by Nia Arthurs
“I know who I am. My beauty lies within. I’ve believed that all my life.”
The driver replied sagely, “That which blooms on the inside manifests on the outside.”
“Is that an Indian proverb?” I inquired.
“No, I made it up just now.” He laughed, “But it’s true.”
“Well, thank you for your hastily constructed encouragement, but matters of the heart aren’t so easily explained.”
“They never are. But that’s what makes the sacrifices worth it.”
I pondered his words for a minute.
“Thank you sir,” I said at last. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”
He chuckled, “No problem dear. And I hope your gentleman sees the beauty that you hold, inside and out.”
Reflective, we continued the ride in silence.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
When we arrived at Spencer’s splendid villa Raja, the taxi driver, whistled low.
“This is a nice crib.”
Susan woke up and yawned, “Oh, we’re here.”
“You coming with me?”
“Nope.”
Susan opted to wait in the car until the transaction was done so I lumbered with my package to the door. I wasn’t sure how I’d react to seeing Spencer again, but I knew that it had to be done. I needed to return the clothes and jewelry. I hadn’t been with Spencer for the things he could give me and I needed him to know that.
The person that opened the door was not Spencer. And she too was in a form of pajamas. Except, her pajama bottoms were missing.
Before I could decide if I was relieved or disappointed by Spencer’s absence, I recognized the woman.
Tiffany!
Her hair was disheveled, sleep in her eyes, and she wore Spencer’s deep blue button-down which he’d worn on our first date to Isabel’s. The big shirt swallowed her frame but showcased her legs which went on for miles. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together.
“Oh, it’s you.” Tiffany said smarmily.
Hurt beyond belief that Spencer would jump into bed with someone hours after saying that he loved me, I thrust the box at her.
“Give this to Spencer.”
She accepted the package daintily, “Trust me honey, I’m giving Spencer a whole lot more than this.”
Her suggestive comment was unnecessary and rude. I got the picture.
“Yeah, okay,” I mumbled and scrambled back to the cab in shame.
I will not cry. I will not cry. I coached myself all the way to the airport, when I hugged Susan goodbye, as I passed through immigration and when I boarded the flight to Belize. I willed my eyes to remain dry. I refused to leak another drop on behalf of that jerk. No way!
The stewardess called the flight number and I got in line to get on the plane. With one last look around the U.S. airport, I determined to leave all the memories and experiences behind. Spencer and I had been a mistake. I knew that now. But I wasn’t taking him with me back to Belize. I was leaving him right here. Right in this country. Right in this moment.
“Ma’am, ma’m,” the stewardess collecting tickets shook me back to the present.
“Oh, sorry,” I apologized for my inattentiveness and fished the required boarding pass from my purse. With one last look around the airport, I stepped into the hallway leading me home.
23A, 23A
I spotted my seat up ahead. Cool, a window seat! I resisted the childish urge to do my victory dance. Amidst all the crappiness that had been going on lately, the window seat was a ray of hope in the darkness. My legs started twitching. I restrained its un-rhythmic spasms. Apart from writing, God had not blessed me with talent in any other aspect of the arts. Until a new dance that resembled writhing on the floor became trendy, I was stuck keeping my sick moves locked away.
A man sat in the middle chair. One heavily tattooed, bearded man. He looked like he belonged on the back of a Harley, not squeezed into the coach section of a plane. Hoping that he wasn’t a murderer, gang chief, or any other stereotype associated with tattooed, bearded men, I scooted into the small aisle.
“Excuse me, sir,” I squeaked out. I was totally judging a book by its cover, but I’d rather err on the side of caution than have blind faith in the character of others.
Look how great that turned out with Spencer.
Mr. Beard Man stood and stepped out of the small aisle completely so that I could scoot in. He completely blocked the on-going traffic of other passengers, but the thin, slightly built businessman behind him didn’t say a word of complaint.
