by L. Divine
“Yes, ma’am, I do. And I’ll do my best to take care of it,” I say, massaging my wounded toes. The cut is healing, but I still remember the pain.
“I know you will. It’s a huge responsibility, taking on your dreams the way they were born to function.” Maman takes several of the ingredients and places them in a cast-iron cauldron to cook over the bonfire burning nearby. “We are walking shrines to the ancestors and orishas, Jayd. We don’t exist solely for our own purpose. Sometimes you’re the only book people will read.”
“Don’t we have the right to choose our own paths?” I had this same conversation with Mama, and I have a feeling Maman’s in full agreement with her daughter on this subject.
“Of course you do, as long as you acknowledge that a part of your destiny is living for those who came before you,” Maman says, reiterating Mama’s lesson. “The only way to make sure you don’t go crazy is to fully submit to your powers, and that starts with becoming a bride.”
Maman pours extra-large containers of molasses, honey, and brown sugar into the heavy pot, the fire rising with each addition.
“Who do I have to marry?” I ask, watching Maman work.
“It’s not as important who you marry as much as that he has all of the qualities you ask for.”
My mom said something similar to me after my last meeting with Keenan. Being specific is very important when petitioning the universe.
“You know that I conjured up your great-grandfather. I wasn’t clear enough about what I wanted and ended up with a damned fool,” Maman says, sniffing the thick brew as she continues stirring. “Add more vinegar. We don’t want him to be too sweet.” Maman brings the large wooden spoon to her lips to taste the concoction.
“What do you mean conjured?” I ask, obediently tasting the steaming liquid. It’s bitter all right: too bitter if you ask me.
“I mean I made my man just like I’m making yours. And this time we’re going to get it right.” Maman finishes stirring, satisfied with her work. She takes a dipping spoon from one of the bags, fills it with the potion, and hands it to me to drink. “Three spoonfuls and be very precise with your desires as you swallow each serving. This is your life mate we’re summoning. The devil’s literally in the details.”
I take the first spoonful, wincing at the hot, bitter brew going down my throat and immediately feel different. I take two more as directed, feeling my head lighten as I surrender to the vision.
“Jayd, let go.”
I lie down on the sheet and let the dream take over my mind, seeing my image of a perfect man come forth. This bright ball of light must be my soul mate, but it has no shape or form: I thought I was more specific than that.
“It’s the spirit that matters most, not the actual physical appearance.” Maman’s eyes begin to glow as she kneels by my side, her focus on our creation. “He’s yours,” Maman says, blowing the spirit my way. I open my arms, welcoming the male energy within my reach. Before my man is able to fully manifest, a female form emerges from the ocean, interrupting our nuptials.
“You!” Maman cries. “You won’t ruin another one of my girls. I won’t let you.”
Esmeralda flies out of the water, morphing into a crow as she touches down on the sand.
“Who’s going to stop me?” Esmeralda squawks, her long, black wings fully spanned. “The little girl you’re trying to pass off as a bride? I could have her for lunch if I wanted.”
“She’s not alone,” Maman says, also shifting her form to a ball of light. “Jayd is all of us combined in one: your worst nightmare.”
My spouse-to-be disappears into the dark sky, and Esmer-alda looks pleased.
“Your potions are weak! You and your precious descendants are worthless, Marie,” Esmeralda says, her feathers rustling in the sea breeze.
Maman’s energy circles my head three times before landing on top. She enters my skull, cutting me as she takes over my consciousness.
“Ahhh!” I scream, holding on to the top of my head. I could’ve sworn there was some blood shed, but my fingers are dry. Luckily I didn’t wake anyone up with my loud mouth. Nickey’s sound asleep in the same spot on the futon I placed her last night, and the rest of my friends are passed out in various positions around Nigel’s room. My dreams have grown in intensity. I should’ve brought Dr. Whitmore’s herbs with me last night, but I didn’t know I wouldn’t return home to take my nightly dose.
The sun’s up and I doubt if I can go back to sleep. I need something cold to drink to shake off that nightmare. I step over my sleeping friends and carefully open Nigel’s bedroom door. I don’t want to disturb anyone with my early morning thirst. When I make it downstairs, I see Mrs. Esop in the kitchen fully dressed. From her outfit, I can tell she’s just getting in from playing tennis.
