Choose Me

by Xenia Ruiz

  Everyone introduced themselves all the way around, but before I could say my name, Maya interjected, rather ecstatically, “That’s my sister …” She paused for dramatic effect, then continued, “Eva.”

  Adam looked straight at me, and I at him, and it must have hit us at the same time—Adam and Eve. For one momentary impulse, I contemplated that the best way to hurt Maya was to call Alex up and tell him her little secret, confess her sin for her. Of course I would never do anything that lowdown to my sister. So it wasn’t Simone who was playing matchmaker after all, but my own flesh and blood. Why didn’t they both stay out of my life? Why was it so hard for them to understand that I was waiting for a special man, a Christian man, not some Rastafarian-looking slacker? There was no way this man was a Christian.

  Adam kind of smiled helplessly, uncomfortably rubbing the back of his neck. I looked away first, over at Maya; I was ready to attack her with my eyes, but she was conveniently engaged in a conversation with Luciano.

  Then “Dazz” by Brick began to play and some of the couples jumped up to go inside and dance. In one corner of the porch, a loud debate distracted me from Maya and Luciano just as I overheard a woman make a comment against affirmative action in college admissions, a topic that was headed toward the Supreme Court.

  “I heard about this study where Hispanics who scored 130 and 180 points lower than Whites and Asians were admitted ahead of more qualified candidates. That is totally unfair.”

  “You want to know what’s unfair?” I challenged. “Getting into an Ivy League college when you’re a C-average student just because your daddy went there.”

  A few hoots rippled through the group. Someone imitated a cat’s shrieking sound.

  “Well, I don’t think it’s fair for us minorities to think we deserve special treatment just because of our ethnicity. It demeans who we are,” the young woman insisted, her eyes piercing through me. The woman looked like she might have been biracial and perhaps thought she needed to prove something to the White side. There were several Whites in the discussion group and I knew this kind of comment coming from an African American, even if she was half, could be construed as retrogressive.

  “I don’t think they’re asking for preferential treatment because of their ethnicity as much as they’re asking for a chance to compete. The playing field’s got to be leveled somehow,” I stressed. “If the government doesn’t equalize public education with private education at the primary and high school level, then some concessions have to be made at a higher level.”

  “All I’m saying is that minorities need to step up to the challenge and compete with the rest of society and stop holding on to the notion that the world owes us something.”

  I looked around for backup, but Maya, my most staunch supporter, had disappeared with Luciano. Simone was busy heading up a Soul Train line in the front room.

  “There are a lot of worse things going on in our government that are unfair. So what if college admission criteria benefits a few Blacks and Latinos. In the long run, our society as a whole is going to benefit from a more educated population,” someone commented. I looked up at Adam straddling the porch railing raising a bottle of some obscure juice in my direction in support. “And I don’t know about you but there’s nothing ‘minor’ about being African American.”

  I smiled my gratitude and returned to the debate, ready to tear my opponent to shreds with statistics and facts. But the woman was already leaving the porch. Soon after, the discussion group got smaller and smaller as people grew bored with the controversial topic and began to get up and dance, or form more intimate liaisons. It started to rain a little harder and I moved away from my spot so I wouldn’t get wet. The music was getting louder and I could feel my headache trying to make a comeback. I decided it was time to go. I had had enough stimulation for one night. Just as I headed for the front door, I heard Simone yelling, trying to get everyone’s attention.

  “Okay, people, the screening’s about to begin,” she announced, turning off the stereo. I thought about sneaking out but I knew Simone would never forgive me. She already believed I didn’t support her career choice, not to mention her promiscuous lifestyle. As everyone gathered around the projection screen, Simone’s birthday present from Zephyr, I scanned the crowd for Maya. There weren’t enough chairs to go around so most people sat on the floor or stood up. I leaned against the wall nearest to the door.