“Thank you,” I responded when I found my seat and comfortably settled in to it.
“You’re welcome,” Mr. Bearded Man responded politely.
Whoa, talk about a bass voice. Forget the gang thing; this man was a lumber jack who sang to trees. Like King David who used to sing to his sheep. He was a modern day, bearded and tattooed, King David.
I wondered what King David’s story was.
Why did he have tattoos down his arms and all the way up to his neck?
Did he have a wife, a girlfriend, girlfriends?
I tried to guess his life story based on the impression that he made on me. He was probably a mob boss out to seek revenge on the assassin who had murdered his wife.
Yeah, I liked that one.
But then the plane took off, and King David got so pale that he obliterated any big, bad man impressions that I’d conjured in my mind. In truth, he looked like he was going to blow chunks. Inspired by self-preservation and a healthy fear of having vomit on my only splurge- red Vera Wang stilettos that I got on sale at H&B- I conquered my fear of strangers (again), and leaned over to help him.
“Sir, are you okay?”
He clenched his teeth as the plane jumped a bit.
I wasn’t scared. This was nothing compared to driving over Belizean potholes. In my country, the potholes are little monsters that lie in wait, disguising how deep and dangerous they truly are. When an unsuspecting motorist happily drives that way, the monsters reveal their true power and claim wheels, suspension shanks, carbonators, you name it. Belizean potholes are hard core. This little turbulence was a joke. Of course not everyone got the joke. Obviously, Mr. Bearded Man wasn’t laughing.
“I’m fine,” he remarked shakily. I think he was shaking more than the plane.
I nodded as though I believed him, “The turbulence will pass. It’ll be smooth sailing before you know it.”
He glanced at me and I forgot that I wasn’t supposed to look bearded, tattooed men in the eyes. But boy, what a loss that would have been. The man had the most intense silver eyes I had ever seen on someone that decorated. It literally distracted from his human canvas of a body. They were kind eyes. They were Kingdom eyes. The Spirit in me jumped in recognition of the Spirit in him. I know that sounds real oogy boogy, but the feeling of camaraderie was instinctual and impressive.
“Archie Hamilton,” he introduced, “I’d shake your hand but mine are otherwise occupied.”
Hm, cracking jokes at his own expense. I liked him, not for me of course. My heart had already been claimed. Something I was not thinking about right now.
Moving on.
“Melody Reyes,” I responded so that I wouldn’t have to think about Spencer. I was in the process of thoroughly erasing him from my brain. As soon as I got over him. Yes, as soon as I did that.
The plane leveled off and Archie nee King David released his death grip on the bars of the airplane seats.
“Do you still want that handshake?”
“Uh, I’m good?” I replied honestly.
He laughed, whoa; everything about this dude’s voice was manly.
“Was your voice always that deep?” I nosily inquired without thinking, and then realized that I’d asked him a very personal question. “I’m sorry;” I hurriedly attempted to retract, “That’s none of my business.”
He chuckled. I watched how his white teeth contrasted with the dark brown of his beard
stubble thing.
“It’s okay. Not many people are brave enough to ask.”
“Well, you can’t blame them,” I admitted, “You make a very imposing figure with all the tats.”
He nodded, and grinned, “I like your straightforwardness, Melody Reyes,”
“Thank you. I like your tattoos,”
He nodded, “I’ve had them for a long time.”
“When I was fifteen I wanted a tattoo.”
He waited for me to finish the story, but I realized how lame it ended.
“And then what happened?”
“Uh, my parents said no.”
The end.
He grinned again. I seemed to inspire amused chuckles in a lot of people.
“My parents said no too.”
“And yet, here we are.”
He nodded, “Here we are.”
I stopped to reflect on the different paths Archie and I had chosen. I’d picked the walk of obedience and submission; he’d chosen rebellion and a physical flaunting of that choice. The cool thing was on any given day, at any given moment, we could choose to switch places. The traces of my life’s journey weren’t as apparent as his, but would I ever be able to get rid of the choices I’d made in life, or would they always be with me, like tattoos.
