“Where are you taking me?”
“I’m kidnapping you,” he replied, with a serious look on his face.
“You don’t scare me. Just have me home so I can get back to work by Thursday.”
“Really? I can keep you that long?” He asked, with a boyish grin.
“No, not really. I knew that would get you, though,” I laughed.
“You don’t know how happy I was for that millisecond. We’ll be there soon. Just enjoy the ride and relax, pretty lady.” He looked over at me and smiled. “Maybe this will help you relax some.” He pressed play on his car system and the melodic sound of Sade filled the air around us. I reclined my seat a couple of notches and rested my head for the remainder of the ride to Malachi’s secret destination. Whether to a cave or to the moon, it didn’t matter, as long as I was in the company of this man, I didn’t care where he took me or how long it took to get there. I just knew I wanted to go there with him.
I awoke to the sound of waves and the smell of the ocean.
“I can’t believe I fell asleep. I’m sorry. I haven’t had much sleep at all in the past week and it must have finally caught up with me.” I was so embarrassed for falling asleep on the man on our first date.
“Don’t apologize. I’m happy that you were able to get some rest. I want you to relax and feel comfortable whenever you’re with me.”
“Where are we? I feel like I’m dreaming. This is so beautiful.” I was in awe, taking in the magnificent view of the beach from the escalated road we were driving on that was parallel to the ocean.
“Maybe you are dreaming; maybe we both are. You fell asleep in LA and awoke in Santa Barbara,” he replied, turning left onto a steep dirt road that led toward the beachfront. As we passed two gated homes, we pulled up to a tall iron gate. It glided open as he pressed a button on the dash of the car. I was speechless, looking at the view before my eyes. After coasting no more than 10 feet, we came to a complete stop in front of a beautiful cottage. It looked as if it were relocated from the Bahamas. It was absolutely astonishing.
Malachi got out and came around to my side. He opened my door, took my hand, and helped me out of the car. He escorted me down a cobblestone path through a beautiful garden that was lined expertly on both sides of the walkway with lilies, baby’s breath, lilac blue curiosa roses, pink and blue anemones, and many more beautiful flowers that I didn’t recognize. At the end of the cobblestone path was a door that led us down a flight of 10 hardwood steps into the living quarters of the home. The view was amazing. I stood motionless, staring out of the front wall that had been replaced with three sets of floor to ceiling French doors. I was staring at the ocean that was his front yard.
“Is this your house?” I asked in awe.
“It sure is. Only six months old and you’re my first visitor. I try to get out here as much as possible, although it seems that I was able to get out more when it was being built. Now, I can’t seem to find the time. Do you like it?”
“I love it and I haven’t even seen all of it. Who takes care of it for you when you’re not here?” I asked, wondering how it stayed so immaculate and fresh smelling.
“I have a lady who lives near here. She comes every other day or so and opens the windows and lets fresh air in. The gardener and my housekeeper come once a week. Are you hungry?” He asked, with his hand on my lower back.
“Yes, I can definitely eat.”
“Good. I’m hungry, too. The bathroom is the second door on the left. I’ll meet you outside in about 10 to 15 minutes on the patio. It’s through the doors and to the right,” he pointed, as he headed in the direction of what I assumed was the kitchen.
I was sitting, enjoying the sun and the smell of the ocean when Malachi emerged from the house using a side door that I assumed was the kitchen. He was carrying a large tray that held two large salad bowls filled with grilled chicken breasts atop freshly prepared greens, a basket of sourdough bread with a light butter spread, and two glasses of fresh squeezed lemonade. He sat the tray on a stand, placed the much desired lunch on the table, and sat down to join me.
“I didn’t know what kind of dressing you’d like, so I brought you some of every kind that I have. That’s Caesar, Ranch, Italian, and Thousand,” he said, pointing to an oblong silver container that housed four miniature removable bowls. I chose Caesar.
“Thank you. This looks so good.” I was actually salivating. “Do you mind if I bless our food?” I asked, reaching for his hand.
