For I know that in me (that is, in my flesh,) dwelleth no good thing: for to will is present with me; but how to perform that which is good I find not.
—Romans 7:18
Fatima’s doorbell rang. She had been in an especially somber mood today. It was May 14th, her birthday, and she had grown conditioned to dread this day. It wasn’t because she didn’t appreciate being born or the fact that she had made it to yet another year. It was because few people ever really remembered or seemed to care that it was her special day. Sure, her parents and siblings usually called sometime before the clock struck midnight. All except her baby brother, who traditionally never did. He was too much into himself to notice other people existed on the planet if they didn’t act like the world revolved around him. And a few friends usually called, here and there.
Today, she turned 32, and she was still alone. What was there to celebrate?
She opened the door.
“Delivery,” the flower man said. He handed her a huge bouquet of exotic, mixed flowers.
“They’re beautiful,” Fatima said as she carefully took the lead crystal vase.
“Top of the line.” He smiled. “Hope it brightens your Saturday.”
“It’s my birthday,” Fatima said, although for the life of her, she didn’t know why.
“Well, happy birthday,” he said with an even bigger smile as though he really meant it.
Fatima smiled. He turned and strode quickly back to his van and drove away. Admiring the flowers, she walked into the house, anxious to see who could have sent her something so nice. Her parents didn’t do flowers. They always sent a card with money in it. Always.
“What do we get for a person who has everything or can buy herself whatever she wants whenever she wants?” Fatima’s mother would say every year. “I hope you don’t mind, but we know money will always fit.”
“Thank you, Mother,” Fatima always politely said. “And the card is lovely as always.”
The mailman hadn’t delivered yet, so who knows, maybe her mother had decided to break with tradition and send something different this year. Fatima couldn’t think of anyone else it could be from. Her three sisters and one other brother who usually called on her birthday weren’t flower-sending types either. And her daddy, when it came to gift giving, usually went in with her mother.
She put the vase on the table and removed the small card tucked snugly inside of its miniature, cream-colored envelope.
“You are so beautiful to me. Happy Birthday!”
It wasn’t signed. Without a signature, she couldn’t imagine who they could be from. Maybe it really was from her mother. That was one of the sayings her mother constantly hammered in her head: that she was indeed beautiful. Fatima started to call her mother to see if they were in fact from her, but there was another tradition her mother and father had: they always called her at the exact time she was born. If she called them now, it would ruin things for them. They would be calling right at 1:02 P.M. That was only some thirty minutes away. She could wait thirty more minutes to find out.
The doorbell rang again. Fatima went to answer it, wondering who this could be.
“Delivery,” the same man who had brought the flowers earlier said again. He held out a long, white box secured together by a yellow ribbon tied into a lovely bow.
“Weren’t you just here?” Fatima said. “Are you sure those are for me?”
“Yes, ma’am. You’re Fatima Adams, right?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
“Then these are for you.”
She took the box and cradled it under her arm. “Thank you. I feel like I should tip you or something, especially since you had to come twice.”
“No need, ma’am. It’s all been taken care of. You just have a nice birthday.”
“Thanks,” she said again. She went back inside and hurried to open the box.
“Yellow roses,” she said. She found the card inside and read it.
“You light up my world. You’re the sunshine of my life. Happy Birthday, Fatima.”
Now she was really confused. This card wasn’t signed either. The doorbell rang once again. She couldn’t help but to beam. Now who?
When she opened the door, another man stood with a large rectangular box. “Special delivery for Fatima Adams,” he said in a high-pitched, slow drawl.
“That would be me.”
“Sign here please, ma’am.” He held up a gadget with an electronic-like pen attached to it for her to sign. She scribbled her name; he handed her the box.
She looked for a return address, but there was only a dress shop address. After she walked back into the house, she had to find a pair of scissors to cut loose the tape that held the box together. Inside the box was an A-line, beaded, knee-length, form-fitting dress.
