Feelin' the Vibe

by Candice Dow

  “I feel so bad.”

  “Why do you feel bad?”

  “Because I should have known you weren’t the type to get it a couple of times and quit it. I thought I taught you better than that. Uh, uh, uh.” She gasped with frustration.

  “Ms. Teeny, honey, this ain’t your fault. This is a feeling that had been there long before I knew you or Kenneth.”

  “So, what you going to tell Kenneth?”

  “That I’m going on a medical mission. We’ve discussed doing charity work around the world, but we couldn’t afford it.” I huffed. “Paying for fertility. You know?”

  “I feel you, Clark, but I just don’t want you going over to some war zone for a rendezvous. I told you that the key to cheating is not getting caught. Now, you trying to get caught.”

  “I’m not trying to get caught. I’m just trying to find myself. And while I understand what you’re trying to tell me, right now this is what I’m doing. So here’s what I need you to do…”

  I laid out the instructions of whom, where, and what I’d be doing in Nicaragua. Teeny agreed to support my scheme. I told her how much she meant to me and thanked her over and over again.

  “You just make sure you get back here safely. ’Cause God knows I don’t want this on my conscience.”

  I laughed. “Teeny, you don’t have a conscience.”

  “Like I said, you better come home in one piece.”

  “Trust me, I will.”

  I called my mother shortly after and told her the same lie I planned on telling Kenneth. She didn’t ask a bunch of questions, but I felt like she thought I was going crazy again, too. I was in my right mind, and I knew what I felt, and I had to respect my feelings for the first time in years.

  Before I walked into the house, I prayed for forgiveness. I knew that I was about to sit in my husband’s face and tell a big, fat lie. I looped the Target bags around my wrists and went into the house. After I dropped the bags on the floor, I said, “Hey, Kenneth.”

  “Hey.”

  He turned to face the television. I leaned on the half wall separating my kitchen from the family room. I stared at him before I spoke. His ashy size-thirteen feet were propped on the coffee table, as he scoffed down a big bowl of Kellogg’s Honey Smacks. Milk dripped on his navy T-shirt. Clearly, he could feel my presence, but his eyes focused on the television and his food. Just as upbeat, I said, “Kenneth, you’re not going to believe this.”

  “What?” he said without facing me.

  “I met a few women at the conference today that have a nonprofit organization, and they travel to third-world countries providing aid and medical assistance to black people. I mean, they focus mainly on countries that a lot of people don’t realize have black people, like, Belize, Nicaragua, and Honduras. You know, all through Central and South America.”

  I was spitting out the plan just as Devin had explained it to me. Technically, I wasn’t lying; I was simply substituting.

  “They had an upcoming mission scheduled and I asked if I could be a part of it.”

  He nodded. “That sounds good. When are they going? How long?”

  “Monday. This Monday. They’re going to Nicaragua for two weeks and I told them I’d go and I—”

  “You didn’t think you should speak to me first?”

  “We don’t have any kids around here. They aren’t coming back until a week after I’m scheduled to return. Why shouldn’t I be able to go away when I want to?”

  “Clark, you’re right. It might be good for you to get away.”

  He leaned back on the chair, folded his hands behind his head, and went back to watching television. That was usually my signal that the conversation was over. I picked up the bags and took them upstairs to my room. Then, I came back down to grab my luggage from the basement. I walked through the kitchen, feeling like I had one last thing to say to Kenneth, but I decided not to and headed back upstairs.

  I turned up the Classic R & B music channel on the television. I sang and packed. Oddly enough, I felt no guilt.

  33

  DEVIN

  When I was finished packing for Nicaragua, I told Taylor we needed to talk. She slouched beside me in the bed. I looked her in the eye and said, “I need more from you. I didn’t get married to be single and it’s obvious you did. And if things don’t change, I can’t say how long I’ll be here.”

