I looked at my family, preparing to protest, when Charles shrugged and smiled. “I guess it’s a done deal. The things we do for our kids.” Then he had the nerve to lean down and kiss me. “Going back to finish watching the game.”
That next day, after dismissing my complaints, Charles had begun the process of converting my art studio into a playroom and as I watched my children’s eyes light up, I decided that my art could wait if it meant giving them immediate joy.
As they got older and stopped playing, I thought maybe I could change the room back. But my mother-in-law had moved in, and all hopes of a studio moved out.
In recent years, I’d been able to do a bit more sketching and painting, even giving a few away as gifts. But it was nothing of the magnitude of what I would’ve loved to do.
Just thinking back over the last two decades of my life had me exhausted. That day when my studio became a playroom was the day my dream had been officially squashed. That’s when Aja ceased to exist and mom and wife became my existence.
With each passing day, my family leaned on me more. Somehow along the way, all three of them became people who ran me ragged simply because they could. And to hear Roxie tell it, because I let them.
Chapter 9
“Doing me” had taken on a whole other meaning these last few days. I’d spent time doing the things that I enjoyed. Not what anyone else wanted to do. Just me. I’d had daily massages—stone one day, hot wax the next. I’d watched the sunrise from my balcony, taken part in yoga, and yesterday, I’d taken a salsa class.
I had never spent so much time alone in my life. I had never had a week where it was all about me, and it felt refreshing to finally have that.
As I reconnected with my passion on this beach, I knew this was what I wanted to do. What I needed to be doing.
Today, I was sitting at the poolside bar, painting a portrait of a young man dribbling a basketball in the sky. My therapist had told me that I never properly grieved my brother’s death and, therefore, had been unable to completely heal. I’d been thinking more and more about Eric and I thought maybe painting a portrait of him would be therapeutic. But sitting here, at the oceanside bar, putting the finishing touches on a painting I’d started just two days ago, sent my mind spiraling back to the abyss.
“Aja.”
I yawned, turned over, and looked at the alarm clock, wondering who was on my phone at six in the morning.
“Aja.”
It sounded like a man crying.
“Eric, is that you? What’s going on?” I sat up when I heard a baby screaming in the background. “Eric? Eric? Talk to me. What is going on? Is that Madison screaming?” That could only be my niece, but why was she wailing? Where was Elise, Eric’s girlfriend? No way would she let the baby wail like that.
“Aja . . . Aja . . . Aja.”
My heart started racing. “I’m here, Peanut, talk to me,” I said, calling my brother by his nickname, hoping that would get him to break out of whatever trance would only allow him to say my name over and over.
“Eric!”
A sob, then, “She’s dead. I killed her . . . I’m just like him. He’s in my blood. I’m him, he’s me . . . I couldn’t stop him, but I can stop me.”
I swung my legs over the edge of my bed and jumped up. “Eric, what are you talking about? Who’s dead? Elise? Oh my God! Where are you? Are you at home?” I looked at the Caller ID and saw his home phone number.
My brother battled demons. He had a temper like our father and he hated himself—and our father—because of it. I’d tried my best to protect him from himself, that’s why I was half dressed and heading toward the door.
“Just hang on, baby brother, I’m on my way.”
“I loved her, Aja. I loved her with all my heart,” Eric said. I could barely understand, he was sobbing so hard. “It was an accident. Don’t let Madison hate me like we hate him. Please. I love you.”
The despair in my brother’s voice sent chills through my spine.
“Eric, wait . . . wait.”
And then I heard it. I heard it like I was in the same room. A single shot.
“Eric, nooooo!”
“If it makes you sad, maybe you should paint something else.”
I shook away my thoughts and looked up to the voice that had thankfully pulled me from that tragic path down memory lane.
“Excuse me?” I said.
Don Juan was standing over me in a button-down Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts. He handed me a napkin. “You’re crying. As you paint, you’re crying. Paint things to make yourself happy. You’re too pretty to be sad.”
I took the napkin and dabbed my eyes as I managed a smile. “Sorry, didn’t realize I was crying.”
“Hold on.” He darted over to the bar, while I quickly put up my paints and removed my painting from the easel. I didn’t want Don Juan to ask me any questions about what I was painting. That whole situation was painful. Eric’s girlfriend Elise hadn’t died. She’d survived, but Eric’s death had taken its toll on her and she cut herself off from us for a while. Eventually, she had remarried and moved to Australia, so we seldom got to see Madison. Nothing about my brother’s story had turned out right.
I kept my eyes on Don Juan at the bar. It looked like he was ordering drinks. A few minutes later, he returned and handed me a margarita. “Here, tequila for breakfast. This will make you feel better. It will wash away your tears.”
I managed a smile as I took the drink—only because I’d watched as the bartender made it.
“Thank you,” I said, taking a small sip. “Though it’s crazy to be drinking margaritas before noon.”
“Crazy by whose standards?” he said. “You’re on vacation, chica. Enjoy!”
Don Juan had a point.
“So do you live here?” I asked, trying to ease the heaviness that often accompanied thoughts of my brother. “Or work here since you’re always around?”
