What the Heart Wants

by Tiana Laveen

  What is going on?

  A wave of emotion flooded her and her eyes filled with angry, hurt tears. Rejection was a slow-plunging knife in the heart. It twisted back and forth, ever so gradually, dragging out death one woeful whimper at a time. She gripped her silky black nightgown, the material covering right over her heart, and squeezed.

  “Emily,” Dad said softly. “Why would you say something like that?”

  “Because it’s true! I realized it just now, Dad. It’s like I never understood it before. I’d fooled myself into believing some lie, something I convinced myself was true, but it never was. I tried to…” She patted her wet face with the back of her hand. “I tried to have friends, but it didn’t work out too well. Yeah, I had associates, Dad, plenty of them, but I always wanted a real friend. The kind you paint your nails with, gossip about boys you liked with. I never had that, not really. Well, I did for a brief time, but she wasn’t popular so I got rid of her and now I can’t even remember her name. I did all of those things, but I always knew the girls I hung out with didn’t really care for me, didn’t care if I was around. I bet they forgot my name, too.”

  “Don’t say things like that.”

  “Why not? It’s true.” She sniffed as more tears rolled down her cheeks. “I was ostentatious, pushy. On the bright side, I enjoyed math. I wasn’t boy crazy; I mean, I had my share of crushes and lost my virginity at seventeen, but it didn’t rule my mind.”

  “I could have done without those details, but continue.”

  She could hear the smile in her father’s tone. He was such a good man, a damn good man.

  “Sorry, I guess I coulda kept that to myself. Anyway, I liked nice things but I understood the value of money and how it worked. You and Mom taught me that. I didn’t want to grow up and be a model, actress, or plastic surgeon. I wanted to be a mathematical whiz! I only took acting classes because Mom believed it would help me with expressing myself better; she was right. My true passion was with numbers. I used to fantasize about teaching calculus at some elite college in Europe. I couldn’t admit that to anyone or they’d hate me even more. That wouldn’t be considered cool. I’d get the title of ‘nerd,’ on top of everything else. I was weird. So I struggled, ya know?”

  “From the outside looking in, Emily, you appeared quite popular.”

  “Yes, it did look that way, but not everything is always as it seems. You know, Dad, if I would have vanished into thin air, no one would’ve missed me. In fact, they may have celebrated. The bottom line is that they were only there at the house because you and Mom were friends with their parents. Period. That’s a friend by default, not by real connection. There’s a difference, Dad.”

  “Emily, I don’t know where all of this is coming from, but—”

  “Nobody liked Emily Windsor…not a single person.” She dropped her head and sobbed, not certain what had gotten into her. But it was pouring out like lava, burning her pretty, pretentious past all along the edges until it was reduced to a melted mess.

  “Okay, that’s it. Emily, you stop this pity party right now. None of what you’re saying is true. You had a boatload of friends and they adored you. Besides, you’re incredible. You’ve cheated death multiple times. I think the pain medication is making your brain loopy. Now look, I want you to get some rest. You’ll feel better in the morning. I’ll call you, okay?”

  She nodded. Though he couldn’t see her, she did it all the same.

  “Maybe it’s the pain medication and just the terrible ordeal I’ve had, like you said. Yeah, okay. I’m sure you’re right.” But deep down, she knew it wasn’t the medication. Her mind was lucid, and she wasn’t trapped inside a nightmare. This was a harsh reality. Something had blown the sheets off her life, her very existence, and exposed it to the elements. Something within her had split open and exposed a glowing certainty. It shined like a pearl from within a dull shell, daring her to come closer and check it out. And she did. She saw it for what it was.

  The cold, beautiful, yet hideous truth. Now, it was time to take an even closer look, if she dared.

  *

  Three weeks later

  “The psychologist says I’m fine and the physical therapist said I’ve been cleared to walk, get a bit of exercise, as long as I don’t do any long distance marathons. They don’t want you sitting still for too long, but they also don’t want you hanging from chandeliers quite yet, either. You surely don’t have to worry about that.”