  Her mouth stretched open and she pushed me. I was unemotional. After yesterday, she needed to know what I was feeling. If I walked out on her, I didn’t want it to be a shock. I wanted her to know it was about more than seeing someone else. It was about what I wasn’t getting at home.

  “How can you say that? You act like you’re happy.”

  “I am happy and you are happy. So, we appear to be happy, but you do your thing and I do mine. I mean, at times that’s cool. And it’s just getting more evident to me now that we’re in a single marriage.”

  “That’s ’cause you’re so busy all the time. We don’t spend any quality time together.”

  “You know, you being on that panel was quality time for me.”

  “I was sick!”

  I looked at her. “Really?”

  “Yes, really.”

  “Look, I’m leaving in the morning. I’m going to take this time to really think about where we’re going and what this marriage is all about.”

  “Are you trying to threaten me?”

  “You don’t get it, do you? Like I said, I’m going to do a lot of thinking and I suggest you do the same.”

  “I don’t have a problem with you. You have a problem with me, so you need to think, obviously.”

  “Taylor, we have problems in our relationship. Fractures. And if we don’t fix them, it will eventually end.”

  Taylor was furious, but I promised myself a long time ago not to hold back my feelings or my thoughts for the sake of protecting a woman’s emotions. I knew I was suffocating her with my words, but she needed to know that we were losing the connection we once shared. And the saddest part about it: We were only ten months into the marriage. I was at the same checkpoint when I realized my first marriage wouldn’t work. Was this my commitment threshold? A slight part of me was bothered by that possibility, but I knew it couldn’t be true.

  She got out of the bed and walked into the bathroom. I could hear her sniffle, but I had no sympathy for her. She was never around when I needed her. Mrs. Dillon clearly thought my wife was nonexistent, and often I thought she was, too. So it was time she knew what I was feeling. If, after the trip, Clark and I decided to take our relationship further, Taylor would not be blindsided.

  It would be in my best interest to prolong my marriage until the election, but it made sense to start planting the seed now. She walked out of the bathroom and said, “Devin, I wasn’t the one that wanted to rush into this marriage. You were.”

  “We’re here now. So, whatchu going to do about it?”

  She got in the bed, tossed and turned irritably, covered her head, and went to sleep. I kept looking at TV. I didn’t really expect her to willingly discuss our problems. She would have rather ignored them so they wouldn’t interrupt her daily agenda.

  At times like this, I wondered if this was my punishment for disrespecting my man’s wishes. I stared at the basketball game and thought about my boy. Then I would glance at Taylor. Karma had a vendetta against me, and maybe if I made it right with Clark, my future would run smoother.

  34

  CLARK

  Kenneth dropped me off at the airport at four-thirty in the morning. He seemed slightly excited that I was leaving, even leaning in for a kiss when he took my luggage from the trunk. I left my wedding band home because it would be safer there. I wasn’t trying to get jacked for a ring that I wasn’t sure I’d be wearing much longer. I’d washed my hair and pulled it back into one ponytail. I had on a pair of wide-leg khakis and a lightweight denim button-up, with a white tank top underneath. I swapped my designer shades for a pair of knockoffs. I got my b
oarding pass and headed to the departure gates. I had a four-hour layover in Miami, then on to my destination.

  When the plane landed in Managua, I couldn’t wait to see Devin. He told me he’d be standing right outside of customs. It had been a while since I’d been to a Spanish-speaking country and I didn’t have the opportunity to brush up on the language.

  Finally, after I went through customs and picked up my bags, I walked out of the airport. The heat was smoldering. Cabdrivers screamed “Taxi” from every direction. People asked me questions and I looked at them like I was an alien, completely from another universe and searching for something familiar. My body spun continuously, and I wondered where he was. I began to feel regretful, confused, afraid. I didn’t go over the itinerary after Devin said he’d meet me here and I was afraid to pull it out in the crowd. What am I doing here?