“Actually, who would we be asking to bless our food?”
“You’re joking, right?” I was praying that he was.
“Actually, no, I’m not. I’m not really a believer.”
“You’re not really a believer in what, Malachi?” I was stunned.
“It’s hard for me to believe that there is a God or a Satan, a heaven or a hell.”
“Why?” I asked, wishing I could just disappear. How could anyone not believe in God? Malachi had really thrown me for a loop.
“While I was growing up, I went to church every Sunday with my grandparents, but as I got older, I just had more and more doubts.” I lowered my head and blessed my food, throwing in a prayer for Malachi. More than anything, it looked like he was going to need it.
“Can you elaborate?” I asked, taking a bite of my salad.
“Well, it first started with the death of my grandfather. Like I told you earlier, he had bone cancer and had a very long, painful ordeal with the disease. It came to a point where the strongest medicines couldn’t take away his pain. If there is a God, why would he have let my grandfather suffer like that? My mother died while trying to give birth to me,” he continued, not waiting for me to try and answer his first question. “Why on earth would ‘God’ do that? Leave a child to grow up without a mother to nurture him? What excuse could there be for that? I work day in and day out, trying to save lives and make deathly ill patients more comfortable until their time comes because, at that point, it’s inevitable. They’re going to die and they know it. But why the suffering? Why are there children growing up in poverty? Why are there children being raped and murdered and molested by their own relatives? Why are there homeless people? Why? Why? Why? There are a lot of questions that need to be answered for me, Talise. It’s not that easy for me to just believe in what everyone else believes in,” he finished.
“I can’t answer those questions, but who can? There’s a reason why people go through certain things. It makes them who they are, and it makes the people around them who they are. Struggle forms character. Without struggle, who would Nelson Mandela be? Who would Malcolm X be? Who would Martin Luther King be? We can’t go around questioning everything. Some things are the way they are because that’s just the way it is. Without some type of spiritual connection and faith, I don’t know what I’d do or where I’d be. What would we have to look forward to if there is no afterlife? How would we handle the deaths of our loved ones if we didn’t have the hope that we would see them again? How can we explain birth and the formation of a fetus? There are so many questions that could be formed without a scientific explanation or answer. It’s just really hard for me to relate to someone who doesn’t believe in a higher power.” I couldn’t believe that I was having this conversation.
“There may be a higher power, but who’s to say that the power isn’t coming from within us? It would be a lot easier for me to just go with everyone else and believe what everyone else believes, but I can’t. Look at you. Now you’re looking at me like I’m evil. Like there is something wrong with me. Trust me. There isn’t. I’m not saying that I don’t believe that there is a God completely. I’m just saying that I have questions that no one can seem to answer. I have doubts and I’m sure I’m not alone in that, either.”
“Well, the power is coming from within us because if you believe in God and his son, Jesus Christ, you know that he lives within you. He is in your heart and his magnificence is exuded from within you. I’ll pray for you,” I said lowly.
>
“Please do. I’m not against that. Especially if someone is really listening,” Malachi said, looking me directly in the eyes.
We sat and ate in what seemed to be an eternity of uncomfortable silence, but was probably no more than a few minutes.
“So, where did you grow up?” I asked, breaking the silence.
“I’m originally from Trinidad. My father moved us to the States when I was 14. I spent my teenage years right outside of DC, where my father’s parents lived. How about you?” he asked, looking relieved for the change of conversation.
“I’m from here. I grew up in Los Angeles, but I went to college in Boston.”
“Oh, really? I went to med school in Boston. I was at Harvard.”
“Me, too! I was there from ‘99 to ‘02. Then I came back and went to grad school at USC. What years were you there?” I asked, surprised.
“I was in med school from ‘96 to 2000. That’s something else. We were there at around the same time and didn’t even see each other.”
“I know. What a small world. The salad was delicious. Thank you,” I said, adjusting my bottom in the seat.