“Oh, Jayd, good. You’re here early. I knew you’d eventually get excited about the ball this evening,” Mrs. Esop says, not realizing I never left her house from yesterday afternoon. Do I always look this undone to her? “We need to get you fitted again for your gown. Sometimes the cleaners can unknowingly shrink a dress. If that’s the case, you’ll have to fast all day long from both solids and liquids.” This chick is tripping if she thinks I’m going all day without eating to fit into a damn gown no matter how gorgeous it is. I’d rather wear something else than starve myself for anyone.
I step into the bathroom off the kitchen near the laundry room and change into the cleaned white silk dress, thankful it fits even if it is a bit tighter than it was yesterday. I think it was the fried chicken, red beans and rice, and biscuits I threw down for dinner last night, not to mention the pizza I had as an appetizer. I don’t regret a single bite, but I can’t say the same thing for Nigel’s mom, who looks at the snug fit, unpleased.
“Make sure you eat nothing, Jayd. Not a thing. And I’ll have the maid make you some tea that should help relieve some of that bloating around your stomach.” Did she just insult me? If she wasn’t my homeboy’s mama, I might have to have some words with her no matter how old she is. “Now, get some rest. We’re going to rehearse in an hour. By then the makeup artist and hairstylist should be here. Perhaps I should call the seamstress, too. Maybe she can let the gown out a bit.”
“Oh, ma’am. I can’t let anyone touch my head,” I say, unconsciously feeling my wavy locks. After that crazy dream, I’m surprised I’m as cognizant as I am. I took my cornrows out yesterday and planned on doing my hair this morning, but that didn’t happen. I can still get it done if I get home soon and shake this feeling.
“That’s nonsense, Jayd,” Mrs. Esop says, dismissing my very serious objection with the wave of her diamond-studded hand. Can a sistah get one of those rings? “I told you there would be none of that hoodoo mess in this house. This is the house of the Lord, and my hairdresser is an upstanding woman and a longtime friend.” Still not feeling me, she takes the dress and begins to walk out of the room, but I can’t let her win this one. I know my limits, and they begin and end with me not removing my bracelets or allowing anyone else to touch my hair.
“It’s not hoodoo, it’s voodoo,” I say, following Mrs. Esop, who halts her trek to hear me out, mostly amazed that I’m further contesting the issue. Any other sistah would be thrilled with a free makeover, but I’m not just another girl. I’m a priestess in training, and I have to hold my ground on this issue. “And I do my own hair—no exceptions.”
“Yes, Jayd. I’m aware of what you and the women in your family practice. And I’m also aware of your little hair business. Cute, but not proper for this event. Please trust me and let this go. We don’t have time to argue about this today, young lady.” Mrs. Esop’s used to having her way, but not this time.
“You’re right: There’s no argument. I’m good at what I do, and I’m doing my own hair.”
Mrs. Esop stops drinking her orange juice and looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“You ungrateful little girl!” Mrs. Esop yells. “You will get your hair and makeup done by the styl
ist I hired—end of discussion.”
Damn, she can get live when she wants to. Nigel comes downstairs, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Mickey also emerges with Nickey on her hip, really setting Mrs. Esop off.
“What the hell is she doing here? I told you about them spending the night in my house, Nigel,” Mrs. Esop says. She doesn’t need any more reasons to go off, but she’s got two more right in front of her. My head’s still throbbing from the cut in my dream, and I need to calm down.
“Your house? Last time I checked, everything was in Dad’s name,” Nigel says, obviously still feeling high from the session last night to make that comment to his mother. He and Mickey look like they just crawled out of a hole filled with alcohol and ashtrays. Yuck. Chance and Rah are still upstairs knocked out. But if Mrs. Esop’s yelling gets any louder, they’ll be up like the rest of us in no time.
“This is an absolute nightmare!” Mrs. Esop shouts, tossing a kitchen towel at her son. “How dare you speak to me like that? This is what I’m talking about, little girl,” she says, pointing at Mickey. “You are a horrible, manipulative influence on my son. Nigel, mark my words, this tramp will be your ruin.”
