Some things didn't need a meaningful beginning like this one. That's why the unexpected ends with a surprise.
Life. What a pleasant gift.
I could say the bluebirds were chirping to began a new birth of a different day and Jewelz took a long stretch to break the stiffness in her bones, but it was sweeter than that.
Jewelz placed something over my head while I dove into a bright mango with juices that oozed out of the corner of my mouth. Jewelz was a fruit fanatic and loved eating dragon fruit for breakfast, but I passed on it.
I rubbed the object over my head like I lost my sense of touch. A floppy beige hat sat perfect and snug, hiding my innocent eyes.
"The hat is perfect." Jewelz chirped, signaling me with the "A-OK" sign on her fingers. I smiled politely as always and chewed some more on the tangy goodness.
"When do you think we'll head to Mama's house?" I asked.
Jewelz checked the time. "She probably expects us to be there by now, but you should probably finish eating first." Jewelz snuck a dirty finger over to my mango and I pulled it away from her reach.
"Hey, I want some mango, Diego."
I was about to compromise with her until she stuck her hand out to snatch a piece and licked her lips at the sweet taste with a slick grin.
I hate her.
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Day 2 || Mama's House
The two-story house hasn't changed one bit except for the millions of cars that parked in every driveway, under every tree, in every fitting angle. Jewelz pulled up behind a classic vintage car that reminded me of the sixties decade. Jewelz whistled at the beauty on wheels. I knocked on the door with the lightness in my knuckles, hopefully, Mama heard but Jewelz quickly rang the doorbell.
"Fix your top a little," Jewelz said motioning a downward yank and she combed down the frizz of her brown curls. I followed her movements and pulled up my elongated skirt and top.
The door interrupted my preparation and was welcomed with the face of a brown woman. Mama.
"Why the hell are y'all standing there like statues for? Give your Mama a hug, child."
An extended laugh and smile cracked her physiques, the small wrinkles that dented the eyes, making creases and folds near her cheeks. Her youth still held strong to her spirit. She drew Jewelz into her embrace and muttered a compliment before enveloping me in a hug. She smelled of honey and brown sugar like always.
Different voices that hadn't belonged to either of us suffocated the other room with loud erupt laughter and choking coughs, that could be heard in the hallway.
Mama strolled in with us following behind to witness the older women equivalent to Mama's divine age crackling over ancient jokes. "Hey, y'all better behaving." She warned with smooth sarcasm on her tongue. They all glanced down the hall with glasses in between the hand with grace and elegance.
"Ladies," she said, dragging out the ending, "This is my lovely dear Jewelz who is the god-sister of the Dales kids and my lovely granddaughter, Ebonee."
Their multiple stares burned hotter than stoves and poised over-enthused grins that seemed fake. Happy mumbles and compliments sprung about my growth which I secretly appreciated. They left enough room for Jewelz and me to sit and we took our seats.
"How are my babies today? I know it's been awhile but..." Mama settled herself in an armchair next to an old friend. Jewelz opened her mouth first because news for her sounded better than mine. She was earning money from babysitting to go to medical school to become a forensic odontologist.
The intrigued looks were enough to leave them surprised and impressed, fishing for more information. She began talking about going through medicolegal investigation training so far, going into great detail about her next motive for her future with their pleased nods and expressions. The topic carried on to marriage and a joke older ones and Jewelz can understand.
Mama reached her hand out to me with desperation and cried out my name to shut everyone up and wear the crown of attention. "Ebonee love, any plans for you for school? What are you doing?"
I didn't have my future sorted out on a map or paper, already planned at a set schedule and time like Jewelz. I'm jealous. I wish I knew what would happen the next day and could predict the inevitable. Organize the approached destiny like it was bound to occur for whatever I called upon.
"Hopefully some more school. . .uhm. . .so I could get a steady job?" The high hopes descended over the course of time, so I figured I needed to continue talking to get that spark they had with Jewelz, "I mean, it would be safe to say doctor since. . .a doctor is one of the top common dream jobs a kid could ask for to be."
