Divas of Damascus Road

by Michelle Stimpson

  A few seconds later, his cheerful voice was on the other end. “Hello, Yolanda. How are you?”

  “I’m fine, and you?”

  “Mighty fine, mighty fine.”

  “Thanks so much for the floral arrangement. It was beautiful.”

  “Well, I know how hard it is when you lose a loved one. Every little bit of support helps.”

  “I agree.” Yolanda pictured a chubby, gray-haired man wearing glasses, but it was difficult to form a picture from just words. What she had in mind was more or less a black Santa Claus. No, he’s not that old. How silly not to know what your own father looks like. “You called me?”

  “Yes, I was just wondering if you’d like to meet sometime. Maybe not right away, but I just wanted to…to ask.”

  Yolanda held on to the receiver, wondering exactly what should be said. She knew he was waiting; that he would follow her cue, whatever it was. Part of her wanted to say, “Why didn’t you call and ask me that thirty years ago?” You know, let him sweat to see if he’d ever get the chance to parade her around the Livingston family. What did he think she was anyway, some kind of child trophy?

  And then there was the side of her that had learned its lesson. Life is too short to play these games. Either let the man in or don’t. “How about this weekend?”

  “I’m throwing Candace a birthday party Saturday afternoon,” he whispered. “You could come by before, during, or after. Just depends on whether or not you feel up to meeting the entire Livingston family. We’ll all be here.”

  To be perfectly honest, she wanted to have a crowd. Maybe it would relieve her anxiety, take the pressure off this one-on-one meeting with a father she didn’t even know. “I’d love to come to the party. Do you mind if I bring someone with me?”

  “The more the merrier,” he bounced back. “I can’t wait for you to meet everyone. Most of the family will be here. I’m really looking forward to meeting you.”

  “Same here.”

  Yolanda’s hand trembled as she placed the phone back on the receiver. “You ready to go shopping?” she asked, jumping up from the couch.

  “Wait a minute, Yo-yo. We need to have a quick talk.”

  “About what?”

  “Actually, you need to talk.” Dianne patted the empty cushion next to her, inviting Yolanda to have a good old-fashioned heart-to-heart.

  Yolanda plopped herself down. “What?”

  “Okay, let’s talk about your father. You haven’t had two words to say about him. It’s time you talked to somebody.”

  Yolanda let her hair down and confessed that she was scared to death to meet her father. With Joyce Ann’s death and this reconciliation with Kelan, she felt like a mass of raw nerves, sensitive to everything and everyone. “What am I gonna do? I mean, what if I start crying or something?”

  “Okay, so what if you do start crying? You think they’re gonna say, ‘She’s crying because she just saw her father for the first time—get her out of here!’?” Dianne asked.

  “No.” Yolanda rolled her eyes. “I just don’t want to lose my composure.”

  “God forbid that you should appear human.” Dianne sang her sarcastic remark.

  “I am human.”

  “Then don’t be afraid of it. You’re never gonna get anywhere by denying that you have feelings.”

  Yolanda wondered where this sudden surge of Dr. Phil or Dr. Laura or Dr. Whoever had come from. It wasn’t too long ago that Dianne was sitting in the backseat, crying because she couldn’t bear to see Joyce Ann. “How do you know so much about all of this?”

  “It’s been a long, hard road, Yo-yo. Longer and harder than anything I’ve ever done. And I’m sure I’ve still got miles to go. But God is good.”

  “What about things with Joyce Ann? I mean, how are you going to deal with this now that you’ll never get the chance to reconcile with her?” Yolanda didn’t mean to pry, but she saw no need in being shy now.

  “You know, at this point I have forgiven her. I have released her of all she owed me. My feelings haven’t gotten the message yet, but I’ve made a decision to forgive Joyce Ann. It helps that she called me, you know?”

  “I always knew she loved you,” Yolanda said. “Even when she was in that zone of hers, she asked about you. She did love you like her own daughter. I don’t think she ever forgave herself for what she did to you. That guilt ate her alive.”

  “It almost ate me, too.” Dianne came clean. “But you know what I learned in counseling?”