“What have I told you about talking to Mickey like that, Mom?” Nigel says.
Rah and Chance, now awake, stop in the middle of the staircase, not wanting to get too close to the action in case something heavier gets tossed, and I don’t blame them. I need to get out of this dress before we have a repeat of yesterday’s tragic events.
“We don’t have time for this, Nigel,” Mrs. Esop says. “Jayd, go change. Nigel, take a shower and fix yourself up. We have to be at the hotel by noon for the final dress rehearsal.”
“Forget the ball,” Nigel says, taking Nickey from her mother and walking out of the kitchen. “I’m going over to Rah’s. Come on, Mickey.”
Mrs. Esop’s jaw drops and I take a step back; she’s about to blow.
“Nigel, if you walk out that door with that baby, don’t you even think about coming back.”
I know her threat is empty, but Nigel’s weighing all of his options and chooses the one unexpected.
“Fine,” Nigel says, his hot head unwavering.
Mama says we should never make decisions when our emotions are on high, and Nigel’s definitely off the radar with his this morning.
“You can’t do this to me!” Mrs. Esop screams after her only son, who’s already upstairs. “Nigel!”
It’s no use attempting to reason with him once he gets like this. I look around the nice home, thinking about how perfect the Esopses’ life appears from the outside. But their entire house of cards has fallen with their baby boy stepping out on his own.
“Don’t worry, Jayd. One of the fraternity brothers will escort you this evening,” Mrs. Esop says, moving right along, even if her face has aged ten years in the past few minutes. First her daughter leaves, now Nigel. I guess this is how Mama felt when my mom, my aunt, and then I moved out prematurely. “Everything will be okay.” I think she’s talking more to herself than to me, but I feel her. Everything will be okay if we could just make it through the rest of the day.
Once I escaped Mrs. Esop’s clutches this morning, I returned to my mom’s apartment, where I showered and did my hair before heading back to Lafayette Square. It’s been a day with Mrs. Esop’s emotions raging out of control. At least she was too distracted by her son’s exodus to care about my hair. I let her artist do my makeup, but there was no way I was letting her get up in my head. She actually could have used my skills, but I kept quiet and let the sister work.
So far the ball has been just as boring as predicted. The fancy dinner’s just as bland, and it appears that I’m the only one not enjoying myself. Natalia, the head debutante, and the other seasoned debutantes are enjoying their nights as princesses, but I would much rather be with my crew. I don’t know what Nigel’s going to do about his living situation, but he can’t stay with Rah forever. Nigel and Sandy don’t get along, and as long as she’s there, Nigel won’t be able to handle it.
“Is there something wrong with your tea?” Mrs. Tyler, Natalia’s mother and the vice president of Alpha Delta Rho, asks me, gesturing toward the cup on the dinner table in front of me. “And you haven’t touched your food.”
Mrs. Esop would be pleased with my loss of appetite. I think I’ve just had too much excitement in the past twenty-four hours to eat anything. Besides, the small potatoes, duck, and asparagus don’t tempt me at all.
“I’m not that hungry,” I say, eyeing the bread basket. Even the sourdough rolls look disgusting to me.
“Teresa, you’ve got this girl too scared to eat a thing,” Mrs. Tyler says as Mrs. Esop walks up to our table.
She’s plastered on a good front, but I know she’s still reeling from her argument with Nigel this morning.
“She doesn’t want to be too bloated before her first dance,” Mrs. Esop says, touching my updo hairstyle and making me cringe.
“Please don’t touch my hair,” I say.
Mrs. Esop looks like she wants to push me out of my seat but restrains herself. I already warned her about people touching my hair and that includes her.
“She’s such the perfectionist,” Mrs. Esop says, again reaching for my head, and I move out of the way. “Have some chamomile tea, dear, and calm yourself. We’ll be called to the dance floor momentarily.”
I take a sip of the hot liquid, instantly recognizing the china pattern. It’s from the sleepwalking incident where I cut my toe. I don’t feel so good.
“I’m so sorry Nigel fell ill,” Mrs. Tyler says, sipping her tea. “Did you find a suitable replacement?”