“Purple,” she said as she took the dress in her hands and held it up to see the front and back of it in its full splendor. “My favorite color. This is beautiful.” She carefully laid it on the couch as she searched the box for a card or some clue as to who had sent it. There was nothing nestled in between the tissue paper that had blanketed the dress.
The phone rang. She glanced at the clock: 1:02 P.M. on the dot.
Right on cue! It was her parents singing happy birthday to her. This was such a highlight for them.
“That was so nice,” Fatima said. “Thank you, both.”
“You’re welcome,” her father said.
“So how has your day been so far?” her mother asked.
“So far it’s been great. And of course, this call just made it all that more special, as it always does every year.”
“Has our package arrived yet?” her mother asked.
Fatima smiled. “Yes, I suppose. I’m just not sure which one might be from the two of you.”
“Which one? We only sent one,” her mother said.
“Yeah. I figured that. I just received three deliveries almost back-to-back, and there was no card saying who anything was from. So I’m not sure which one is from the two of you.”
“Well, we signed our card just like we always do,” her father said. “And Mother put the signed check inside the card, just the way she always does. Didn’t you, Mother? You shouldn’t have to guess, Fatima, which one is from us.”
“You sent a card with money?” Fatima sounded surprised and a bit disappointed.
“Well, yes,” her mother said. “I told you, Fatima. We don’t have a clue what to ever buy you. With money, we don’t have to worry about you needing to exchange it because you don’t like the color or you already have something like it. I know our gift will always fit, and it’s something you can always find a use for. I know it might seem insensitive, but it works great for us. We don’t ever have to worry about our feelings being hurt because you didn’t like your present.”
“Well, the mailman hasn’t come yet, so I haven’t gotten your gift, Mother and Dad.” Fatima looked again at the purple dress that seemed to twinkle in the sunlight.
“Maybe one of your sisters or your brothers sent the other package.”
“I doubt that very seriously,” Fatima said. While she talked, she walked over to the box holding the roses and took it to the kitchen to put the roses in a vase.
“Now see, Fatima you always act that way about your siblings. They don’t ever buy you a gift because they’re barely making it with their own families. It’s hard on them, on all of them. You and your baby brother are the only two who don’t have any real responsibilities.”
“Mother, I can’t speak for your baby boy, but I have responsibilities.” She turned on the faucet, filled the vase with water, and poured in the contents of the packet enclosed to keep the flowers alive longer.
“You know what I mean. You don’t have a husband or children. And at the rate you’re going, being so choosey and all, who knows if or when you’ll ever have anyone in your life. I don’t know if you realize this, Fatima, but you’re not getting any younger.”
Fatima smiled at the phone. “Okay, Mother. Dad, thanks to both of you for calling and singing happy birthday to me. Thanks for the card when it does arrive. I know I’m going to just love it. I love you both—”
“Fatima?” her mother said.
She let out a sigh. “Yes, Mother.”
“Baby, I hope you do something fun today. Why don’t you go out and try not to be so…so…well, you know.”
“What, Mother? So stuck up? So diva-ish? So what, Mother?” She took the knife and sliced the ends of each rose stem so water would be able to flow freely to the buds.
“So antisocial. You know, you can be a bit uppity sometimes. Try to be a little more friendly. Maybe you’ll run into a nice young man, and who knows, maybe you’ll finally be able to settle down and have a family like your sisters and brother.”
“Oh yeah. And I’ll be sure and make a wish when I blow out my candles today.”
“You have a cake for your birthday?” her mother asked.
“No, Mother. I really don’t need a cake. There’s nobody here but me. Remember? That means there would be nobody here to eat it but me. And you know where that could lead—weight gain, yet one more thing you’ll be able to point out that’s wrong with me and my life.”
“Baby, I’m not pointing out things that are wrong with you. I love you. I just want you to be happy.”
“Well, I’m happy, Mother. I am so happy I don’t know how to contain myself.”