  Yolanda shook her head.

  “I found out that I can’t expect people to give me what only God can give. It is my responsibility to seek Him out every day in an effort to maintain my sanity. We may come from a family of broken women, but it stops right here right now with me, you, and Regina.”

  Yolanda blew air upward. “I don’t know about Regina, Dianne. I’ve been praying for her, but I don’t see her attitude getting any better.”

  “Well, that was the whole purpose of the prayer chain.” Dianne looked at her watch. “And speaking of the prayer chain, it’s my time to pray.”

  “Mind if I join you?”

  “I was hoping you’d ask. It’s been a long time since we prayed together.”

  “Too long.

  Chapter 36

  Kelan and Yolanda made a stop at the Super Wal-Mart between Dentonville and Parker City. She had no earthly idea what Candace might want for her birthday. As a matter of fact, Yolanda was still trying to figure out exactly what was going on between herself and Mr. Livingston, not to mention this live-in thing with Candace. He obviously cared for her. The family must have cared for Candace, too, or else they wouldn’t come to the party. What’s up with the commitment? Hmph. Maybe this fear of commitment runs on both sides of my family tree.

  They narrowed down the gift down to two choices: lavender- scented bath gel with lotion and body spray, or a candle.

  “We’ve got to think generic, here,” Kelan said. “Everybody takes a bath. I think we should go with the bath stuff.”

  “Okay,” Yolanda said, “bath stuff it is.”

  “That was almost too easy.” He looked at her suspiciously.

  “What?”

  “Since when do you agree with me the first time?”

  He was right—that was not the way it used to be. Somehow, at some point, her heart and soul had stopped fighting him. Stopped fighting his love, his appointed place in her life. Yolanda put her arm around his waist. “I don’t know. It just happened.”

  “What happened?” He seemed to be searching for an express answer.

  Yolanda shook her head and looked down, taking a few steps and hoping to see his feet follow suit. But they didn’t. Yolanda was too far ahead to hold on to his waist anymore. “What?”

  “Say it,” he said.

  “Say what?”

  “Say what you feel for once, Yolanda.”

  “I just... I just agreed with you.” Remnants of the wall that used to keep her from hurt began to assemble themselves, weakly, at the base of her heart. How come there’s nobody else coming down this aisle?

  “No. I asked you what happened. What happened that caused you to stop arguing with me about every little thing?” He tore through the wall, pushed the icy blocks away.

  “Okay, we’re in Wal-Mart, Kelan. We don’t have to go here now.”

  “Hey, this is the great American store. If we can’t talk in Wal-Mart, we can’t talk anywhere.” He turned up the corners of his mouth just enough to melt the foundation.

  Yolanda took two steps toward him. Her arm reclaimed the place along his waist that she’d abandoned only moments before. His arm slid across her shoulder and then pulled her into him. She stole one hug, for strength, before backing out of his embrace and facing him head-on. He deserved to know the truth.

  “Kelan, I love you.”

  His eyes softened.

  “I don’t know how you’ve put up with me this long, but I thank God you have. I’m not going to waste any m
ore energy trying to deny what God has put between us. Life’s too short, I’ve learned that the hard way this year. That’s what happened.”

  “That is sooo cute, ain’t it, girl?”

  Yolanda turned around to find two teenage girls standing behind her, holding on to each other and smiling at her and Kelan as though they knew their whole story.

  “Uh-huh,” the other agreed in a giggly tone. “This is just like the movies.”

  They were dressed in gothic: silver chains, black hair, flesh pierced, faces stark white, and nails painted purple. Trying to find themselves, Yolanda figured. Nonetheless, they were too funny and innocent to be annoying.

  Yolanda stood next to Kelan, and they laughed at themselves and at the girls for a second.

  “Here. Y’all take a picture,” the taller one said. She pulled an old school Polaroid camera from her backpack.

  “You carry that thing around with you?” Kelan asked her.

  “Oh, yeah. I take pictures of everything. Animals, cute clothes—”

  “Fine guys,” the shorter one added.

