by Tiana Laveen
And still I rise, smiling like some restaurant host.
I tried to not fall apart, but trying and doing are two different things.
Was this motherfucker going to tell me, before or after the wedding ring?
That old museum that only showed black and white…
Had me in my feelings that night… I started reeling behind the wheel of my car,
So far from grace I’d fallen, could I doctor my own life and make it right?
Did you see that car coming when you skidded across the lanes, girl?
Hadn’t thought about my mother, my brother… nor a child I would never give birth to or name…
Somehow God saved me but still made me feel that pain…
There was no escape because at the end of the day I was running from me…
The black and white museum was empty because it reflected what
Patrons never wanted to see.
Their mistakes, their arrogance, their lies and narcissistic ways.
All pretty and ugly, carefully mounted and framed.
What happens when you meet perfection and he makes you think yourself perfect, too?
Neither of you are perfect, but that’s not the point…
He’s trying to cure your age-old blues.
Is there a doctor in the house?! Yes, there’s one, there’s two.
I was relieved when I looked in the mirror, and instead of seeing me,
I saw you.”
She paused, needing a moment as her eyes filled with tears.
“Go on!” someone cheered on. “You’ve got this!”
Holding her chin high, she continued…
“When he shows you the art within you, you realize you are the museum—
The paintings were never about you, about the world, about her, about him.
They were the eyes of a soul you’d forgotten so long ago.
It took someone to love you the right way, so that you’d finally know.
One time he called me lazy, then he called me Daisy…
The incense was thick and hazy as he made love in patterns of polka dots and paisley.
He moves like black Japanese scarves blowing in the Haitian wind.
He ties up my troubles, and makes me bend to his whims…
His tongue always amazes me… his words drive me fucking crazy…
The nitpicking keeps me ticking, but when I’ve had enough, he pays me…
My salary is love, and he always overspends.
The same mouth used to praise me, he uses occasionally to condemn.
But see, this isn’t about winning or losing…
I was choosing him…
Because he makes my eyes roll back, like the flutter of the reel of an old film.
We slide against each other’s soul
We’re always more than willing…
We are each other’s patients
In need of spiritual healing.
His hands turn pain to pleasure
I can taste his thoughts and see his sounds
His mind does much of the same
Intelligence that could make Einstein bow down.
He is always on time
That karmic connection gives mental erections
But better to make mistakes
Than fake nonexistent perfections.
A mistake means you tried…
A mistake means you failed…
A mistake is a lesson and sometimes a blessing
That this time didn’t work out, but next time you might excel.
Virgo sun and Scorpio moon
He was born a virgin and a whore
But when I look into his bright green eyes, I realize
There’s nothing more that I could ask for.
So, I tell you, doctor to doctor,
He is artwork in abandoned buildings, he is healing in a painful place
He is my own inspiration
He is my soul for which I give chase.
When I look at that painting on the wall of our love
I no longer see me, the sea, the temperature, or him
I see a medicinal combination of paint colors, sketches and statues
All put together, within the heart of my museum…
…Thank you.”
The audience exploded in cheers, many getting to their feet. Her cheeks warmed from the response and she smiled big as she blinked back tears.
“Thank you again, everyone. I really appreciate it.”
She’d started to exit the platform when someone yelled out, “Hold on, one more thing…”
She turned and looked out into the audience and about screamed. There, wearing a black button-down shirt and matching pants, his hair combed back stood her Love… Vangelis. With a big, proud smile on his face, he approached her and hoisted her in his arms, lifting her off the floor in an embrace. The audience clapped and whistled when he claimed her lips in a passionate kiss. Then, he gently placed her sit back down as her confusion and excitement married. Turning away from her, he grabbed the microphone.
“Good evening, everyone. I promise I won’t mess up the schedule tonight by taking up too much time. The manager, David over there,” he waved at a man across the way, “allowed me to do this but I’ll make it quick. Tonight I had to pretend that I was busy. I mean, I am busy, but not as busy as I told my girlfriend here.” There were a few chuckles. “I had been planning something special for her for weeks, but hadn’t figured out how to do it. I mean, did it need to be elaborate? Did it need to be private? I just wasn’t sure. Then, earlier tonight, she calls me and tells me she’s going to an open mic night at some coffee house. We chat, promise each other to meet tomorrow. After we get off the phone, it hits me… I’d not heard her perform before, number one, and I wanted her to have something, so I could do both at once.
“I got showered and dressed and flew over here as fast as I could and I, uh…” He shook his head and smiled. Hooking his gaze with hers, he winked. “I am amazed at how good she is!” Applause and whistles ensued. “And I was sitting there, taking it all in, listening to this woman, who I love so very much, talking about her troubles, her triumphs, her truth. She spoke about love… hope… saving yourself. I am the man in the poem. Not the one that had the women calling—let’s just make that clear.”
He held up his hand as the room erupted in laughter. “No.” He threw her a glance over his shoulder. She could barely stand up straight now. “I’m the guy that nitpicks and gives her a salary in love…”
Someone catcalled and whistled.
