STRINGS of COLOR (3 page)

Dr. Banner glanced at the machine.

"Jazzmyne, listen to me. Chris' cancer is more advanced than he led you to think."

In my mind, I could see the big blue panic button and I could feel myself slamming down on it.

"Jazzmyne, are you listening to me?"

"Maybe there are close to four hundred. Yeah, that's it, four hundred."

"Jazzmyne!"

I stopped. My body movements were slow as my mind struggled to register.

"You can call me Naya. That's what Chris calls me."

Dr. Banner shook her head and then reached out for my hand.

I stared back at the machine again.

"One, two, three…" I said out loud as I began counting how many stupid rows there were inside the stupid thing.

I felt her give my hand a gentle squeeze.

"What do you mean? Didn't you tell me yourself that it was curable? Didn't you tell me that he would be perfectly okay?"

I stood up.

"I sat in your office that day and you told me these very things. I listened to you very carefully. Did I hear you wrong Dr. Banner?"

She stayed seated on the floor. Her legs crossed.

"Yes, I did, and no you didn't hear me wrong. When Chris came to see me that Monday after you became aware that he had prostate cancer, we decided to run more tests on him before we started the treatments.

"We found a different type of cancer. He didn't want to alarm you. In fact, he made me promise not to say anything. As my patient, he has that right to make such a request and as his doctor, I am bound to honor it."

"Bound? Honor? Why are you speaking to me with military slogans? We are talking about my husband!"

I saw her flinch.

"What other type of cancer did you find?"

Outside my face was calm, but inside I was trembling so much that I could hear my knees shaking. I was trying, but struggling, to find some control. Searching for a brief moment of sanity, a place where this conversation didn't exist.

I couldn't find one.

Instead, all I heard was the pain that echoed through my mind as she said:

"Chris has stage four lung cancer. It appears that he had already known, even before he came to see me. I'm not sure why we didn't catch it earlier, or why he refused to mention it in the first place."

I saw her mouth moving but my heart and mind had already left.

"Naya, did you hear me?"

"Naya?"

Dr. Banner moved quickly.

I stopped breathing.

Dear life,

He knew that I wouldn’t have thirty more years of him. But tonight even as I lay here with tears soaking the floor, I would give thirty seconds just to feel his touch again.

I am terrified of a future without him. Is there a color that can describe how I feel right now? I want to take every one of them, every single color and throw them up against the wall just to see what happens.

There is no color that can stop my heart breaking. No color that can elevate my tears, and no color that can stop my pain. For the first time in my life, I have no color at all, for they were all created the day I met him.

Why didn’t he tell me life?

Wasn’t I strong enough?

I am.

I am strong my love.

Can you hear me?

Can you hear me love?

I am your superwoman. See my cape?

It’s got your name inscribed upon my chest.

You’re fight inside me.

Take hold of my strength.

I will pull you up.

I will carry you through the wind.

It’s you and me baby, against the enemy.

Against the ugliness of it all.

I’ve got my shield.

I’m standing by your side.

Don’t worry baby, take my strength.

Grab my hand.

I will pull you up.

I will carry you through the wind.

Feel that?

That is my strength.

I will give it to you.

I will shower you with every drop that I have.

Whatever  you need baby, I got it.

I will pull you up.

I will carry you through the wind.

I am your superwoman. See my cape?

It’s got your name inscribed upon my chest.

I am strong enough.

Naya glanced up again at the painting on the wall, and then she curled herself up into a ball and allowed her tears to rock her to sleep.

"I'm okay in my skin. I'm okay with asking the man that I love to marry me. It doesn't mean that I'm taking the lead, it just means that I'm leading him to me forever."

“S
o you're her daughter?"

"That's what I hear."

"How does that feel?"

"How does what feel?"

"How does it feel to be the long-lost daughter of the great Jazzmyne?"

"I don't know, I guess I'm still trying to find the answer to that question myself."

