“Um, what are you talking about? She’s definitely happy,” Nichelle said over my shoulder.
I didn’t even realize she’d come up behind me.
“This is her birthday,” Nichelle continued as if she felt she had to take up for me. “We’re here celebrating her forty-fifth. She has an amazing family. An amazing life. What does she not have to be happy about?”
After Nichelle’s litany of my happiness, I returned my glance to the woman.
The lady said, “She may have all of those things.” The woman spoke to Nichelle, but her eyes were still on me. “But she’s like the lady in my painting, walking without a purpose.”
“She has a purpose. To party her ass off.” Nichelle took the painting from me and set it down on the table with a little more force than I would have liked. “It was nice to meet you, but we gotta go.” She grasped my hand and pulled me away. We’d only taken a few steps when Nichelle said, “Oooo-wee, talk about a buzzkill.”
As my friend dragged me away, I glanced back over my shoulder. . . and the woman’s eyes were still on me. We were still close enough for me to see that the delight that had been on her face when we first appeared was gone. Now it was full of concern, which was crazy since she knew nothing about me.
“Come on.” Nichelle yanked me as if she thought I needed protection. “She’s probably one of those fake psychics who try to scare you into buying their stuff. She was probably trying to get you to pay her ten dollars for a rock she picked up out of her front yard. And she probably tells everybody that they look like her paintings.”
We met up with Roxie and Simone, then made our way out of the marketplace. But my eyes kept returning to the woman. And each time I looked at her, I found her looking at me.
“Come back and see me,” she called out.
“Yeah. We’re good,” Nichelle replied.
But my friend wasn’t speaking for me. Something in my gut told me I needed to get back to see this woman before I left the island. Something told me that she held the key for whatever I was seeking.
Chapter 4
Of course I didn’t believe in any energy-emitting rock, but the old lady’s words had planted themselves inside my head and weighed on me all day. I’d thought about her words while we were out on the tour, as we returned to the resort and lay on the beach, and as we spent the night partying with our newly made island friends.
“Walking without a purpose.”
Now, even as I lay in bed, I couldn’t get rid of her words.
Nichelle had to be right. That was like when one of those psychics told you something that was going to happen anyway—like you were going to move soon. Eventually everyone moved. And lots of people were walking without purpose. What did that mean anyway? Nothing. And even if it meant something, that woman couldn’t possibly read me like that. Not in the three seconds that I’d stood in front of her.
Could she?
I pulled myself out of bed and tiptoed around the bedroom, even though I was alone.
I wanted to be careful not to wake any of my friends, especially since it was—I glanced at the clock on the nightstand—a little after 5:30. There was no way I wanted to stay in the bed, not even for another hour, just thinking about that lady’s words about my aimless purpose.
Inside the bathroom, I once again tried to move in silence. But when I turned on my electric toothbrush, the door that led to Roxie and Nichelle’s bedroom opened.
Roxie stood there, wearing boy shorts and a tank top.
“What are you doing?” she mumbled.
“Just go back to sleep,” I said, rinsing off my toothbrush.
“You’re brushing your teeth? Where are you going? It’s still dark outside.”
“I can’t sleep and I was thinking about checking out the sunrise yoga that was on the schedule.” I paused. “You wanna come?”
“Girl, bye,” Roxie said before she staggered back into her bedroom.
I rushed back to my bedroom and slipped into one of the cute exercise leggings and matching tops I’d brought with me. Never did I really believe I would spend any time exercising. But right now, yoga sounded so good. I needed to relax my mind.
When I was dressed, I slipped out of the suite, then stopped at the activities desk to pick up the yoga mat.
“You know where the sunrise class is?” the woman asked.
I nodded. “They told us when we got here.”
She smiled, then turned her attention to the couple behind me. They were a perky older couple dressed in matching exercise gear and headbands. I was surprised at how awake the resort was, since the sun was just beginning its ascent. But I guess this was one of the attractions of the island—the rising of the sun.
Strolling down to the beach, I already felt better. It was the fragrance of the flowers mixed with the ocean air. I inhaled; this alone was almost enough.
As I approached, I was surprised to see so many women, and a handful of men, lined along the edge of the beach with their yoga mats already positioned in the white sand.
“Come. Come join us.” The woman, who I assumed was the instructor, waved at me. “Come, right up here.”
She pointed to a spot right in the front, and when all eyes turned on me, I paused. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. I’d done one Bikram hot yoga class about six months ago, and that had almost taken me out. I wasn’t sure if it was the thick heat or the downward dog that had run me out of that place. My reaction had surprised me. When I’d decided to go to the class, I figured it would be nothing. I’d been a cheerleader in high school and college. But like my college days, my cheerleading days were long gone, and with them, my flexibility.
I wanted to run back to the suite, but with everyone watching me, I faked a smile, made my way to the front, and set my mat next to a plump woman with a smile that was too wide for six in the morning.
“Good glorious day,” she sang in what sounded like a British accent.
“Hello,” I replied.
“First time?”
I nodded.
“You’ll enjoy it. Yona is fantastic. You’ll feel relaxed and released before you know it.”
