A Fistful of Honey

by Malena Crawford

“All right, next time then, Sistah. Enjoy the day ladies. Stay blessed.”

  As soon as the man sauntered off to his next customers, Takeah turned to Alena and cut her eyes. “You so uppity, damn! Brotha Rome is cool, why you actin’ like that?”

  “It’s not that. It’s just… this is part of the problem, the oils, the beads, the dashiki, the back-to-Africa necklaces. I know his type, the so-called conscious ones. I bet he doesn’t know the first thing about Africa. Black people need to start getting behind something that’s actually useful. You can’t feed your children with all that Pan-African nonsense. Teach them how to fish. Teach them how to get out there in the real cold world and invest, buy low and sell high, own something real. Now that’s real black power. Green power.”

  “The problem? Yeah, okay.” Takeah rolled her eyes and took another long drag of her cigarette. “You know what Rich Girl, you really need to chill. You soundin’ real reckless right about now. You soundin’ like one of them, like you a straight up Oreo. Just ‘cause you got a baby by one of them don’t mean yo’ shit don’t stink. Shit, they ain’t no better than us anyway. Brotha Rome and his people help plenty of these kids out here ‘fish’ as you sayin’. He even gave li’l BJ some product to sell one time when I was low on food and ain’t had no back to school clothes. He had our back. They might not be on Wall Street but they businessmen, they hustle. They get out here slangin’ oils or whatever they got to sell and earn they livin’ in a honest way when they could be slangin’ drugs. They do what they gotta do. They do they best for the community, which is much more than I can say for them bum ass, snake ass whitey bankers that’s robbin’ everybody blind.”

  Alena considered what Takeah was saying and realized how she must have sounded. “I’m sorry, Takeah. I take it back, all right? I just got worked for up for nothing I guess.”

  “So what’s your deal anyway, huh? I know you ain’t from no ‘hood like this. Why you here? I tease you with the name, but you really do look like you rich.”

  Alena frowned then looked down at her shoes.

  “I’m not rich, far from it. To be honest, you’re probably doing better than I am right now. Before I came here I used to live in the city, a beautiful place on Fifth Avenue. Lavish, like in the magazines. But now, my husband and I are getting a divorce. It’s a long story but I didn’t have the cash to stay, so I moved here.” Alena smiled wryly. “I used to have a doorman and a maid, now I barely have enough to pay rent and put food on the table.”

  Alena expected to hear the same dissociating judgment and pity she had heaped on Takeah, but when she looked in her eyes she saw understanding.

  “We all been there. Don’t nobody plan on doin’ bad in life, sometime bad just follow close, you know?” Takeah crushed out her half smoked cigarette, dug into her purse and offered Alena a twenty dollar bill.

  “Takeah, I can’t take that. Thank you though.”

  “Girl! They ain’t teach you no common sense uptown? My mama always told me don’t be no fool when you see help comin’. You believe in God don’t you?”

  “I do,” Alena said.

  “Well God come in all ways. God came to me through you, so let me take my turn. Besides, we single mothas gotta stick together.” She gave Alena another smile and a light jab, prodding her to take the bill.

  Alena took the money and stood up. Her eyes were shining with tears she felt too proud to shed.

  “Thank you, Takeah.”

  Before leaving for her apartment she glanced at Takeah and all of the others she had judged to be an embarrassment to ‘good black people’ like her. But just like her they were surviving the best they knew how. She knew in that moment that she was no different from any of them, and that was one of her biggest fears. They too were brilliant, proud, and beautiful. They too were unreducible.

  Alena had prided herself on being a ‘different’ kind of black woman, but most of all, on not being an angry black woman. Her problem was not anger. It was a latent, private fury that chafed her and made her constantly aware of her dutiful blackness. It reared its head when a white woman or man would be promoted above her despite their incompetence, or when store employees at high end shops would look down their noses at her or just ignore her completely. It was a part of the heaviness she wore that no one could see.

