Feelin' the Vibe (5 page)

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Authors: Candice Dow

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BOOK: Feelin' the Vibe
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“So how was that possible without any fertility drugs?”

I shrugged. “Dr. Battle claims that I probably would have had a miscarriage anyway.”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Yeah, and for some people, PCOS gets worse with age.”

“Yeah, well. I guess if you were smart, you would have kept your baby and you and Devin would be in marital bliss right now,”
he said sarcastically.

I took a deep breath and rested my chin in the palm of my hand with my elbow on the table. I stared out the glass window into
the woods. The leaves had completely fallen from the trees. The wind blew them around, causing them to make sweeping sounds
on the ground. I thought it would make me feel better finally telling someone else, but I felt worse, like I wanted to be
gone with the wind, too. For the first time in a long time, Kenneth’s arrogance forced me to fantasize about marital bliss
with Devin Patterson.

5

DEVIN

C
ongressman Grayford announced he wouldn’t be running for another term just two short weeks before the December application
deadline. Thankfully, I had stayed in the mix, in the school system, developing my foreign-relations experience through Love
My People. My name was relatively popular on the Maryland political scene. My parents had pledged up to a million dollars
for the campaign, and Congressman Grayford had made it nearly impossible for anyone else to jump on this opportunity. In fact,
he gave me a personal phone call after his announcement.

“Son,” he said, “I’ve held this seat for a long time. I’m passing the torch.”

“Thank you,” I said.

Despite my gratitude, I struggled internally. Taylor was really against this so soon in our marriage. I now had two weeks
to get my mind right. I started not to accept the challenge, but then who would represent my people? It was one of those things
that I’d set up my entire life for, to run for Congress. Why did I suddenly have cold feet? Or was it Taylor’s voice in my
ear?

My head was spinning as I watched Taylor prepare for work. I wanted to tell her my plans, but I had a meeting planned for
noon in DC with Curtis Thorpe, the president of the Young Democrats of Maryland, Congressman Grayford, and a few other political
move makers. They were expecting to strategize my campaign and I hadn’t even gotten an okay from my wife. I left the house
shortly after to escape to my bachelor pad so I could clear my head and think like a single man.

My condo was within walking distance of Capitol Hill. So I went to the Hill first and stood there looking at the tourists,
being filled up the same way I was when I came here in high school with the Junior Black Caucus. The large white building,
the long stairs, heading toward the large doors, still stirred up excitement in me. I remember standing in the exact place
at fourteen, thinking that I would be Congressman Patterson one day. In fact, I knew I wanted to be a politician since I was
a little kid.

My parents started their firm right after they graduated from Stanford Law, and one of their first cases was a case that major
law firms stayed clear of; it was defending a community living near power lines, and many of the kids had terminal illnesses.
After they won, they went on to earn millions trying more cases of injustice, malpractice, and equal opportunity. While I
saw the benefit in what they did, I always felt my purpose was to make a difference before the injustice was done, and politics
was the one way I felt I could do that. And how ironic that my opportunity had been served to me on a silver platter. This
was my chance to be heard and I owed this to myself. The bitter cold wasn’t even a factor as I stood and visualized myself
running up those stairs as a Maryland congressman.

Finally, I snapped out of my trance and headed to my condo for some heat. When I swung the door open and stepped in, the loud
echo of my shoes clacking on the hardwood floors made me feel that a herd of people had entered with me. I’d moved most of
the living room furniture out and into the basement of my house. I stood in the middle of the floor, in my four-thousand-dollar-a-month
headache. The real estate market had practically crashed, and I couldn’t sell this place even if I accepted a hundred-thousand-dollar
loss. So it sits here pretty much empty, and I use it as a place to escape.

The dent in the wall remained from when Jason zapped out at the bachelor party. No matter how many times I’ve stepped in this
place since that night, I question everything. I think about calling him and often I dial the number, but as always, I get
the answering machine. Each time, I say, “Yeah, dawg. It’s D. Hit me back. We need to talk.”

Then I headed into my office, sat in my leather executive chair, and contemplated the pros and cons of this election. I’d
worked my way deeply into the political scene in a Democratic state where Democratic congressional seats don’t become available
frequently. It was now or never.

By the time I rolled up to Sonoma for lunch, I had made up my mind. When I got there, Curtis was the only one there. If he
didn’t have a mild speech impediment, he would have been the prime candidate. He was a young, bright political consultant
like myself, but he spoke extremely fast, almost incoherently. Ironically though, if you could catch on to what he was saying
you could gain a wealth of knowledge.

He stood up as I approached the table half-smiling. He looked like a little lemon in a snug pinstriped suit. I shook his hand
and patted his shoulder, which was about a foot below mine. He was a little guy with a big personality. The moment we sat,
he started.

“Yeah, D, man. You the guy for the job. You got what it takes. You got flavor. You got compassion. You dress nice. You got
it. It’s up to you. So, what’s it gonna be? Can I start getting the campaign in order or what?”

“Man, I just got settled. Just got married. You know?” I said, just to see if he could rationalize my earlier apprehension.

“Don’t get used to normalcy, dawg. If you gonna do it, now is the time. You gotta do it now. They are loving strong black
men with a message right now.”

I laughed. “Yeah, that’s true.”

“You know your stuff. You’re about the people. You’re handsome, you’re charming. Get in the game or quit.”

I nodded.

“So, what’s it gonna be?”