Well, if this woman could do it, I certainly could. And already it was better than Bikram because the early morning breeze was cooling and calming.
My yoga neighbor had been right. Yona hummed and woo-sahed until my entire body felt relaxed. The only problem I had was I couldn’t completely clear my mind. At the end, when we lay back in what Yona called the restoration pose, I closed my eyes and forced my weight from my body into the sand, the way Yona instructed. But when it got to the part where she told us to free our minds, too, I just couldn’t do it.
Not that I didn’t want to. It just seemed that the rock woman’s words were stronger than my own will. Maybe that was because now that she’d said it, it did feel like I didn’t have a purpose. I mean, I was a mother and a wife, but outside of that, I had nothing. It did feel like there was something I was searching for. But what was it?
I kept asking myself that question even as we slowly raised up, then stood. I clapped along with the rest of the class, then thanked Yona and said goodbye to my yoga partner.
As I rolled up my yoga mat, my glance moved down the beach and I paused. No, I did more than that—I froze. At the sight in front of me.
Was that the lady from yesterday sitting at the edge of the resort’s beach? What was she doing here? Though I was able to answer that question right away.
She sat in the sand, her legs crossed yoga style, her two long ponytails draping down her shoulders. Her easel was positioned in front of her. She was painting the sunset.
My heart fluttered at the sight of her. I pushed myself up straight, then with a deep breath—as if I needed courage—I eased toward her. I didn’t get too close, though. I wanted to give her space because she had closed her eyes like she was trying to paint a mental picture.
But then she said, “You can come closer.”
My mouth opened
wide. She hadn’t turned toward me, she hadn’t even opened her eyes. For a moment, I wondered if she was speaking to someone else. But when I looked over both of my shoulders, I realized she was talking to me.
And then I was sure of it when she said, “Come.”
I tiptoed toward her. “Hi. Uh, this is Aja,” I said, feeling so weird that she was speaking to me without having any idea who I was. “I met you yesterday at the marketplace. I talked to you about your paintings.”
She still didn’t open her eyes, but she nodded. “Yes, the painter.” She took a deep breath and then exhaled so slowly it felt like it took a minute. Only then did she open her eyes. She was silent as she brushed wide strokes across the canvas. I watched her in awe as she painted blue ocean waves. She finished a wave then turned toward me. She studied me for a moment before she said, “Are you looking for your purpose?”
“How do you know that?” I asked. “Are you some kind of psychic or Dominican witch?”
The woman laughed as she resumed painting. “Psychics aren’t real. Neither are witches. I’m just an old lady with a gift of discernment. So I know much. Like I know your friends, they’re here for fun, but you’re here in search of something more.”
“What?” Now I knew she didn’t know what she was talking about. “I’m here for fun, too. I’m here to celebrate my birthday.”
She shrugged, unfazed by my tone. “So you can’t be lost because it’s your birthday?”
Her words made me pause. Now she was saying that I was lost? “I . . . I’m not . . . lost.”
“Are you trying to convince me?”
“No, it’s just that—”
The woman shrugged and cut me off. “All I can tell you is what I see. You’re the lady in my painting. You should take that painting with you.”
Okay, Nichelle was right. This woman was just running a con to get me to buy a painting.
“Fine, I’ll buy the painting,” I said.
She didn’t miss a beat as she said, “It’s not for sale. But you can come by later and I’ll gift it to you.” She picked up her bag from the sand, pulled another brush out and began contouring the wave. For a moment, I was afraid she was going to leave me standing on the edge of paradise.
Quickly, I asked, “What did you mean when you said I’m not walking in my purpose? You don’t even know me.”
“True. I don’t.” She dipped the brush in yellow paint. “I love yellow. It’s the color of happiness. Are you happy? In your life . . . are you happy?”
“Am I happy?” I repeated her question to give myself a little time. “Why would I not be happy? I mean, of course I am. I have an amazing husband. He is a very successful sportscaster, we have two wonderful children who are coming into their own, money in the bank, I have a productive job . . . and oh, did I mention how fine my husband is?” I huffed. “So now you tell me . . . why wouldn’t I be happy?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
“I’m happy,” I repeated. “I’m happy. Very, very happy.”
“Wow. You need to say it that many times to convince yourself?” She took a deep breath, then set her brush down on the easel tray. “Look, all I’m asking you to do is to look inside yourself. Life is for the living, not the existing.”
“So, you’re saying that I’m just existing?”
“Like you said, I don’t know you, so I can’t say,” she said. “Are you?”
Now she was doing too much and I was reading too much into what was probably nothing more than a sales pitch to buy more of her wares.
“Okay,” I said, tucking my yoga mat under my arm so that I could leave, “I was just . . . I was just asking, trying to find out what you were talking about yesterday.”
“You shouldn’t ask questions until you’re prepared for the truthful answers.” The woman smiled. “But it’s okay. You don’t have to listen now. Just know that at some point, you will hear me.” She paused. “My name’s Jewel. I’m in the marketplace almost every day. Come see me if you want to talk.” She smiled. “Or paint.” Then she turned and resumed her painting.
Since it was obvious she was done talking, I thanked her, then turned and walked away.
