Jaz & Miguel

by Raven, R. D.

  Thandie had also told her that, if Sandile had been married, his wife would've donned black clothes for the last year and then burned them before umbuyiso as a symbol of "taking off the mourning." Elize, hearing of this, chose to burn the clothes she'd worn to his funeral, even if it hadn't been entirely in fitting with the exact tradition.

  Jaz wondered what she would say to Miguel when she saw him. Lacking any decent explanation as to why she hadn't tried harder to contact him, she'd decided to buy him a Kindle (she'd lost his after all) as a sort of "I'm sorry" gift. It had arrived two days earlier and, along with her handbag (also colorful), she put the gift-wrapped box under her arm and headed for her car.

  There were hundreds of people when she arrived. Many of them friends, many others simply neighbors or people from the community. Mr. Van Zyl and his wife, even Elize's two older brothers, were also there, each wearing an odd combination of brightly colored shirts; the topper being Elize's oldest brother who, somehow, had gotten his hands on one of those Hawaiian shirts, and her other brother was wearing one of those tie-dyed hippy shirts. They all smiled when they saw Jaz and chatted a bit about random things. Mrs. Van Zyl and Thandie's mom had since become good friends, and seeing them hug each other and saying hello made Jaz think of Sandile and Miguel's mothers' friendship.

  She looked around for Miguel, but with so many people around (and as short as she was) she did not see him.

  She was soon met by Nita in a bright sari and Vinesh (who had flown out especially for the occasion) in a stylish Jodhpuri. Thandie wore a similar dress to Jaz's but added to it with a colorful head wrap which really brought out her eyes and skin. During the ceremony there were speeches and Thandie translated for everyone. The speeches spoke about dreams and that, whenever someone dreamed of the person, it meant they had come home. Later, they all ate meat from a slaughtered cow, which had been prepared with many different kinds of spices. Thandie explained that, during the funeral, the meat is unspiced, but during umbuyiso it is spiced.

  Still, Jaz saw no sign of Miguel.

  She had begun to feel disappointed. Had he gone so far as to miss his own brother's umbuyiso?

  She was biting into a piece of meat (which she'd chosen to hold up to her mouth with her fingers) when she felt a hand on her shoulder, and a voice, with all the surprise possible in it, saying, "J—Jaz?"

  It was Miguel's voice. And when she turned, she had no control over it (and she certainly had not planned it), but she almost wept. She choked and smiled and wanted to hug him but her fingers were full of sauce, and she tried to say, I'm sorry. This wasn't how I had planned it, but the emotion of seeing him in front of her was too much for her to bear and for any words to come out.

  He looked healthy. His skin had darkened even more, as if he'd been constantly in the sun, and he'd picked up a bit of weight (in a good way) so his face was more fleshed out. His darkened skin made his hazel eyes stick out like gold nuggets and, for lack of a better word, Jaz felt that he looked, simply, like "a man."

  "What are you doing here? I thought you—"

  "I never left."

  Miguel's smile disappeared quickly.

  "You never ... left?" He looked away, a frown now on his face.

  Jaz suddenly felt bad, as if she'd done something wrong, as if she should have fought harder to get a number for him and told him that she'd decided to stay. Had he not earned that much at least? She grabbed a napkin and wiped her fingers.

  Miguel shook his head and looked down. "We really ... screwed things up, didn't we?" he said, looking briefly at her.

  Jaz rolled her eyes, remembering how he used to roll his, and said, "You're telling me."

  Hearing her voice, Miguel remembered how much he'd once loved—still loved—her accent. And here she was. Who would have thought? Of all possible miracles in this land of misfortune, Jaz Curtis, the one and only girl he'd ever loved, was here. In front of him.

  Did she have a boyfriend? Is that why she had stayed? The thought ripped at his chest.

  But, if not, would she be ... interested … in seeing him again, despite everything?

  All those months—a year! It seemed so impossible to be with her now. His life was now in Mozambique, not Jo'burg. The institute needed him. He couldn't just abandon them.

  "I'll let you finish eating," he said.

