by Nikki Harmon
“Didn’t you just meet her, Dee? I wouldn’t worry about it. You’re just going to see an old friend, right?”
“Right,” I reply, suspecting that it might not be that easy to convince Noema of that.
Luckily, I am wrong. I immediately call Noema and explain that I have just reconnected with my best friend from high school (leaving out the “girlfriend” part) and I am going to go see her and her husband in Albuquerque. So we put off our third date until I get back. Easy peasy.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The next week is a blur. I deliver two babies, complete another online workshop, and search for good deals for flights to Albuquerque. I meet with my co-workers to request more time off during the following week. They are none too pleased, and nobody is really buying my need for a spiritual retreat, except Meadow, of course. My chagrined and skeptical sister reminds me that since it is summer, Candace will not be in school and it might be harder to find her. She could be traveling or teaching somewhere else during the summer. More online searching gives me an idea what neighborhood she might live in, but I am really going on a wing and a prayer until the Sunday night before my flight.
I happen to check Ms. Brown’s Facebook page one last time. She had posted something about Philly’s humid weather, and as I watched, Candace made a comment. ‘You should come out here for a visit, Ms. Brown. It’s a beautiful, clear, sky blue day, and the cool breeze from the mountains is blowing the smell of my roses right through the kitchen window even as I write this.’ I gasp. She was home right now! I was tempted, so tempted to ‘friend’ her to see if she would respond, but I resist by thinking about how great it will be to surprise her….and I’m scared shitless that she will ignore my request.
My heart beating faster, I shut my laptop, pack, get my things in order, and by Monday morning at 10:13 a.m., I am enjoying another lift-off. The flight to Albuquerque is fairly uneventful, but my thoughts are all over the place. I spend a lot of time trying to figure out what I am going to say, how I am going to explain myself, and what do I even want. The conversations with my sister come back to me. What am I willing to do? What do I expect her to do? I have way too many questions and no answers except the drumbeat of my heart and the surety that I am doing the right thing. I had to see her. I had to know that I was not romanticizing the whole relationship. I had to know that we did really and truly love each other and had meant something important and unalterable to each other. She was my first love, but the more I thought about it, she had been my only true love.
~~~
The plane lands with a thud bump bump bump. I look out and all I see is beige and blue. This is definitely the Southwest. After an hour of waiting, I finally get my rental car and drive towards my McHotel in the Downtown area. Several times I almost have an accident. I cannot stop looking at the sky. It is incredibly big, infinitely bigger than the sky in Philly or DC or Atlanta. It is enormous and blue, a deep never ending blue. It is overwhelming. It is humbling. Maybe this will turn into a spiritual retreat after all. I feel naked, open to the universe under this vast sky. I think if I try even just a little bit, I can feel the weight of God on my shoulders.
I suddenly feel unsure of this journey. Am I up to this task? It started out as a lark, but now it feels so imperative. I hope I have not bitten off more than I can chew. But I’m here now. I’m going to try. I arrive at the hotel and even though it’s a national chain, it still has that Southwest feel. I like it here so far. Something about being here is calming. I look out my window—they face the Sandia Mountains—beautiful.
But I’m not going that way. Candace, I think, is south of here in the Barelas. In my search, I learned that she teaches, goes to church, and is on the board of a recreation center in the Barelas. I pick up the complimentary White Pages and start to scan. It looks about the same as my internet search but it feels more legitimate to see it printed on paper. I run my finger down the list of names beginning with “O”. There’s something like 100 Olivares, three quarters of them living in the Barelas. There are no “Candaces,” so I look at all the “C’s.” There are five. I write down the addresses and find them on my map. She could still be married and she might be listed under his name, but I have to start somewhere. But not today, it’s almost 6:00 p.m. and I’m tired and hungry. I feel slightly lightheaded. I freshen up and go down stairs to find some good southwestern food to eat.
Tuesday morning, I cannot get over the mountains and the sky. How does anybody get any work done here, I wonder. I get a breakfast to go and with my nice strong café au lait, I head to the Barelas. It’s a predominantly Hispanic neighborhood, old as the city, and filled with a mixture of buildings. There are some old adobe homes, some with Spanish-style architecture and others are a slightly more modern take on apartment living.