  Her fury was reignited if she thought about her father’s injustice. White men’s rage and envy had torn him to shreds. In spite of his ugliness toward her, he had been a talented lawyer back in Maryland before she was born, until he was debarred solely because of the color of his skin. What came next was a war that even with his all of his legal skill and years back and forth in the courts, he could not win. After years of bearing witness to his struggle to take back what had been stolen, she gave up on the idea of fighting for her own place in life. The cost of his battle had been too steep and she was living proof. So she didn’t think about it.

  She’d trusted that she could maneuver herself instead into what she deemed a safe, proper place in life. But marrying Gabriel thrust Alena into a world for which she had no template. Although she was poised, brilliant, and beautiful there was not one day in all eight of their years together she didn’t feel like an impostor.

  She jutted out like a lone black dahlia in the midst of lily white lunching ladies with old money who drank like fish while they argued over which were the best nursery schools to set their toddlers on the fast track to Yale .

  She knew they only spoke to her because they were curious, fascinated really at how she, with her natural curls and voluptuous curves, had even caught Gabriel Ford’s eye let alone snagged the key to the kingdom. In the early days their snide nickname for her was “that black lady Gabriel married.’ She had first overheard it at a black tie fundraiser in the sentence ‘Oh no she’s not a nanny, she’s that black lady Gabriel married.’ Gabriel immediately brushed it off and suggested she do the same. That night, Alena drank a tray full of champagne, feigned a stomach illness and then went home and cried.

  Eventually, Alena declined to notice racial injustice at all, her father’s or anyone else’s. She decided that if she could prove that she was respectable, she could avoid the pain. She pretended that the trappings of wealth would eventually give her immunity to bias and bigotry. But what she saw in Takeah that day and in all black people that had not ‘made it’ was a truth that she feared the most— that it didn’t matter. They were already all that they needed to be and it still would not be enough to prove them worthy to an eye that could not see them.

  Try as she might she couldn’t hide from anyone else’s idea of her. Nothing she could accomplish or pretend to be would grant her immunity from that truth. She was plagued with a constant feeling that the eyes of judgment were always upon her, glossing her over with a lazy stroke of stereotype waiting for her to either defy or confirm them.

  SEVEN

  “Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear Alena! Happy birthday to you!” Michael sang through the phone.

  “Ha! You remembered! Thank you, Mike!” Alena said.

  “Of course I remembered, Leen. So what’s on your agenda for your special day?”

  Alena gave a halfhearted chuckle. “Nothing much. I’ll probably just grab a bottle of wine and toast myself after Maya goes to bed.”

  “Drinking alone on your birthday, Leen? You know I can’t let you go out like that.”

  “It’s fine, it’s just another year. It’s really not a big deal.”

  “Don’t forget who you’re talking to. I know you and I know that your birthday is a very big deal to you. Why don’t you let me take you out tonight?”

  Alena brightened. “Really? But what about…”

  “They’re out of town. Lola’s dad is having a big retirement party in Jersey so she’s got the kids.”

  “Wow, okay. Yes, I’d love to, that would be great Mike! Thank you!” She squealed with delight.

  “It’s my pleasure, Leen. So I’ll pick you up at seven then?


  “Yes, seven’s good.”

  That evening at the restaurant, Alena watched the smiling lovers dining and listening to the smooth tones of the French opera playing in the background. The sommelier brought a bottle of Merlot to the table and poured them each a glass.

  “Your favorite, right?” Michael said, smiling. “Thirty-three sure looks good on you, Leen,”

  “Why, thank you,” she beamed trying to perk up for the occasion. “Not too shabby for an old lady, huh?”

  “Stop that. You’re gorgeous.” He looked warmly at her. “You always will be.”

  “Thank you for this, Mike,” she said, her eyes darting around the opulent décor of the restaurant. “It was very kind of you to do this.”

  “What are you talking about? Of course, you’re my friend, Leen. I’m glad I could make you smile on your birthday.”

  Alena laughed nervously.

  “So where’s Maya?”

  “My next door neighbor is watching her.”

  Michael looked surprised. “A neighbor? I didn’t expect you to trust anyone over there let alone trust them with Maya. Things must be going pretty well.”