He leaned in and whispered, “My sister is the bartender. So I come and have free drinks and fun. I do have a pay-the-bills job, but this is my happy space.” He motioned around. “This is where I come to live.”
“Yes, you really look like you have a lot of fun.” I laughed. I’d never met anyone like Don Juan. Though he flirted, it wasn’t overbearing. He really did seem like he was just a guy enjoying life and inviting others to his party.
“Try it. You might like it.” He took a sip of his drink. “Did you ever catch up with your friend?” He gave me a knowing smile.
I replied by taking another sip of my drink.
“May I offer a suggestion?” he asked.
Somehow I felt like that question was rhetorical. I knew I was right when he continued with, “Finish the painting, then put it away. Let the last stroke wipe away the sadness.”
I don’t know what made me say, “It’s my brother. He died a while ago.”
Don Juan nodded in understanding. “And I’m sure that he would want you to live.”
The sounds of salsa music began filling the air as the band began playing. The beat immediately sent Don Juan’s hips to swaying. “Ay ay ay,” he sang.
He shimmied, twirled, and dipped around my table. “I make it a point to dance every day like no one is watching.” He stopped a passing waitress and twirled her. Several patrons around the bar area laughed. “And I put a show on when they are.”
His enthusiasm was infectious, as several other people started dancing with him. “If you find nothing else here, find your fun side,” he told me as he twirled someone else. “And you come find me if you want to have fun. There’s a party here at the resort tonight.” He two-stepped away from my table and on to dance with someone else.
As I watched Don Juan party like he didn’t have a care in the world, I wondered what it must be like to have that kind of joy. To put your stresses on the shelf and just enjoy life. I didn’t know, but watching Don Juan, I knew that I wanted to find out.
Chapter 10
The irony wasn’t l
ost on me. I’d balked at partying with my friends of more than two decades, yet here I was, partying like it was 1999 with a perfect stranger.
“Play that funky music white boy . . .”
I laughed as Don Juan mimicked playing a guitar as he belted the lyrics like he was on stage at an arena.
“What do you know about Wild Cherry?” I asked, referring to the 1970s band that sang the song.
“I feel the vibe, chica. Everyone knows that song.” He leaned and whispered in my ear. “Anyone ever told you how sexy you are?”
I was a little surprised at the fluttering I felt in my stomach. I’d had my share of compliments over the years, but no one had ever been this close.... especially when I felt so free.
Don Juan took my hand and spun me around as the music changed to one of my favorite songs by Sam Smith.
“Look what you made me do,” Don Juan sang.
“Is there any song you don’t know?” I laughed.
“I know them all.” Don Juan was telling the truth when he said he liked to “dance like no one is watching and give them a show when they are.” He was straight putting on a show. And I was loving every minute of it. And before I knew it, I was joining in with him. Unlike the first time we danced, I pushed aside all thoughts of anything except the here and now, and it felt so good.
Finally, Don Juan was the one to say, “Okay, I give.”
I shimmied and playfully teased him. “What? The party animal is partied out?”
“Yes, time out. I need a time-out.” He staggered back over to the table. And instead of following him, I danced with two other men who had danced over to me. Don Juan watched me from the sidelines as I tossed up my arms and danced like no one was watching.
By the time I rejoined Don Juan at our table, he said, “I thought you would go all night.”
I was shocked. I couldn’t remember the last time that I’d been out this late. “I can’t believe I’ve been out there dancing so long,” I said with a satisfied grin. My feet didn’t even hurt. I was operating on pure adrenaline.
After a solo dinner at a seaside hotel a couple of blocks away, I’d returned fully ready to go to bed. Then I thought about Don Juan’s invitation and ended up here at the resort bar, which had been converted into a nightclub.
Don Juan looked at his watch. “Almost an hour and a half. But I like it.” He motioned for the waitress. “Two more mojitos, please.”
Instead of protesting, I said, “Can you add an extra shot to mine?”
“To both,” Don Juan added with a grin.
The waitress nodded and scurried off. Don Juan kept his eyes on me.
“What?” I finally said, bobbing to the salsa tunes.
“I love a woman who is so free.”
That made me smile. “Free is the last word I would ever use to describe myself,” I said.
“Sexy and free,” he added. “When I first met you, I thought you were a little on the prudish side, but I could really have some fun with you.”
My smile faded just a bit. I hoped that I wasn’t sending the wrong message.
“Um, Don Juan, thank you for the compliment, but I should reiterate that I’m very married,” I felt the need to say. “So I have no interest in an island fling.”
“And you feel the need to tell me that again, because?”
I paused as the waitress set our drinks in front of us. “Because, I mean, well, I don’t want to give you any ideas.”
He sipped his drink and chuckled. “Can’t a man just pay you a compliment without wanting anything? I wasn’t trying to get you into bed. You made that clear earlier and I know that you may have heard things about Latin lovers, but we know that no means no.” He flashed a grin.
I was embarrassed by my assumptions. “Oh, ah, I’m sorry. I just . . . I . . .”
“It’s fine,” he said, saving me from fishing for an explanation. “As I told you, I love living, so I recognize all of God’s beauty, and that includes beautiful women.”