It’s a busy morning and people are going about their daily lives. I am looking for C. Olivares #1. I find the first address and knock on the door. An older man named Carlos answers; he lives alone. I find C. Olivares #2 in an apartment building. A college student named Cari answers. I find C. Olivares # 3, but nobody answers the door. Someone is home and I can tell by the car in the driveway and the open windows with salsa music blaring, but nobody comes to the door. I go a-hunting C. Olivares #4. Connie answers the door. And while she is sweet and offers me a biscuit straight from the oven, she is not Candace and I move on. I have big hopes for C. Olivares #5, but they are dashed when three kids and a young woman with a baby on her hip named Consuela answers the door.
It’s after 12:00 p.m., my stomach is growling, and I’m tired of meandering these old streets squinting at addresses and trying to parallel park this humongous SUV. But what the hell, I’m not too far. I circle back to C. Olivares #3 just in time to see a dark figure drive away in a red Jeep. I consider giving chase, but I’m not sure at all if that was even a woman. I’m tired, so I decide to do a stake out.
I drive to a local diner, Quirky Coffee, use the bathroom, buy a turkey and cheese sandwich, iced tea, and some chips. Then I go back to the house and wait across the street. I study the house. It’s small but well kept. The front garden is full of blooming flowers and artsy and colorful outdoor garden sculptures. I wonder if this is what Candace’s home looks like. I look for signs of children, but I don’t see any toys. I consider checking the mailbox but decide I don’t want to risk going to jail.
I wait. Various people walk by, older men going on a walk, teens on skateboards going wherever the local hang-out is, women with bags of groceries. It seems like a nice neighborhood. There is one figure, Kokopelli, who keeps showing up almost everywhere I look – in the airport, the restaurant, on street signs, even in the garden of this house I’m watching. I remember him as some kind of trickster deity, having something to do with fertility or babies. I decide I like his style. He seems frivolous with his dancing and flute playing, but he’s everywhere, making babies and doing his thing, whatever that might be.
At about 3:30 p.m., I see the Jeep returning. It’s coming towards me, but the sun in glinting off the windshield and I can’t see inside. It parks in the driveway and I hold my breath. The driver’s door opens and out steps a curvy, tall brown-skinned woman. She closes her door and opens the back door. She lifts her head up to the sun. It’s Candace. I see her freckles, I see her smile, and I’m about to open my door when two kids pop out the Jeep with backpacks on, a boy, about nine or ten years old and a girl about seven. They look Hispanic with their straight black hair and light brown skin. They smile up at her and run up the porch. She laughs and runs after them trying to beat them to the door. They all go in and shut the door behind them.
I feel so stupid. What was I expecting? I hadn’t really expected kids, cute kids who obviously loved her. Who was I to barge into her life? Her life looks just fine the way it is; she looks happy and healthy, her house is cute, her car is running and there are two kids who adore her. I sit in my car, paralyzed with indecision, stunned by my own stupidity. Why would I underestimate her ability to ge
t her life together? An hour later, a man drives up in a Mustang and parks behind her car. Oh God! He must be her husband. I slump down in my seat. He gets out. He is tall, ruggedly handsome, and he looks athletic, dressed in shorts, a t-shirt, and a baseball cap. He has a whistle around his neck. I drive away.
I drive up into the mountains and park at a lookout. Up under the big sky, I search for answers. Why the hell did I come here? Why the hell did I fly out here? What the hell is wrong with me? I cry and cry my stupid little eyes out. She’s fine. She’s so obviously fine and happy. It’s me with the problem. It’s always been me with the problem. I watch the stars come out one by one. They grow brighter and brighter as the sky around them deepens—beautiful. It’s getting colder, and my stomach starts growling. Numb, I drive back down the mountain, find my way to my hotel, and eat something in the bar there and drink red wine. I decide not to think. I watch some sports on ESPN and then go to my room. I can’t call anyone, can’t yet admit to being so ridiculous, so vain, so selfish, and just stupid. I sleep the good drowsy red wine sleep.
