on to each other’s fingers. “Please know that I am a very good judge of character… and you are worthy of my Angel. You deserve him, and he deserves you, too. God bless both of you. May you be together and be happy. Thank you for finding the pea. My son has chosen wisely…”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Old Black lace and movie reels…
…Several weeks later
Sahara’s heart beat practically out of her chest as she stood behind a guy in a large red sombrero with hanging beads and holding a flute. The man smelled of cedar and cinnamon, with trace amounts of marijuana. She was up next…
She hadn’t done an open mic session in forever, but she had a bit of down time after work and wanted to get into something—an activity of sorts. Vangelis was busy with work he had to bring home, so he wouldn’t be tagging along and several of her friends already had plans. So, although it was last minute, she was determined to find some fun. It seemed to be destiny when she went to a favorite old pizza parlor for lunch—she loved their veggie hoagies—and while there waiting for her meal, she noticed a flyer fastened to the wall:
She took a photo of the thing and told herself it just may be an option. An option turned into reality when she pulled her hair up in a sloppy bun, tossed on a light, black ribbed turtleneck, dark blue jeans, and high heeled boots. Sporting her favorite large gold hoops for a sparkly accent and her favorite dark mauve lip gloss, she headed out the door that night, not certain what to expect, but whatever it was, she was going to give it her all.
Cracking her knuckles, she stared down at her shoes as time ticked on by like dripping molasses. Her entire body felt electric, buzzing to the brim with excitement—the same rush that came over her when Vangelis would undress slowly before her, then make love to her as if they were told it would be their very last time together…
“We welcome our next guest, Ms. Sahara Delaney!!!” She smiled as the crowd lit up with applause. These people didn’t know her, had never seen her before and yet they welcomed her with smiles and cheers. She approached the microphone and stood there, trying to not allow her nerves to take her under. Taki
ng a deep breath, she started to speak…
“Good evening, everyone,” she said into the microphone. “Thank you for that warm welcome. I appreciate it. I, uh, I haven’t done this in a real long time, but a friend of mine told me it was akin to riding a bike, roller skating, and making love.” She grinned and laughed lightly as a few people whistled. “So please be patient with me. I’m a little rusty, but I want to perform a piece for you that I wrote not too long ago. It’s called ‘The Museum…’
The lights dimmed and she grabbed the microphone from the stand, then closed her eyes.
“A black and white museum once stood on the back of a mole hill…
Don’t make a big deal…
All of the paintings were made of oils and blood,
Dried mud and the ink of eels.
Nobody paid any attention to that strange brick and mortar place…
All of the windows were darkened and soiled,
Coiled ashes covered the floors and torn black lace.
The things I loved most were in between those four walls…
Chocolate dipped strawberries, cruise ships sailing across the sea,
Seven wishes granted so that even with my broken leg I could stand tall.
They shut down that museum and I shut out the light…
I closed my eyes and had to redefine, what was actually mine.
A sign of the times, injured birds still try to take flight.
Weakness… something I as a doctor do not know…
Or is it fear of the unknown as I was tossed into deep pain?
My name was now changed, I’d become my own hero.
I thought I knew myself, right?
Charred remains and broken glass.
The museum was long abandoned, voices echoed like through a canyon.
I no longer had a future, no present, and had trashed the past.
Calls from women came, the kind that make your stomach ball up in knots, but one stuck out the most…
She told me of his kisses between her thighs,