“My apologies.” I took another sip of my drink, wishing I could rewind the conversation.
“What do you do, Mrs. Aja?”
“I’m a social worker.”
“Hmmm, you don’t strike me as a social worker. I would’ve taken you more for the creative type, especially after seeing you paint the other day.”
I nodded in appreciation. “That’s what I’d like to be doing.”
“Then do it.” He shrugged like it was no big deal.
“Hmph, that’s easier said than done.”
“No, Nike was on to something when they said, ‘just do it.’ Would you do your social work job if no one paid you, if they stopped giving you a paycheck?”
I couldn’t get the ‘no’ out fast enough. Back when I first started, maybe. But today, no way.
“Absolutely not,” I said.
Don Juan shrugged. “Then that isn’t what you’re supposed to be doing.”
“Yes, I’m coming to discover that while I’m here on vacation,” I replied.
“Yeah, people make jokes about how much time I spend at the resort bars, but I believe you have to find what makes you truly happy, not just happy enough. My heart has to sing, and being here, mixing and mingling with the guests and dancing, gives my heart the music it’s been looking for.”
I wanted to comment that Don Juan’s career equated to nothing more than being a party animal. But there was no disputing the look of happiness on his face, so I guess it worked for him.
“Well, I kind of made my bed, so I’ve been lying in it,” I said.
He shook his head like I was a lost cause. “Put that bed on the curb and make a new one. It can be anything you want it to be. Other people won’t understand or won’t care to understand why you’re making a new bed. They’ll wonder what was wrong with your old bed. But they’re not the ones who have to sleep in it.” Don Juan stood and downed the rest of his drink. “I’ve enjoyed talking to you, but I have to run. Think about what I said. The woman who’s been out on the dance floor all evening, she seems like a wonderful person. Let her out.”
He dropped a twenty-dollar bill on the table. “I wish you all the luck.” He took my hand and kissed it. “And for the record, if you had said yes to sleeping with me, I would’ve done it in a heartbeat.”
He winked and was gone before I could say a word.
Chapter 11
I was back in the marketplace in search of Jewel. I’d been in the DR by myself for almost a week now, and in that week I’d gotten more clarity than I’d had in a very long time. Still, I needed to be sure that following my gut was indeed the way to go.
I’d come to the marketplace twice, hoping to see Jewel, but each time her booth had been empty. None of the other vendors had any idea where she was or when she would return. It was as if she’d disappeared. If I hadn’t known better, I would’ve thought she was sending me a personal message—that I had to figure all of this out on my own.
Even still, since I was leaving tomorrow, I wanted to try her one more time, though I wasn’t convinced this was the perfect day. This was the first day since I’d been in the Dominican Republic when there were far more clouds than sun.
I almost tiptoed around the corner, not wanting to be disappointed, but as soon as I made that turn, I smiled. There was Jewel, finally. She was sitting behind her table, but her head was down so she wouldn’t see me approaching. It looked like she was polishing her wares.
I felt my smile widen as I moved toward her. “Hello,” I said as I got closer. “Remember me?”
She rose her head slowly, and at first, her stare seemed blank. But after studying me, a smile filled her face.
“You’re almost there,” she announced.
I stopped moving. Wow! She knew what I’d been thinking? What I’d been doing? She could read me that well? That kinda creeped me out; this woman didn’t know me. But I pushed my apprehensions aside. It was clear that she had some kind of prophetic insight. So I stepped even closer to her. “Al
most,” I said in response to her statement. “Is it okay if I sit and talk with you a bit?”
Her smile dipped a bit as she glanced around the marketplace and hesitantly replied, “Well . . . I’m working, and you would be taking me away from that . . .”
With the overcast sky, there weren’t even ten people mulling about the marketplace. It wasn’t like she was going to lose out on any sales by talking to me. Even still, I understood that this was her place of business and even one missed customer would be one too much. So, I said, “How about I buy some of your rocks to take back as souvenirs for my family?”
She nodded her approval and winked at me. “I like the way you think.”
I pointed out the rocks I wanted—not even sure that I would give them to anyone, then handed her a fifty-dollar bill. “You can keep the change,” I said.
She beamed as she took the money. “The generosity of Americans. I love it.” She pushed the money down into a pouch around her waist and then pointed to a small stool in her booth. “Sit.”
I did as she instructed.
She adjusted her long, Mexican-print skirt, and without looking at me said, “Have you found what you’re searching for?”
I shrugged. “I’m not sure. I think I have. But I’m wondering if I need more time here. I’m supposed to be going home tomorrow, but I’m thinking of extending my stay again.”
“Really? You don’t have to go back home?”
“I do.” I sighed. “It was hard because we’re in a crisis situation at work, but we’re always in a crisis, so I took vacation and personal leave and really could stay another week, though my daughter wouldn’t be happy because I’m supposed to be taking her back to school.”
Jewel shook her head, her long plaits swinging with emphasis. “No, staying is not the answer. What you need is not here. At least not anymore. You needed time to get a clear head, reconnect with your calling, and now that you have it, you have to face all that you’ve discovered. You can’t run from your problems.”
More to Life Page 9