  Emily chuckled as she stood at the light amongst a crowd at the crosswalk, waiting to cross the street and get to the other side. She held the phone to her ear while her friend, Laura, berated her for being out of bed. She knew the woman meant well nevertheless.

  “I just…well…I suppose if you feel up to it.” Laura sighed.

  Emily jogged in place a bit, her blue and black Lycra leggings hugging her calves just so and her matching jacket fitting a bit tighter than usual. She’d been bloated as of late and was certain she’d put on about ten pounds from being so sedentary. She was determined to get it off; after all, in two months, she had an important business affair to attend and she planned to wear the hell out of her dress that was being tailor made. The air felt great blowing against her face as she bounced about. The crowd around her grew as cars crawled past the green light, stuck in a bit of a jam. The light turned red at last.

  Finally.

  As she made her way amongst the migrating crowd, her legs moving quickly while the “Don’t Walk” sign flashed, she heard music pouring out of a nearby car. She slowed, the tune calling to her as if the lyrics had been written with her in mind.

  “Ah, Laura, let me call you back.”

  “Well, I was just going to—”

  “I’ll call ya back.” She disconnected the call and approached the car that was now stuck in traffic. Several drivers honked at her as she made her way over to the black Toyota Corolla, not giving a single fuck that she was in the damn way. The driver, a White woman with red, wavy hair and thick dark-rimmed glasses, looked at her suspiciously, her bright blue eyes twinkling. Emily waved and smiled as authentically as she could muster. She was in a city known for lunatics and eccentrics, so she couldn’t fault anyone for being too cautious. Yet, she was one of the lunatics now, too. “Sorry to bother you. Can I ask you something?”

  “If it’s money, no.”

  “Money? No, no, no.” Emily chortled. “What uh, what song is that you’re playing? I like it.” After a brief hesitation, the woman turned it down a bit.

  “It’s ‘Wait A Minute’ by Willow Smith.” The woman studied her hard, as if trying to decide whether to relax or whip out the Taser or switchblade she kept in her glove compartment.

  “Willow Smith, you say?”

  “Yeah, Will Smith’s daughter. She’s a singer. My friend told me about her. I don’t usually go for the teenage music stuff.” They smiled at one another. “But I like it. It’s nice, right?”

  “It’s perfect. Really good, actually. I need to get a copy of that. I guess I’ll download it from iTunes.” She wanted to ask the woman for other recommendations, possibly ask what type of music she enjoyed, too. She wanted to talk to the lady about things like that. About places she might go to listen to a good groove, but Emily figured that would be far too bizarre. The woman might even think she was coming onto her. The traffic began to move again.

  “Gotta go,” the woman blurted, tucking her hair behind one ear.

  “Yeah, thanks.” Emily waved as the car inched ahead. She watched for a few seconds then jogged back to the sidewalk, her mind whirling. Never had she done such a thing in her life—walk up to a stranger and engage in conversation. The song kept playing inside her head, over and over, haunting her. It was beautiful. Simple. Joyous. It made her want to move, sing, stretch her arms out and spin about.

  I want to hear it again. Willow Smith. Remember that name.

  She stood on the sidewalk, the smell of the city wrapping around her like a comfortable shawl. The smells
she took for granted, like baking pretzels, stale sweat, rotting trash, grilled meats, fresh citrus fruit, and beautiful roses all wafted in the air and woke her ass up.

  “Do you smell that? I’m not dead. I’m alive.” She cracked up laughing. She began to sway her hips from side to side and snap her fingers. She’d never considered herself a good dancer, but right then she was feeling the rhythm, and when she caught her reflection in a storefront window, she thought her movements were on point. Most of all, it all felt normal. No one paid her any attention, which made it all the better, all the richer, all the more incredible. Mouthing the lyrics to the song she’d just heard, she began to walk again, her new heart beating hard but not painfully. Minutes later, she realized she’d walked much farther than she’d anticipated. She was caught up in a daydream, her world full of strange, enchanting colors, emotions, and the like.

  “I better turn around and go back,” she muttered begrudgingly to herself, wishing she could stay out and people watch all night long. As she turned to go back to her digs, she spotted a couple, a woman and a man, with a large white dog in the near distance. The dog’s thick, pink tongue flopped out the side of its mouth. She hated dogs.

