by Shea Lynn
The first time I saw her, she was stunning. Beautiful. And not that fake movie beautiful with the long flowing weave and extra make up. Her hair was pulled back in nice little pony tail and she wasn’t even wearing makeup, just a little lip gloss on those soft, thick, sexy lips. She was wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt and a red knee-length sweater coat. I remember it because I took a picture of it in my mind.
I was single and living like a bonafide bachelor. Such a cliché. When I first saw her, I was struggling to pick out the right microwave meal in the freezer section. I looked up from the boxed dinner in my hand and my eyes landed on hers. The funny thing is, she wasn’t looking at me. She was looking through me, looking down the aisle to see if what she needed was there.
I knew she was in the right spot because I knew I could be what she needed.
I couldn’t stop watching her. She passed me by, her cart full of fresh fruits and veggies and other real food. And when she approached we shared a nice polite smile. That was a good sign. She was nice. Sweet even.
When it was safe to look, I peeped behind me and took a look at the curves peeking out from that red sweater coat. A brother has to check out the ass. It’s just something we have to do. And when the ass-check turned up positive, I smiled so damn hard you would have thought I’d won the lottery.
I walked through the rest of the store, picking up random-ass items, trying to time my arrival at the checkout. I had it bad. And I hadn’t even gotten her name.
But I did get her name. And a first date. And eventually, I got down on one knee and made her my wife. I hadn’t regretted it for a moment. And now, 8 years later, I was happy that she was the one I’d chosen to spend the rest of my life with.
There was only one little thing I wished would change. One tiny thing really. Which isn’t so bad given 8 years of marriage. But, I’ve gotta keep it 100. I really wish that we could have sex more than once a quarter.
I didn’t walk into this marriage expecting to get it every night. I knew that as a married man I would be lucky to get it once a week. I’d heard the tales and horror stories of what happens when you have a family and kids and that your wife is too worn out to make love all the time.
I understood all of that. And it wasn’t like we were sexing like rabbits before we were married. Sidney just wasn’t a super sexual person. I got that. I understood it. But my body didn’t always understand it. And as I rode down to my cousin Darnell’s spot on the South side of Chicago, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
I was still thinking about it when I knocked on his door that night.
He opened the door and we shared a smile.
“Hey A,” he said. I was always “A” to him.
“What’s up Cuz’?” I asked.
“Shit, I can’t call it.”
We did a man-hug and I followed him into the house.
“The rest of the fellas will be here in a little while. Help me get set up?” he asked.
“Cool.”
We rearranged his living room, moving the furniture around to accommodate our group of friends. We were all getting together to watch the fight and hang out. It wasn’t often that I got to break away from my life in the suburbs and get back to my roots on the South side. I’d grown up with the majority of the dudes coming over to hang out.
Darnell was the brother I never had. Our mothers were sisters and we’re both only children, but grew up like siblings. We’d always tell everyone we were brothers but we looked nothing alike.
Darnell is tall, handsome, and dark-skinned; qualities that helped him get all the girls back in school. He was always smooth and always had a smile that lit up a room. I was quiet, introverted. He was younger than me, but I always seemed to live in his shadow. It always surprised me that despite the disadvantages in his life, Darnell was always ready with a smile.
We had moved from the living room to the kitchen table. I took a swig of my beer and said “Can I ask you something, man?”
“What’s up?” he replied.
“Can we be real for a minute? Really talk?”
Darnell’s eye brows furrowed and he swallowed thickly, the lump on his throat moving. He could pick up on the seriousness in my tone.
“Yeah we can talk,” he replied.
I took a swig of my beer, hoping it would loosen my tongue. “When you and Tasha were still together, were there times when ya’ll weren’t…when you weren’t knockin’ boots?”
I was embarrassed that I’d even asked that. The phrase “knockin’ boots” wore out with most of the 90’s R&B groups and I have no idea where it came from. I just knew I was uncomfortable. But my discomfort hadn’t overpowered my need to get a second opinion on my love life.
Darnell’s eyes grew wide. “What? Why you asking me about Tasha?” he said, unable to see past his bitter disdain for his ex-wife.
I sighed. “I’m not really asking you about Tasha, Darnell. I’m really asking you about me.”
There was a rush of heat on my neck. I wasn’t sure if this was something I was supposed to be talking about. Was I a punk for bringing it up? Had living up in the ‘burbs made me too soft? Is that what Darnell was thinking as his eyes moved around, his mind trying to understand my query, his lips twisted in what could be either distaste or deep thought.
Finally, his eyes flickered with understanding and his brow relaxed. “Oh….shit. You and Sid…. Ya’ll aren’t….?”
I shook my head, sighing in relief that I wouldn’t have to find another way to ask what I’d just asked. “Nah. We haven’t been.”
“How long? A couple weeks? A month?”
I took another sip, relieved that Darnell’s tone was supportive and that he wasn’t out to humiliate me. “More like three months.”
Darnell looked down and took a sip of his own beer. “Mmm. Three months?”
I nodded.
“You worried, huh?” he asked me.
I looked at my brother-cousin then and held his gaze. “Should I be?”
