Sweet Bye-Bye (28 page)

I looked out to the sky, and rays of orange and yellow poked out above a blue horizon. I had all of my little rocks in a pile. I put them in a circle like a gemstone necklace, or a tiara. Yes, a tiara for a princess. I looked up and the sun’s round head peered above the earth. The sky was white and light blue. The trees stood still, as if to show respect for the rising ball of light. I’d felt the beauty of a sunrise, and it was breathtaking.

A tear rolled down my face and onto my sweatshirt. I looked at my hands, at the dirt under my fingernails, at my clear fingernail polish that had started to peel. I pushed my tiara of rocks into the moist ground so that they would stay there. It was time for the spoiled princess to become a queen. I was going to have to find a way to talk with Keith Talbit.

When I got back in the Jeep, the door light came on. I looked at my Bible still in the backseat from church. I started the engine, reached in the back, and grabbed it. It fell open to the bookmark at Jeremiah 29. I scanned the page and found the verse that Pastor Fields had told us to read, Jeremiah 29:11, and read aloud:
“For I know the thoughts that I think of toward you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you an expected end.”

I repeated it several times, and it was comforting.
“Thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you an expected end.”

As I reflected deep within myself, I saw that this was exactly the way it had worked out for me. I’d expected to have a lot of material possessions. I had expected to meet my goals at work. I had expected to be in relationships that had no realness to them. I had expected to argue with Charlotte all my life. I had expected Keith Talbit to leave me sooner or later. Just like the scripture promised, God had given me what I believed. My expected end.

When I got home that morning, I filled up the tub and took a long bubble bath. I didn’t know if it was God or not, but the idea of seeing Keith sounded better and better to me. Only I had no address, no telephone number, not even an e-mail address. Then I remembered David, the manager of the apartment complex where Keith used to live.

52

Seek and You Shall Find

A
s soon as I got off from work the next day, I drove over to the complex where Keith used to live. David the manager opened the door.

“Hi, David,” I said, trying to hide my nervousness.

“Hi.” He looked like he was trying to remember. “. . . Chantell, right?”

“Yes. I am sorry to bother you, but I had to ask you something.”

“What’s up?”

“Well, it’s a long story, but, see, Keith and I have been friends since we were little kids, and well, he said that he loved me, and well, I was acting really dumb, and see . . .” I swallowed. David studied me with one eye peering down and the other wide open. “And he left upset. And I love him, and see, he doesn’t know it. And I have to tell him.” This wasn’t coming out quite right, so I just looked at him and hoped that he understood.

David stared at me like he was waiting for me to get to the reason I was knocking on his door. Finally, with my eyes full of water, I said, “Can I have his address, please? I let him go because I was afraid. But I want to make it right.”

He was quiet. I had no idea if I’d gotten through to him.

For all he knew, I could be a stalker. Then, with his lips pursed together, he said, “Wait right here.”

I stood there for a moment. He came back with a contract in his hand and read aloud, “. . . All of the information provided in this said agreement is strictly confidential, and to be used as such herewith—”

“Okay. I get it!” I said. David could be rude. I turned to walk away.

Then he said, “Hold on for a moment. I didn’t thank you for the coffeecake. My parents were here last weekend, and my mom makes the best raspberry tart you could ever eat. I grew up on the stuff. You have to try some.”

David was probably a really cool dude and all, and I knew he wasn’t trying to push up on me. But didn’t he hear a word of what I’d just said? I was grieving! What was wrong with people? Plus, I didn’t even eat no raspberries! I was going to say no thank you and excuse myself, but he grabbed me by my wrist and said, “Come in, I don’t bite. I’ll get you some.”

I didn’t know what his deal was. That is, until he did something that was so cool. He set Keith’s contract down on the counter in front of me and flipped to the side where Keith’s previous address was listed. Then he patted my arm and smiled broadly. “I’ll just set this here and go get you some of that tart.”

I was overjoyed. I knew it! Somehow, someway, I knew I was going to Boston. I took a pen out of my purse and wrote down the address in my phone book.

David returned after I had finished and handed me a Baggie with the dessert in it.