“You are more than welcome. Let me show you to your room. I figured we could go out to the beach and watch the sunset,” he smiled, rising from the table. I rose and began to clear the table of the empty dishes.
“Don’t worry about that. You don’t have to lift a finger while you’re here. Just relax and let me wait on you.” He grabbed my hand and led me into the house and up a staircase that began directly in the middle of the living room. It was one of the most beautifully built staircases that I’d ever seen. It was positioned directly in the middle of the house with skylights directing your way up the incline in the shape of large stars.
“The staircase was made from a 1,000-year old pine tree that was found in British Columbia by underwater loggers,” he said. At the top of the landing was a circular hall that overlooked the living room. To the right, were shelves built into the wall with hundreds of books. To the left were beautiful paintings. We veered toward the paintings and I got a glimpse of the signature on one that read Malachi Edmonds.
“You painted this?” I asked in astonishment.
“Yeah, but I don’t get a chance to paint much any more. Do you like it?”
“Wow! Yes, I love this. It’s beautiful. It’s a sun, setting into the ocean. The colors are wonderful. Did you do this here?” I stood mesmerized, staring at the painting.
“Yup, right outside that door. Let’s hurry so you can see the real thing,” he replied as he kissed my cheek softly and opened a bedroom door to the left of the painting.
“You can get into something more comfortable if you like or just freshen up. It’s up to you. Meet me at the stairs at 3:00 sharp?”
“I sure will,” I agreed wholeheartedly. I couldn’t wait to watch the sun set on such a beautiful day with such a beautiful man...who doesn’t believe in God. I remembered sadly.
I walked inside of the room and noticed that my bag had been placed on top of an all white canopy bed that sat adjacent to a large picture window. I opened the window and took a moment to breathe in the scent of the beach and listen to the waves. I grabbed my bag, pulled out a pink strapless sundress, and decided to freshen up by taking a quick shower. I rubbed my body down with Hydrating Body Gloss by H20 Spa, slipped on my dress, and headed out the bedroom door, shoeless.
As I walked out of the room, I was surprised to see a mass of pink and white rose buds scattered neatly on the floor. I followed its path down the staircase, out of the French doors, through the patio and its wooden gate, and along the beautiful beige sand. Enjoying the feel of the warm sand and rose petals on my bare feet, I walked toward Malachi who was sitting on a blanket staring into the ocean.
“Were you expecting someone else?” I asked, with a small grin on my face, as I sat down next to him. It seemed as if I caught him off guard.
“No, not at all. Wasn’t expecting you to be on time. You know how y’all women can be,” he commented, nudging me with his elbow playfully. “Would you like some wine?” he asked, pulling a bottle of chilled Pinot Grigio from a wicker basket. I accepted the half-filled glass as he began to pour himself one.
“You are so beautiful. And what are you wearing? It smells really good and fresh?” he asked playfully, sniffing my neck, almost causing me to spill my drink.
“Goodness, thank you. I’m glad you like it,” I laughed. “But I’ll never tell you what it is. Wouldn’t want you going out buying my scent for some other woman in the future, now would we?” I replied, smiling.
“Hopefully, you’ll be the woman in my future. So we wouldn’t have to worry about that, now would we?” Malachi replied, placing his arm around my waist.
“Who knows?” I responded, blushing. We sat in comfortable silence for a while just listening to the waves and looking deep into the ocean. Neither of us wanted to kill the moment with meager words that couldn’t possibly match the serene calm of the ocean.
“I want you to know, Talise, I’m not a closed-minded man. I really am open to all aspects of life. I’ve prayed and prayed and begged for guidance, but got nothing. There are some parts of me that believe and there are other parts of me that question and doubt. I’m really working on that, and maybe you can help me. If there is a God, maybe he brought you to me because he knows my heart and he knows that I’ve been yearning for a family of my own. I hope what I’m about to say doesn’t scare you away, but I’m really feeling you. It’s like I’ve known you forever,” he said, taking a nervous sip of wine.