My mother used to have a saying—when you go digging, be prepared for what you unearth.
Those words hung over me as I trudged through the sand. I needed to decide if I wanted to dig any more to get to the root of what was wrong. As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I knew the answer to that was yes. Otherwise, I would forever be searching for answers as to what was wrong with me.
Chapter 5
Today had to be a first. The first time since I’d met my friends our freshman year in college that I’d awakened before any of them. Granted, it was because I couldn’t sleep, but still I was surprised when I returned to the suite that not even Simone was awake.
So, I settled on the balcony, sitting in one of the oversized wicker chairs and watching the sun continue its ascent into a sky that was still lit with a panorama of colors. This place was absolutely beautiful. There were no signs that a hurricane had ravaged the area a couple of years ago. It was pure utopia and seemed like the perfect place to come and relax—sans party animal friends—and clear your head.
I probably should have been in my bedroom packing, since we had a flight home this afternoon. But I wanted to be still for a moment. Really, what I wanted to do was reflect on Jewel’s words.
“You’re here in search of something more . . . Are you happy?”
“Good morning.”
I turned and faced Simone, who stood at the balcony door, yawning and stretching.
“What are you doing up?” Her eyes widened a bit as she studied me. “And dressed, too.”
“I went to sunrise yoga. Wanted to do something on my last morning.”
“Oh.” She yawned. “You should have awakened me. Anyway, let me call Miguel to get our last breakfast, and while he’s doing that, I’m gonna pack.” She paused and looked over her shoulder at me. “You packed already?”
I lifted my chin, and that was enough for Simone. She stepped back inside the suite and banged on Roxie and Nichelle’s door.
I didn’t move, not even when I heard Roxie and Nichelle moving around the suite. I just stayed in place, staring at the sun and wondering about Jewel’s words.
“You’re not walking in your purpose.”
I couldn’t shake Jewel’s words, I couldn’t shake what felt like a cloud that she’d left with me.
“What’s wrong with you?” Roxie asked, joining me on the balcony. “You’re not acting like a woman on a birthday celebration.”
I shrugged as I feigned a smile, and in my mind, I debated if I should tell Roxie what I was thinking, what I was feeling. But how would I put my emotions into words?
So, all I said was, “I’m good. Just sitting out here, enjoying the view of our final morning.”
“Well you’ve gotta be tired, as early as you got up,” she said.
“And you must be hungry, too,” Simone peeked her head outside. “Breakfast will be ready in about thirty minutes, I think. Are both of you packed?” Simone asked as if she was some kind of tour guide boss.
Roxie said, “Yeah,” and again, that was good enough for Simone.
“Let me go make sure Nichelle is up, because if Simone goes in there all Susie Sunshine, she’s liable to get cussed out.”
I laughed and said, “I’ll be in in a minute.” I stared at the beautiful blue water for a few more minutes.
Finally, I stood and followed Roxie inside. I headed into the kitchen and the aroma of the crepes and bacon enveloped me, pushing all my thoughts and troubles aside.
“Okay.” Simone clapped her hands. “We can enjoy our breakfast, but remember, the car service will be here at eleven.”
We chatted over breakfast, reminiscing about our days on the island, remembering the drinking and the dancing, the drinking and the touring, the drinking and the shopping.
“And speaking of shopp
ing, I forgot to tell you guys about that crazy lady yesterday,” Nichelle said with a shudder.
“What crazy lady?” Roxie asked.
“Remember the one with the rocks?” As Nichelle went on to explain about our conversation with Jewel after Roxie and Simone had walked off, I drank my orange juice slowly, so slowly, the glass was still at my lips when Nichelle finished.
“Yeah, she does sound like she was running games,” Roxie said. “I don’t know how I missed all of that.”
“Well,” Nichelle began, “I say we get dressed now, then go down to the bar and have final shots.”
“At ten in the morning?” Simone said.
“Girl, it is happy hour somewhere.” Nichelle stood and waved her hands in the air. She danced her way over to the console where she’d hooked up her iPhone to the speakers. She hit her music app and Salt-N-Pepa sang out:
“Oooh baby, baby . . .”
That was our signal. Simone and Roxie jumped up from the table and rushed into the living room, swiveling their hips as if they were in the “Push It” video, performing a routine we’d done back in our college days. I couldn’t believe they still remembered it.
My three friends danced in the middle of the living room, competing with each other the way we used to back in the day when we’d have dance-offs. It took a few minutes for anyone to see that I hadn’t joined them.
Roxie motioned for me to get up. “Girl, what are you still doing over there? You better get your butt up.”
“She just knows that she can’t win this,” Nichelle said, doing a dip that was impressive. “And I say whoever loses this, pays for our shots.”
“Ah, push it,” Simone sang.
I watched my girls, and though I didn’t join them, they did make me smile. They danced that whole song, argued about who won, played it again, danced-off again, and then dragged themselves to their rooms. Didn’t these chicks remember how old we were now? Didn’t they know that there were probably more days behind us than in front of us?
“We only have about twenty minutes,” Simone sang out from her room. “I asked the bellman to come up at ten forty-five.”
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