I wake up around 8:00 a.m. with a headache and loll in bed watching movies. I have a decision to make – leave without seeing her or go and see her anyway. Around noon, I make a list of pros and cons. Pros to seeing her – I see her and she sees me; maybe we’ll become friends again or maybe those aren’t really her kids and that’s not really her husband. Maybe she is unhappy and will dump them and come away with me; maybe she’ll take me on as a mistress or maybe she’ll have become a bitch and smell funny and I suddenly won’t care about her anymore or maybe I won’t feel anything and I can move on with my life.
Cons to seeing her – maybe I’ll realize how happy she is and get suicidal and kill myself … maybe she still hates me … maybe she’ll pity me, or make fun of me, or think I’m crazy … maybe she’ll realize that our high school relationship was so juvenile and just a silly stage or maybe she’s gone religious and she’ll curse me, or worse, pray for me; maybe she is miserable and she’ll abandon her husband and kids; maybe she won’t remember me, or if she does, maybe she’ll belittle what we had; maybe she’ll think I’m bitchy now or smell funny.
I spend all of Wednesday in bed thinking about the past. I’m still indecisive. Pathetic.
Thursday morning I get up and decide, “Fuck it.” I came all this way. I have to see her if for nothing else than she knows that I still think about her and love her and want her to be well and happy wherever she is—whatever she is doing. Enough with the pity party! I bring babies into the world, damn it! I try to shake off my doubt. I get dressed in my ‘cute butt’ jeans and a beige button-down shirt. I’m trying to blend in a little. I venture onto the street and find a funky jewelry boutique and buy some turquoise earrings and a ring. My plane leaves tomorrow morning. I have one day to get this right. I eat a light breakfast at an outdoor café. I marvel at the sky and breathe deeply. I gather my courage.
I slowly drive back to Candace’s house. The air is starting to heat up, and I’m starting to sweat. Did I put on deodorant? I hope I did, I know I did, right? I cannot remember and have a brief moment of panic. I cannot see her again for the first time in 15 years sweaty and smelly! I do it. I sniff…ocean fresh, whew!
I turn onto her street and see her cherry red Jeep in the driveway. The Mustang is not there. I park my rental and jump out. I walk to her house in a daze, barely feeling my feet on the ground. I can hear music as I get closer. I step up on the porch and see movement through a white lacy curtain. The window is open. I swallow hard, lift my hand, and press the doorbell. I can hear the ding-dong clearly. She’s heard it too, the music lowers and I hear her walking across the floor. The door opens and she stands there, in a blue jogging suit, mouth open. We stare at each other.
I say, “Hi.”
“Hi,” she whispers, eyes wide. “What are you …?” She stops and looks around. “Come in, come in, OK?” She opens the door and steps back to let me in.
“I can’t believe you are here,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, I just can’t … Dee, how did you get here? What are you doing here?” She is so shocked that I feel bad. Maybe I should have called or given her some kind of warning.
“Sit down,” I say. I remember that I am a medical professional and the last thing I want is for her to faint or something. She sits on a big easy chair covered with watercolor flowers. I sit on the matching love seat.
“You look great!” I say, trying to break the ice. “I love this house, and your flowers out front are just beautiful.” Silence.
“Candace, I’m so sorry to surprise you like this, but I’ve been thinking about you, about us and I guess I wanted to find you, to see you again, to talk to you again. It took a while to find you.” I hesitate and try to figure out what she’s feeling or thinking, but I can’t. She’s looking at the floor; she’s fiddling with the rings on her fingers. I see a drop on one of her fingers, then another. I run to her and drop to my knees in front of her, grabbing her hands.
“Candace, please don’t cry. I didn’t come to upset you. Please don’t be sad. I’m sorry. If you want me to go, I’ll go. I just wanted to see you again,” I say, desperately bowing before her, kissing her hand. Crying was never in any of my imagined scenarios.