Little do they know we all have dreams we'll either never reach or in time. "But we have dreams, don't we?" Beau's voice repeated in my head and I couldn't agree more.
Their silence could've been mistaken for awe or gratification, but they sat in the precision of contempt. They no longer found the desire to ask more questions about me and my future goals. I suddenly felt wrong for answering or giving away too much of nothing. It was a bad answer. Too short and too long.
I wasn't an excitement as the spotlight flickered off onto who can cook the best meal out of the group and the next door neighbor, Debra, with her lifeless plants.
And the ringing of the doorbell.
Simone and Beau stepped in to recreated the spotlight with it surely glowing on them. All the older women turned their heads to capture the light of welcoming screams and giggles. The noises drowned the room and Mama's happiness flourished at the sight of her other granddaughter. Beau nervously made his round to hugging her and all the women as they left soft kisses on his cheek and patted hugs. A rich girly smell filled the atmosphere on Beau and Simone, it became unnerving to me. She waved at us like she honestly liked me and gave Mama a second hug. My gaze averted to my lap with the urge to roll my eyes.
Beau didn't greet Jewelz or me and sat in one of the empty couches. A sigh escaped past his lips as he settled in and my hands wanted to coil into a punchable fist. I was convinced Beau and I were cool with everything, but that's not what it looked like. That's not what it felt like.
Simone sat on the armrest where her butt could be in Beau's face and enough room was available everywhere else. They both seemed to like getting on people's nerves, but it seems to just be me.
The floppy hat hid half of my vision, but I glanced over at Beau every now and then, hoping he would look my way. With neither pleased nor content face, but blank. I wondered how it got like that. I could be happy one minute, but it doesn't last long.
He never looked over once.
"It's the eyes!" Jewelz blurted out and all of them laughed. I didn't know what for, I wasn't paying attention as usual, but Simone caught me staring, so I looked away.
"So, what is your name, Be-Beau? Where are you really from?" An elder with a curly fro and dangling earrings asked.
His smile was playful and cute for the room full of women, "Why? Am I not American enough?"
"You do have really nice eyes though." One said.
"And the accent is so cute."
"Can you say--"
His smile lit up the world for all we knew, I've never seen him this way with me.
I sipped some of the apple cider in my cup as it sparkled like silver stars and at the moment I hated stars because they compared to Beau's eyes and smile right now.
"You and Simone are really cute together, look at them. Y'all remind me of my childhood back in the day."
The apple cider slithered down the wrong pipe and a slurped gurgle sound echoed in the cup, making it resonate louder than it should. Jewelz and Mama twisted her head and the rest of the chattered room as well.
"Ebonee, are you all choked up? You alright honey?"
The fluids were stuck in my throat a lot longer than I anticipated, my tongue burning hot coals of fire and my voice trying to squeeze out a syllable that was lucid. But if I opened my mouth, I would start gagging and wheezing out of control. A simple nod was just fine to draw everyone back to Simone and Beau. They talked about their travels, her parents, and Simone's modeling career. Not one question was asked about her future but for the now. Every other thing that happened to be interesting all seemed like I was an absolute failure.
Maybe they were familiar with Mama's history. Possibly knowing our bright future was just an illusion. We tell people we are in a good place when they know it's not. Glitter over the lies and tales, I became an unsolved secret along with my family I call blood and the people in this room, I cannot. I had no ability to justify I would be a doctor, I will go to med school, or be the impression no one ever thought of an be successful all was a crime.
My head jerked up to Mama's yelling and the room was just small talk this time but the excitement was something I was never a part of. A tear was crushed in the corner of Mama's eye and she gasped for air. The others hysterical, but me.
"The chicken and waffles might be ready. I'm going to go check but help yourselves with some more drinks." Mama said, fanning herself. The group dispersed and I scurried away to the bathroom after I poured a second round of the drink.
My knuckles hit the closed door and I pressed my ear close for any sudden movement.
"I'm in here! Use the other one!" A too familiar voice sang out.
