I don’t just dwell on all the wrong in my life. I manage to think about the good as well; the life preservers that God has thrown along the way. My best friend and sister for life, Capree and her family who took me in and showed me what unconditional love is; they showed me that family doesn’t necessarily mean being blood related. I even think about how God saved my mother, Rita, from her own demons and drug addiction. Lastly, I think about my fallen music career. I had a chance to be an icon, a legend and I probably blew it by being lost in my own depression.
I lie in bed for days thinking and writing out my feelings; writing out my story. I’ve come to the realization that I lived, and I lived well. Maybe not in a traditional sense but I lived a story that can be compiled into ten different stories with me being the main character in each. I also have come to the realization that I owe a lot of people an apology.
As the days pass, I pen out every feeling and emotion that my heart has ever felt. I shut my journal and close my eyes, enjoying the breeze that the private island, Isle Catalina, is awarding me as I rock in the chair on the porch.
“Do you want some fresh squeezed lemonade?” Aunt Ruthie asks, stepping out of the house.
“No thank you. I’m fine,” I respond, opening my eyes. She smiles warmly at me before walking back inside.
I fix my eyes on the ocean and watch storm clouds from afar. It looks so peaceful and yet terrifying as I watch a lightning bolt crack out of the sky in the distance, hitting the ocean.
“A peaceful storm. That’s life, isn’t it?” I question picking up my phone to finally call Nyce. It’s been four days since we got the test results back and hopefully he still isn’t angry with me.
“Hello,” he answers the phone which is a great sign.
“It’s me,” I greet, stepping down the stairs and walking on the beach.
“I know.”
He doesn’t sound angry. He sounds calm and in good spirits.
“Did you get your results?” I ask.
“Yeah. Aunt Ruthie called me.”
“Oh…well…then you know that we are negative,” I say swallowing the knot in my throat.
Silence
“Are you coming back? Can you please come back?” I ask.
Silence
“I can hear you breathing. Please come back,” my voice cracks.
“No. I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to do this anymore. I put my hands on you; something that I’ve never done, something I would never do to a woman. You brought that side out of me. Nothing good comes from that,” he says sounding ashamed.
“I forgive you. Please. Don’t do this?” I exclaim as warm tears trickle down my face and my heart falls into the pit of my stomach.
“I’m am so fuckin’ sorry for putting my hands on you. That’s something that I will forever regret but I can’t do this anymore. I don’t even know who you are anymore. You’ve changed. All the shit that made me love you is no longer there. Your innocence, your purity…it’s all gone.”
“I know I fucked up. I was just going through some shit, but it was never my intention to hurt you or harm you in any way. I would never jeopardize us. I have changed, and it wasn’t for the better, but you put the light back in my life. I am changing for the better. Please, Nyce. Let me prove myself to you. Don’t let your pride and ego mess this up. I know what I did, and I swear if I could take it back I would but please don’t let this be it,” I beg. “Please.”
“I can’t, Aneesah. I don’t trust you. I can’t even look at you the same. You and I were never right from the start. I loved you and in some bizarre way, I still do but I lost six years of my life for you; stepped away from you so you could live. I changed who I was for you. I had to deal with you getting married and a baby and your drug habit and an HIV scare. I can’t deal with this shit no more. I don’t want to deal with this shit anymore. It will never be the same.”
“Wait a minute. How does my marriage and baby have anything to do with this?”
“I lost my freedom because I loved you and you in return got married and almost had a baby.”
“How is that fair? That’s what you wanted. I was willing to wait for you and sacrifice my career for you. You pushed me away.”
“You’re missing the point. I lost years out of my life while you moved on. I didn’t want you to wait but I’m not going to pretend like the shit didn’t hurt. Loving you is too stressful. I don’t want the stress or the responsibility anymore. I have to let you go.”
“You don’t mean that. I love you and you love me and it’s real. We have loved each other for over thirteen years and no, it hasn’t been some fairy tale bullshit but it’s real,” I repeat. “You can’t run from me or ignore it any more than I can run from you. We tried moving on from each other and I’m telling you, I am forever going to be part of you. Your mind and your heart won’t let you escape me. Yes, I got married and yes, I loved Saheed but not fully. Not like how I loved you.”
“I will move on and I suggest you do the same.”
“I can’t,” I cry. “I know you love me.”
“I do love you,” he sighs. “I just can’t be with you.”
“Please don’t do this. You’re letting your pride, ego and hurt feelings talk.”
“This is my heart and my head talking. Goodbye, Aneesah,” he says hanging up.
I drop to my knees with a broken heart, feeling all my hopes and dreams of having a family with this man slip away from me. I don’t know how long I sat, wallowing in my own depression before Aunt Ruthie plucks me from the sand, and walks me back inside. I climb into bed, ball up in fetal position, and let my tears wash my face.
For two days, I stay in bed paralyzed, desperately fighting myself not to fall back into that dark hole of depression that I just climbed out of. Aunt Ruthie tries to get me out of bed to eat, to be responsive but she has to let me go through these emotions my way. I assure her that I am fine, and I am not thinking about drugs nor am I going to relapse, but she doesn’t believe me. She just lurks in my doorway every fifteen minutes making sure that I haven’t slit my wrists.
