STRINGS of COLOR

by Marian L. Thomas

  Shocking words, heart-breaking secrets, and agony shook her until her very bones hurt. The reality of it all caused her to open her lungs and let go of the pain.

  Over and over again, she felt herself releasing the sorrow that dug deep inside like a flame that she could never put out.

  When there was nothing left, when there was nothing trapped down inside of her, she pulled the covers off and sat on the edge of her bed.

  She stared at the tape recorder and then she reached over and turned it on again.

  It gave in. For the hundredth time, it played what she needed to hear, those words. Those shocking words that always point her back to one valid reality….

  Naya—was her sister.

  "Jazzmyne", she heard herself whisper.

  She could barely allow the name to slip off her tongue.

  Misty reached in her drawer and pulled out an old photo. She stared at it for hours, and then she reached over and picked up the phone.

  Fear overwhelmed her as she waited for someone to pick up.

  "Hello."

  She hesitated.

  "Lynden, it's me."

  "I thought you were going to call me back. What is going on, Misty?"

  "I don't want to talk about that right now, there is something else that I need to know."

  He could hear something strange in her voice. Something he hadn't heard for a very long time. He couldn't believe it but he was sure she was crying.

  "What is it, Misty? What in the world is going on?"

  "Are you…" she couldn't say it.

  "Am I what?" He was getting frustrated and scared. "Look Misty, you got me sitting here all day and night, on pins and needles. First you call me and tell me that you think you might have killed someone and now…now it sounds like you're crying. I need to know, Misty; I need to know what is going on with you."

  "Are you my real brother? I mean; do we have the same mother?"

  Lynden took a deep breath.

  "Tell me the truth Lynden, please."

  Silence traveled through the phone line. It connected them both.

  "No." He took another deep breath. "We don't have the same mother or father, for that matter. Your real mother took off right after you were born. It seems that Freddie; your father—met her while he was playing at a small blues place called…."

  "The River?"

  "Yes. I don't know all the details but I know that she was pretty young and that Freddie was forced to raise you or else he would face criminal charges. I remember some of it; I was just about to turn ten."

  "So your mother never wanted me? That's why she left me, isn't it?"

  "No, I am sure she left because Freddie was a no-good husband, and an every once in awhile good father. I know that she loved you Misty, she really did."

  "So why didn't she take me with her?"

  "I wish I could answer that. I never got a chance to ask her myself. I didn't even know she had left until I got the call from you. In a sense, she left both of us."

  "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

  "I don't know Misty. I just didn't. After Freddie died, I thought it all died with him. To me, you will always be my kid sister. I don't always like you, but I will always love you."

  Misty let out a small hint of a laugh.

  "How did you find out?"

  "I found out from my real mother."

  "You're kidding me! You met her? How and when?"

  "No I haven't met her. My boy… I mean, my friend, met her. He's a journalist and is doing a book on Jazzmyne. She apparently went to him and told him. He had it all on tape."

  "I don't get it. Why would she do that?"

  Misty started to cry again.

  "You can tell me, Misty."

  "She is also Jazzmyne's mother."

  Lynden dropped the phone.

  "Hello?"

  "Sorry, I'm here. That just caught me off guard a little."

  "Yeah well, how do you think I feel?"

  "I don't know. How do you feel?"

  It was an honest question, one that Misty had stayed up all night trying to answer.

  "I feel…I feel anger, sadness, pain and a dread of facing her."

  "Facing who? Your mother?"

  "No, Jazzmyne."

  "Oh."

  "Does she know?"

  "I seriously doubt it. Jake came to see me right after Monà left."

  "Oh yeah, that's right. I had completely forgotten that was her name."

  "You should have told me, Lynden."

  "Look, I know you are hurting but don't take it out on me. It wasn't my place and besides, it was so long ago, to be honest I forgot about it. Like I said, you were always my sister."

  "How am I going to face her, Lynden? You know what I did to her."

  "Yes, but it sounds like you need to do it anyway."

  "I don't know if I can."

  "I know that is not the Misty I know. No, the Misty I know is a tough, no-nonsense flavor of a woman who doesn't back down from anything."

  "You're right, I can face anything….anything but this."

  Lynden grew silent. This was a side of her he hadn't seen since that day he found out that his mother had left them. He waited a few minutes and then he told her the same thing he had told her back then.

  "I will always be there for you, Misty."

  "It is so good to talk to you Lynden. It's been so long."

  "It has. I was angry at you for what happened but it shouldn't have taken us this long. So are you going to tell me how you might have killed someone?"

  It was Misty's turn to take a deep breath.

  "I was sitting at the light, waiting to make a U-turn when this kid came flying down the street. He had to be going at least eighty to ninety miles per hour. He didn't see me and when he did, it was too late. His car veered off and slammed into another car that was parallel to mine and sitting at a light. He hit that poor woman so hard that it wrapped her car around a pole. I think she was pregnant."

  "What do you mean, you think?"