He took a deep breath and sighed, then turned towards her. Dropping down onto one knee, he reached into his pocket.
“Oh my God…”
The place went crazy with chatter, clapping, and praises. She covered her face with her hand, but peeked through her fingers, her heart beating faster than ever. He pulled out a small black box from his pants pocket and opened it, presenting the most gorgeous oval lotus cut diamond she’d ever seen.
“Sahara Nicole Delaney, will you marry me?” The man looked up at her, and she wouldn’t have even thought he was nervous had it not been for the sheening of his eyes and the way his fingers shook as he held the box.
“Yes. Yes! I will marry you, Vangelis!”
The applause was deafening as he got to his feet and slid the ring on her finger, while she fought tears of joy. Then, he pulled her into his arms and squeezed her tight, kissing her as they wrapped their arms around one another.
“You’re an incredible poet.”
“Thank you, baby.”
“One thing though, I never called you lazy…” He smirked before he kissed the tip of her nose.
“You did, too…” She whispered in his ear. “We were making love and you wanted me to get on top and ride. I yawned, pretending to be sleepy.”
He dropped his head and chuckled.
“Oh, I forgot about that.” He smiled at her, tears in his eyes. “But something I can never forget is how you changed my life for the b
etter. I can’t wait to fall asleep inside of you every morning, baby, and eat you to sleep each night before bed…”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
It’s All Greek to Me…
…Several months later
Confusion reigned supreme…
Why did he drop me off here?
Sahara looked around the entryway of the Timkin Museum of Art in Balboa Park. Though it was a popular tourist attraction, even for San Diego natives, she hadn’t been for over a decade. Although a small place, it was well worth the visit, featuring modern architecture and housing the only original Rembrandt painting in all of San Diego.
Van had dropped her off, then went to park the car and use the restroom. Standing in a black silk top, pants, and cream blazer, she waited for him, hugging herself as she looked about. Vangelis was such a planner, but this seemed totally out of the blue. He had literally swung by her home, shoved a Starbucks coffee in her hand, and insisted she come, stating there was a special exhibit she simply couldn’t miss.
Vangelis isn’t what I’d call necessarily romantic, but this kinda rings of romance, the spontaneity of it at least. I appreciate his efforts.
She smiled, so many thoughts swirling inside her head. And then she drifted to mull the new stressors of her life—one of them wore gold, yelled when she wasn’t feeling heard and drove a kickass bloody red Mercedes…
It was time to be honest: a love-hate relationship was being established with the woman. Wedding plans were underway and Sahara’s stress level was through the roof! Her future mother-in-law, who she now affectionately called ‘Mom’ or by her birthname of Delia, insisted on the wedding being held in June. Actually, that wasn’t an issue since that was what Sahara wanted, too. Delia, however, took it one step further. She also appointed herself assistant to the wedding coordinator and was badgering the talented young lady Sahara had hired at all times of the day and night. She insisted that they have a traditional Greek betrothal service amongst other things, and even tried to impose what colors she should use for her bridesmaids. That was where Sahara drew the line.
Vangelis had steered clear of the arrangements, afraid that if he got involved, he may do much of the same. All she’d asked was that he step in and tell his mother to stop nipping at her heels.
“Hey, baby.” He approached looking dapper in a crisp white shirt that was partially unbuttoned, exposing his necklace and a bit of dark chest hair. Sliding his arms around her waist, he pulled her in for a kiss. “All right.” He clapped his hands together and looked about. “Let’s get started.”
The man glanced at his watch a time or two as they meandered through the place. There weren’t many people inside, maybe because they’d just opened for the day. The museum was known for its collection of European fine art, including sculptures, oil paintings, and tapestries.
“Oh, this is interesting.” Sahara paused in one of the four rooms of the tiny museum to look at a macabre oil painting by Spanish artist, Francisco de Zurbaran, featuring a hooded man holding an upside-down skull. It dated back to 1635.
“Kinda reminds me of that Greek book of art you have in your foyer area…”
“Yeah, it does. Speaking of which, you’ve told me a couple of times that you want me to teach you Greek.”
They slowly journeyed on.
“I do. I think it’s a beautiful language.”
“You should learn it. I’ll teach you; that way my mother won’t be able to talk shit about you or me right in front of our faces as she is known to do, without you understanding what she is saying.” They both burst out laughing at that. “Eese o kosmos moo.” He looked at her with a serious expression.
“What does that mean?”
“I said, ‘you’re my world.”
Vangelis gave her hand a squeeze and intertwined their fingers as they perused the lovely place, whispering every now and again their thoughts about the various pieces. They went from room to room, and when they reached the fourth, they found a painting set on an easel in the center, covered with a long cloth.
“Oh, they must be doing some restoration on that one.” She pointed to it, curious.
“Hmmm, let’s see.” He released her hand and made his way towards it.
“No! Van, don’t do that!” She chased after him, her heels clicking against the floor. Grabbing his arm, she turned him around to face her. “We can’t touch that. It’s private property.”