Darnell shrugged. “I don’t know. Every couple is different, I guess. Tasha and I were having sex at least once a week and she was still stepping out on me. Maybe Sidney’s just tired. She works hard.”
I nodded, hoping that fatigue was all it was, yet realizing that the core of me knew that wasn’t all. “I know she does. And I love all that she does. But shit….it’s been three months. I don’t know what to think.”
“You talk to her about it?”
I shook my head. “Nah. I don’t want to make it sound like I’m pressuring her. I know she works hard. I just…I just,” I began.
“You a man. I get it. You want to know what’s up. Nothing wrong with that, A.”
I sighed again. “Right.”
“I can’t answer that for you. All I know is I had a wife and two kids and then I looked up one day and they were gone. I didn’t have a lot of tale-tell signs. That bitch was shady from the beginning,” said Darnell.
I tossed him a knowing look. “Tried to tell you.”
Darnell’s reference to his ex-wife Tasha as a bitch was not that stereotypical disrespectful usage that we hear on the radio and television. Tasha really was a bitch. I can vouch for that. Darnell was twenty-five when he met her. They weren’t together five minutes when she got pregnant. Darnell wanted to “do the right thing” and he married her. He didn’t love her but Darnell was convinced that the only way to defy his father’s inevitable legacy of abandonment was to “do the right thing” and be a family man.
I can respect that.
Right after they got married, Tasha lost the baby. The baby was all that had been holding them together, but Darnell wouldn’t dream of leaving her. He didn’t think it was right. So, they stayed together and had two kids before that chicken head ran off and left him for some other dude. Darnell spent a lot of nights at my house, in my backyard sipping beer and crying real tears.
He was two years divorced and two years distanced from his sons. Tasha had picked up and moved to Cleveland
with the boys. They were only four and six when she left.
Darnell took a swig. “Maybe you should take her on a trip. Go somewhere special. Get the hell out of Wilmette and unwind.”
I nodded. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe that would help.”
“No doubt. Get her a nice massage and everything.”
“Yeah, I’ll check into that.”
Darnell looked at me. “She’s a good woman, A. She’s no Tasha. Don’t think she’s out skeezin’.
“You’re right. I know she’s a good woman. I’ll put something together,” I said.
And on the coattails of my words, the doorbell rang.
Darnell smiled. “It’s show time. Remember, it’s a $10 cover. No one gets in without paying.”
I smiled in return. “Ain’t nobody gettin’ past me.”
We headed out towards the front door and as we walked, a thought crossed my mind.
‘She didn’t even ask me where we were going. We never even discussed it. No questions asked.’
Did that mean she trusted me or that she just didn’t give a damn?
Chapter Fourteen: Dayna
I was still ruminating on my past as I stood in the shower and tried to wash away my frustration. It didn’t help. Frustration isn’t afraid of a little soap and water. I washed until the water began to run cold and my fingertips looked like raisins.
As I dried my skin and changed into a pair of comfortable pajamas, my stomach reminded me that I hadn’t eaten any real food and I was suddenly starving.
When I flipped on the kitchen light, my mind intent on acquiring a midnight snack, I was met with quite a surprise. With my feet frozen to the floor and my mouth absently agape, I stared at two dozen red and white roses adorning my kitchen table. They were beautiful, picture perfect; their petals standing tall and wide. My curious gaze drifted from the flowers down to the red vase holding them all together and even though I knew they couldn’t be from her, I wanted them to be.
There was a card on the table, leaning against the red vase, the handwriting was undeniable.
“Cameron,” I whispered. And with the whisper of his name came a fleeting sadness that she hadn’t chosen me and that these roses had nothing to do with her.
Slowly, my feet became unglued and I walked softly across the wooden floor. I opened the card and found the image of Cameron and me on our wedding day; the same picture that hung on the wall in my room. It was a glossy, computer generated card. Inside, on the left it read:
Cameron and Dayna Wilkins – Always and Forever.
Those were the words from our wedding program. For months I’d played around with that phrase. Altering the font size and the font type and the spacing and placement. Trying to get the perfect arrangement in place so that the program would herald in the new era of “Us”. And now here I was, seven years later, being whisked into the past by the efforts of a man betting his future on our memories.
My eyes crossed the page.
Dayna,
I know I have royally messed up in the past, but I am a new man. I have sought guidance both mentally and spiritually and despite my prior transgressions, I know that I am now in a place where I can truly appreciate you and value you as my wife and the mother of my child.
I am done being a fool. I’m ready to come home. I’m ready for us to be a family again. And I know you’re drifting away from me. I can feel it. I’ve just been waiting on you to send me the divorce papers. I’m not going to wait for that. I want to get us back before it comes to that.
Remember this day? We worked so hard to make it perfect and it was. This picture was a perfect moment in time. Just you and me. Let’s try to live in this moment again. A moment when you and I were finally one and we were ready to show the new ‘US’ off to the world. Let’s try to always live in this moment. I know that it won’t always be easy. I know that I will make mistakes. Both of us will make mistakes. But I promise that I will never hurt you like I’ve hurt you before. I promise that.