I laughed. My spirit was feeling good. I reached out and shook his hand. “Man, I’ve wanted to take this step my entire life.
Just needed a slick talker like you to push me in the pool.”

“It’s time to swim, my brother. It’s time to swim,” he said, rubbing his hands together like he was prepared to start a fire.

Taylor and Courtney met at least two days a week for happy hour, and I felt that would be perfect timing to make my announcement.
Considering she discussed everything with Courtney, I figured I’d save her the trouble of repeating the story. The good thing
about it, Courtney didn’t always agree with Taylor because they were friends. She stood for what was right, so it could possibly
work in my favor with her around.

Around six, I sent Taylor a text asking where they planned to meet. She responded quickly and said they were headed to the
M Street Bar & Grill. I considered taking a quick drink to loosen up before I got there, but I went sober. It made better
sense to tell her with a sound mind.

When I entered the lounge, Courtney noticed me first and waved. Taylor’s back was to me, but I could see they were laughing
at something. Courtney’s nearly pale skin was flushed, and Taylor was shaking her head. My palms felt like I was carrying
two handfuls of water. I rested my hands on Taylor’s shoulders, hoping that her heather gray sweater would soak up the sweat.
I leaned over her shoulder and kissed her cheek. “Hey, baby.”

“Hey, honey,” she said, kissing me on the mouth.

I stepped around the circular bar table and hugged Courtney. She was a five-footer, so her crinkly, dark brown hair rubbed
against my chin. “What’s up, Court?”

“Nothing, DP. What’s up with you?”

I grabbed a stool from a nearby table and sat down close to Taylor. “Just the regular. Nothing new going on.”

I rested my hand on Taylor’s knee and she reached over to touch my face. “What made you decide to come out tonight, honey?”
Taylor asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe I missed you.”

She laughed and curled her lips at Courtney. “He’s lying.”

I looked across at Courtney and she shrugged her shoulders. I glanced down at Courtney’s ring finger and noticed her engagement
ring was off. I said, “So I guess you’re Courtney without the ring tonight. You trying to pick up something?”

That was a running joke between Courtney and me. She had been engaged nearly a year before I met Taylor, and she freely took
her ring off and on, depending on the occasion. After four years of engagement, I assumed Courtney really wasn’t interested
in getting married, and her ring was just a statement when she needed to make one.

“No, Devin. Why would I want to deal with another man’s issues? Mark is enough by himself,” Courtney said, laughing.

Taylor pushed me. “Baby, why you all up in Courtney’s business?”

“You know we play like that.”

I reached over and gave Courtney a high five. She smiled. “I’m not thinking about Devin.”

We all laughed, and they went back to chatting about their weight. I never understood their preoccupation with their size.
They both went to the gym at least three times a week. They both were technically slim with weight in the right places, but
I learned long ago to just mind my business during these conversations.

I called the waiter over to the table and ordered a drink. We ordered a few appetizers and decided we’d figure out what we
wanted for dinner a little later. The Let It Flow band began to play, and I was enjoying the music. Taylor and Courtney usually
followed the band around to various happy-hour spots, but I’d probably heard them play once or twice. The band had a “neosoul
mixed with R & B mixed with go-go” style.

We were all nodding our heads and feeling the music. As we discussed our days and work, I kept trying to find the right segue
into my announcement. It just never seemed right. Finally, Taylor asked me to dance and we stepped onto the floor. Once she
started doing that little DC go-go swish thing with her hips, I put my hands on her waist and we rocked to the beat. She looked
into my eyes, and her white porcelain teeth beamed at me as she danced harder. Her movement let me know how happy she was
and how much she trusted me, and I just wasn’t prepared to let her down—not yet, anyway. I decided I would hold off another
day or two. Maybe it would be best to tell her alone.

6

CLARK

B
oom! Boom! Boom!
The sound of a gun unloading blasted in my ear and my head sprang from the pillow. I gasped. Then I began to take deep breaths
to calm my racing heart. One hand covered my chest while the other reached out for balance. I was hot and cold and frightened
as I searched for the remote. The television was the only thing to distract me from the effects of this reoccurring dream.
There were never any visuals involved, just two or three shrill gunshots. But I’d awake to a silent house. The dream started
happening nearly four years after Tanisha died. Clearly, it was some weird connection to her death, considering she was shot
three times while in bed. Whenever I’d ask if anyone else heard them, no one ever did. I’d long since concluded this dream’s
purpose. It always happened when something demanded my attention. It was an internal alarm clock that went off when I was
being oblivious to something, the way I was the entire time Tanisha was with Fred.

I wiped my forehead and looked over at Kenneth sleeping peacefully beside me. A Jay Leno rerun played on the television. Just
as I began to feel better, laughing at the show, a sharp pain rippled through my pelvis. I could barely lay back down. It
felt as if the bullet had struck me in the midsection. I winced and tried to stretch out, but settled for a fetal position.
The pain forced tears to well in my eyes. Suddenly, I felt like I had to go to the bathroom, but I didn’t want to get up.
I wished I could summon the toilet to my bedside. Nearly rolling onto the floor, I stepped out of bed and staggered into the
bathroom. When I pulled down my panties, I nearly fainted and my chest tightened. I panted as I stared at the clumps of blood
pouring from me. It looked like a heavy period, and if that was the case, I was no longer pregnant. My heart shattered into
tiny little pieces and the tears sat trapped in my eyes. I couldn’t yell. I couldn’t move. I just sat there, stunned, rocking
back and forth, wondering: Why did it have to be me? Why would this be my Christmas present?

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