  The film was not bad for a “B” movie, shot in black and white, and reminded me slightly of Spike Lee’s She’s Gotta Have It. The emphasis was not so much on the woman’s open sexuality as it was on her determination to be independent from men. I found myself slightly embarrassed during the intimate scenes, which weren’t as graphic as Simone had led me to believe, but lent a lot to the imagination. At one point, during an intensely heated kissing scene between Simone and her leading man, I had to look away and found myself looking straight at Adam. I felt the heat rise in my face as he smiled coyly and I quickly looked away.

  My eyes settled on Luciano and Maya sitting on the arm of the sofa in spoon fashion, his arms wrapped possessively around her like she belonged to him. He looked up and I held his gaze, hoping he grasped the look of disapproval on my face. Still looking at me, he boldly kissed Maya’s neck as if to ask, What’re you going to do about it? I glared at him before turning back to the screen. Although I had promised I would stay out of her life, I decided then and there I was going to have to tell her what I really thought about Mr. Luciano the next time we were alone.

  Despite the film’s theme, I was pleasantly surprised at Simone’s acting. She was good and had come a long way from the high school plays she had acted in. I only wished she would put it to a more appropriate use. After the applause was over everyone surrounded the cast and Zephyr, complimenting them. I headed toward Maya to tell her I was ready to go, but by the time I stepped over the people sitting on the floor, and squeezed past sweaty bodies, she had disappeared again and so had Luciano. I walked up to Zephyr who was talking to Adam.

  “Excuse me. Have you seen my sister?”

  They both shook their heads.

  Adam said, “I haven’t seen Luciano either. What’s up?”

  “I have to go.”

  Somebody poked me in the back. I turned to find Pam, a mutual friend, dressed as Thelma from Good Times. “I saw Maya going downstairs the back way a little while ago,” she offered. “With her friend.”

  I started for the back porch again just as Adam was about to say something. I held up a finger and mouthed that I’d be back. Down the back porch stairs, I peeked over the railing and there I saw Luciano’s tan suit in the dark, Maya’s arms around his back.

  “I’m leaving,” I said, slightly hating her at that moment. Although we rarely fought, when we did, it never lasted very long and we never got to the point where we stopped speaking to each other. But this situation with this Luciano person might have the potential to cause some damage to our relationship.

  She pulled one hand away briefly to wave at me, her diamond-studded wedding band glistening in the dark.

  “How’re you getting home?” I asked, trying not to sound like a mother hen.

  She peeked out from around Luciano’s arm, grinning like a kid in a toy store. “Don’t worry.” Luciano looked over his shoulder at me with slight annoyance.

  Maya giggled and went back to kissing. I shook my head with resignation and started back up the stairs to go out the front way. I had to remember that even though she was my younger sister—by one year, she always stressed—she was an adult. All I could do was pray for her.

  “Eva!” she called out. “Where’s Adam?” She came up the stairs looking sheepish, her hair and lipstick a mess. I looked at her critically.

  “He’s inside, talking to Zephyr,” I told her quietly.

  “Are you mad at me?” she asked in a tiny voice. “I knew if I told you about Adam before, you wouldn’t come. He’s kind of nice looking, don’t you think? Despite the hai
r?”

  I wanted to grab her by the arm and pull her away from Luciano, protect her, but her face had that dreamy look she got whenever she was in church, deeply absorbed in the sermon. The fact that she had the same reaction with this Luciano guy that she had with God scared me. Part of me wanted to smack some sense into her, remind her that she was a married woman, a saved woman at that, and a principal for God’s sake, but I knew anything I said at that moment would fall on deaf ears.

  Without responding, I turned my back and went inside before I said something I’d regret. I wove through the costumed plastic bodies and fake hair and found Simone. Sometime in the midst of the evening, I had forgiven her for the bookstore incident.

  She screamed over the music, “Don’t leave!”

  Squinting, I pointed to my temple and waved. Using my migraines as an excuse was becoming a crutch, but sometimes it came in handy. She linked her arm in mine and walked me to the door.