Please don’t be afraid to try with me for the scripture says:
Isaiah 41:10
Don’t be afraid, for I am with you. Don’t be discouraged, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will hold you up with my victorious right hand.
Dayna, with God on our side, we cannot fail. We cannot. With His guidance and protection, we will be victorious. He’s already won the victory. We… ‘US’….just have to claim it and live it.
Let’s Try, Dayna.
I love you.
Cam
I took a deep breath, my right hand slightly trembling. I had not expected this. The raw plea in his gestures had me off kilter. I’d never expected to see such a mature and meaningful display of emotion from the man I’d married.
I had no words. Nothing to say to the card in my hand or new questions in my mind. I sat down at the table, my eyes drawn to the red and white roses, my gaze distant as thoughts danced in my head.
Cameron was serious. He must have really thought long and hard in order to come up with this idea. My husband was a lover of women, but oddly enough, he had never really been romantic. The flowers came back into focus and I wondered, ‘When did he do this? And when did he begin to quote scripture? Cameron Wilkins does not quote scripture’
The sentiment was beautiful. His words were perfect. They were the words I’d always needed to hear from him. They showed a side of my husband I had never seen before. They showed me Cameron the Man, not Cameron the boy.
Why couldn’t he have done this before she claimed what had long belonged to him? Why now? Isn’t that the funny thing about life? What you want you can’t have? When you finally get it, you don’t want it anymore?
What I wanted I couldn’t have. But maybe God was providing me with what I needed. Maybe Cameron could save me from myself. Though her honesty had hurt me, Sidney had been right. There was no reality of a future with her and me. That couldn’t possibly exist in our world.
Opinions mattered far more than they should have.
At the center of the faith we shared stood a God who abdicated death for those that had done we had at Sara’s.
She had been right.
I had the chance of a lifetime; a mixture of red and white roses promising me a future walking the right side of God and man and who was I to refuse such a promise.
Cameron answered my call after the first ring. “Hey Dayna.”
“Hi.”
“Everything okay?” he asked.
“I got your card,” I replied, wanting to rush past the small talk.
Cameron cleared his throat. “Did you?”
“I did.”
“Please don’t be angry with me. I know my key is only for emergencies. But you being absent from my life is an emergency, Dayna.”
I was not quite myself. I was emotional and my head hurt trying to sort out my life and make decisions I felt powerless to make. I wanted stability. I wanted a sense of calm. I wanted her but I couldn’t have her and if I couldn’t, why should I let this new promise pass me by? Why should I sit around wallowing in sadness when my husband was promising me a lifetime of happiness in a sea of white and red roses? I could be happy with him. Couldn’t I?
“I’m not angry.” I whispered.
I knew he must be sitting up because his voice grew more serious and I pictured the intensity in his eyes. “Dayna, I need you in my life. Only you. I was a fool. I admit it. I was a complete and total fool. But I’m not a fool anymore. And I’m ready and willing to do whatever it takes to come back home.”
The gentle urgency in his voice collided with images of Sidney in my mind and I couldn’t help the renegade tears that slipped down my cheeks. I felt anxious; his promise crashing against the recent memory of her skin, the taste of her kiss. I rubbed at the pounding behind my forehead.
“I believe you. I just don’t know if I’m ready.”
“I’ll wait until you are ready. I’ll wait forever,” he replied.
Who was th
is? Who had stolen Cameron and where had he gone? In his place was this calm, patient, loving man that I’d never met before.
I didn’t know what else to say. “Will I see you tomorrow at church?” I asked.
Cameron chuckled. “No. Your daughter and I have an appointment at the movies and then another at the Children’s Museum. I’ll have her home to you in the early evening.”
“Okay,” I replied.
“Get some sleep, Dayna. No worries tonight.”
“Thank you, Cameron - - -,” I began.
“No…stop right there. Don’t thank me. Let’s try this. I say, ‘Good-night’ and then you say ‘Good-night’ and we both hang up. Will that work? No pressure from either party.”
I smiled. His solution reminded me of him in our early dating days. “That’ll work,” I replied.
“Alright. Good-night, Dayna.”
“Good-night,” I replied.
And then I ended our call.
‘Maybe we should really try again.’
I held on to that thought, but as I drifted off to sleep, it was Sidney’s embrace my body ached for. Her touch my body craved.
When she phoned, I had just drifted off. And though I was still in the early stages of sleep, my rest was already uneasy. Cameron was making promises and she was still in my dreams.
“Hello?” I answered.
“It’s me.
“I knew it was you,” I replied.
I could feel her smile. “How?”
“Who else would be calling me at this hour?”
“Sorry to wake you,” she said.
We shared an awkward pause in the conversation and she finally said, “You made it home then?”
“I did”
“Were you sleeping?” she asked me.
“Dozed off a little while ago,” I answered, closing my eyes to savor the sound of her voice. It was amazing how it could settle me.
“Dayna?” she whispered, no hint of pre-tense in her tone. This was the Sidney I was used to. The one that held me long and touched me deep inside. The Sidney without walls and without facades.