I mocked Simone's annoying voice to the door, mouthing the same obnoxious tone and made the ugliest face in search for the wooden staircase. I didn't really need to go to the restroom, just needed time alone from the extroverted group. Mama remarried around the time Sheilah, my aunt, was engaged so their newly renovated house was still intact with polished floors and a soothing sweet smell in the bedroom. The bathroom adjoined into their chamber with the massive bed in the center and curtains opened to illuminate its interior essence.
A figure immediately caught my attention, with a small shadow following not far behind, moving further into the room with me and I jumped back.
"Whoa, B-Beau, why are you up here?" I asked, slightly perplexed.
His cup dangled by his side, his fingertips holding the brim and Beau's eyes fixated on me.
"I know I shouldn't be up here but. . ." he assured slowly, "But I was looking at pictures."
His composure turned to the rectangularly framed pictures on the robin-blue wall. Very old ones, that only caught the exact place and time but not the memories. A picture of Simone and I at a young age. Eight? Eleven? What would it even matter because I couldn't relive those times.
I took small steps and stood by him, my arm brushing his by accident. Some body heat emitted off of him and onto my skin left random tingles down to my fingers.
"These are nice pictures." He said with a serious tone, "Really. My mom used to take pictures, though didn't have many."
I studied the side of his face as he became transfixed on older photos with lost memories. His flawed eyes darted in every direction, the one with more warm hazel in it analyzed what he would think was the truth in a cheap frame. He felt my stare too, as I found more beauty in him every day, so I looked away and continued to listen and not because I didn't want to.
Because whatever Beau said or mentioned himself, everyone needed to listen. It was rare and important.
"You can only keep something for so long. I remember when I moved to the States, America, things were so different here. My mom knew it was going to get better for us, so she took pictures of us in action. The bullshit happiness and all. Smiling, laughing, forgetting time for a few seconds." He nodded at the photos, "She needed to look back at something to bring back good stupid memories and feel it when she looked at them.
"But the point of the camera was to catch memories you'll never get back so you rely on your brain to recall those scenes. The brain can only recall so much though. So much information turns into too much imagination and we start making things up just to be pleased. Dumb fucked up times. But I feel numb or nothing looking at happy memories of my life. Forgetting happiness and making up my own story.
That's why I fucking hate art," He announced aloud.
"Different interpretations of one piece is overwhelming. So many people they think they know and not what the artists do. I always wonder what the artist thinks of his own artwork, not relying on false judgments from others."
He tried to smile it off, but I couldn't stop staring at the white bloomed truths that blossomed behind his honesty. The smile so easily plastered on Beau's face instead of off, the quick change evolved into a facade.
His finger hovered over the picture, me and Simone in an early childhood picture, the sun glowing on our melanin, kissing away our current shade to make brighter. A black glow. The sand was second layer skin, gritted over our white elbows and knees with our unstylish sunglasses and bathing suits at the beach.
"This is you, right? I know it's you, and that's Simone."
At that young age, it was easy to tell us apart anyhow, even now. The end of Simone's hair was a curly blonde due to genetics, Simone's smile tightened and strained in a cute way.
Nothing like today.
My hair was the same length as hers at the time, lengthy coils that touched my tiny waist and sun-kissed skin, the forced smile all there.
"How do you know?" I asked him. We both had to know the answer, it was too obvious to point out how she looked prettier and I did not, but I wanted him to say it verbally, aloud.
"How do I know?" He repeated in a faint whisper, that brought chills down my backbone and hidden red cheeks hotter than Tabasco sauce.
"Yeah," I whispered back.
Our proximity left me breathless. My shoulder was close enough to feel him and his slow quick turn that was not can't be slow and quick at the same time left my brain sputtering, and my lungs tightened till I had to inhale from my mouth.
Beau's eyelashes fluttered with hooded eyes as they dimmed the stunning orbs, glancing at my lips.
"Because you have pretty lips and soft skin. . ." He mumbled. Beau's gaze lingered on my lower body and up back to my lips when I spoke. My ears burned. Beau thumbed a circular motion on my shoulder and trailed down to my elbow with the sweet smell of talk and cider on his tongue.