  "I'm finished," she said, still chewing. "Let's talk now."

  They stepped out of the tent that had been put up to accommodate all the people and walked onto the dry grass, surrounded mostly by open land, the intermittent house or two barely blocking their view. Some people sat on the ground eating meat and

  mieliepap. The smell of an active braai sweetened the air.

  "Jaz," he said, "I'm sorr—"

  "No, Miguel," she said, "I'm sorry. I should've been there for you. I should've—"

  "Bullshit. You did the right thing. I needed to grow up. I was in no position to be with you, or with anyone. I needed some time to be alone and not hurt the ones I love more than they'd been hurt by life itself."

  She paused, then sighed, then smiled. "It's good to see you," she said.

  He smiled widely. Good to see him? Man, it was fucking amazing to see her again! "It's"—he searched for the right word—"great to see you."

  Jaz wondered if he was seeing anyone. Was he married? She tried to look at his hand (a little too obviously) but she was on his right and couldn't see if there was a ring. As if no time had passed at all, she felt tidal waves of emotion pull at her, inside her chest, and all she wanted was to drop her head on his chest and listen to the wind as they sat up at the top of Northcliff Ridge, reading on his Kindle.

  What memories. What good days.

  Wait, the Kindle!

  "I have something for you!" She ran to the table where the girls were. When they saw her running they turned their heads away, pretending they hadn't been watching the two of them the entire time. They inundated her with questions as she arrived and Jaz looked for the gift frantically, tears tugging at her eyes from all the unexpected support from her "team" (although it had also started to make her feel a little embarrassed!)

  She looked under the table and then next to her seat but couldn't find it. She felt as if every second she wasn't with Miguel was a second she had somehow wasted—gone forever and never to be had with him again. Why hadn't she grabbed it the moment he'd come to her?

  Her heart pounded over this idiotic little gift like it meant so much more than it probably did! "Damn it!" she whispered.

  "Sweetie?" It was Thandie's voice, and when Jaz looked up, she was holding the gift up blithely in her hand with her elbow on the table. "You gave it to me when you went to the bathroom, remember?"

  Right. Jaz smiled, the nervousness in her chest getting ever worse.

  Under her breath, and as she pumped her fists as if cheering a gladiator, Elize whispered, "You can do it, Jaz! You two were meant to be!" Mrs. Van Zyl put her head on her husband's shoulder, looking over at Miguel in the distance.

  This support was not helping Jaz's composure!

  When she got back to Miguel, the behavior of the others had not been missed by him. "It looks like we have a fan club," he said.

  Jaz rolled her eyes again. When had she started doing that so regularly—had that not been his thing to do?

  The wind picked up, and strands of Jaz's hair blocked her view. She pushed them out the way with one hand and jutted out her other hand ungracefully (she never did manage to do anything about that hand).

  "Here—um—this is for you. I wasn't sure if you already got another one but—well, open it."

  Miguel grabbed the gift and tore it open, holding the loose paper between his legs.

  "A ... Kindle! My goodness. Wow! You shouldn't—"

  "I lost your other one so—"

  "Jaz, you can't be blamed for not going back to get it on that day. It was—"

  "Could you just thank me already! I really hope you don't have one already. But if you do—"<
br />
  "I don't. I never got another one." A pause, and a look on his face as if old memories had suddenly appeared. Then: "Thank you!" And another awkward pause for a moment as he hesitated toward her for a hug, then pulled back, then toward her again. Eventually, they did hug.

  "Uh—yeah—the other thing," said Jaz. "Of course, I couldn't download your titles on there because, well, I don't ... have an email address for you. Well, and even if I did, of course I don't know your password." It was a roundabout way of getting his email address, she knew.

  Another pause. "Yeah, that's right." He said nothing else, and if Jaz had learned one thing, it was that beating around the bush … well, it sucked. That was her philosophical statement of it nowadays.

  "Er—Miguel, that was a hint you know?" Now she was being brazen, the awkward moments of before now long gone, and her only intent being—at the very least—to keep in touch with him. They could at least be friends, couldn't they, like adults? And friends email each other.