Jake placed four spoons of sugar in his coffee.

Simone watched him carefully.

"Well let's get this over with," she said. "What do you want to know?"

The tape recorder lay on the table. As Simone stared at it, she saw him scribbling some things down on his notepad. She hated this, hated that she even agreed to talk to him.

The things we do for love.

"I want to know about you."         

"There isn't much to tell there."

"Sure there is. A month ago you found out that you are the daughter of one of the most famous Jazz singers in the world. You met your fraternal twin brother at a club for the first time; you discovered that your Grandfather is one sick puppy, and that the woman who raised you isn't really your mother. I'd say that there is a lot to know about you."

There was no response.

Jake tried to smile. He knew that she was uncomfortable. She kept tapping her fork on the table and shifting in her seat. As he sat in the chair across from her, he couldn't get over how much she looked like Jazzmyne. The hazel brown hair was not as thick; it was slightly darker and longer. The eyes were deeper, greener, and her skin was brighter. In fact, if he put his hand next to hers, he couldn't tell the difference.

There was something else about her that caught his attention—like her mother; she had a certain sparkle in her eyes. He watched the way she moved her lips when she spoke. Gracefulness covered them.

She's engaged to be married to your friend in a few months. Don't forget that man.
Jake said to himself
.

"Hello. Earth is down here." Simone spoke up.

"Sorry, I guess I got side tracked there for a minute. I was just thinking about how much you look like her."

"So I've been told."

"Wait, you two still haven't met?"

"No. Not yet."

"Why not, may I ask?"

"You don't beat around the bush do you?"

"Sorry, I guess I'm just surprised to hear that. I got the impression from Carl that the reunion had already taken place. Why then, did you agree to meet with me?"

"I really don't know. You're a friend of Carl's and he told me how important this book is to you."

"It's important to her as well."

"Really?"

"Really. This book is about her life. She has been through a lot. More than any woman, or child for that matter, should ever have to endure."

"You and your brother Jonathan are a huge part of her life, even the woman that raised you—from what I hear."

He saw her flinch.

"I mean your other mother."

He knew it was too soon to bring that up so he quickly tried to change the subject.

"Have you and your brother had a chance to talk?"

Simone didn't answer.

Jake reached down and clicked the tape recorder off. He thought he caught a glimpse of a tear in the corner of her eyes.

"There is a lot of hatred between them, isn't there?" He waited for her to respond.

Simone stared out the window, watching people pass by the little coffee shop they were sitting in.

"From what I can tell, it's not hatred but pain."

Jake leaned forward as if to say that she had his full attention.

"Since the night we met for the first time at The Clue, Jonathan and I have spoken once or twice over the phone. He too, is going through a lot right now."

"I know. I heard about the accident. How is Jazzmyne's husband?"

Simone looked down at the table. She began tapping the table again with her fork."He's fighting, is all I can say. He's fighting hard."

Jake started to twirl a piece of his hair.

Simone watched him.

"Have Jazzmyne and Monà spoken to each other yet?"

"Not sure how that is any of your business."

"It's not and then it is. After all, I am writing a book on her life. I think readers would want to know how that worked out for her."

Simone glared at him.

"Readers would want to know or you want to know?"

Jake decided not to respond.

"Look," she said. "I don't mean to be rude but can we just get this over with?"

Jake looked down at his coffee cup.
Man this is not going well. I need to find a different way to do this.

He took a sip of his cold coffee.

Silence sat in as they both stared out the window.

"Do you want to go for a walk?"

"Why?"

"I could use a change of scenery."

She hesitated.

"Okay."

Jake paid the waitress and watched as Simone moved slowly out of her chair and toward the door. They had been sitting in the coffee shop for over an hour and so far he had nothing.

The wind was refreshing as it played upon their skin. The sun, however, didn't appear to be interested in simply playing upon their skin, no, it seemed to focus intensely on it.

Jake reached into his pocket and produced a pair of sunglasses.