“No, don’t go. I don’t want you to go. I thought I’d never see you again. I didn’t want to see you again, but now that you’re here….” She begins crying in earnest then and I reach up to hug her, to hold her.
“Candace, I …” I begin.
“Sshhhhh, Dee, you always talked too much.” I hush and just hug her. I hadn’t even thought about how much I missed something that simple. She smelled the same: clean, fresh, and just a little spicy like ginger. I felt her relax and release into my arms, I felt her exhale in my ear. It was truly like coming home again. I lean back and we look at each other. She smiles at me. I grin at her. I couldn’t help it. I lean in to kiss her.
She leans back and says, “No, I can’t.”
“OK,” I reply, “we won’t.” We let our arms down and separate. I stand up and take my seat back on the love seat. She reaches for a tissue and blows her nose.
“OK, Dee, how did you find me?” she asks. I tell her the whole story of my search for her, including Kevin and his heartbreak. She looks sad at that. When I got to the part about stalking her house two days ago, she jumps up.
“You were here, sitting outside my house, and didn’t come to the door?” she exclaims.
“I saw you with two children, looking happy and busy, and then I saw your husband come home. I didn’t want to disturb you when you were with your family, so I left,” I explain.
“Oh, you saw them?” she asks.
“Yes. Candace, I came here…. I came here because my life, though parts of it are wonderful…. Hey, I did become a midwife, you know!”
“You did! That’s great, Dee, that must be such a great job! You have to tell me about it,” she exclaims.
“I will, but I wanted to say that my life is great in many ways but I have not found, um, I have not been, I have not found the right person yet. I have had plenty of girlfriends but I haven’t been in love with any of them like … like I was with you. Once I realized that, I just couldn’t stop thinking about you and wondering … wondering if you were that right person for me, you know, my true love.” There, I said it! Whew! Her face is unreadable.
“But,” I add, “I did not come here to interfere or mess up your life. I guess I just came to see … uh ….”
“Hmm … lots of girlfriends? Have you just been with women then?” she asks, changing the subject.
“Yeah, just women. Well, one guy in college just to see, you know, but yeah, all women,” I reply. “What about you?”
“Me?” She sighs. “It’s a long story, well, no, I guess it’s not. After we broke up, my family watched me like a hawk. When I went down to Spelman I know there were girls there who reported back to their mothers, who reported back to my mother about what I was d
oing. Luckily, I met Kevin and he was nice and that worked just fine…until it didn’t.”
“That was some story he told us. It didn’t sound like you to just up and leave somebody like that. It was cold.” She is thoughtful.
“It was the only way I could think of at the time. I went down to Spelman to grow up and be independent, but I just changed hands. At home, I did what my mother told me, with Kevin, I did what he told me to do. By the time we were ready to graduate, I could see my life laid out in front of me, and it wasn’t a bad life, but it wasn’t of my making or my choosing, so I ran away,” she says. “I’m sorry I hurt him though, he’s a good guy. I just didn’t have a good enough reason to leave, but I had to anyway, you know?” I did.
“I came out here to start a new life, away from all those expectations and pressures. I wanted to be somewhere else and this place is beautiful, don’t you think?” she asks. I nod.
“So then you met your husband out here?” I ask, trying to sound polite.
“Yes, I met Ramon here. He’s a math teacher and the baseball coach at my school. We got married five years ago,” she said.
“Oh, are the children yours? They looked older….” I stop. I feel like I’m being rude.
“It’s OK. Elena and Marcos are from Ramon’s first wife. She is a drug addict though, so he has sole custody. I’m the only mother they know,” she explains.
“Oh. Well, they look like great kids,” I say, feeling like I have definitely intruded here and perhaps I should beat a quick retreat and save face.
“They are great. Smart, funny, and a lot of fun, actually.” She lights up talking about them.
I’m happy for her, I truly am, but I am feeling a little jealous of her happy life. I’m a tragic, self-centered bastard. I know I am because in my heart of hearts I wanted her to be miserable so I could sweep in here, whisk her into my arms, and we could ride off into the sunset together. I’m pissed that’s not going to happen.