“Damn that’s beautiful,” I mumbled after exiting the Beetle.
“Thank you,” September replied before she joined me.
“What kind of lilies are those?”
“Daylilies.”
“You must do a lot of deadheading.”
“Yes, but it’s very calming, never a chore.”
“Meaning, I’m paying my gardener way too much money to maintain my little slice of heaven.”
“That’s interesting.”
“Who, my over paid gardener?”
“No silly, it’s just that I sort of pegged you as a gardener,” she said after she reached over and squeezed my hand. “However your hands tell a completely different story.”
“As you can see, I don’t get into the dirt or anything like that, but, I can appreciate hard work when I see it. And this here, man this is some Home and Gardens stuff here.” I chuckled as my entire view of the world was painted a bright yellow, red, orange and green with the gritty hood as its backdrop.
“That Georgia clay didn’t help the cause any either.” She said as she studied me closely.
“I can imagine,” I said as if I knew what she was talking about.
“It’s getting really late, we should go in.” September said as she led me to her front door.
After taking a final glance at September’s floral masterpiece, I entered her home not really knowing what to expect as a sense of home suddenly fell upon me.
Throughout the years, I have visited many homes because of what I did for a living. Most were bastions of confusion, while the rest, surprisingly lacked the homeowner’s personal touch. Then there were those homes that where nothing more than a direct reflection of what some fashionable magazine deemed fashionable. Fortunately, the lack of imagination and the art of true self-expression wasn’t lacking inside of September’s cozy little urban cottage. Simply put, everything I saw and smelled was a marriage of chic design and environmental responsibility.
The Persimmon silk curtains that puddle on the floor complemented the mossy green paint on the walls, and the natural wood furnishings that made up most of the furniture. The natural color combinations, coupled with an abundant of plant life, told me that September relished life. The shapely champagne sofa bathing in a soft light treatment snuggled inside a corner next to the front door, made it easy to see her grading school papers there. The multicolored Baubles that seemed to drip from a miniature chandelier in the dinning room suggested style and the willingness to communicate. A framed but severely burned firemen’s jacket, and a dozen of other firefighting related items completed her guess room. If you weren’t able to put two and two together from what was in that room, you might not have needed to be there. In all, the little house was full of flamboyant focal points that would have given a visitor tremendous insight on exactly who they were there to see.
“You have a beautiful home September,” I said as I stood in front of the firefighter jacket.
“Coming from you that means a lot to me.”
“Why’s that?”
“I’ve been told that your house is a piece of modern art that just happens to be a home.”
“Just a direct reflection who and what I am, as this house is to you.”
September and I shared a glance that suggested we were in agreement on that topic.
“Is this beat up old thing yours?”
September stared at the Jacket for a second before she surprised me and said, “My mums, it was my mums.”
“Your mother was a firefighter?”
“The first Black woman in London to don the jacket Omari, and man did she wear it proudly.”
“That must have been an amazing feeling to be able to tell the kids at school that little historical fact. So I take it you followed in her footsteps huh?”
“Unfortunately,” September replied without pride.
“Okay, you just went Dr. Spock on me, did I say or ask the wrong thing?”
“I’m sorry, but my mum was a hard charging, over ambitious woman that never understood the meaning of quitting anything she started. She even raised me on that same over the top scale.”
The look in September’s face didn’t portray her true feelings as her voice tried to do, which would explain why I glanced back at the burnt up jacket before the obvious became rather clear. The framed jacket, the fire helmet and all the other related items had the same station number stenciled on them, meant I was standing in something of memorial.
“Oh shit, look I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
September allowed a confident smile to take the place of her pain before she said, “You can’t know or beware of what you haven’t been told Omari.”
“I don’t agree we that, but forgive me for being so insensitive.”
September motioned me over to her before she took a seat on her sofa.
“You’re forgiven. Can we have a little chat before the sandman comes and visits us both.”
I took a curious parting glance at the jacket before I agreed to participate.
“Is this gonna hurt?" I asked her before I took a seat.
“Everything has a price Omari...”
“True, I guess it's just the matter of how much you gotta shell out right?”
“Exactly, so, seeing how you're trying to read my mind.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Success tends to brings out the psychoanalysis in people like you.”
I gave that explanation some thought before I asked, “Why am I considered a success? Is it the money and the must have trappings that I have acquired?”
“Those items make up the frame Omari, you yourself are the picture.”
“I pray whoever decides to put my life on canvas will use a more colorful palate than the one I was given. Not that I deserve it.”
September was about to respond to that but decided to hold back so that she could share something with me that was totally unexpected. There in her hands rested two pieces of paper and an ink pen. I hadn’t a clue what was about to go down, nevertheless I was rather curious so I relaxed my body and waited for her to tell me what was what.