  “No worries. Gloria’s good people. Great people, actually. I trust her absolutely. She’s good with Maya and she’s got grandchildren of her own and all of that. To tell you the truth, I don’t know where I’d be without her. She’s been more of a mother to me in these few weeks than my own mother has. Besides, I sure can’t afford a babysitter and I don’t have any family to watch her. I really needed to get out of that apartment, bad. I needed this alcohol. I needed to put this dress on. I needed to feel like a woman again.”

  “Well, you are most definitely all woman, you don’t ever have to worry about that.” He shot her a sexy smile and Alena basked in his adoration.

  “Leen, can I ask you a question?”

  “Hmm, question time. Yeah, Mike, go ahead.”

  “Why don’t you call your family? At least your mother?”

  “And say what? ‘Hi Mama, this is the daughter you haven’t spoken to in years and practically disowned. How’s life and oh, can you spot me a little money’? No. My mother’s made it very clear how she feels about what happened and where her loyalties lie. She chose him. They all did.”

  “Leen, I get it, you know I do. I’m so sorry for everything you went through. But the truth is that you need help. I know your dad is completely off limits, but can you at least try to let your mother back in? A little? You need your family, if not for yourself then for your daughter.”

  “It’s not an option, Mike,” Alena said sternly. “Can we drop it please?”

  “Cool.” He sat back in his chair. “Fine by me.”

  Alena let out a long sigh.

  “I know you’re trying to help but it’s hard. Complicated. You could never understand what it was like, or how it still feels. Trust me, even in the mess that me and Maya are in we’re still probably better off without her help or any of theirs for that matter.”

  “You don’t have to explain yourself, Alena. You’ve been through a lot. I just want you to be okay.”

  “I know you do, Mike. Thank you.” Alena was quiet for a moment listening to the music then she looked at Mike. “You know, Gloria’s always talking about God. Where the hell is he when you need Him? I know this is supposed to be my road or my journey or whatever, but I’m getting tired of waiting on Him to stop turning a blind eye to my pain.”

  “You have to be strong, Leen. It’ll all change for you. I know it will. This is all happening for a good reason, you’ll see.”

  “I know I must sound like a whiny brat but, on top of all this, sometimes I really think I might be losing it. Something strange is happening. Look, don’t think I’m crazy, okay?”

  “I already know you’re crazy, Leen.”

  Alena swatted Mike across the table.

  “Kidding! Just joking! Go on.”

  “This is serious, Mike. I’ve been seeing these…” she searched for the right words, “shadows slinking around me. Kind of like… shadow people. At first I thought I was imagining things, but the other day I saw one. I know I did. I checked the apartment, but found nothing. What do you think?”

  She glanced up at him, bracing herself for the worst.

  Michael chose his words carefully. “Well, I think anything is possible. But I also think you have a lot going on right now. You’re under a lot of stress, Leen. You probably just need some rest.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right,” Alena said, her eyes fixed on the pink lipstick stain on her wineglass. “Rest.”

  “Hey, come on, it’s your birthday. We’re here to celebrate! Let’s make a toast,” he said, raising his glass of wine. “Here’s to you, the gorgeous, the brilliant Miss Alena Ford. I know that things aren’t exactly going as you planned right now so here’s to a life even better than what you planned.”

  “Cheers! I’ll drink to that!” she said. They clinked glasses and sipped their wine, watching each other over the candlelight on the table.

  After dinner, Michael drove Alena home and then walked her to the stoop. At the door he folded two crisp hundred dollar bills into her hand.

  “Happy birthday,” he whispered in her ear.

  Alena looked down at the money and her eyes welled with tears. In that moment, she wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol diluting her good sense, or if she was drunk with awakening desire. She pressed her mouth against the warm softness of his full lips. Parting hers, she let her tongue slide gently over them, tantalizing him. She felt him harden against her. His hands rested in the groove between her waist and hips, eager fingers pulling her closer. Pressed against his firm chest her nipples swelled through the lace of her camisole.