“Of course we did,” Mrs. Esop says, pointing toward the door. “And here he is now.” Mr. Adewale and several other brothers dressed in tuxedos walk through the door. He and his frat brothers definitely know how to make an entrance. “Ogunlabi is just in time to walk you across the stage, Jayd. And he knows the dance from last year, so everything should be fine.”
Mr. Adewale’s going to be my escort? How did this happen?
The deejay plays the same Etta James song Keenan and I enjoyed at the coffeehouse, causing me to fall back into my vision with Maman and I conjuring up my husband.
“I need some air,” I say, rising from the table and running toward the back door. The night air is thick and humid, unlike the weather on the other side of the hill. No wonder people from the city rarely venture to the valley. It’s too damn hot out here.
I hold on to the patio railing, attempting to steady my spinning head, but it’s no use. In my mind, Maman and I are on the beach battling Esmeralda for my man. I catch my reflection in the water and see Maman’s green eyes staring back at me. I would scream, but I’m not in control of my voice or anything else.
“Jayd, I’m here. It feels so good to be real again,” Maman says, her body moving in the lake’s reflection. The line between Maman’s time and mine are blurred beyond recognition: I am her and she is me.
“Maman, what’s happening to me?” I ask, touching my head. It feels like my scalp is on fire. Maman smiles at me, her shape shifting with each ripple in the dark water.
“Jayd, it’s time to start,” Mr. Adewale says, coming onto the patio, but he doesn’t sound like himself, either: It’s only Jean Paul’s voice I hear.
“Oui, mon amore,” I respond in Maman’s voice. I have to let my hair out of the hundreds of bobby pins holding up my evening do, damn the dance.
“Jayd, are you okay?” Mr. Adewale says, trying to help me back inside, but I don’t want to go. I’d rather stay out here with Maman.
“Jean Paul,” I say, running up to Mr. Adewale, whose shape is also shifting in and out of time. He’s wearing a cream-colored suit as my grandfather and a black tux as himself. Either way he looks good to me. Like Maman said, it’s not the physical appearance that matters: His soul attracts me the most.
“No, Jayd. It’s me, Mr. Adewale,” he says, pushing me back.
Still s
eeing through Maman’s eyes, I kiss him on the lips. Without responding, Mr. Adewale again pushes me away and steps back, shocked at my actions. He knows something’s wrong, and I’m in no position to stop it.
“We need to get you home now.”
I can barely hear him, my mind’s so convoluted with everyone’s thoughts. Where’s Mama when I need her?
“I’m right here,” Maman says in my head. I look down at my dress, which looks yellow it’s so faded and old. I look at the back of my hands, again recognizing them as my great-grandmother’s instead of my own. I look up at my companion, who is not Mr. Adewale but instead is Maman’s white lover and Jeremy’s great-grandfather. This isn’t good; I have no choice but to play it out.
“My love, is that you? You’ve come back for me. I knew you would,” I say in Maman’s time, reaching up for her lover’s face. I guess this is when Maman lost it. I can’t see Mr. Adewale; he appears more like the shimmering ball of light from my dream last night. What the hell?
“Jayd, can you hear me? Mama’s home. Go home now,” my mom says, shouting in my head. “I’ll meet you there. Leave now, Jayd, before you lose it completely.”
“No, Jayd. It’s me, Mr. Adewale,” he says, stepping away from my advance. He falls against the hard rail, unable to run.
“Mi amore, I knew you wouldn’t leave me. I left my husband. We can finally be together now. I’m glad your wife understands it’s in our destiny to be together.” I reach for Maman’s lover’s face, attempting to kiss him again, but he’s not having it. Mr. Adewale grabs my hands, forcing them down to my side.
“We need to get you home, Jayd. Now,” Mr. Adewale says, making his way with a limp. I know I’ve hurt him in more ways than one. Did I really just kiss my teacher? Oh, this can’t be happening, no matter how many times I’ve dreamed about this moment. “Your grandmother will know what to do.” Even out of my mind, I’m glad Mama’s home. I have a feeling she’s the only one who can help me out of this mess.
When we reach Mama’s house, all the lights are out except the one in her bedroom. She really is home. We walk up the front porch steps and into Mama’s room, where our happy reunion is overshadowed by my breakdown.