“I would love to know what you’re thinking at this moment, however some things are best kept secret until that perfect moment in time.”
“Isn’t perfection a matter of interpretation September?”
“Yes it is. Now may I finish?”
“Go right ahead.”
“As I was saying; these thoughts that we have at this very moment, should never be revealed until we need them the most. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Do you agree?”
“I agree.”
“Good, so write exactly what’s on your mind at this moment and I’ll do the same and we’ll…”
“Suppose I write something silly?”
“I don’t think you will Omari.”
I shook my head wearily and said; “I have been known to be impractical when I should be serious. Besides, I’ve been drinking and getting high all day, so trust me when I say that there’s a high probability of me blowing this opportunity to be sincere with you.”
September didn’t pay my intoxicated words any mind as she handed me a piece of paper. “I’ll go first okay,” she said whimsically before she stared into my eyes. After finding what she was looking for, she jotted down what was on her mind before she handed me the ink pen. The pressure should have been on, because I generally kept my true feelings to myself, especially after what I’ve been through as of late. However September’s soothing presence and her warm eyes managed to convince me to take a long look at myself before I wrote down exactly what I was feeling.
“That wasn’t so bad was it,” she asked before she reached for my written thoughts and immediately headed for the kitchen.
I got up and followed her but stopped just short of the kitchen so I could watch what she was going to do with the two pieces of paper. To my surprise she reached into a raised cabinet and pul
led out a sandwich bag.
“Remember, we’ll read these when the time is right, okay.” She said before she placed them inside the sandwich bag and into the freezer.
I nodded yes and headed back to the sofa. A couple of minutes passed before September returned with a couple of pillows and a pile of blankets. This left me to assume that I was about to be told where I would be sleeping, however September surprised me by asking if she could undress me. I said yes and before I knew I it, there we were on the couch, half-naked and in each other’s arms as if we had slept together a thousand times before. But sleep refused to find us, we were wired and hot like a hot cup of freshly made Monday morning coffee. That’s when she did something that I had never experienced before.
September sat up and hummed the sweetest tune to me while she gingerly, lovingly, massaged the tips of my hands until sleep finally over took me. But before my world became a misty but comforting fade to black, she whispered something into my ear that I would always remember her by.
“Your tomorrow should be a brighter day, you’ll see.”
A Simple Form of Complexity
The day after approached me without pending deadlines or my usual early morning habits. The day after, full of bright sunlight and herbal scented air seemed happy to see me like some feel right Jill Scott song. I questioned it before my blood shot eyes discovered that I wasn’t dreaming, and nor had I died and went to heaven. September was still sleeping soundly inside my bear like embrace as if she hadn’t a care in the world. Pure and naturally sweetened, September’s world would soon give way to my world. Afraid of what this would look like in the end, I instinctively tried to run away from her before my overly structured humanity did something to tarnish what was so perfect.
Before I could make my escape, her spirit sensed my anxiousness and directed her body to reposition so that I wasn’t able to move without discharging her to the floor. This didn’t go unnoticed, so I whispered words of respect and admiration into her ear until I discovered that she was actually still sound asleep. That’s when the desire to please her so that she would remain forever mines started to fill my head with plans that included, roses, dinner, jewelry, and maybe a warm sponge bath after she finished with work.
Would this be enough, or would her love and loyalties to Greg supersede all that I could do? The answer to that question wasn’t allowed to show it self because September slowly awoke. Her eyes were as clear as day, more optimistic than the word forever. I wanted to say something that could match what I was feeling but nothing came out as her body wiggled its way deeper into my own.
“You sleep like a worried mother Omari,” she said inside the tinniest of voice.
“No I don’t.”
“Yes, you do.”
“How you figure?”
“All night, you kept jumping up and looking for one of your twins.”
“Who told you?”
“Does it matter?”
“I already have a good idea, but yes, my children matter.”
“They live in Africa right?”
“Yes…they do.” I replied as a worn picture of Jamal and Jasmine finally entered my mind. “They live with their mother and their newly crowned stepfather.”
“We don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to.”
“I’m good.”
“Sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Okay, just out of curiosity, did your ex treat you like a king or a piece of shit?”
I didn’t want to answer that, but decided I would because I finally felt safe enough to face my biggest disappointment. “Honestly, yeah, she treated me and my children like royalty. In fact she still treats the kids that way.”
“That’s a good thing, right?”
“It is.”
She sat up and faced me, “Obviously, you’re going to forever love her in some form or fashion, having children out of love tends to have that effect. But I’m curious about something.”
“Go for it.”
“Do you still feel married to her Omari?”