Would Spencer always be with me? Would that choice, would every choice that I made to be with him, stain me forever?
“Archie, you ever think about getting them removed?” I asked, again another personal question, but I truly had no filter.
He leaned back and mulled his answer, “No,” he said finally.
“Why not?” I asked,
He rolled up the cloth of his long sleeved Henley T-shirt. The image of a cross grew with each upward fold.
“They remind me of how far I’ve come.”
His answer surprised me. Taken aback, I closed my eyes and imagined the plan I’d had for my life. I should have been in college right now, getting my Bachelors degree. I should have been changing the world somehow, in some way, in any way. But when I opened my eyes and caught my reflection in the glass, I saw where I truly was, stuck at a job I didn’t love, running from the man I did, and knowing that there was no way to fix anything.
I looked at my naked arm. The smooth skin, the woven sinew and flesh, was unremarkable, bare. I had no stories to share, no tales of battling darkness only to come out on top. I wasn’t a risk-taker. My decision to get to know Spencer was completely out of character. And though I had not given him my innocence, I’d given him my heart. Talk about throwing pearls before swine.
“Mine remind me of all the chances I didn’t take.” I admitted, sticking the underbelly of my hand out to rest on the bars dividing our seats. The deep contrasts between our hands, one brown, one white, one completely inked, one strikingly barren, felt like the ceremony of cutting our thumbs wiping them together, and declaring ourselves blood siblings.
I knew that I was meant to meet Archie today. I had no idea why, and it definitely was not for anything romantic. Not as far as I could see. But sitting there beside him was definitely a God-thing.
“You hungry?” I asked, breaking the sacredness of the moment, “I bought fifteen deluxe Oreo packs.”
“To feed an army?” he teased.
“Don’t judge. This offer expires in five seconds.”
He smirked, “I bought sixteen packs so I’m good. But thanks.”
I gaped at Mr. Bearded Man, “Don’t tell me you love Oreos.”
He cut me a knowing glance, “I would die for Oreos.”
Okay, this made it official. Archie and I were officially family.
An hour and a half later, I was ready to hurl my burly bearded brother to his death.
“Don’t lie to me, Archie,”
He laughed, “I’m being insanely honest.”
“Insane, yeah, but honest, I don’t think so.”
“Why can’t you believe that I’m a lawyer?”
“Probably because I’m Jennifer Lopez’s twin sister.”
He arched an eyebrow at me.
“See!” I enthused.
Archie shuffled through his duffle bag and brought out a certificate from the University of Cambridge for a BA in Law. I took it and surveyed it.
“No, it must be a fake,” I looked it over again, “Wait, you’re name is Archibald?”
I handed it back to him, “I believe you.”
He remained suspicious, “Why?”
“If you were making fake certificates, you would have come up with a better name than Archibald.”
“Hey!” Archie protested. “What do you do? No wait, let me guess, you own a bookshop.”
“No, I work at the Belize Tourism Board. They pay me to talk to chumps like you.”
“They pay you to talk to lawyers or white people?” he teased.
“Tourists,” I rolled my eyes.
“Oh, I’m not a tourist.”
He caught me again.
“Don’t tell me you’re a Belizean.”
“Do I need to pull out my passport now too?”
I groaned, “You’re a walking lesson on not judging a book by its cover. You know that right?”
He grinned, “I have my moments. Okay, now what’s your story? Were you on vacation or a work assignment?”
“It was work-related.” I explained the terms of my assignment, describing the incredible people I’d met, stuttering when I confessed that I’d met a man. “But things didn’t work out.” I wrapped up that topic quickly.
“He sounds like an idiot.” Archie commiserated.
“He’s a jerk-face, alright. But, I don’t know, what he did was so out of character. I almost want to believe that it was all just a misunderstanding. I guess that’s why woman always get screwed over. We fall for the same tricks every time.”