  "I freaked out. I took off as soon as I saw the ambulance pull her out of the car. I heard other witnesses say that she was pregnant."

  "There is something here, Misty, that you're not telling me."

  Misty hesitated again.

  "What is it, Misty?"

  "The woman in the car was Felicia Creek, Jazzmyne's daughter-in-law. As they pulled her out of the car, I got a good look at her and I'm sure it was her."

  Misty heard the phone drop again.

  "You do realize that she is also your nephew's wife?"

  Misty began to shake uncontrollably.

  "It wasn't my fault," she whispered.

  Lynden tried to calm her down. His voice grew serious.

  "Have you spoken to the police? Did you give a statement?"

  "I called in a few favors. I spoke to the police chief and he took my statement personally. He assured me that it wasn't my fault, but Lynden…the baby died."

  "Oh Misty, I am so sorry to hear that."

  "I am too."

  "Was the boy driving the car hurt? Was he charged?"

  "No, he wasn't severely hurt from what I could tell; he may have had a broken bone here or there but nothing major. The police chief told me that he would be charged on multiple accounts and that they are pushing to revoke his license."

  "How old was he?"

  "According to the police chief, he was seventeen."

  "He'd better hope they don't try him as an adult since the baby died."

  "What does this mean for me?"

  "Back to the Misty I know, I see."

  Misty heard a slight chuckle in his voice.

  "Give me the police chief's number and let me do some digging. You really should have stayed and given a statement, but I'm sure everything will be okay. I will get on it."

  "Thank you, Lynden."

  "So…"

  "I don't know when I'm going to tell her."

  "What about Monà? Are you going to try a
nd meet her?"

  "Of course I am!"

  "Go easy, Misty. Remember, she was just a kid when she got pregnant and by a married man at that."

  "I don't care!"

  "Like I said, back to the Misty I know and love. Talk with you later, Sis."

  Misty stared at the photo of her and Jazzmyne. The Skinny loomed in the background. She tossed the photo back in the drawer and headed for the shower.

  Her energy was renewed; her anger was alive and breathing.

  Thirty minutes later, Misty stood in front of her mirror. She thought about that day. That day she saw Monà outside of Jake's apartment.

  Lynden was right. She didn't back down from anything. She wasn't about to start with this. She wanted answers. She wanted truths.

  She thought about something Monà had said on the tape. She walked back over to her nightstand and fast-forwarded it until she reached the part she needed to hear one more time.

  "Because, when she was a little girl I saw her and that woman, Freddie called his wife, going into a clothing store one day. They were all smiles. She had on good clothes, didn't look like she wanted for nothing. She got that because of me! She can't say I didn't give her that."

  I didn't want for nothing? That's what she said. I didn't want for nothing!

  I wanted.

  No I needed. I needed a lot.

  I needed love.

  And it was never all smiles!

  Misty picked up the tape recorder and threw it across the room.

  Her phone rang.

  "Misty."

  "Speak who ever this is."

  "It's me, Jake."

  She sat down on the edge of her bed, wiping away the tears and calming her heart.

  "Jake, I didn't catch the voice at first. It's been a long afternoon."

  "Tell me about it. My father passed away from a heart attack last night. I'm at the hospital because my mother almost burned the house down this morning and I almost lost her as well."

  Misty didn't respond.

  "Did you hear me, Misty?"

  "Yes, I heard you. Look, I'm sorry to hear about your father and I hope that your mother will be okay, but I have my own problems to solve right now."

  Misty hung up.

  The phone rang again but she refused to answer it.

  I'm sick and tired of crying.

  Misty walked back over to her mirror.

  I look a mess. You've got to get yourself back on track. Forget it all. Who cares who your real mother is? I don't care about any of it. Not one stinking bit! I'm tired of acting like this weak little girl instead of a grown woman!

  Focus, Misty. Focus.

  She walked into her closet and looked for her favorite pair of red stilettos. Slipped on a pair of black boot legged jeans, a cream v-neck silk blouse and a light red leather blazer. Threw on a couple of layers of crystal jewelry and stepped out of her closet feeling like her old self.

  But then her eye caught site of it.

  There, lying on the floor, still mostly intact, was the tape recorder.

  Misty walked back over to her bed, placed it on the nightstand and slipped out of her shoes. She leaned her head against the headboard, pulled her knees into her chest and reached over to turn it on.

  She listened to her voice. She allowed her words to sink deep into the pit of her pain and when the tears found their way home, she was aware of one very important truth.

  She really did care.

  Chapter 19

  "The pain of truth is hard to swallow. It's hard to bear and even harder to live through, or with. The pain of truth hurts deep in your gut, it causes your insides to ache and your heart—and you simply feel as if it no longer exists."

  The Pain of Truth

  The flickering of the sunlight through the window caused Naya to finally open her eyes. She reached over to his side of the bed and placed her hand upon his pillow. All she felt was emptiness.

  She had spent the entire evening replaying Monà's words over and over again in her mind.

  Once again she felt her past chasing after her, slapping her in the face and daring her to face the reality of today.