  “So, what’d you think?” she asked.

  “Definitely better than Pam Grier.”

  We laughed and hugged, her Cleopatra Jones wig almost falling off. Then, truthfully I added, “You were good, girl.”

  She walked me to the door. As we stepped into the hallway, I almost ran into another couple wrapped up in each other’s arms. Simone snapped the hall light on and glared at the couple who didn’t even flinch when I squeezed by. I couldn’t wait to hit the bed.

  “Call me when you get home, girl,” Simone shouted.

  Down the three flights of stairs, I passed more couples, talking or kissing. Finally on the ground floor, I yanked open the downstairs door and almost ran into a figure in the vestibule. I jumped. It was Adam.

  “Sorry,” he said, pulling a cigarette from his lips. “Did I scare you?” I noticed he was holding the cigarette like one would hold a joint, between the thumb and forefinger.

  “Uh … no, you didn’t.”

  He blew smoke out of the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t marijuana, but I screwed up my face in distaste nonetheless. Cigarette smoke always made me think of my father, who I remembered had yet to return my call from a few days ago.

  Sensing my aversion, Adam tossed the cigarette on the floor, squashing it. I looked down at the stub, slightly displeased that he was littering the clean vestibule, but I didn’t rebuke him.

  “I’m trying to quit,” he explained as if I asked.

  I stepped from the vestibule and stood out under the awning and breathed in the misty air. The rain was really coming down, drowning the grass and forming puddles in every crevice and crack in the walkway.

  “Eva, right?” he asked.

  “Adam, right?” I countered sarcastically.

  He smiled, and I couldn’t help but smile back. He said, “I was wondering why Luciano and Maya wouldn’t tell me your name. What a coincidence, huh?”

  “I guess. So you knew about this?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I didn’t. I mean, I thought Simone was responsible but it turned out to be my sister.”

  “Are you older or younger than Maya?”

  “Older.”

  “You look younger.”

  “Everybody says that. ’Cause I’m shorter.”

  “So, you’re leaving?”

  “Yeah. I have a headache.”

  “Me, too. Want a Tylenol? I just took two myself.”

  “That doesn’t work for me. I get migraines so I take prescription drugs.” I leaned against the brick wall, watching the rain fall, debating whether to run to my car or wait until it let up a bit. I heard him moving behind me and when I turned around, he was leaning against the doorway above me.

  “What is that scent?” he asked. “Pineapple?”

  “Rose oil.”

  “Smells nice. Sweet.”

  I was surprised he could smell anything. “What’s that smell? Cancer?”

  His face dropped for a hot second, and I thought he was going to curse me out, but then he recovered quickly, letting out a small sarcastic chuckle. “Maya was right. You are funny.”

  “Thanks,” I answered even though I knew he was being flippant. He was still wearing his shades, which made me suspicious. “You know, the sun set a long time ago,” I said, pointing to my eye.

  “Oh,” he said, and slowly pulled off his glasses. The first thing I noticed were his black bushy eyebrows, a sharp contrast to his light brown hair. They were so dark, they looked dyed, so thick that the brows almost touched his eyelashes. His eyes were a simple brown, but they were an interesting shape, turned down at the ends like a sad puppy dog. I realized I was staring and veered my sight about-face, to the sky. “You thinking about going out in the rain?” he asked.

  “I’m not afraid of a little rain.”

  “Yeah, you got that Puerto Rican hair going on.”

  I cocked an eyebrow at him. “I have kinky roots.”

  This made him smile again, even though my intention was not to amuse him but to convey my disinterest with sarcasm. I was throwing my best stuff at him but he was not deterred. I liked that in him.

  The rain was letting up, but lightning still periodically lit up the sky, the thunder following at subdued, prolonged intervals. It was a pleasant evening, in the low sixties, which was pretty good for an August night, even if it was drizzling.