Fatima put the roses in the vase and started arranging them with the greenery and the baby’s breath. “I have a great job, with great pay, and great benefits. I have a three-thousand-square-foot house, a luxury car that I can afford to keep both the maintenance and repairs on, all the designer and otherwise fancy clothes and shoes I can stand. I attend a church where the Word of God goes forth every week. I even have money saved up in the bank so when my wonderful siblings with responsibilities, mind you, and those without, let us not forget him, need something, they know they can come to the Bank of Fatima twenty-four/seven because my mother is going to hammer at me about what the Bible says I should do when people ask me for a loan that’s never really a loan, since a loan generally means you’re going to be paid back, which has yet to ever be the case with them. I am happy, Mother. Hap-py!”
“Well, you don’t sound very happy, Baby. Did I say something to upset you? I didn’t mean to upset you if I have, especially not on your birthday.”
Fatima carried the roses into the other room as she released a sigh. “I’m not upset, Mother. I’m glad you called.” The doorbell rang. “That’s my doorbell. I have to go.”
“All right. We love you!” her mother said.
“Love you, too. Bye,” Fatima said. She hung up and walked to the door. “Yes,” she said to the man standing with a Kangol hat on and his back turned toward her.
“Delivery,” he said in a deep, slightly muffled voice. He then turned around with a slightly large, square box in his hand.
Her gaze went from the box to his face. “Darius?” Her voice was laced with surprise. “What are you doing here?”
“Happy Birthday,” he said with a mischievous grin. “Surprised?” He smiled as he continued to hold the box out to her.
“You remembered my birthday?” Fatima smiled as she slanted her head slightly toward him and tried not to let him see she was now blushing.
“Of course, I remembered your birthday.”
“But you never seemed to have remembered it before.”
“That was then; this is now. Are you going to take this, or are you waiting for my arm to fall—”
She laughed. “Don’t you dare do that.”
“Do what? That scene from the movie Mahogany with Billy Dee Williams and Diana Ross? One of your favorites, right?”
“Yes.”
“Well?” He started lowering the box as if it was becoming harder and harder for him to keep holding it in the air. “Are you going to take this or what?”
She took the box and found herself smiling even more, no matter how hard she tried not to. Through the plastic window, she could see what was inside it: a beautiful cake with her name scripted in purple with purple and yellow flowers surrounding it.
He rubbed his hands quickly together and blew into them as though they were cold, which they couldn’t be since it was the middle of May in a very hot Alabama. His eyes traveled unhurriedly from her head down to her feet. “May I come in?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Fatima said, standing her ground.
“Why not, beautiful? You do know you are so beautiful to me. You light up my world. You are a queen, a woman of royal distinction. Purple for royalty, for her majesty the queen.” He bowed before her, then stood back erect while shaking his head and grinning.
She looked at him as her eyes began to widen. “You? That was you who sent me all those things today?”
“A bouquet of flowers in a lead crystal vase. Yellow roses because you really are the sunshine of my life. You, without a doubt, light up my world. And a dress fit for a queen going out to celebrate one of the most important days of my life—the day you, Fatima Adams, graced this earth with your presence and blessed all those who have had the fortunate pleasure to meet and know you.” Somehow on cue, his eyes twinkled.
“Darius…”
“Can we please just go inside and talk? I won’t do anything inappropriate. I won’t pressure you. I just want to talk…somewhere other than outside for your nosey neighbors to see. And you know some of them be looking. If after we talk you want me gone, you just say the word, and I promise I’ll not ruin your special day today by fighting you on it.”
Fatima pushed the door open and let Darius pass inside. She carried the cake to the table in the kitchen. When she came back, Darius had taken off his hat and put it on the coffee table. He was holding a small velvet box in his hand. He patted the place next to him. “Come sit next to me. Please,” he said.
She stood where she was.
“Please. I have something for you. A birthday present. Come on, sit by me.”
She walked over slowly and slid down cautiously next to him.