  “Okay, y’all, get together. Smile!”

  She snapped the picture and handed it to Yolanda when it slid out of the camera. “Here you go. Y’all have to invite us to your wedding, okay? My name is Mandy. This is Elizabeth. We live over at the girls’ home, on South Street. Invite us, okay?”

  “Okay.” Yolanda got caught up in their excitement and agreed.

  “Okay, bye,” Elizabeth squealed. “Oh—cool dreads, sir.”

  “Thanks,” Kelan said.

  And they bounded off to catch their next picture.

  “We’re having a wedding?” Kelan raised an eyebrow.

  “According to Mandy and Elizabeth we are.” Yolanda laid the blame elsewhere.

  “But you agreed with them.” He pulled her in.

  “Yeah. I guess I did, didn’t I?”

  He kissed her on the cheek and left her to ponder what she’d gotten herself into. As she watched the film develop, she had to admit, We do look good together.

  The drive to Parker City took longer than she’d anticipated. Or maybe it was that she was so nervous. What do you say to a stranger who happens to be your father? She focused her attention on the scenery. With the country boom, as they called it, Parker City had its share of construction and renovation to clog its vessels as well. Mr. Livingston’s home was located in a newer section of town. His was a planned senior community, complete with a clubhouse and community pool for its golden-aged residents.

  It was an unseasonably cool March afternoon, allowing for a pleasant lunchtime stroll. Elderly couples lined the streets, many hand in hand, taking advantage of the weather. Watching them saunter down the streets of Mr. Livingston’s community, Yolanda’s mind formed questions that their smiling faces and warm glances answered. They were happy. They’d been together for years and were settling into these last sacred ones together.

  Kelan was impressed with Parker City, the rolling hills and relaxed community lifestyle in which Mr. Livingston resided. “This is the life.” His own parents were so busy roaming the country, he rarely saw them. Maybe in a couple of years they’d sit down somewhere in a place like this.

  As they pulled into Mr. Livingston’s driveway, Yolanda noticed there was only one other car at the residence. She thought of asking Kelan to drive around, stalling for more people—distractions, actually. That’s when she saw him come out of the front door. Mr. Bernard Livingston. Her father.

  The first thing she noticed about him was herself. After looking at her face for all of her life, seeing his was eerie. His bone structure, the way his nose flattened out. His eyebrows—thick and bushy, the way hers would look without waxing. His lips, full in the center and thin at the corners. And the way he walked with his feet turned slightly inward. Yolanda could still remember wearing those foot braces to bed at night. This is my father.

  “Hey.” He met her as she climbed down from Kelan’s truck.

  “You look a lot like me, stranger.” His sense of humor was corny but cozy, and very much welcomed.

  “Hello,” Yolanda said—not sure how to address him. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  He reached out for Yolanda and took her into an embrace. The smell of men’s cologne filled her nose as she fought to withhold her emotions. She could count on one hand the times she’d laid her head on a man’s chest. And this was the one that I should have had to lean on all along. Her head seemed to belong there, as if she fit there in a hollow made especially for her.

  “It’s nice to meet you, too, Yolanda.”

  He hugged her still. Then he stood back, looking at her again. “No, you look better than me. You’ve got your mother’s eyes.” He winked.

  “Um, this is my good friend Kelan.” Yolanda took the attention off herself.

  “Nice to meet you, young man.”

  “Same here, sir.”

  “Come on inside. Everybody’s on their way.” Bernard placed a hand on Yolanda’s back and escorted them into the house. The front room had a relaxing southwestern motif. Comfortable for actually sitting and conversing. They stopped there for a second as Bernard went down the row of pictures lining the mantel, naming off family members and their relation to Yolanda. There was such a strong family resemblance between the Livingstons that Yolanda saw herself in each of their faces. She was part of one of those families where everybody looked the same. The more she saw of them, the less she saw of Gloria’s side. They Livingstons all belonged to her, and it showed.