  I stepped out from under the awning’s protection and started down the walkway. “See you.”

  I heard his footsteps behind me, so I stopped and turned halfway around, looking at him questionably.

  “Hey Uh … Maya says you’re not … seeing anybody.”

  Instead of looking at me, he was looking up into the trees like they held something mysterious. He was losing his confidence, and this gave me the upper hand. “What else did she tell you?” I asked, my anger at Maya returning. How dare she tell some man about me without my permission, I thought.

  “Uh … let me see. She said you’re divorced. And you have two sons in college. You’re the director of Latino recruitment at CU and you’re a writer.”

  “She never mentioned you.”

  He laughed and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m a probation officer for the state. No kids, but I have a niece and a nephew I’m crazy about. I write, too.”

  I turned around to face him fully. “Did she tell you that I’m celibate?”

  He scratched his neck and looked slightly uncomfortable, glancing back up at the trees. “Uh, no, she didn’t tell me that.”

  “Yeah, it’s true. I don’t have sex. So, I’d be a waste of time.”

  I crossed my arms, quietly fuming, letting the rain fizzle my anger. He reached into his back pocket and held out a card. “Listen, if you change your mind. Not about the celibacy thing, but you know, if you want to have coffee sometime, give me a call.”

  What would be the point? I wanted to say. I took the card without reading it. I hated it when people gave out their cards. It was so pretentious. I could understand if we were at a networking dinner or a business meeting. What was so hard about writing his number on a piece of paper. I swore if he pulled out a personal digital accessory and said, “Let’s do lunch,” I’d scream. I knew if I really wanted to blow him off, I could just say, “No, thanks.” But then he’d probably go back and tell Luciano what an evil witch I was and then Maya and Simone would reaffirm that I was going to end up alone for the rest of my life.

  I glanced at the card and noticed it read, Chanel Devereau.

  “I thought your name was Adam?” I handed it back to him.

  He looked embarrassed and laughed. “Sorry. Some girl gave me that.” I noticed he wasn’t throwing it away as he reached into another pocket and brought out another card. I stuck it in my purse without looking at it and gave him a phony smile, which he returned. Then I turned and began walking quickly down the pathway, dodging puddles.

  When I heard him following me again, I spun around, this time with irritation. “Where’re you going?”

  “Walk you to your car? It’s kind of late to be
walking out by yourself.”

  “I have mace. And I know Tai Bo.” My car was parked almost three blocks away and even though Simone lived in a decent area, there was no such thing as a safe neighborhood anymore. But I always walk with the knowledge that I am covered by the blood of Jesus—and the fact that I box for pleasure.

  He laughed. “Oh, you’re a tough diva, huh?”

  I looked at him surprised, remembering how Anthony used to call me “Tough Diva-Eva,” albeit spitefully. But I figured Adam didn’t mean anything by it so when I started walking and he fell in step, I didn’t dissuade him. He took the outside of the sidewalk like a man who had been raised properly. For the first block, we didn’t speak and I told myself that if he didn’t say anything until we reached my car, it would be just fine. Maybe he thought I was a snob, which I’m not. I just figured rather than say something mundane, it was better not to say anything at all. And then again, who cared what he thought? The less said, the better.

  “So, what kind of stuff do you write?” he asked, disturbing my silence.

  “I don’t like to talk about my writing. To strangers. No offense.”

  He shrugged. “That’s cool. Just trying to make conversation.”

  My heel caught in one of the sidewalk cracks obscured by a puddle and I stumbled awkwardly, almost falling on my face, but Adam caught my arm and held me up. An electric charge went up my arm.

  “Good thing I was here, huh?” he kidded.

  “Yeah, I could’ve been killed.”

  He laughed and I gave him my fake smile again, trying to cover up my embarrassment for tripping. I looked at his hand, which was still holding my arm, and he pulled it away quickly like he was afraid I was going to hit him.