He took her hand. She felt electricity instantly and snatched her hand out of his.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said as he reached to take her hand back. “You felt it, too, didn’t you? There’s a connection between us, positive and negative charges that cause sparks and a steady current to flow through your body.” He slowly and gently brought her hand up to his lips and planted a soft kiss on the back of it.
“I don’t think this is such a great idea.”
“And I think I’ve missed you so much all of these months. I can’t stand this, Fatima. I can’t stand not having you in my life. I love my wife, but I’m not in love with her. She doesn’t make me feel the way you do. It’s different with us. When I turned around and saw you just a little while ago, my heart literally did a flip and then skipped a beat. I’ve never known a woman to cause that type of reaction in me. You’re very special, Fatima, and I’m not going to let us go by the wayside without at least putting up a fight.”
“You…are…married, Darius. How many different ways can I say that to you?”
“But for how long? You met my wife that Sunday. There’s nothing between us anymore. Couldn’t you tell? Didn’t you feel it? We don’t have anything in common. Not like you and I seem to.”
“You don’t really know me, Darius. All you know are the stolen moments we’ve shared. Sure it’s easy for you to compare a woman you’re with day in and day out to one you see only briefly, and most times, when she’s at her best…when I’m at the top of my game. You don’t know all the bad things about me. And for that matter, I don’t know all your negative junk either, except for the fact that you will cheat on your wife. I do know that.”
“Ooh, low blow. Score one for you.” He picked up the small box he’d held earlier, which was now resting on the couch beside him. “I want you to have this,” he said as he handed her the box.
She didn’t reach to take it. “What is it?”
“Open it and see.” He nodded his head once and pushed it closer toward her.
“I don’t like what that box looks like it might be.”
He turned the small box around in his hand as he pretended to examine it better. “Looks like a blue velvet box to me. People get them every day. It seems harmless enough. What does it look like?”
“It looks like a ring box to me.”
He laughed. “Very good. I see you are at least familiar with jewelry. Now, do you think you can take this box and open it so we can see if you like what’s inside or not?”
“I really don’t want to.”
“Fatima, why are you being silly?”
“I’m not being silly, Darius. I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but this is my heart you’re playing it with. This stuff hurts.” She looked into his eyes. “Do you understand this at all?”
“Of course, I understand. I’ve been hurting for the past two months. I call and you wouldn’t even answer. I think about you day and night, but I can’t do a thing about my feelings or thoughts. And believe me, I’ve tried. I submerged myself in my work. I spent extra time with my children. I tried doing some of the things you and I at least wanted to do together, with my wife. Like going out and having fun, for example, which she doesn’t want or care to do. Ever. But no matter what I did, nothing would take the place of my thoughts of you.”
“That’s why you need to stop doing stuff like this. Every time you do it, it’s just like having a wound that’s on its way to being healed and somebody comes along and starts pulling and picking at it until it opens up and starts bleeding again.”
He took her hand. “Don’t you think if I could stop, I would? This is not easy for me either. Woman, you’ve got some kind of a stronghold on me. Yeah, okay. I’m a man; I’m supposed to be tough. But men want and need to feel love, too. We men want to feel like someone out there thinks we’re somebody special just like you women do. But we can’t go around spouting off junk like that. Not out loud. We can’t ask for it like you women are allowed to. We look weak if we do. And let’s face it, women just don’t care for weak men.” He held the box out to her once again. “So please, take this and open it.”
Fatima pressed her lips tightly together and shook her head slowly but continuously. “I’m scared. I just can’t. This hurts too much.” She began to cry. “I don’t want to love you, Darius. I promise I don’t. And every time I believe I am finally getting over you, something happens, like this, and I’m right back where I started with you.”
He took his thumb and alternately and gently began to wipe the tears from each side of her cheeks and face. “Do you want me to leave?”
