Kenya
I open my eyes.
My heartbeat is scattershot. Mouth is dry. The room feels like it’s closing in on me. Another bad dream, the worst of nightmares. They’re becoming a regular occurrence again.
I miss Donnell. He’d helped me through that difficult time. His love chased away everything that was bad in my life. We had a once-upon-a-time kind of love.
Until I rewrote the happily ever after ending.
I sit up on the side of my bed, stretch, focus my eyes, then reach for my cell phone on the nightstand. I check for missed calls, for text messages. No and no.
I dial a familiar number before I start to leak eye water.
She picks up on the third ring.
Her voice is cheery.
I can’t handle cheery at the moment.
“What are you up to, girl?” I ask.
“Watching CSI. Why? What’s up?”
“Nothing much.”
“Everything all right, Ken? You sound funny.”
“Yeah, I’m cool,” I lie after a pause.
I hear the television background noise disappear from Lark’s end. The squeak of her mattress springs. Soft footfalls across her carpeted room. A door closes. Mattress springs squeak again. “I turned off CSI for you, Ken,” Lark says. “You betta come correct. Wassup?”
“Had another dream about Mr. Alonzo.”
“Oh, Ken!”
“Been having them a lot lately.”
“Well…is…was…” She doesn’t know what to say.
I can understand that fully.
I don’t, either.
“Well, let me go. Just needed someone to talk to,” I say.
The fact we haven’t really talked is a small point.
“Ken? Holeup,” Lark says.
“What?”
“Let’s talk. You wanted to talk.”
“Not much to say. I had another dream. Been having them again.”
“Donnell really helped you through all of that.”
I sigh. “Yes, he did.”
“Stupid question. You haven’t spoken to Donnell since we got back?”
“Been a minute since I spoke to him. He sent me that text I showed you before we left. And nothing since.”
“Why don’t you call him?”
“Best to leave that alone. Move on. Let him move on. I made my decision, gotta live with it.” I pause. “Besides, I had a good time at school. We’ll be leaving soon. Donnell is part of my past. A special part of my past, true enough, but still he’s of the past. I don’t want to close any other doors that might open for me.”
Especially a six-foot-four door.
“Wasn’t anybody down there even close to Donnell, Ken. Even JaMarcus with his fine self isn’t Donnell. And you know that. Call your man.”
“He’s not my man anymore, Lark. I’m through with that situation. I’m sure he’s forgotten about me by now.”
“Just ’cause he went out with Melyssa Bryan doesn’t mean he’s forgotten about you. I bet it isn’t even serious. And you should know. JaMarcus was all up on you, and you were feeling him, too. But at the end of the day you still love Donnell. Forget about Melyssa Bryan.”
I feel light-headed all of a sudden.
The room is no longer closing in on me; now it is spinning.
I don’t know which is worse.
“Melyssa Bryan?” I touch my stomach, consider hanging up, rushing to the bathroom. I feel nauseous. Mouth is salty beyond words. I’m about as close as you can come to vomiting. “Lark, I…I need to go. I’ll…I’ll talk with you later.”
“Ken.”
“I need to go.” There are tears in my eyes, and in my voice, too.
“Oh my God!” Lark says. “Did I just put my foot in my mouth, Ken?”
I feel light-headed. Mouth is salty. The room is spinning. I’m gonna vomit.
“Melyssa Bryan…” My voice is barely a whisper.
“You didn’t know. Oh my God! You didn’t know. Did you?”
I lie down on my bed, put my free hand on my forehead. “No. I didn’t.”
Lark groans. “I’ve got foot-mouth disease, Ken. I’m so sorry.”
“I’m cool.” I say cool the way I spell it in text messages: kewl.
In another couple of weeks I’ll be leaving for good. Starting a new life. With new people. New friends. New experiences. There will be plenty of new opportunities. Good dudes. College boys. College men. JaMarcus or somebody else.
That doesn’t make me feel any better, though.
“Donnell is a good dude, Ken,” Lark says. “And he cares about you a lot. That’s not even debatable. He’s not perfect. And neither are you. But you two are almost perfect together.You’re my best friend, Ken. I’ve never seen you as happy as you were with Donnell. Ever. Don’t throw that away. I’m sure Melyssa Bryan doesn’t mean anything to Donnell. But you should call him. Before it is too late.”
Lark means well, but I’d consider her pep talk a soliloquy.