I open my eyes after my fourth nap of the day and something snaps in me. I’ve been lying in this bed for three days before my master plan to get Nyce back hits me. I jump out of bed, turn on my laptop and navigate to YouTube, typing my stage name, Aní, into the search engine. Just as I suspected, my clip from the night at the karaoke bar where I sang for Nyce is on there with 5.7 million views. I can get Nyce back and I can get him back through my music.
I stride over to my keyboard to finish the song that I was writing prior to him leaving. He had loved it and if I can arrange it to where I am genuinely pouring out my love for him, just maybe he can find a way to forgive me.
I become fixated, almost obsessed with the song as I feverishly write and compose. Nine days has passed, and I still feel that I haven’t mastered it yet. I must get every word, every melody, every lyric just right for this to work. He has to feel the love I have for him without a doubt, without any words left unsaid. I have to nail this if I am ever going to get my man back.
“Aneesah,” Aunt Ruthie calls my name. I look up from my keyboard to give her my attention.
“There is a surprise for you docking,” she smiles. My soul jolts with joy as I jump out of my seat to run to him. I run out of the house and towards the beach. A fat, silver pit-bull is running towards me. I laugh in excitement to finally be reunited with my dog, Biggie, as he tackles me to the sand and starts licking my face.
“Okay…okay…I missed you too,” I laugh, trying to push him off me so I can stand up to greet Nyce. I watch two men carry a wheel chair off the boat, as a slew of people follow suite.
“Oh my god. Fernàn,” I exclaim, running to greet the Cuban drug lord and Nyce’s ex-boss who happens to own this island. I love talking to Fernàn and always speak to him in his Spanish-speaking tongue. I think he appreciates it since he feels that most American’s are too self-centered to learn other languages
.
“Fernàn,” I smile, throwing my arms around his frail body. He is breathing through an oxygen mask as the tank sits comfortably in his lap. He looks frail, sickly, and weak. His presence no longer exudes confidence or fear. His presence only screams that death is near. Cancer is a cruel joke against humanity.
“Aneesah,” he whispers my name, removing his mask. He gives me a weak smile.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t a match,” I tell him softly in Spanish. I had volunteered to be his bone marrow donor.
“Ah Mamacita, what have I told you about that? Are you a sorry person?” He asks caressing my hand.
“No,” I smile. He smiles brightly because the last time he asked me this question, my answer was the total opposite.
“Good,” he chuckles before kissing my hand. “Besides, I am ready to meet my maker.” He lets out a violent cough before putting his oxygen mask back on. I watch the men carry him up to the house.
“This is Aunt Ruthie. Nyce’s aunt,” I introduce them as we sit in the living room.
“Yes. I talked to James. He said that you are doing much better,” he replies letting out another cough.
“She’s a nurse,” I volunteer. “Aunt Ruthie, this is Fernàn. He owns the island,” I inform her speaking in English.
“Yes. Jimmy and I talked. I will be taking care of him,” Aunt Ruthie says walking out of the room, leaving me confused as to what is going on.
“Thanks for bringing my dog.”
“Oh, why the long face?” he asks, noticing my disappointment that Nyce isn’t coming back.
“What long face?” I force a smile. Why isn’t Nyce coming back? Obviously, he’s thinking about me. Why else would he send Biggie here?
“Aneesah,” Fernàn whispers my name.
“Yes?”
“I came here to die,” he confesses. “My favorite moments of my life were spent here with my wife. I brought her here. Would you like to meet her?” He asks as I stare at him confused. He nods his head to one of his guards and I watch the big man disappear.
“So, you’re staying here?” I inquire.
“Yup. Me and Ruth,” he replies with another cough.
The big man returns to the room holding an urn.
“Meet the love of my life, Catalina,” Fernàn states holding the urn.
“I’m glad she’s with you,” I smile.
“She has been visiting me lately in my dreams, prompting me to return to this island.”
I peek outside and watch the crew of people building ramps and a walkway from the house to the beach.
“Have you made up with your daughter yet?” I ask Fernàn inquiring about his estranged daughter.
“She wants nothing to do with me. I’ve tried,” he replies looking sad.
“What about Nas?” I ask referring to his son.
“Fuck him,” he laughs.
“Oh no. What happened?”
“Nothing. He’s in training. Do you mind handing me a blanket? It’s pretty chilly in here.”
I rise from the chair and grab the blanket off the couch, placing it on Fernàn’s lap. It’s 70 degrees in here according to the thermostat. I watch Fernàn doze off as the men continuously buzz around the house and beach making it wheelchair accessible. When Fernàn starts to snore, I gently take Catalina out of his lap and sit her on the mantle overtop the fireplace. Walking into the master bedroom, I begin to clean my stuff out so Fernàn can have his room and house back.
Once I complete my task, I grab Biggie and take him out on the beach to play while the men finish up their work.
“Did you see daddy before he shipped you down here, Big?” I ask before throwing him the ball. He runs after the ball and brings it back to me.