  Using my hand as a visor, I looked left and right impatiently. Everything was blurry, even my thoughts. My heartbeat thumped slowly and suspiciously. When I saw Devin appear clean and crisp from out of the mist, it felt almost magical. I blushed uncontrollably and all my questions vanished with his presence. So I stood there and Devin walked toward me. He wore a pair of long fatigue shorts, Pumas, a T-shirt, and a baseball cap. He wrapped his arms around me and held me tightly. I said, “I made it.”

  He grabbed my luggage and said, “I’m happy. I really am.”

  He started walking, and I followed him to a small airport that would take us to the Corn Islands. Devin explained that the flight didn’t technically leave on a schedule. It would leave once they had enough passengers. We laughed about it, because it really didn’t matter. It was whatever, and if we had to stay the night in Managua it didn’t matter. I was with the person I wanted to see.

  We walked into the airport and up to the counter holding hands. Devin was simply good at everything. I watched in awe as he fluently talked to the airline representative. He said something about me, assumingly positive, as the attendant pointed and nodded. I smiled back. Devin told me to get on the scale with my luggage. Suddenly, I began to question this connecting flight.

  “This is one of those little tiny planes. Oh, God.”

  Devin wrapped one arm around me. “If you gotta die, you may as well go in style. On a plane in Nicaragua, headed to the Corn Islands on a mission.”

  He laughed, but I didn’t like the sound of the headline. “Personally, I’d rather not die.”

  “It’s inevitable, though. That’s why you have to live for today. Pura Vida.” He explained, “Pure Life. It’s a common slogan throughout Central America.”

  I guess that was what made Devin Patterson special. He was multidimensional, a master at most things. And of everything he was, he didn’t have an inflated view of himself. He was still simplistic and easygoing. I smiled back. “Pura Vida.”

  “You might want to text someone to let them know you arrived. My cell phone doesn’t work well in the islands.”

  I sent a safe-arrival message to Ms. Teeny and Kenneth. Kenneth responded: GOOD. Teeny responded: HAVE FUN.

  When time came to board the plane, I held Devin’s hand. He wrapped his arm around my shoulder. We climbed into the little ten-passenger plane. Devin sat by the window and I took the aisle seat. Within minutes we were on the runway. The plane rocked sloppily during takeoff. I crunched Devin’s hand. The plane felt extremely unstable. Once up in the air, it fishtailed continuously. While Devin tried to show me sights from the sky, I started singing gospel songs. It got so bad at one point, I was singing, “Yes, Jesus loves me.”

  Devin looked at me and burst into laughter. “Clark, don’t worry. We’re going to get there safely. God promised me this election. I can’t win if I’m dead.”

  “Devin, stop joking.”

  “People that are afraid of death aren’t doing what they want to do. You know that. Right?”

  “I’m not afraid of dying; I just want it to be an easy death. A plane crash seems like torture before death.”

  “I’ll protect you. I promise. Just relax and enjoy the ride.”

  When I felt the plane finally descending, I covered my face. My palms were damp and I looked over at Devin and he said, “It wasn’t that bad, huh?”

  “I guess not.”

  The plane struggled to balance during landing and I felt like there was a baseball in my throat. I dropped my head in my hands and Devin massaged my neck. Finally, it touched down on the short, asphalt runway, and I kissed Devin. He looked at me. “You still with me, baby?”

  I nodded and quickly climbed from the plane. We walked into the miniairport and waited for our bags.

  Taxi drivers asked, “You need taxi?”

  Devin negotiated a price with one and we headed to the hotel. While we rode, Devin explained that a lot of African settlers came to this part of Nicaragua to escape slavery. They speak a mixture of English Creole and Spanish, so he didn’t expect too much of a language barrier.

  Devin said, “You used to speak a little Spanish. What happened?”

  “If you don’t use it, you lose it.”

  “You haven’t lost anything. Nothing.”

  His eyes scanned me from head to toe. The taxi driver asked, “Honeymoon?”

  Devin said, “Yes.” Then he looked at me. “A long overdue honeymoon.”