  Misty was her sister.

  Naya reached inside her nightstand and pulled out what she had come to call her 'book of sanity'.

  As she read the words she had last written, she watched as a tear slipped down her cheek and landed on the corner of the inked page. She reached out to wipe it away, smeared words for a smeared life. That was the story of her world, the reality of her journey.

  Her hands were unsteady as she put the pen to a blank page.

  Dear Diary,

  The pain of truth is hard to swallow. It's hard to bear and even harder to live through or with. The pain of truth hurts deep in your gut; it causes your insides to ache and makes your heart feel as if it no longer exists.

  Dwelling inside of me is an agony of deep proportions. It is wider than the sky, deeper than the sea, and covers more than the world can see or feel.

  My Chris used to wipe them away. He used to soothe my soul, calm my heart and whisper in my ear. He is no longer here.

  It's just me… just me.

  Many years ago, I stood on a stage for the first time as a little girl. They say that I sang my heart out. They say that the world heard and listened to the voice of a child. I remember the emotions that seemed to explode inside of me. I had sung for a mother that I had never known. I had sung to an empty chair inside my head. It was a feeling that I thought I would never find.

  My mother.

  I never thought I would see her face. I never thought I would see her smile. I still haven't, although she stood just inches in front of me.

  It's funny how you go through life imagining what someone is like. Imagining what they look like and how they do or don't act. You imagine the tone of their voice, the shape of their hands, and the length of their hair. You assume many things and take other things for granted.

  You even think that you can feel their kindness because in some strange way it comforts you. It wraps you up and carries you away on the back of little girls' fairytales.

  I have been thrust into a world where I am forced to no longer imagine but to come face-to-face with one very sad fact…I don't like my mother.

  I prefer the imaginary one inside my head.

  I need to find a way to fight through the hurt that she has caused but when I try, all I see are her eyes. Her eyes told me that she felt as if she had done something great for me.

  She left me with the beast.

  She walked away and never came back for me. Where is greatness in that?

  "Mrs. Naya."

  "Yes."

  "You have a guest at the gate."

  "Who is it?"

  "She said her name was Misty."

  Naya's hands froze.

  "Did you say, Misty?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "Do you want me to have her wait for you in the office?"

  "No. Tell her to go away."

  "We did, ma'am. We tried to tell her that she had to make an appointment but she refused. She's been buzzing the gate bell for over an hour and won't let up. She insists that she's not the media but that she knows you personally."

  "Put her in the living room but not in my office."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  Two women sat across from each other with so much in common, but each refusing to acknowledge or accept it. Two women who needed each other more than they could even come out and admit.

  Naya was the first to finally speak.

  "I found out last night."

  "I did as well."

  "So you met her too?"

  "No, Jake told me."

  "You're not talking about Jake, the newspaper reporter are you?"

  "Yes, I am."

  "How would he know?"

  "Monà went to see him. She told him everything for the book."

  "What book?"

  "The one he is writing on you, the one about your life."
/>   Naya leaned back in her chair, crossed her legs and stared directly at Misty. Then she spoke in a very calm but firm manner.

  "Jake is not authorized to write a book on me. That contract was voided when he refused to give me back my tape recorder as agreed. He got it by mistake. He had come here for an interview that…," Naya's hands began to shake. "For an interview that my husband had arranged when I was getting ready to release a new CD, he accidently took the wrong tape recorder home."

  "I'm so sorry about your husband." Misty understood how difficult it was for Naya to say his name.

  "Thank you."

  Misty stared at the room. Warm earth tones painted the walls, furniture with crisp lines and a modern flare filled it, and lush rugs graced the bottom of her shoes.

  "This room is beautiful. I'm sure the rest of the house is just as equal."

  "Would you like a tour?"

  Misty couldn't believe she said yes. She was desperate for anything that would break the silence that had crawled in between them.

  As Naya showed her the home, Misty couldn't help but notice the confidence in Naya's voice, the gracefulness of her walk, and the sadness in her heart as she pointed to pieces that she and Chris had picked out.

  They stopped by the stairway in the foyer and Misty's eyes traveled up the curve of the stairs and fell upon the painting that hung in the center of Naya and Chris.

  Naya's eyes followed.

  "I am so going to miss him. I loved him with everything that I had."

  "He loved you just as much."

  "Yes he did."

  "I know what it's like to lose someone you love. At least you got a chance to feel it together, to express it to each other every day."

  Naya almost reached her hand out toward Misty. Listening to her reminded Naya of what it was like so many years ago; when the two of them would sit outside in the parking lot of The Skinny and tell each other all the horrible things that had colored their lives.

  They made their way back to the living room.

  Naya sat on the sofa and Misty joined her. The two hadn't been this close to one another in years.

  "Jazzmyne, I never got a chance to say how sorry I was for everything that went down at The Skinny."

  "You can call me Naya."

  "I never got a chance…Naya, to say how sorry I was for everything that went down at The Skinny."