“Thank you,” I said, “so much.”

“Oh, it’s no big deal really. Mom brings it all the time.”

I hugged him and left.

53

To Boston

T
he address said that he was in Cambridge, which was not far from Boston. I wasn’t going to tell anybody that I was going, but Tia knew something was up when I accidentally told her that I was dusting off my little suitcase. And so I had to confess.

I switched ears on the phone, and said, “Yes, I got a good price on a plane ticket on priceline.com and I gave them my credit card number already, so I can’t back out. I leave tomorrow.”

“How long are you staying?”

“Just the night. I arrive in Cambridge tomorrow afternoon, and I’ll turn around and fly right back on Sunday.”

“How do you feel?”

“Well, I’m a little nervous, but I have to tell him, Tia. I have to.” I told her how I got the address.

“Well, I’m shocked, but I’m proud of you. Go get your man then, girlfriend. Do what you gotta do. You know I am rooting for you.”

“Thanks, Tia.”

I finished packing my overnight case and went to bed.

The next morning I was excited. I arrived at the airport half an hour early. I parked my car and checked in. The plane was only half full. And everyone seemed to still be half asleep. I had a window seat; the chair next to me was empty, and a man sat in the seat closest to the aisle. He was in his twenties and had a full head of salt-and-pepper hair and a pen in his shirt pocket. He read from the morning paper, stopping often to make notes in the margins. Across from us was a lady with stirrup pants that went down into short boots. She had on a red floral shirt that was shaped like a teepee. I hadn’t had much sleep and asked the man, “I am going to close this windowshade, do you mind?”

“No, not at all,” he said and turned on the little reading light above his head. I pulled closed the windowshade, wrapped myself in the little yellow blanket that the plane provided, and waited for takeoff.

I closed my eyes, but opened them again at the revving sound of a little motor coming from across our aisle. It made me wonder if the man two seats over had started shaving. I looked in his direction, across the aisle, and saw that it was the woman with the red floral shirt pumping her milk. She sat there quietly with her hands under her teepee shirt working like a bumblebee. I was tired, but who could get mad at that? Maybe one day Keith and I would have children and I’d do that too.

I lifted the cover to the window and looked out onto the runway. Two young attendants were putting luggage on the plane.

I was deep in thought when the plane took off. When I found Keith Rashaad, I would seal our love. I would tell him everything that I’d been holding in. I tried to remember the lines that I’d prepared for him on the evening that I brought coffee and cake over: “Keith, I really love you. I think we should be together. Because you’re very special to me. As I hope I am to you. My eyes are open, and I know that you’re the one, so let’s give it another chance.” Then I thought again, maybe I shouldn’t rehearse anything. Maybe I should just speak from the heart. The plane’s big engines revved, and with the force of ten elephants we took off.

It was cold in Boston, so cold that each time I took a breath it froze, or so it seemed. I took a taxi to what I hoped was the correct address. I stood before a beautiful old gray-and-white stucco building trimmed in black. I could hear a central heat and air unit humming. Maybe twenty years ago it had been one monstrous home. But now it was divided into four apartments.

I took my address book out of my purse and double-checked it one last time. This was it. I walked between the two white stone pillars and stepped onto the square red carpet just outside the double doors. I walked up the stairs holding on to the black fancy railing that wrapped around the house, and stood on the welcome mat that I hoped was Keith’s.

I knocked on the door and heard footsteps approaching. There was a peephole, and my heart beat double time as I stood there wondering if he was looking through it.

“Who is it?” said my Keith Rashaad’s wonderful voice from within. My heart was beating through my blouse. I’d come too far to turn back.

“Umm . . . Hi, Keith, it’s me, Chantell.” I waited for the door handle to turn. It didn’t.

I said, “Keith, can we talk?”

No answer.

“Keith, are you there?”

The door handle turned, and the door opened. Keith’s beautiful brown face looked at me.

Silence.

“Chantell. Why are you here?” He looked so serious. I looked straight in his eyes, but he didn’t look at me in mine.