  “These are Carolyn’s kids—your first cousins, Pamela and Patricia. They’re twins, about your age. Pam plays in the WNBA. Patricia is a teacher. We’ve got lots of overachievers in the family,” he boasted proudly. “Yep, these are my sister’s kids. I’m proud of ‘em, but I can’t wait to show them a picture of you—the doctor.”

  Yolanda smiled shyly and lowered her head—something that she hadn’t planned on doing. Why am I acting like a little girl? Then he showed her a picture of himself at his fiftieth birthday party. The life in him—his nature, his easygoing demeanor, his broad smile—showed in the same way his voice echoed his character. He was good people, and she’d missed out on him all her life. He looked like someone she should know. Someone she should be proud of. Someone whose picture should have been in her wallet all these years. Whose fault is this? Whose fault is this? She screamed it over and over in her head.

  In another room, Earth, Wind and Fire’s “September” started playing. Seconds later, a woman who, Yolanda assumed, was Candace brightened up the front room with her red jumpsuit and red heels to match. She was obviously way beyond caring what people thought of her. Why else would she be wearing those earrings all down to her shoulders? Just the type for Mr. Livingston, Yolanda thought.

  “You must be Yolanda,” Candace shrieked.

  “Yes. And this is my friend Kelan.”

  “Oh!” Candace pulled them both into an earthquake, jolting up and down like a showcase showdown winner on The Price Is Right. “I am so happy to meet you—the both of you. Don’t you two look great together! Oh, Bernard, go get the camera. This is wonderful!”

  All at once a caravan of Livingstons arrived, and the party was on. Everybody kept saying how much Yolanda looked like someone they called “Nanny,” who was long gone. From what Yolanda could gather, that was a compliment. “Nanny” was the beloved matriarch of the family, who had passed a few years earlier.

  The house was alive with music and people moving about. Snapping fingers, dancing a bit, eating, talking loud, drinking, laughing, and enjoying the company. Yolanda could smell smoke from a cigar—smooth and rich. Not overbearing. The setting was different from any family gathering she’d ever known, but the feel wasn’t. They were a loving family, too. As an adult, Yolanda could see that. But she couldn’t imagine how she would have handled it as a child—hearing from her mother’s side that smokers and drinkers were hell-bound sinners and then coming to her father’s house to see th
e other side smoking and drinking and loving her.

  Mr. Livingston took them all over the house, introducing Yolanda as his daughter and Kelan as her friend. During this round-the-house tour, Yolanda heard a slew of what she gathered were supposed to be welcome-to-the-family remarks. “She’s definitely a Livingston”... “Look just like Denita’s girl”... “Bernard, you couldn’t deny her if you wanted to.” Okay, that last one got to her. Yeah, yeah, yeah, she knew it was just one of those things people said. But hearing it over and over again was... making her think. Did he want to deny me?

  “I’m ready to leave,” Yolanda whispered to Kelan when she got the chance.

  “But we just got here,” he whined. This was his type of event: people gathered, eating, just hanging out. Good music, from back when music was still treated like art.

  “I don’t want to stay here any longer. I’m ready to leave,” she repeated.

  Kelan pulled himself away from his hot wings long enough to read her face. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

  “There’s are a lot of things my father—I mean, Mr. Livingston—and I need to discuss. I shouldn’t have come here without settling those things with him first,” she said.

  “Well, why don’t you go over there and talk to him. They say there’s a whole other bunch of folks that haven’t even arrived yet. I’m sure no one would mind if your father took out some time talk to his daughter.” Kelan motioned for Yolanda to join her father near the kitchen sink.

  He was all alone at the sink, washing and seasoning another tray of meat to put on the grill. “Go on,” Kelan prodded her, taking another bite of potato salad. “And bring me back some ribs.” His humor, as ill-placed as it was, lightened her.

  She approached Mr. Livingston, almost tiptoed to his side.

  “Hey, Yolanda. What you know ‘bout seasoning meat?” he asked.

  “I’m pretty good.”

  “Naw, you sound like an amateur. Here, wash this last piece of meat. I’ll season it.”

  She took a place next to him. Almost like at Gloria’s house, only this time she was with a man. Her father. Should have been here next to him years ago.