  “Why don’t you come upstairs for a little bit?” She purred. “I think I have a few more minutes before I turn into a pumpkin.”

  She let her palms slide over the solid curve of his chest and kissed him again. His skin was warm beneath his cotton shirt. She heard him swallow hard.

  “Leen, I can’t.” He dropped his arms and took a step back from her.

  “Why? Do you still love her, Mike?”

  He was silent as he looked everywhere but at her.

  “Why can’t you love me? Just for tonight, love me.”

  The instant she heard her words the shame of her desperation poured over her, sobered her.

  “Oh my God, I am so, so sorry, Mike. I’m so embarrassed. I shouldn’t have kissed you. I just. Ugh. I’m messed up right now. I don’t know what’s going on with me.”

  “It’s okay. Really, it’s okay. Don’t stress it,” he soothed.

  “No, I crossed the line. If you want to take a break from me, I understand. I didn’t mean to disrespect your wife, or you, or your kids. I guess I’m just feeling lonely.”

  Michael held Alena’s face in his hand, his thumb grazing her cheekbone. His face was softly lit by the glow of the street lamp.

  “Yes. I still love Lola.” He kissed her forehead softly. “And I love you, too.” He planted a kiss on her cheek. “I should get going. I hope you had a good birthday. Kiss Maya for me okay, Leen?”

  Alena watched him walk to his car and waited for it to drive slowly away. Her mind raced trying to piece together what just happened. Her face still burned with shame.

  She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against the cold steel of the apartment door.

  What just happened? Why did I kiss him? Wine, I need more wine. I need to forget everything. She looked at her phone. 10:47 PM. Still a few minutes to buy a bottle of Chardonnay to enjoy while Maya slept. She headed for the liquor store at the end of the block.

  Alena felt an eerie stillness in the sweltering heat of the night as a male figure walked toward her. For a fleeting moment, she recognized the jagged scar above his brow. It was Bengy, Takeah’s boyfriend. Their eyes met. His glared at her as he bumped into her, and used his two hundred and five pounds to push her into the alley a few feet away.

>   “So you wanna get all in my fucking business, bitch? You tell my girl to leave me?” he demanded.

  “Oh God, please just let me go,” Alena begged.

  Bengy pulled a gun from under his sweatshirt and shoved the muzzle into her temple.

  “Gimme your shit, bitch! Gimme your fucking money! You gon’ learn not to stick your fucking nose in my business.”

  Alena plunged a quivering hand into her bag and wildly fished for the bills Michael gave her. In her panic she couldn’t find where she had stuffed them.

  “Oh you wanna play games?” He yelled, then he punched her in the stomach with all of his force.

  Alena’s breath went out of her and she doubled over. He then struck her again, this time against her head with the butt of the gun. Warm blood drizzled down her face, staining her white dress. She’d collapsed onto the concrete. Blackness blotted her vision as she slipped out of consciousness.

  “Alena,” a woman’s voice whispered gently from above her. It was sweet and faint. A peace that she had never known before enveloped her.

  “Alena,” the voice repeated, almost singing.

  Something about the voice was deeply familiar to Alena. It nourished every cell of her body. Effervescent joy bubbled through her hands, chest, arms, and legs. Gradually, she opened her eyes. The once dark alley was now filled with a sunburst of glorious golden light. A beautiful woman stood calmly smiling at the center of it, a sphere of light surrounding her. Her rich ebony skin glittered as if it were imbued with gold.

  A crown of light encircled her head. The extraordinary garment she wore was like nothing Alena had ever seen before. It was made of spun diamonds and pulsated with such radiance it appeared to have a life of its own. The intoxicating beauty of the woman sent Alena into an even deeper trance. All awareness of her body left her and she felt weightless, as if she were floating in air. The woman rested her palm on Alena’s head, covering her wound. As she did, rich liquid warmth poured into Alena’s left temple and coursed through her body.

  “We have been waiting for you to awaken,” the woman said, glowing with the brilliance of ten thousand lit candles. “You are finally able to see us, Dear One.”