Because I don’t hear her, won’t allow myself to hear her.
“Nope. Donnell made his choice.”
“You kinda forced his hand, Ken.”
That stings. Not what I’d expect from my best friend in this situation. But there’s truth in Lark’s words. And they say the truth hurts. It does. Hurts like a bad tooth. Hurts even worse sometimes.
“Okay, Lark, if you say so. I’ll take the blame for what Donnell has done.” I don’t have the strength to argue. Don’t have the strength to point fingers, assign blame. I’ll just take it all. Own it as my fault.
“Not blaming you, Ken. Don’t do that. Maybe I should have said something different. I’m sorry. But you have a choice. Do something, or do nothing. You gonna sit around feeling sorry for yourself? That’s not like you.”
“I’m fine, Lark. I’m cool.”
Kewl.
“I have an idea,” Lark says.
“Oh, Lord.” I’m skeptical anytime Lark gets that edge in her voice.
Just a couple nights ago that edge had me on stage singing without any real preparation.
“I’m not kicking it with Donovan until later,” she says. “If then.”
“Okay? And?”
“You’re not doing anything but sitting around feeling down, Ken.”
“Thanks for pointing that out to me, Lark. I feel so much better now.”
“I say we get Get Smart wid it.”
“Which means?”
“Reconnaissance.”
“Pretend I’m the President. Speak English to me…slowly.”
“We can check on Donnell. See what he’s up to.”
“Oh, hells no.”
I’d checked up on my last boyfriend. Ricky. Found out he had another girl pregnant. Came away from that situation feeling foolish, violated, used. Sometimes it was better to leave well enough alone. That’s what Mama says. I’m riding with her on that one.
“Come on, Ken. Why not?”
“You’ve been watching too much CSI. I’ll pass.”
“What can it hurt?”
“He could be with Melyssa.” My voice is getting raw. To match my emotions.
“And Michael Jackson could make a comeback. If ifs were fifths, we’d spend our lives drunk. Don’t let ifs dictate your life for you, Ken.”
I love my girl. Love everything about her. But I do get sick of her constant references to the Jackson family. Michael, Janet, Jermaine, blah, blah, blah.
“Lark…no.”
“Come on, Ken. Go put four hundred dollars in the Acura…that should get you close to half a tank. And come get your girl.”
“I don’t want to know, Lark. Bad enough my mind is working overtime. Got all kinds of thoughts.”
“That’s ’bout as healthy as a yeast infection. And you wouldn’t ignore that.”
She’s right.
I wouldn’t.
I sigh.
“Something to be said for peace of mind, Ken,” Lark says.
“You get on my nerves, Lark.”
My give is like quicksand, a fast sink.
“Make sure you wear something dark, Ken. We want to see without being seen. Understand?”
Can’t believe I’m gonna do this.
I try to soften the mood, chase away my fears, joke. “Want me to bring binoculars…duct tape, garbage bags, hammer and nails?”
“Don’t be silly. What do we need with a hammer and nails? But bring the binoculars, duct tape and garbage bags.”
Lark clicks off.
I can’t help but smile.
I love my girl.
Acura TL. 2002. Close to a hundred and thirty thousand miles on it, and more than a few dents. But it’s all mine. And I baby it like…well, like a baby. Unbeknownst to me, Mama had been tucking away a dollar here and five there since I was four years old. Around the time my father caught the fever and decided to cool off in the Bahamas, without us but with two Filipino sisters that used to live across the street from us. Nurses, both of ’em. And yes, I said two. Papa was a player to the nth degree. Anyway, apparently all those tucked-away dollars added up. So when I graduated in June, Mama entrusted that small bankroll to her boyfriend, Hollywood. He found the TL. Good work. The one useful thing he’s done since coming into all of our lives. But I still don’t like him. Grown man named Hollywood. Nuff said.
“This is gonna be so good,” Lark says as she slides into my car. She’s got a nonstop mouth. Has as many miles on her mouth as I have on my car.
“Hello to you, too,” I say.
She waves me off. “We exchanged pleasantries on the phone, Ken. All eight times we spoke today.”
“That many?”
“Yeah, girl. I’ve had to keep my eye on you. Feel like paparazzi trying to get pictures of Brangelina’s twins. I was about to hide out in the bushes outside your house to keep an eye on you 24/7.”
“There aren’t any bushes outside my house.”
“See how difficult this has been for me?”
