"STOP LAUHING." I warned for the umpteenth time.
"I'm sorry, I'll stop...I promise." He said still chuckling.
He wasn't doing a very good job with it already.
"You have to admit that was funny though. She really came up to the table and did that?" Al asked finally calming down.
"Yes." I rubbed my face. "I was mortified."
"Yeah, I'd bet."
I was retelling the incident at the restaurant last week to Al. I was glad that I made friends with him because I had someone to share that terrifying story with. There was no way I could share it with Kelly and Michelle.
"Why'd you think she didn't rat you out?" He questioned.
That was something I was wondering myself. "I don't know."
"Maybe that was her giving you a hint."
"A hint to what?"
I knew where he was going with this. I just wanted to play ignorant.
"That maybe you need to return to therapy." He answered.
"Hmmph. I don't think so." I scoffed.
"Why not?"
"Because it's a bad idea."
"How is it a bad idea?"
"Well..."
"You know you have no excuse. So go back."
"No."
"I think you should go back." He repeated for the third time.
I was curled up in a little ball in the middle of my bed, wrapped in a quilted blanket. Ignoring his suggestion again, I busied myself with some loose threads, twirling the strand around my finger before plucking it out. I chewed my bottom lip and remained quiet.
"Beyoncé I know you hear me." Al lightly scolded through the phone.
I sighed before yanking another thread from the quilt.
"I know." I mumbled and pulled myself up into a seated position. "I just don't want to."
"Why not? You even said so yourself that it wasn't all that bad." He took pleasure in reminding me of my words a few days ago.
I could see the stupid smug on his face through the phone. A cocky and crooked smile with his head tilted up. I pushed out a long and exaggerated breath through tight lips which made him chuckle. He knew he had me.
"I know, but..." I scanned my brain for another excuse that I knew I didn't have.
"But nothing."
I flicked another piece of string across the bed while listening to him gripe about me going back to therapy. Truth be told, he was right and I didn't have any reason to not return. But I was stubborn. All I could think about is the way I ended my sessions with Gabrielle. I'm sure my storming out left a bad taste in her mouth about me. And on top of that, it's been about 2 weeks since I last stepped foot in her office. I haven't been keeping count, but I'm pretty sure I wasted the last few sessions that I did have left with her. Kelly and Michelle still don't know about that. And if things go my way, they will never know.
I rubbed my forehead still engaged in my internal conflict. It's probably best that I stayed away. That option made more sense in my head.
"It's been way too long."
I was hoping he would see the sense that I saw.
"And whose fault is that Beyoncé?"
"Mine."
I sighed heavily. It was like I felt his arms blanketed around me when Al's tone changed.
"You know I care about you right?" He said soothingly.
I nodded like if he were in the room and could see me. "I know."
"Good. And all I'm saying is that you need to keep pushing. Turning back now will only leave you stuck in that deep hole, trust me."
He paused letting his words hang on the line. They seeped through my earphone and reached out to me, feeling like a soft caress on the cheek. I clenched the phone.
"You can do this." He encouraged.
Since that turbulent, emotional, but cathartic weekend at Al's house, we've grown closer. We were comforted in the familiarity of each other's sorrow. The shared pain was like our umbilical cord. It kept us connected. It was strange to think that heartache could bond two individuals-like how love was supposed to. But it did with us. Whenever I experienced that suffocating feeling, where things got too heavy and I felt like I was ready to drown, I would call him. He would pull me up to the surface before I did and give me the breath that I needed. Simple gestures that he would do or little words of encouragement he would say were very impactful to me. Unlike going to therapy, he provided something for me that I didn't get with Dr. Union. His words weren't clinical. They were empathetic. There was an unspoken understanding because he could instantly relate. How did that make you feel? were excess and irrelevant words. He already knew. I didn't have to explain that to him. It was for that reason that I used him as my surrogate therapist for the past week.
I sniffled. "Why can't you just be my therapist?" I asked in slight humor, though being serious at the same time.
I would rather vent to him. Al laughed richly which made me chuckle a little myself.
"Because I'm no expert." He replied like he was stating the obvious.
"So what?"
"Beyoncé!"
"Okay, okay." I gave in. "You're probably annoyed by me anyway."
I sunk back into my bed and sandwiched the phone between my cheek and the mattress, returning to my initial curled up ball position.
"You really think that?" He asked.
I sniffled again. "I don't know. I mean I really have been pestering you lately with all my problems." A weak laugh escaped my lips.
"And here I am probably dampening your mood every day. I'm pitiful."
"You're not pitiful and feel free to always dampen my mood." He joked for a second. "But really, I don't want you thinking like that. You give me purpose."
"What do you mean?"
"I already told you, I want to help you fix it in any way that I can... but I can't do all of it, you need to want to do it for yourself too."
I let the thought float around in my head.
"You there?"
"Yeah I'm here... and I'm listening."
"Good. So you're going to go see Dr. Union?"
"I didn't say all that."
"Beyoncé!" He groaned sounding frustrated.
"I'm just joking... sheesh. Okay, I'll go see her."
"When?"
"Eventually." I mumbled.