What Malachi had just said to me didn’t need a rebuttal. I scooted in closer and rested my head on his shoulder. I felt like something was connecting me to this man, something beyond me and beyond him. It was a feeling that I’d never experienced before, which made me believe that we were brought together for a reason. I knew that, before all was said and done, he’d believe in God and his son, Jesus.
Deon
Sometimes, we shouldn’t put too much energy into why things happen and just be happy that it did. I know that God was watching out for me because the last person I expected to run into was Byron Boyd.
Every year, I play in the Midsummer Night’s Dream weekend charity fundraiser All-Star basketball game. It’s hosted by Barron Davis and Paul Pierce and is something that I enjoy doing before going home to Atlanta for the summer.
I was running a little late to the Staples Center because traffic was heavier than usual. Once there, I hurried and got suited up while I talked on the phone with Simone making plans for us to have dinner after the game. Simone and I had spent the previous night hanging out at my place babysitting Tyson. We had a drink with Nichelle and her date before they left to see a Tyler Perry play at the Kodak Theatre, then Simone and I ordered Chinese food and spent the rest of the evening playing video games and watching movies with Tyson. The relationship she was forming with Tyson and Nichelle, two of the closest people to me on the West Coast, made me care for her even more. Tyson’s approval meant a lot to me, but Nichelle’s meant even more.
I had been spending as much time with Simone as I could. She was still very guarded, but every time we hung out, she seemed to be letting her guard down more and more. I was curious to know why she pushed men away like she did and was determined to get past the wall she had up. I wanted to know what happened in her past that made her so distrustful of men. It was always like only part of her was with me. Even during sex, I could tell that she wouldn’t let me all the way in. She would never completely let go. I knew, or at least hoped, the time would come when she would feel that I was with her because I liked her, not because I wanted to use her or wanted something from her. As a professional athlete, I was usually the one with my guard up, trying to make sure women weren’t trying to use me. Now the roles were completely reversed and, to be honest, I liked it.
Being with Simone was effortless. Unless I was a complete fool and a horrible judge of character, I really believed tha
t she didn’t have any ulterior motives. I could usually spot a gold digger from a mile away, and I didn’t think Simone was that type of woman. So, when I came out of the locker room and saw Byron talking to a reporter, I instantly knew that this was fate. I’d been asking God to reveal to me what I needed to know about Simone, and I tell you, the Lord works quickly sometimes.
Byron had just wrapped up an interview and smiled in my direction when he noticed me.
“Hey, man. What’s good?” I asked, giving him dap and a swift hug. Byron and I used to be pretty tight back in college. Everyone thought it was kind of weird for a football player and basketball player to be so close, but we just clicked from day one. It was a shame that we really didn’t keep in touch after we graduated, but it was all love every time we saw each other.
“Everything is cool, man. Getting ready for this season to start so I can get that ring this year. I didn’t know you were playing, man.”
“Yeah, every year. You playing?” I asked, joking. Byron wouldn’t step foot on a basketball court after one of his teammates in college tore his ACL playing basketball. He lost his football scholarship and never got the chance to play again.
“Yeah, right, man. Ain’t enough contact in your sport,” he replied, intentionally bringing up memories of the long debates we’d had over which sport was the best.
“You know you spent many nights after games in pain wishing you would’ve played basketball, or maybe even golf. You know how you used to complain about your aches and pains all the time. Don’t front, man!” Remembering all the times he’d be all covered in Icy Hot, limping to the cafeteria, I couldn’t stop myself from laughing.
“Okay, you still got jokes, D. Ain’t nothing changed with you. I see you still Mr. Funny Man,” he replied, laughing, surely remembering when I used to jones on him about his Icy Hot cologne. “I got your message, too, man. I’ve been intending on getting back with you, but I’ve been crazy busy. I bet you want to ask me about Simone, huh?” he asked, in a serious tone.
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