I wince. “I’ve been that bad?”
“You haven’t dangled any babies over a balcony, or driven with any babies in your lap.” She stops, reroutes. “Why is there always a baby involved when a celebrity loses their natural mind?”
“Why are we always talking about celebrities?”
Lark shrugs. “I’ve been programmed and conditioned by the media. FOX network and People magazine have ruined me, girl. Totally messed up my impressionable mind.”
All I can do is shake my head.
Buffoonery.
I grip the steering wheel, but don’t take off. If Lark had her license I’d let her drive. My hands feel shaky, but look steady. My nerves are shaky, even if my hands aren’t.
“Speak now or forever hold your peace,” Lark says.
I wince again. “I’m a long way from a wedding. Can’t even keep a boyfriend.”
“Dramatic. Vivica Fox better watch her back.”
Celebrities again. Maybe Lark has been ruined.
“Cut that,” I say.
“Sanaa Lathan better sharpen her sword.”
“Lark, focus.”
“Jada Pinkett Smith better hurry up and get back in the game.”
“I’m done talking to you, Lark.”
She touches my shoulder, straightens her posture. “I drank at every vine. The last was like the first. I came upon no wine so wonderful as thirst.”
I frown, look at her. “Okay, I’ll bite, Lark. Who’s that?”
“Edna St. Vincent Millay.”
“Who dat? One of the stars on Dancing with the Stars?”
Am I the only person that doesn’t know half of the so-called “stars” on that show?
“Silly ass,” Lark says. “She’s a poet.”
“A poet? I don’t know how you and my brother never hooked up, Lark.”
Lark frowns. “Eric’s like my baby brother. Please.”
“You’re both so damn articulate and well-read.”
“You, too, Ken. Don’t front. Reading Toni Morrison on the sly. And yet all you have listed in the Books section on your MySpace page is Zane and Relentless Aaron. That’s false advertising, Ken.”
“Anyway. So what does it mean? And how does it apply to my current situation?”
“What?”
“What you just said. Edna what’s her face.”
Lark waves me off again. “Ken, nothing. It just sounds pretty. And you’ve been down. Thought that might pick you up.”
“That’s not how it usually works, Lark. You don’t quote poetry unless it has meaning to a situation.”
“You don’t usually break up with a boyfriend that is perfect for you, either.” She shrugs. “Guess some rules are to be broken.”
Touché. And ouch.
“Why do I feel like Laila Ali just punched me?”
Lark smiles. “Everyting gon be irie.”
Jamaican slang. Everything is gonna be all right.
“Donovan,” we say in unison.
And laugh like the girlfriends we are. For a brief moment, everything is all right. Everyting is irie.
No worries.
But that bottom will fall out shortly.
“I don’t know about this.”
“Don’t get cold feet now, Ken.”
“His car’s in the front of the house. He’s home. Let’s just go.” I move to put the Acura’s transmission in Drive.
Lark grabs my hand, turns me facing her. “His car’s running, sweetie.”
“So?”
She taps the side of her head, makes a duh face. “Well, I’m going to use my intuitive powers, which have been sharpened by watching episodes of CSI, to deduce that Donnell is on the verge of leaving his house.”
Just my luck we’d pull up and this is what we’d find. I wanted Donnell to be home, mourning me, not getting ready to go God knows where. I can’t stand this. Another repeat of the disaster with my previous boyfriend. Ricky. You kick aside a rock and you’re gonna find dirt and ants under it. I shouldn’t have let Lark talk me into kicking aside this rock. My heart can’t take it.
“Here he comes, Ken. Get ready.”
Crap!
“He’s dressed casual,” Lark says. “Shorts and a button-up.”
My heart thumps.
“Fresh haircut, too,” she adds. “Got both diamond studs in and—” she squints as she leans forward “—is that a new watch?”
I glance up, nod. “New watch.” Pause. “Fresh new K-Swiss, too.”
“Could be going on a date,” Lark says.
My heart thumps.
“I hate this,” I say. “What happened to this all working out just fine?”
“If you find out it only took him a week to move on from you…that’s working out fine, Ken. That’s some good-to-know info.”
Wonderful.
Knew I should have stayed home in my bed.
“Okay,” Lark says. “Follow him. But don’t crowd him. Stay a reasonable distance back.”
CSI. Damn CSI.
“This is so exciting, Ken.”