She continued to cry. He leaned over and pulled her into his arms as he held her. “Fatima, do you want me to leave? Because I didn’t come here to hurt you today. It was a special day for me because I realized this is the day you were born. And I was thinking about what that really meant in my own life. I knew those other years I was not here for you on your birthday. I knew you had to spend your special day without me in the past. But today, I was determined I would make it up to you. I wanted you to know how much you really do mean to me. Whether we’re just friends or whatever, I care deeply for you.”
She looked up at him. “You always know the right things to say, don’t you? You always seem to know what I need, when I need it. So if I open that box, what am I going to find inside it? A friendship ring? Or the ring you know would mean the most to me even it means nothing substantial to my life?”
“Do you think I’m trying to play you right now?” Darius tried to appear sincere. “I love you, Fatima. I can’t help that.” He leaned down and kissed her. Then he kissed her again. “Why don’t you go upstairs, take your new dress, put it on, and let’s you and I go to Anniston or Tuscaloosa or Huntsville or Chelsea…somewhere where no one knows us. And let’s celebrate your birthday the way you’ve always wanted us to.”
“You mean dinner…a movie…spending time together without having to be anywhere at any particular time or having to watch the clock?”
“Yes.” Darius kissed her on her nose. “That’s exactly what I mean.”
“Then we come back here and spend some more time together, just you and I. And we make wild, passionate love or you just hold me…like you’re doing right now?”
He smiled even more. “Whatever you want. Whatever happens. Just the two of us. Together.”
She looked up at him the way a little girl who was shy would look up at an adult. “Yeah. That does sound good, doesn’t it? Really good.”
“Oh yeah, girl. Now you go on upstairs and get ready so we can get this birthday party started.”
She stood up, walked over to the bouquet of flowers and inhaled deeply. She went and caressed the buds of the roses that were still tight-lipped. She picked up the dress at the end of the couch with all its fine, beaded work, ran her hand over portions of it, and smiled. She looked over at him. “And after we’ve been together and confessed our undying love for each other, then what?” she asked, still maintaining her smile.
The smile on his face began to drop. “Then what?”
“Yeah. Then what?”
“Then we go on with real life. I mean, I don’t understand what you want me to say right here. Then you and I go back to reality. To our real lives.”
She smiled. “Oh. You mean, then you get up sometime during the early morning hours—before the sun breaks—and you hurriedly put your clothes back on. You kiss me on the lips, then the cheeks, and you tell me how hard it is to leave. But you have to get home before it’s too late. After all, you are a married man; we both knew that fact going in….”
“And you know I won’t want to go, but that’s the way it has to be. For now anyway. Not forever, just for now.”
“Right. Because you love me. And you would never do anything to hurt me.”
He stood up and walked over to her. Wrapping his arms snugly around her, he whispered softly, “Girl, you know that. That’s why I’m here right now. Your birthday is special. You’re special. Do you know what I had to do to even be here today like this? And then, for me to be available for us to do all the things we’re planning on later today and tonight. I had to lie to my wife who, incidentally, is now three months pregnant. But I’m here for you. My wife thinks I had to go out of town on some important family business, and that I’m doing all I can to get back home before daybreak just so we can make it to church together as a family tomorrow. I’m going to be worn out.”
“Your wife is pregnant again? So you’re having another baby? Well, I suppose congratulations are in order.” She let out a small laugh, then pulled it back in. “And yet, you’re here with me? You’re doing all of this…for little ole me.”
“Yes,” he said as he scrunched up his face, wondering what Fatima was really trying to say. “I’d do anything for you. You know this. So quit using up all our valuable time with all this nonsense about how I feel about you, and let me show you just how much I really do care.”
She smiled, pulled the dress closer to her body, and started slowly walking up the curving staircase. She stopped and turned around to look back down at him just once more.
He winked as he shook his head slowly, scanning her body again as he bit down hard on his bottom lip…just before he moistened both his lips and grinned. “Hurry up now. I can’t wait.” He rubbed his hands together, puckered up his lips, and kissed the wind in her direction.