"Your hair was long, but I like it like this." My hair was wrapped around his fingertips delicately. The liquor wasn't talking this time and both of us were surely sober, I hope, but the heat radiated from my skin could leave sunburns, the closer he stood, the more my brain regurgitated the good times that weren't found in photos. Just like they were yesterday and never seemed to fade from his thoughts.
I tried to wet my lips but my tongue became dry like sandpaper. I've fallen for someone that didn't seem like I was enough and it seems—
A clever trick skilled successfully for a fool.
I leaned away and broke the eye contact I happened to be entranced into. "Don't touch my hair," I said.
My mouth pressed together and tried to avoid his gaze as he forcefully blinked like a maniac and did that habit of wetting his lips. The strain of want vibrated in my chest but I had to find a center and control. He was known to crumble broken chaos.
He looked away, "You weren't saying that before."
The ceiling seemed to be his guidance because his sentences left me collecting dust and lost. He voice wavered outward in a knowing-curious manner. Beau looked everywhere but me as we were both thinking the same thing in this room. My mouth partly hung agape.
"Yeah, but that was before," I sharply argued and insinuated.
Beau glided his hand through his hair out of light curiosity and frustration, taking little steps around me, 360.
"Before what?"
My eyelids lowered to the floor that collects scraps when no one was around. "You know, so there's no need to repeat it."
He was making me flustered and ansy with his husky low whispers, I kept in mind repeating days didn't lead to learning new things at all. So I spoke up, surprising myself in the making, "You're so easily making this a joke, turning me into a joke, and talk to me when no ones looking. . .so this is what it's like to know someone likes you doesn't it? You simply lure them in and humiliate them and maybe make yourself feel good afterward." I hissed.
"Ebonee, I never humiliated you. It was just--"
"Yeah, I know. I got that fucking much, but now you knew I liked you this whole time and you're using it to your advantage for what? Fuck me over again?" The alcohol did the most talking and fucking up that night. Just like photos and memories." A sad laugh freed its way out my mouth in the tension air around us. "You didn't even look at me at all today." I sputtered, eyeing the meaningless photos on the wall.
"I did," he said behind me, our backs hiding the emotion and granting the confessions to a quick responsive conversation.
"You look pissed." He added.
I smirked out a small snicker because it was funny. The corner of my lip titled upwards but everything made me sad all over.
"She's pretty by the way," I said with a somber longing on every word till they crashed to pieces in my chest, "The girl you were with at the restaurant."
Jealousy never dug too deep in those words because I was being honest with him now. At least I can say want I wanted to say now so nothing will hurt later on. No one knows what being feels like till they've seen second, but I've been in this position for the longest I gave up on a fight for something that would never be mine.
"Ebonee!" A different voice hummed from the lower part of the house. I was soon going to trace to the person who called my name till Beau's presence was pressed in my lower back. His chest touched my spine and his lips shadowed over the crease near my ear.
"I wasn't that drunk," He informed me.
Beau's eyes watched every expression, every change in my system and features, tiny goosebumps exposed themselves on the spot and spread throughout my body. I rushed out the room before I did or said something regretful.
Rushing down the stairs, everyone was compacted in Mama's kitchen, devouring chicken and waffles for the evening and Jewelz pointed out the door. I smiled and heard the grass crunching underneath my feet till I saw Mama dangling her feet over a glass patio table. Not the same as the plastic white tables from the family reunion, but one where we could dine by ourselves.
I pulled up a plastic chair and situated myself to hear what she has to say. She knew it was unladylike to put your feet on the table, so she took them down. Though it was her house, I didn't care. If my feet were on top of the table, that would be a different story.
Mama groaned in agony, "Mama is too old, just too old. . ." saying her name in third person as if she knew of the woman.
The trees blocked the summer rays in the sky, as they peeped through the holes and corners of every leaf. Bees hummed over vibrant flowers and the wind blew enough to flow my skirt outward. We sat in pleasantness like this which was okay with me, I was used to quiet, the forlorn solitude.