That hit me hard like a shot of cheap whisky, and I was about to avoid the question as I had done a million times over. But the truth of matter was, I was tired of living the lie and was worn down from wanting some one that didn’t want me anymore. I took a deep breath before I faced a truth that had been begging to be faced.
“Yeah, I do, is that so bad?”
“Not if you two are planning on getting back together.”
“Are you and Greg planning on getting back together?”
That was a low blow and I knew it, but to my surprise September allowed those words to roll off her like rain before she pushed me deeper into the couch.
“If you must know, yes, I still care about Greg, I even long for his touch sometimes, but Greg decided that he didn’t want me. You understand? He didn’t want me, and yes, I was hurt by this, but I decided it was in my best interest thanks to you, to move on. So no, Greg and I aren’t planning on getting back together.”
“I’m sorry about that, I didn’t hafta go there.”
“Yeah you did, and it’s cool, because I have to go here.”
“Be gentle.”
“That’s all we Brits know how to do honey…anyway, did your wife, did she cheat on you?”
“I must be walking around with a sign on my back saying I’ve been dogged the fuck out.”
“Answer the question Omari.”
“Sure, but why will telling you all this make me feel any better?”
“You should hope so, unless you enjoy sitting inside that dark room by yourself?”
“It’s not so bad.” I pulled away from her. “I mean you can’t be hurt or disappointed in that room. It’s like having your very own private space with a permanent do not disturb sign on the door.”
September acted as if she could taste my evasiveness before she politely repositioned her body so that I couldn’t avoid her or her caring eyes. Trapped, and feeling uncomfortable, a part of who I was didn’t want to play anymore, so I tried to run by physically removing her, but she countered by entwining her soft legs around my long limbs like Kudzu before she captured me with a kiss.
“You don’t have to run from me Omari.”
“I’m not running, and you don’t have to be so damn clairvoyant with me.”
September, with a defiant smile, “Uninhibited passion, this is good.”
“You’re crazy.”
“More eccentric than crazy, but you and I are still worthy of being loved. You know that right?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You will one day,” she whispered into my ear before embracing all that I was.
The inauguration of true love happened upon me without personal jubilation or emotional preparation. The foundation or the ingredients for this recipe consisted of a heavy dose of honest conversations that lead to gentle kissing and careful embracing. All meant to heal, so yes, I guess there was time left for me to be loved and give love.
*The Feng Shui Factor*
April showers brought me Mayflowers, and from June to July, I didn't even try to get high. Of course, the people closest to me wondered how and why. Even I thought I was participating in a loosely constructed, but well-managed lie. And like a wellwritten Walter Mosley mystery, all those things that I once held dear, suddenly became a group of supporting characters. Those now you see them, now you don't type of characters that every good story needed to paint a more complete picture.
So there we were, spending every available ounce of time together as if Never-Never Land had only two full time occupants named, September and Omari. Either she was at my house or I was at hers. It seemed like nothing on earth could separate us as we tried to learn each other’s ways, be they good or bad. From time to time we flirted with the idea of having a sexual affair, however the long passionate kissing, and the holding of hands was as far as it went. And that wasn't because we weren't attracted to each other
either. September and I truly and honestly desired each other as a man and a woman should, but neither of us wanted to deal with the emotional baggage that came with having a sexual affair before we were ready. Deep down, I had a feeling that she was more prepared for this to happen then I was, because as she so eloquently put it one night.
"Luv, I hope we don't hafta wait till the moon and sun are properly aligned." Of course I laughed that off, but after what happened with Nique, having sex was the last thing on my mind until one day while we were out shopping, I noticed how other men where noticing Septembers round apple bottom. In fact whenever we went out, people seemed to enjoy staring at her. I thought it was all in my head until we went to dinner one night with Michael and Marlene. As always my friend was dressed in his Sunday best as he directed our conversations like a traffic cop in the middle of rush hour. Even as this was happening, l couldn't help noticing all the stares that September garnered from the waiters to the dozen or so couples that surrounded us. Even Michael and Marlene tried their best not to stare at her, but in the end they to seemed be amazed by Septembers beauty.
On the way to her house after dinner that night, the sexual man in me wanted her body like the stars need the night sky. However I fought my inspired desires just enough to keep me from messing up a good thing. This meant I had to please myself the old fashion way after I dropped her off at her house. The next morning she arrived at my house looking focused and determined to improve my way of life for some reason or another. This improvement process started with my house.
“Okay, what is up with all these silly little statutes?” I asked as she went about rearranging my home in the way of Feng Shui.
“I thought we agreed on this.” “I don’t remember that, but please tell me you're not going to paint my Jacuzzi blue.”
“What makes you think I'm going to paint your tub blue?”
“First of all, its a Jacuzzi and not a tub. Secondly, you painted yours blue right?”
The Other Side of My Kitchen Page 24