“I don’t know.” Archie encourage, “My parents divorced when I was young, but my mom is still an incredible woman. I would bet on her instincts every time.”
“Thanks, Archie.”
At that moment the pilot’s P.A. system shrieked to life. We all covered our ears.
“Shriek- Sorry about that- squawk- we’ll be landing in the next five minutes.” The loud shushing sound that protruded from those speakers was the last assault and battery on our auditory nerves before the P.A. system quieted.
“That thing should be shot,” I threatened.
“Hey, there are some key words you should never mention on airplanes. That’s one of them.”
I laughed, “Okay, I’m sorry.”
We buckled our seatbelts in preparation for landing, “Hey, Archie,”
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad we met today,”
He dimpled, “Me too,”
“When I murder that P.A. system, I want you to represent me.”
“No problem,”
And with that, I raised the window shutter and gasped in awe at the aerial beauty of Belize. I was back. I was home.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
I lost sight of Archie when we cleared immigration, but I didn’t worry, I had his phone number and email address. We’d be keeping in touch.
I stepped outside of the airport and into the breezy outdoor waiting area. Oh, I loved this heat! America was fun and exciting, but Belize was home. This excruciatingly humid place was home.
I rolled my suitcase down the ramp and spotted my family immediately.
“Melody!” My little sister shouted and rushed me. I was nearly knocked to the ground when she hugged me, a terror I readily accepted. My happiness was genuine.
“Welcome home,” Daddy greeted in his familiar baritone. I hugged him tight.
“I missed you all so much.”
Daddy scolded, “We couldn’t tell. You barely called.”
“Robert!” Mom warned. “Come here baby,”
“Mom!” I hugged her and surveyed her gorgeous outfit. The African tribal print dress was conservative but fun, contorting to my mother’s curves to show off h
er amazing figure. “You look great.”
“Mia insisted. That girl is persistent.”
I laughed, “Where is she?” I added, noticing the absence of my best friend.
“She’ll be by later when the store’s closed.”
My youngest sister, Eryn, clung to me, “I missed you, Mel.”
I grinned, “I missed you too. That’s why I brought you back a ton of gifts.”
Her eyes widened to the size of saucers, “Cool.”
“I hope at least some of those toys have my name on it.” My fifteen year old sister Alexi teased, leaning in to hug me too, “welcome back, sis.”
“Thanks guys.”
Daddy took my suitcase and wheeled it to the car. I looked back for Archie. I spotted him surrounded by a man who looked like his older, grayer twin and a few other people. He caught my gaze and sent me a little wave. I waved back, pantomiming a gun shot with my pointer finger forward and my thumb out. I knew he was laughing even as I turned to walk away with my family.
“So, tell us all about America.” Erin requested.
“Well, it’s big.” I informed her, “It’s really big and there are tons of things to do over there. I told her about the Hollywood sign and the beach and about the zoo.
It was hard to speak of those places and conveniently leave out Spencer. I wasn’t ready to discuss him yet or to defend my choices to my father. I knew without a doubt that Daddy would be disappointed in my behavior. I knew he would have wanted to meet Spencer and vet him out before I gave my heart to him. To avoid any such sticky subjects, I simply left out the partner in crime that was with me during most of my fun experiences in the States.
As per Reyes family tradition, we all piled into the family car and drove to a restaurant near the airport. It was a Chinese style family restaurant called Sky’s and we went there so frequently, the waitress knew each of us by name. She was one of the main reasons we loved going to Sky’s.
When we entered the restaurant, I breathed in the scent of frying chicken and chow mien. Sky’s had a huge aquarium in the lobby of the restaurant and it was the first place Erin darted off to when we all reached inside. Belizean restaurants generally don’t have a hostess. When customers enter, they stand at the front counter and order a plate to go or they find themselves a table.