  Miguel gave a nervous laugh, and turned to look at the horizon, the wind ruffling his hair. "Yeah, my email. It's funny, you know. There's a reason I never ... gave you my email address, and it's not because you hate email."

  An uncomfortable feeling rubbed Jaz's chest, like the sickeningly blunt knife of an ugly truth.

  He never loved her. She knew this is what he was about to tell her.

  Well, so what? She'd suffered worse.

  "Yeah—um—you'll think it's kind of ... stupid," he continued.

  "Christ, would you just spit it out already! I mean, it's fine Miguel, I can handle it." She forced out a smile.

  "Remember our first 'official' date?"

  "Yeah, you asked me about ... fate." Why had she said that of all things?

  "Right—funny that that's what sticks in your mind." He shook his head and turned to her, throwing the wistfulness away and focusing on what needed to be said. "Well, I always thought that, because of my email address, well, maybe it had been a sign ... you know … that you and I—"

  Jaz's heart felt like the stampeding feet of a thousand cattle running from a fire in the veld.

  "Well, remember Sandile and I both liked Melody Gardot and Norah Jones, and then that CD with Best of Jazz?"

  Damn it, would he get to the fucking point already! "Yeah, I remember it."

  "Well, you see, we really did—I mean I really do love that music—at least the Norah Jones kind."

  The pieces were falling into place for her. It wasn't that he never loved her ....

  "It's miguellovesjazz@gmail.com, Jaz. That's my email address. It's always been my address—even before I met you."

  She stared at him, and noticed that her mouth had gone slightly agape.

  "Two Zs, of course," he said explanatorily, "I mean it's not 'loves Jaz' with one Z. When I got the address, of course I had never met you. It's—"

  "I know. I get it."

  "Anyway, I know, it's stupid but I always thought maybe it had been some—I don't know—like a fucking sign or something." He shrugged, and raised his eyebrows. "Anyway, you know—"

  She reached for his hand, and, as three of her fingers graced his, she felt his twitch, and the tiniest of tears broke from his eyes, his jaw almost indiscernibly trembling. He clenched his teeth and looked out into the distance.

  She gripped his hand harder, and held it so tight that she was sure she would snap his fingers. And her jaw, too, began to quiver. Why had they waited so long?

  All that lost time.

  She held his hand as if it were an escaping autumn leaf—one that would never escape again.

  "The truth is, Jaz," he said, having now regained composure, "I've loved Jaz with one Z since the day I met her. And the stupidest fucking thing I ever did in my whole sorry excuse for a life was to let her go." Jaz was clenching her jaw so tightly that her glands under her ears began to hurt. "So, Jaz, if I asked you whether or not you believed in fate, honestly, I don't really give a shit. Because if Fate says I can't be with you, then Fate can go screw itself because I will go against all the Fates and Destinies and Serendipities of all the worlds and the heavens and skies and moons and the suns and stars ... to be with you—Jazz with two Zs or Jaz with one, or Mary or Jenny or Sandy or whatever. And if you'll have—"

  Jaz put her index finger to his lips, and rested her head on his chest, embracing him by the waist. Miguel put his arm around her shoulders, and they stayed like that awhile—a light breeze as the only sound in their ears.

  Just like that day in Northcliff Ridge.

  But the silence didn't last long.

  "Kiss her for fuck's sake!" It was Thandie, quickly followed by Elize, then Nita and even Vinesh and the Van Zyls—

  This is SO embarrassing.

  Jaz laughed into his shirt. It felt as if no time at all had passed between them. He still smelled like he used to—like cotton, and Paco Rabanne aftershave, his favorite.

  Miguel eased Jaz away and then cupped her face in his palms (her mascara probably all over her cheekbones by now), and Jaz grabbed him by the forearms, and looked up at his eyes, realizing for the first time that, maybe, the pain that had once lain within them—like a gashing wound in their own relationship—was suddenly gone. And even if it wasn't, they'd be more likely to beat that pain together than alone.