“How is he? Did he tell you he misses me?” Biggie stares at me, wagging his tail, waiting patiently for me to throw the ball.
I play with Biggie all afternoon running along the beach and swimming in the ocean while the men work. When I see them start to pack up their stuff, I walk back to the house to load my luggage.
“You are more than welcome to stay but I understand if you desire to leave,” Fernàn states.
“You want me to stay to watch you die?” I ask. He looks at me with soft hazel green eyes but a silent understanding if I were to decline his invitation.
“Can I keep my dog?” I smile.
“Of course,” he beams brightly. Fernàn dismisses his entire staff off the island including his favorite bodyguard, Luìs, leaving just me, him, Aunt Ruthie, and Biggie to remain behind until his final day comes.
Since Fernàn is in the master suite and Aunt Ruthie is occupying the other bedroom, Biggie and I make ourselves comfortable on the pull-out couch in the living room. I set my keyboard up in the corner and set out to complete my love song to Nyce. I’m stroking the keys, humming and writing when Fernàn wheels himself in.
“I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” I ask looking up at the clock. It’s almost 10pm.
“That was beautiful,” he compliments.
“Thank you,” I smile.
“So, are you getting back to your music?”
“I’m not sure yet. This is just something I am trying to master to get my man back,” I laugh.
“Ah, yes. James is hardheaded, but he will return when he’s ready,” Fernàn assures me.
“I don’t know. I really messed up.”
“Don’t we all?” He chuckles. He wheels himself to the fireplace and tries to reach up to grab his wife. I jump up from my seat to hand her to him.
“When I die, I wish to be cremated and placed in here with her,” he says. “And I want to stay right here on this island with her. The mantel is the perfect resting place for us.”
I’m not sure if he’s talking to me or just thinking out loud.
“Are you scared?” I softly ask. He thinks about it for a moment.
“No. Not if it means I get to reunite with the love of my life. I’ve done some horrible things in my time but knowing that I will see her again, even if it’s just for one second because I am pretty sure I am going to hell, it will all be worth it,” he chuckles before letting out a violent cough.
“Have you made peace with God?” I ask. He cracks a smile.
“I think God stopped listening to me a long time ago. I am certainly not a good person. I’ve done some pretty horrific things.”
We spend the rest of the night talking and putting a puzzle together. He talks about his wife and the amazing things that he has done like build a school, a church and a homeless shelter. Talking to him makes it hard for me to imagine that this man is notorious and feared by most because since I’ve known him, he’s always been kind and gentle towards me.
For the remainder of the month, Fernàn and I bond as we take our walks on the beach, talk for hours and he listens to my love song to Nyce that I still haven’t mastered yet.
“Can I ask you for a favor?” I ask him as we are sitting on the porch enjoying the night air. Aunt Ruthie is rocking in her chair knitting.
“Anything for you,” he smiles.
“I have to find somebody. Are you able to do that for me discreetly?”
“Do you need me to make them disappear?” He asks in all seriousness. Good thing Aunt Ruthie doesn’t speak Spanish as she continues to rock and knit.
“No…no…nothing like that,” I state looking at him like he’s crazy. “I just need you to find somebody and I need a blood test done…discreetly,” I tell him and hand him the piece of paper with my instructions written on it.
“I have to make things right. I’ve hurt a lot of people during my down time,” I whisper.
“Okay, Mamacita. I will see what I can do,” he says folding the paper and putting it into his shirt pocket.
“There are so many things that I have to make right,” I sigh.
“I understand. Believe me I do. My biggest regret is that I can’t make things right with my daughter.”
“May I ask what you did for her to stop talking to
you?”
Fernàn cuts his eyes at me letting me know that I am crossing the invisible line.
“Understood,” I nod.
The next day is not a good day for Fernàn. He hasn’t come out of his room and Aunt Ruthie keeps running back and forth between his room and the house tending to his needs.
“I can help, you know,” I tell her as she’s coming out of his room holding soiled sheets.
“I don’t think he wants you to. Hell, he barely wants me to help him. A man with pride,” she says before walking down the hall. I tap on his door before walking in. It smells in here and it’s hot as hell. I pause and stare at the frail, sickly man. He’s sleeping and wheezing through his mask.
“Mamacita,” he grumbles, removing his mask as I take a seat.
“Hi.”
“Please go.”
“No. You wanted me here so I’m here.”
“I’m dying,” he says as tears escape out of his hazel eyes and for the first time since I’ve known him, I see fear written on his face.
“Not today,” I tell him grabbing his hand.
“Not today,” he smiles.
“And you promised me that you would help me finish the song, remember?”
“Yes. The song. I think you should title it “Forever” when it’s completed and promise me that you will do a Spanish version as well.”
“Deal,” I agree grabbing his hand and wrapping my pinky finger around his. He quickly falls back to sleep. I replace the oxygen mask back onto his face before walking out the room.
Entering the kitchen, I watch Aunt Ruthie busy herself cooking.
“What are you doing? Why so much?” I ask, lifting a lid off one of the pots on the stove.
“Just felt like cooking a feast,” she shrugs.
“Do you need any help?”
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