"What?" He asked like he didn't hear me. "Did you say tomorrow?"
I giggled. "Yes."
"Okay then." He ended chuckling himself.
The line got quiet and I burrowed deeper into my blanket. I stared at the quilted pattern, tracing it. I listened to him breathing on the other line. I bit my lip.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Nothing, giving you all my attention." He mused. "Why?"
"Wanna come over?"
He went silent. I'm sure he was shocked.
"You mean, you're inviting me over... like as in you want me there?" He gasped playfully.
I laughed. "Yes, that's what an invitation is."
"Your friends aren't forcing you to now, are they?" He teased.
My smile fell. "No." I whispered. "And I'm so sorry about that."
"Beyoncé it's okay, I was joking." He laughed.
"I know but still..."
"... So does this visit have a purpose?"
"Yes... I want a hug."
"Really? A hug? You're serious?"
I was joking, but I really did want that signature hug. It seemed to make me feel better. I don't know why exactly.
"Okay then..." He said after some time. I was in the middle of telling him to forget about it. "I'll be over in 20 minutes."
"Really?"
"Yeah, I'll see you in 20." He replied.
I smiled. "Okay."
Before he hung up I told him about the spare key that I kept underneath a loose brick on my front step. I was too lazy to get up to let him in when he arrives. I hung up and waited. I focused on keeping my mind clear. It was best if I didn't let my thoughts interfere. But it was hard. My mind just likes to do what it wants, and it always wants to spend time thinking about...
I shifted around in the bed, trying not to go there. I closed my eyes and began to sing. I haven't sang to myself in a long time.
Aaamaaaziiiing grace... how sweeeeeeet the sooooound....thaaAAaat saaaaaved a wreeeeeetch liiiIIIke meeeeee.
I softly crooned.
I oooonce was looowhooa-whoa-ost but nooooww ooohhh I'm found...
I felt myself getting lost into the song. It was one of my mother's favorite church hymns. She always sang it first thing in the morning while making Sunday breakfast. I would be awoken to the sweet smell of buttermilk pancakes and the even sweeter sound of my mother's voice, which would echo down the hallway and push through the crack of my bedroom door. Sunday mornings were the best.
Was blind... but noooooowww I seeee
I finished up the verse, letting the memory take over. It was a spontaneous moment. I stared at my ceiling, wondering what triggered that song after so long. Perhaps it was because today was Sunday. I guess it was just second nature.
I heard clapping at the foot of my bed and I jumped out of my skin. Lazaro was standing there looking astounded. I sat up and clutched my chest.
"That was incredible."
I tucked a loose strand behind my ear. "Thank you." I shyly replied. "I didn't hear you come in. You got here pretty fast."
He took a seat at the edge of my bed. "Yeah I guess I did."
We looked at each other. Those unyielding eyes penetrating me. Part of me felt silly now that he was actually sitting across from me. He noted my discomfort. There was a hint of an amused grin playing at his lips. He opened up his arms.
"So isn't this why I drove over here?" He asked, arms still extended.
I giggled. "Yeah."
I motioned for him to lay with me. He removed his shoes and crawled onto my bed. He laid flat on his back.
"Do I get any covers?" He playfully tugged at my quilt.
"No."
I laughed as he pouted and crossed his arms. I extended my arms, opening up the blanket and he smirked before reaching in and pulling me by the waist. I was caught off guard when he slid me closer to him with one swooping motion. Before I knew it was pressed firmly against his chest. My breath hitched. Lazaro looked down at me and smiled, molding his arms around me like a protective cocoon. I pursed my lips and relaxed into his embrace. He lightly stroked my back and we laid there silently. I closed my eyes and nestled my face into the crook of his neck naturally, but then opened my eyes again stunned by it. I was really laying here in the arms of another man. I was allowing it. Wow. The more I thought about it, the tenser I was becoming. That old demon was resurrecting. Doubt.
"You have a beautiful voice." Al whispered, breaking me out of my thoughts.
His chin rested atop of my head.
"Thank you."
"Do you sing often?"
I shook my head. "No, not really."
"Why not?" He asked shifting his position a little to look at me.
"I'm too shy. Besides it's just a little hobby. I don't take it seriously."
I felt him nod. "Does it make you feel good?"
I peered up at him confused. "What do you mean?"
"I saw how at peace you looked while singing. You seemed like you escaped to another world."
I shrugged. "I guess."
"Well, one of the things that helped me cope was doing things that released stress. It distracted me from my problems. I spent more time going to that place..." He lightly tapped my head. "whatever place you were just in a while ago."
"What did you do to make yourself feel better?" I asked, now understanding what he meant.
"A bunch of things... play the piano, swim, shoot, exercise, you know any and everything to relieve stress."
"I've never sang in front of anyone before." I whispered.
"You should more often."
Some time elapsed.
"Relax Bey."
I looked up at him staring at me intently. "Huh?"
"I said relax." He repeated running his fingers through my hair.
He noted the tension in my body. I exhaled and closed my eyes and focused on him playing in my hair. He rested his head on mine. Slowly, my body loosened up. I felt light.