  Emily stiffened up as the couple approached, distracted, talking amongst each other, while their four-legged companion bounced happily on a leash. Rather than going on about her business as she’d normally do, she simply stood there, her fresh heart beating like a drum.

  BEAT…BEAT…BEAT…

  Her lips curled in a grin when they reached her, and her excitement shot through the roof.

  “What’s her name? Can I pet her?” she said eagerly.

  The couple paused abruptly, then all three of them smiled at the same time.

  “Uh, yeah. Her name is Abby. How’d you know she’s a she? Everyone says he right off the bat.” The woman laughed.

  “You know what?” Emily reached down and ran her hand across the dog’s head. She was so soft. “I don’t even know. She just seemed like a she to me. She’s gorgeous. Labrador retriever, right?” The dog appeared to truly be enjoying her touch.

  “Yup,” the guy said proudly, like a new dad.

  “I won’t keep you. Lovely dog, though.”

  “Thanks.”

  She slid her hand away and stood up straight. “Bye, Abby.” She waved as the couple and their fur baby trotted off.

  Emily stood there, fighting back emotions—prickly, unfamiliar feelings that made her want to burst into an explosion of tears. Where had these sentiments come from? How the hell did she even know what a damn Labrador retriever looked like? Her hands shook, her eyes filled with moisture. She sniffed her hand, and instead of being repulsed by the odor, wincing and bursting into the nearest restaurant to wash her hands, she found it in some way comforting, as if it were something she missed.

  She began to walk back in the direction of her apartment, her feet pounding the pavement as she navigated through the crowd. Breathless, losing her mind, she pulled out her phone.

  “Hi, yes. I’m a patient of Dr. Giannopoulos. I need to speak to him, please.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. He’s in surgery right now. Can I take a message?”

  She hesitated for a spell.

  “Uh, yes. Please tell him to call Emily Windsor back as soon as possible. My number is 212-555-0102.”

  “I have it now. I will pass this along.”

  “Thank you, and please, if you don’t mind, tell him it’s urgent.”

  “Well, in that case, ma’am, you may want to call 911.”

  “No, not urgent as in I am dying. I can’t really explain it. Just uh, please…” She sighed, closed her eyes, and rested against the wall of a random building. “Just tell him to call me.”

  After disconnecting the call, she made her way back home. She showered, put on her thick, plum-colored robe, then sat at her small circular dining room table with Willow Smith’s “Wait A Minute” playing off YouTube from her laptop and a bowl of vegetable soup cooling off to the side. She pulled up another tab on the browser and typed in:

  Heart Transplant Patients – Change of Personality

  Chapter Five

  Mountaintops with Sunrays

  Red lights glimmered throughout the 6th Dimension Club while music played and thick cigar, hookah, and cigarette smoke filled up the place. It was almost one in the morning. Cameron fist-bumped, high-fived, and slapped hands with so many people who’d come to party at the club that night, some regular patrons and some newbies, that his wrist began to feel sore. It had been a while since he’d stepped foot inside the place for more than ten minutes. At times, it had been too painful to endure. He’d tried, but would find himself becoming overwhelmed. To avoid making a scene or drawing negative attention, he’d simply disappear, slink away before anyone caught him with a tear in his eye.

  I haven’t been taking this shit well at all. I gotta do this. I gotta find a way to put a stop to this.

  He’d had no idea how much the spirit of the love of his life had been infused within the place until after her death. That was a huge issue, because he couldn’t bring himself to go to work in that environment, not when it caused him so much pain. He’d created this business, followed his dream doing what he loved, and Brooke had been right by his side, helping him build his empire.

  The deep purple color of the walls, for instance, had been Brooke’s idea. He hadn’t been on board at first, believing it too ladylike, but after it was finished, he had to admit that it was dope. It was the right shade of purple, dark with a slight reddish undertone, a color he hadn’t imagined he’d like and would work so well. That had been just one of many of her ideas he’d rejected at the outset, but soon discovered she’d been onto something. The woman not only had the voice of a goddess, she had a damn good eye, too.