“You’re right.” She nodded, happy he didn’t make a fuss. “It is private property… yours.” He pushed away from her, leaving her bewildered and perturbed. Snatching the black blanket away, he let it drift to the floor.
No way… this is not what I think it is!
She inhaled… but didn’t recall exhaling…
Her chest tightened and her eyes filled with moisture.
There, on the large canvas, was a gorgeous painting, a perfect rendering of her. It almost looked like a photograph. She was dressed in a long, flowy gown, barefoot on a beach. The sky was partially sunny, and a slight smile creased her face. She carefully approached it to get a better look as Vangelis stood off to the side, his hands clasped in front of him.
“When did you do this?! It’s beautiful!” Her voice quaked as she held onto a sliver of composure.
“I had it commissioned right after I proposed to you. The poem you recited that night about your heart and soul being a museum compelled me, and I wanted to give you an engagement gift, one to let you know that you’re the most exquisite piece of art that God ever fashioned.”
The tears fell as she tossed herself into his arms. He held her tight, wrapped his arms around her and didn’t let go.
“Come on, now.” She could hear the smile in his words. “Don’t cry… it’s supposed to make you happy.”
“It does!” She sniffed, but kept her head buried against his chest. Damn, he smelled so good! But of course, he always did…
“I don’t always tell you I love you. I should probably say it more often, but I hope this painting will remind you each and every day how much I do. You represent my humanity, my humility.” He pulled away from her, kissed her, then lifted her chin with a gentle push of his fingertips. “There is no possible way you could ever fully understand just how much I love and care about you, Sahara. Neither the English nor Greek languages have the words to describe it. You’re the perfect person to balance me out, and I believe I do the same for you. We share commonalities, but just enough differences to be vessels of truth and knowledge for one another… because I plan to keep growing and learning for the rest of my life. Speaking of life, it’s way more fun with you… that’s been your gift to me. Allowing me to worry a bit less about things I can’t change, slow down and think a bit longer before I speak, and show the compassion that is inside of me, which I’m at times too afraid to show. Your near death experience, Sahara, gave us both a new life. We’ve been reborn. Without the terrible night you had after finding out your lover’s betrayal, we may have never met. Your brother was the door, but you are the key. That’s called destiny. Se agapo.” He hugged her again. “I love you.”
It had been a long but worthy process…
Vangelis waited for his bride inside St. Spyridon Greek Orthodox Church on Park Blvd., reflecting…
The place had proved to be far more suitable than he’d initially imagined. As a younger man, he’d stopped attending, growing bored of it, but now as he stood there dressed in his perfectly fitted black tuxedo paired with a silky royal blue tie, he thought better of it. He smiled nervously at the antics of his brothers and friends as they goofed around while waiting for the ceremony to begin. He tried to stop his forever working brain, but it was no use. His thoughts ran amuck from pondering the adjustment of her moving into his home—it becoming officially their own to share—to childhood memories of his various birthday parties. He bounced about within himself like a ball.
Now, he reflected on his new family. He had acquired two sets of parents, and the love was real—since he
’d gone to Sahara’s parents’ home and going about things the old-fashioned way, officially asked her father for her hand in marriage. He’d wanted things done right.
That hadn’t been his first time meeting her family, they’d been gracious to have him over for dinner several times and Leonard had completely changed his attitude, becoming now his biggest advocate and the best of friends. He was lucky in the fact that Sahara’s parents took a liking to him right away, but he’d wanted to go the extra mile to make his intentions clear and let them know he wasn’t like any of her exes.
In fact, he let it be known that he was a new breed, like no one else she’d had in her life before. He meant business. Her father had given them his blessing, and things progressed seamlessly. Their betrothal service, which Sahara was gracious enough to do, went well. In that process, their rings were pre-blessed by the priest of his mother’s church. He smiled inwardly as he thought about the joy his parents experienced from that moment. Mom had been beside herself with happiness. She’d taken to Sahara in a way he hadn’t imagined and all he could do was hope the good times continued.
“Eísai nevrikós?” Dad asked as he approached him, bulldozing through his brothers sporting a proud smile.
“Lígo.” Well hell, he was a little nervous indeed. After all, he was only marrying the love of his life.
“You’ll be fine!” Dad wrapped his arms around him, then kissed his forehead. “My first born son is getting married! Finally!” Dad cackled as he waved his fist in the air, causing many who heard him to smile and laugh, too.
“Yeah… today is the day. It’s been a long journey, but I’m finally here.” Vangelis swallowed, emotions dancing about within him. Oh the vulnerability of love, how he loathed it at times. He tried to envision it all over and done, and the two of them on the plane headed to Greece in the wee hours of the morning to enjoy their week-long honeymoon. He just wanted her close to him. The woman had a way of calming him just by her mere presence.
She’ll be coming to me in just a while… I’m not impatient. I just love her so much… miss her so much, too.
They hadn’t spoken or seen one another in three days, mutually agreeing to this in order to make the day even more special.