  I nodded in agreement. Our love was long overdue, and it was unfortunate there were so many obstacles in front of us preventing it. But I planned to live it up while we were thousands of miles away from all the obligations and false commitments.

  The taxi pulled over to a small resort at the side of the road. Devin hopped out and I followed. I could see the beach through the walkway. The water crashing up on the shore made me feel good. Devin said, “Welcome to paradise.”

  “Thank you.”

  After we checked in, we headed to our cabin-style room. I walked in and the suite was surprisingly beautiful. Dark hardwood floors and furniture, a very large bathroom, a sitting room, and a high-post king-sized bed. Devin sat on the couch and asked me to sit beside him. He said, “We’re going to have fun. We’ll be at the clinic from nine to twelve each day. Mainly the students will be there. I just came to oversee things.”

  “The students?”

  “Yeah, it’s a program for law students interested in politics or community service. A different group each year, so don’t worry.”

  “Devin, I don’t know. That’s not cool to flaunt me around these students.”

  “You could be my wife.”

  “I should be your wife.”

  He gave me a high five. “Absolutely.”

  We changed into something more comfortable and headed to the resort bar. Devin purchased a bottle of ron de caña and a bottle of Coke. The young lady at the bar flirted with him. She spoke English, but I could barely understand her. He grabbed my hand to guide me to the cabana on the beach deck.

  “What about the drinks?”

  “She’s going to bring them to us.”

  “It’s not like she has to make it.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  We sat side by side in the brightly colored wooden beach chairs. The sun had just started to go down, and we watched in awe. The water washing up on the rocks beneath us gave the beautiful sunset a melody. The sea met the sky and it seemed like the perfect picture. The beach wasn’t loaded with a bunch of people. Aside from one or two other people, it was just Devin and me. When I was done soaking up nature, I looked at Devin and he grabbed my hand.

  I said, “Don’t you wish life could be so simple?”

  “It can be.”

  He grabbed the side of my chair and pulled me closer to him and began to stroke my hair. Finally, the waitress brought our drinks down, with two glasses of ice. Devin sat up to mix the drinks and handed me one. He’d boasted about how sweet this rum was and how it was like honey. I couldn’t dispute his claim. It went down so smoothly you could drink it straight, which Devin did.

  By the time the sun was gone, we were in on
e chair. My back rested on his chest and my hands stroked his legs, while he rubbed my shoulders. We talked about our relationships and how despite being apart, we’d grown together. We weighed the risks, and that night we agreed that we all have a short time on this earth and you may as well follow your heart.

  35

  DEVIN

  When we arrived at the clinic the next morning, the students were having their introduction briefing. Some had their backpacks. Others appeared to be dressed for the beach. The AIDS Outreach Center was run by Señora Gonzales. She was a middle-aged nurse who decided she had to do something for new mothers living with HIV. And she took what little she had to open up the facility. They didn’t have much and survived mainly on donations. She tried to take as many women and children as possible, and often they’d share beds. But she was more concerned with them having food, shelter, and medical care. Love My People volunteers came in to help cook food, wash clothes, and provide Señora Gonzales with any support she needed. Many of the volunteers in my foundation were first-year law students. I designed the program so that students could experience and identify with the people; that way they would be more compelled to fight for injustice around the world after graduation. Many other foundations also supported her with similar programs.

  Señora Gonzales and I immediately developed a special bond the first time I came to Nicaragua. She was a petite, dark-skinned woman with steel caps on her teeth, but her motherly spirit was bigger than life. Not that she wasn’t thankful for all the help she received, but she was ecstatic to see someone her color running this type of organization. She would encourage me: “Devin, bring more of my color to Nicaragua.”

  The home sat up on wooden stilts and was constructed of wood and cinder blocks. It was a large home and many of the women had small cots to sleep on. When we walked up the stairs, Clark looked at me with an uncomfortable expression. I put my hand on her back to let her know this was cool. When we walked in, Señora Gonzales said, “Devin, thank you so much. I am so happy to see you.”