  It had also been Brooke’s idea to place gold-framed photos of many rap, jazz, and R&B greats as well as African-American and Latino poets on the walls. Not only world-famous ones, but local musicians, too. She wanted New Yorkers to be celebrated, and indie artists to get their just desserts and accolades. It had even been his baby’s idea to have his Afro-Puerto Rican heritage on his mother’s side celebrated, along with his paternal Black side, through displaying and promoting the artwork of Black and Afro-Latino local artists.

  She’d helped him with the layout of the club, the featured drinks menu, the stage setup. One day, she’d shown up wearing paint-splattered jeans and an old ratty crop-top shirt that somehow made her look even sexier and had proceeded to help him and the crew take care of some handyman-type work. She hadn’t seemed to know much of what she was doing, but he’d appreciated her efforts all the same.

  On nights when her schedule was more open, before she’d blown up and became so well-known that she could no longer walk the streets without being recognized, she would even sing on his slower nights to help entertain the crowd, keep people in their seats and the drink orders coming. Brooke had been a bartender at a restaurant many years back, so she wasn’t beyond getting behind the counter and pouring drinks when they were swamped with patrons. Cameron had never needed to ask her to do a thing. He’d just look over, and his baby would be gone, doing what needed to be done.

  “Hey, man.” His boy, Alfonso, placed his hand on his shoulder, shaking him out of his thoughts. “Good to see you tonight.”

  “Yeah, good to be here. I missed being here. It’s good to be back. Nice seeing you, man. Thanks for coming out.”

  “Yeah, man. This is the place to be for some good drinks, neo-soul, and spoken word! The 6th Dimension is in the top three spots I check out for that sorta thing. No doubt, man.”

  “I appreciate that, man. I really do.”

  “Cameron, I uh, I don’t know what to say. Ain’t seen you since Brooke’s passing, man. It’s strange, for real. I knew her for so long, sometimes I forget she’s gone, man. It just doesn’t make sense.”

  Cameron hung his head briefly and nodded. “Yup. That pretty much sums it up. I’ll che
ck you out though, man. Have a good time tonight, all right? Your drink is on me. Just tell Bri that I said so.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  “No problem. Anyway, gotta go talk to the DJ for a second.” They fist-bumped and Cameron made his way toward the Saturday night deejay, DJ Fly, and placed the bottle of beer he was holding down on the platform next to the guy’s computer. Leaning close to him, he spoke loud into his ear. “Yo, man, I’m gonna do a little somethin’ tonight. A piece I wrote.”

  “Word?” DJ Fly grinned at him.

  “Yeah. In a few minutes, put on the instrumental to “Crown Royal on Ice” by Jill Scott. Then, when I’m ready to start up, transition to “Alone Together” by Daley with Marsha Ambrosius, the instrumental version. Have it on repeat until I finish. This is gonna take a while. It’s a long piece, but I’ve been holding a lot inside. Gotta detox, get it all out. I might lose my nerve, not drunk enough for this shit. Wanna clear my mind, though. It’s long overdue.”

  “You got it, man.”

  Cameron bobbed his head to the beat of the music that was already playing as he stood high on the platform watching people dance, couples embrace, people sit and drink, all dressed and looking beautiful in their tapestry of soul and desire.

  Smoke eddied toward the sky like the last syllable of a dying prayer. Cameron took the final drop of his liquid courage, tossed his empty bottle in a nearby trash can, and headed toward the main stage. He heard his musical request begin, grabbed the mic from the stand, and the club erupted into thunderous applause. Everyone seemed to know what was up.

  He began to walk the stage, falling into the groove and gathering his thoughts.

  “Hey, everybody. Hope everyone is having a good ass time tonight.” Whistling and clapping ensued. “It’s been a minute since I stood on this stage, but…it’s time to re-emerge, come out from hiding. My baby made me come out. She actually made me get my ass out of the bed, put my damn clothes on, and speak my mind.” He smiled sadly and looked down at his shoes as people cheered him on. “She’s not here anymore. She, uh, she got into my subconscious and did it, as crazy as it sounds. It’s true. I know it’s true.”