  Together, they'd have a fighting chance.

  Together, they could kick back at life harder.

  Miguel eased his head down, slowly, at the same time pulling Jaz's cheeks up. She stretched onto her toes, and as their lips met—a breath of fresh air and peace and calmness and ease of tension all through her body—the cheering began, and so did a new wave of tears from her.

  Jaz laughed and cried and laughed … and kissed. She kissed him and he kissed her and they breathed each other's air and hugged and his arm was so tight around her shoulders that it began to hurt but she didn't care.

  "Finally!" cried Thandie.

  And he held her, her cheek now to his shirt, and they just stood there, staring into the distance, in silence.

  They'd work it out, somehow. She would make sure of it.

  Celebratory music—kwaito—rumbled louder from the tent as someone turned it up. Beer cans popped and swooshed open as the air was suddenly filled with calls and whistles and shouts in sync to the music's resonant rhythm—then cheering, and dancing.

  Jaz thought of her dream, of Sandile's face in the clouds, and of him watching over them.

  But she didn't need to look at the sky.

  She knew he was there.

  THIRTY-THREE

  From the book, African Destiny, by Sandile Mabuyo.

  Published posthumously on his behalf by Jasmine Curtis and Miguel Pinto.

  Copyright 2014, Sandile Mabuyo. All Rights Reserved Worldwide.

  All proceeds go to the Sandile Mabuyo Institute for Education in Johannesburg (run by Thandie Masiza) and the Sandile Mabuyo Insitituto de Educação, Xai-Xai (run by Jasmine Curtis and Miguel Pinto).

  The Sunrise

  I met a girl today. Her name is Jaz. Actually, it's Jasmine. Jaz seems just like the kind of girl that Miguel could like. No, that he could marry. It has now become my secret plan to maneuver the two of them into a position where they cannot help but let the falling dominos land where they may—and, hopefully, those dominos will fall in such a way as to have me standing next to Miguel as his best man on their wedding day.

  Miguel has not moved forward in his life and I don't believe this was ever what his mother had intended for him. It's true that losing someone you love can somehow stop you in life, as if remembering the moment of their death, in some way, keeps that person alive.

  I believe Miguel has done this. I believe he has failed to let go of the pain and sorrow of his mother and sister's deaths because he is afraid that, if he does, they will be forgotten.

  But there's one thing he doesn't realize: the lives of those who have left us are not made to continue by us endlessly holding on to the pain—the momen
t of their leaving us—but, instead, by looking upon what they have left behind for us to carry forward.

  Parents, in the absence of anything else, leave offspring behind. And so, it is expected, that a child, by simply living its life, is actually keeping a long-gone parent alive.

  Some people leave works of art, or dreams. Martin Luther King, Jr. left a dream behind that, simply by us living it, keeps him, to that degree, alive in the hearts and souls and minds of those who do live it.

  Madiba will, one day, be remembered not by the moment in which he moves forward and becomes one of Africa's great ancestral spirits, but by his legacy, and the message he has given us. By us living that legacy, we will be keeping him alive.

  If, after the sun sets, we mourn, and then fail to celebrate its rising again the very next day, would the sun no less rise?

  In this way, Miguel, my friend, I ask you to look at our mutual sunset—a day which bound us together by a sorrow so deep that neither of us ever even speaks of it—and acknowledge that the sun has indeed since risen, and will continue to rise, day after day.

  Also for you.

  Because the sun never sets on Africa, my friend.

  Some people just fail to look at it.

  Let that sunshine brighten your days again, Miguel.

  And I hope that Jaz will be that sunshine for you.

  Sandile Mabuyo, July 5th, 2013

  THANK YOU FOR READING

  Hi! My name is R.D. Raven. Thank you so much for reading Jaz & Miguel.

  Jaz & Miguel is my second full-length novel and I would really appreciate it if you could give it a review on Amazon and / or Goodreads. Detailed reviews help other users know more about a book. They also help users decide whether or not to buy the book (what one person likes, another might dislike—and vice versa).

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