“A load of fun,” I manage through gritted teeth.
We follow for a while before Donnell pulls up to a 7-Eleven. I park across the street in an abandoned lot, turn off my headlights. Donnell gets out of his car. Lark and I duck down but keep our eyes trained on him. His strut looks labored. Shoulders slumped.
The slump of his shoulders makes me wonder if he’s mourning me after all.
Then I remember it started to fall apart between me and Ricky at a convenience store, too.
This has to be a bad omen.
“Wouldn’t mind a Slurpee right about now,” Lark says.
“You got me out here. Stay focused.”
“What’s wrong with black folks, Ken?”
“What’chu mean?”
She says, “I want a Slurpee. Craving one heavy. Trying to settle my mind on which flavor. And I keep thinking I have to go with red. But that’s crazy, some straight-up ghetto-slash-black folks thinking. Red ain’t no damn flavor.”
“Buffoonery.”
“Ain’t it the truth.”
Donnell exits the store, interrupting our nervous chatter.
Lark taps me, nods at him. “Can’t see what he has. Can you?”
“I bet one of those ninety-nine-cent cans of Arizona. Mango Madness.”
“Damn, you’re right.” Donnell places the drink on the roof of his car, gets his keys together and fumbles with something. “You two know one another so well.”
That’s the worst part about starting over. You have to start over.
My stomach rumbles.
I deserve this, though. Wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t so foolish. If I hadn’t rushed to break what wasn’t broken.
“Damn,” Lark says.
Damn is right.
In Donnell’s other hand: a bouquet of roses.
“I’m sorry, Ken. I feel worse than—”
I cut her off. “You mention one of the Jacksons, and we’re fighting.”
“I’m sorry,” she repeats.
I nod, bite my lip. “It is what it is.” I start to laugh. “I’m sick of hearing people say that phrase. And here I go using it.”
But it’s true.
It is what it is.
Nothing I can do about the cards I’m dealt. But play ’em.
Donnell eases out of the 7-Eleven lot.
“You want to keep following, Ken?”
“Might as well see this through to the end.”
I ease out behind him.
He turns off the main highway. Takes a lot of side streets. Residential areas. Comes to a bend in the road, bisected by a man-made lake, and turns left. Back on a less traveled highway. A Red Roof Inn and a Holiday Inn sign are illuminated off to our left up the road. Donnell turns into that complex. My stomach does flips. I hear Lark’s heavy breathing beside me. Donnell passes the two inns. Follows the road out, turns left into a huge parking lot. A building before him.
“What’s this place, Ken?”
I frown. “HealthSouth Rehabilitation Hospital, according to the sign.”
Donnell slides into a spot up close to the building as I hang back. He appears to hesitate in his car, and then he gets out. Same loping steps. Shoulders slumped. He stops by the front of the building. The doors slide open. He steps away. They close. He pulls out his cell phone.
That’s the play-by-play.
This feels like a play-off game in the NBA or something.
Stakes are high. For me, at least.
“He’s calling someone,” Lark says.
I feel a vibration on my hip and look down. “Yeah. Me.”
“Pick up. Pick up.”
I do. “Hey,” I whisper.
“Hey, yourself,” says Donnell.
His voice sounds weary.
I’ve never heard him sound that way before.
“You don’t sound well. Is everything okay?”
“Nope.”
“Anything I can do?”
“You can park. Then you and Lark can come up with me to visit my moms.”
“You spotted us?” Then I realized what he’d said. “Your moms?”
Donnell sighs. “Wasn’t hard spotting you. You have that stuffed dolphin I won you hanging from your rearview mirror.”
Seaside Heights. Boardwalk. We walked hand in hand that Saturday night he won the dolphin for me. The boardwalk was crowded. Donnell seemed so proud to hold my hand, let everyone know I was his girl. I felt the same way.
“I followed you,” I confess. “I know it’s wrong.”
“You can tell me later why you’ve been following me,” Donnell says. “I have to deal with my moms’s situation right now.”
“What happened to her?”
“Cerebrovascular accident,” he says.
I hear the hurt in his voice. The disbelief.
I repeat that medical jargon, ask what it is.
He doesn’t answer.
“A stroke,” Lark says. “Who had a stroke, Ken?”
“I’m parking,” I tell Donnell. “We’ll be right there.”
He says the saddest thing I’ve ever heard. Breaks my heart.
Just one word. “Hurry.”