"Ebonee, you look beautiful, just stunning darling," Mama complimented.
I feigned a laugh and squeezed the fabric of my skirt in a ball. It was nice to hear sweet words that seemed meaningless.
"I don't mean the outfit you're working with, I mean as a young woman." She corrected. I nodded not quite understanding but appreciated it.
"Your mother would probably throw a fit if I called you a young woman now, I should hold my tongue. She can't stand that word. The feminity part, yes, I guess, but the maturity that comes with it and adulthood, no."
This became the first time I heard Mama mention Mom. It was so foreign to her to say her name, she stuck with "your mother" as if she didn't want to claim Mom as one of hers, whom she raised.
She skipped to a more appealing topic, one where Mom wasn't a part of, "Are you seeing anyone lately, Ebonee?" A foolish smile plastered on her playful expression.
I kind of like how adults kept bringing this question up. It makes me feel less ugly sort of like I have a chance of being in a worthy relationship or someone liking me.
When I blankly stare, she asked me to describe him, even though I didn't know if there really was a guy or not. I was a bit hesitant, my feelings still on the edge of a cliff, waiting to dive down into the unknown. I was upset with him is all, the intimacy stronger than ever before. Love was all a confusion.
But I tell her what she wanted to hear because that's the only thing that pleases the ear.
"He's here actually, just this guy really, and— Simone brought him here."
Mama rested her back in the seat and held her posture up high, with a serious stance, "And your mother knows about this boy?"
"Not really," I truthfully answered. She doesn't even know if I'm still alive, why care?
Her face softened, "He's has a lot of marks on his face. Like scratches, he's okay?"
"Sure."
You don't ask serious questions like those no matter how curious you are.
The corner of her eye narrowed to the size of a cat's eye and a finger propped over her lip to keep in the truths she was willing to spill despite my damaged feelings. No more was said after, but that wasn't the end. Just the beginning. I wished we talked about better things, so she could be proud of me, but there was nothing to be proud about that revolved around me.
Beau stepped outside next and I ate my chicken and waffles quietly in the noisy kitchen, dusting the crumbs off my fingers and reading expressions. Mama talked to Simone, Jewelz, all individually, and now it was Beau's turn. I excluded myself out of irrelevant conversations behind me and watched through the sink window, Beau and Mama.
His hand fit in his pocket but his other developed outward in a stressed explanation. It was something serious. Mama wasn't smiling at all and her eyebrows met crunched in the middle, adding more wrinkles to her age, her life.
I became worried now. My worrisome laced in with emotions like silk and I hated it. I didn't want to feel bad for someone who was part of the pool of tears, but I can't complain anymore since I like him. That's what happens to the sensitive people that absorb everything externally. A constant battle fought between chaotic emotions. I wish it wasn't him, but how can I say that; it's equivalent to giving him a peek at me and pretending he never looked in the first place.
The food didn't sit too well in my stomach and I was tempted to upchuck the meal in the sink. I wonder if Mam thinks I made a mistake or a bad choice.
I wonder what she thinks of Beau.
I wonder when I'm going to stop caring what anyone thinks anymore.
They did talk for a long time with different gestures in-between and Mama retained an unbothersome look that bothered as Beau walked away. His stride was long rather slow, I didn't know words could affect someone's steps.
The front door swung open and a hot breeze melted away the chill circulation in the house. Rushing, I halted at Beau's entrance and waited for him to speak like he did once before. About hating art and being an immigrant or outsider to find a better place, the land of opportunity and fortune.
But him and fate were uncontrollable and out of options.
"Beau, what did she sa--?" I asked, frantic.
"Nothing," he interrupted and trailed his fingers through his soft hair, "We talked." He tried to rush and brush past me, but I really needed to know and cross dangerous boundaries by getting involved when I shouldn't.
"What did she have to say? Beau?"
He snapped his head in my direction, his eyes colder than a glacier, "That's it Ebonee. It's not about you, we talked. That's all it'll be."
No Beau, not at all. And so much more than it'll ever be.
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