“Umm. Keith.” What was I supposed to say? “I, um, I came here—” No, that wasn’t a serious look, it was a sad one. “I, um, came here to tell you that I love you too. And that you were right. And that I’ve learned a lot from you, Keith.”

He looked at the ground and said, “I’m glad . . . Chantell, a lot has transpired between us. But I’ve realized that my focus needs to be on my patients.”

What was he saying? I said that I loved him too. And I really, really meant it.

Keith went on, while staring at the tree branches behind me: “So while I think it was very noble of you to come here and share with me, emotionally I am just not prepared for a relationship right now. I am sorry if I misled you.”

I said nothing. I just listened outside his front door and gave a simple smile, and folded my gloved hands.

“Well, hey, I’ve got to get to work.” He sighed. “It was nice seeing you again, Chantell, but I’ve got to get ready to leave.”

“Oh, okay,” I said like I was indifferent to how he really felt, and turned around. “Well, good-bye.”

Keith closed the door. I took one step down the stairs, then another one. Then I realized that I’d come too far to turn back. I hadn’t told him what I needed to tell him. I walked back to his front door.

I knocked. My voice cracked: “Keith? Keith,” I said again. “My priorities were in all the wrong places. It’s not about appearances. I know that. It’s how you feel on the inside. It’s how you feel about you. And how you feel about the world around you.”

He didn’t respond. He’d gone away from the door and was ignoring me.

“Keith, and it’s how I feel about you!” I screamed. I put my hand against his door. “I just wanted you to know that.” I cried. The cold air had worked its way right through my gloves. I hoped he was still at the door. “And Keith, Eric means nothing to me. I love you, Keith Rashaad, and I had to tell you that.”

I didn’t know what to do or say. My speech that I’d rehearsed had completely vanished. And the word “honesty” came to me. I had nothing to lose, so I just spoke from my heart. “I, I want to massage your back, and kiss your temples. I want take care of you after long stressful days. And I want you to hold me, Keith, like you did that day at the beach . . .”

Tears rolled down my cheeks and fell all over my dark green jacket. “Keith, are you listening to me?” My voice cracked. “I am not a princess, or prissy Chantell Meyers. I am just your girl, Keith. Always.”

He didn’t respond. Maybe I was talking to the door, but I was desperate, and this was my chance. “I am staying in town for the night, at the Park Place Inn. If you can hear me, I am in room 172.” I turned and headed back to the cab that waited for me at the curb.

When I got back to the hotel room, the light was blinking on my phone. I had a message. I was excited. Keith had come to his senses. I had gotten through to him, and he was going to give us another chance. I darted to the phone like I was still on the track team in high school and pressed the message button.

“You have one message. . . . Mr. Davis, uh, this is Wilma Scott, I just wanted to see if you made it in okay. I got the registration form and I’ve mailed it back already. Please call me when you get this message. Thanks and talk to you soon.” A wrong number!

I was so hurt. So angry and sad. I had done everything! I went to church. I was working on my issues. I was trying to be nice to everyone. I said aloud, “What am I supposed to do, God?”

Weary, I just wanted to go to bed. I slipped into some yellow flannel pajamas, got under the covers, and bawled.

My perception of the hotel that I was staying in had changed. What I first thought of as a beautiful, historic place now seemed cold, old, and drab. And in my room, it was dark, except for a tiny dim reading lamp on the nightstand. My window with the view out onto the street was covered by big, fancy golden drapes. As I lay on my back tears rolled out the corners of my eyes and to my earlobes. I could hear cars going by outside on the street. I got out of bed and went over to the thermostat and turned up the heat.

Keith didn’t love me. That literally hurt to think about. I felt like I wanted to throw up.

The competitive side of me was telling me that I’d lost, yet I was desperate to win back again the love that he’d said he felt for me. I heard a car turn and pull into the hotel’s driveway.

Keith! I thought. I knew he’d come around! I knew he wouldn’t let me come this far and turn me away like that.

I ran over to my window and looked out. It was a Lincoln Town Car, like the one that Keith borrowed in Oakland. What’s he doing with a car like that in Boston too? I smiled. I looked closely, and my smile quickly dissipated. A middle-aged white couple parked the car and got out.