Unbeweaveable (16 page)

 

If truth is beauty,

How come no one has their hair done in the library?

—
Lily Tomlin

Sleeping Under Bridges

I had a dream that I choked Beverly to death that night. I sounded like an animal, strangled screams and grunts coming from my mouth as I tried to kill my mother.

I woke up and was relieved that I was dreaming, but mad that I hadn't harmed her in some way. She needed to be punished.

I always thought that if someone said something hurtful to me that I would react and give them a few choice words. But I hadn't. I had my chance with Beverly and I just left the room like a loser in a bullfight. I didn't know what to feel.

Renee came in my room and sat on my bed. I felt numb inside, it's like something in me clicked off. She rubbed my feet underneath the covers and said, “I'm sorry.” Those two words felt like salve to my wounds, and I curled up into a ball and burst into tears. She hugged me, rocked me like a baby and smoothed my puffy hair, telling me over and over that everything would be okay.

* * *

“You're leaving?” Renee asked, watching me toss my belongings in a black duffel bag.

“Yep.”

“Where are you going?”

“Don't know, don't care. I can't stay another day here. I need to leave.”

She sat on my bed and watched me, her face still puffy and red from our cry fest earlier.

“Mama's really upset.”

“Good,” I said, throwing a few sets of pajamas in my bag.

“She's staying in a hotel.”

“So?”

“So you don't have to leave.”

“Is she coming back?”

She didn't answer.

“Exactly,” I said, zipping my bag closed.

“Don't leave.”

“I'm not staying here.”

“Where are you going?” she asked again.

I didn't have a clue. I didn't have a dollar to my name, but I would sleep under a bridge before I would stay here another day.

“I don't know. Probably back to New York.”

“Can I go with you?” she asked, her voice small.

I looked at her.

“Why?”

“I don't think you should be alone right now.”

I shook my head. “Wrong answer.”

“All right, fine, I want to go, okay? I want to go wherever you go right now. Besides, I'm the one with the money, remember? You need money to get to New York.”

She made a good point.

“How quick can you get packed?”

* * *

Too quick
, I thought as we wheeled out of the parking garage toward the airport.

“This is going to be fun. You're sure Norma is expecting us?”

“She's expecting me, but she'll love to have you, too. We'll have to get a hotel, of course. She won't have room for us with the new baby.”

“I can't believe we're doing this—just up and leaving. We're having an adventure,” she said. I looked at her and she was bouncing up and down in her seat.

“Excuse me if I don't share your level of excitement—my mother's been lying to me for thirty years.”

“Sorry,” she said.

“I should have hit her.”

“Why? What would that have solved?”

“Nothing. But I bet I'd feel better right now.”

“She made a mistake—”

“That wasn't a mistake, Renee. That was a crime.”

“She was afraid—”

“Look, I agreed that you could come, but not if you're going to defend her the whole time. She was wrong. And she needs to make it right.”

“I'm trying to make you feel better.”

“You can't make me feel better! You can't fix everything, Renee.”

“Sorry.”

Two hours later I was sitting in first class, courtesy of my rich sister, my head back on the leather headrest, a glass of champagne in my hand.

“A girl could get used to this.”

“Tell me about it,” Renee said, looking out the window.

“What do you mean? You have money. You could travel like this all the time. You
are
used to living like this.”

“I should be. Mama tells me all the time that I need to travel more, spend more money. But I'm not used to being rich.”

I gave her a look.

“Okay, of being
this
rich.”

I drink another sip of champagne.

“Did you love him?”

She kept looking out the window. “Truthfully? Not at first. But I did grow to love him. People thought it was a marriage of convenience. He was rich and I'm—”

“Beautiful,” I said, finishing her sentence for her. And she was breathtaking. Her waist-length hair was in a messy ponytail, her cheeks were flushed from all the excitement of the day and her eyes sparkled. She didn't even notice all the male passengers drooling over her, she was too busy looking out the window. But I noticed. I felt myself shrinking again, becoming invisible, turning right back into Cotton Ball. No one noticed me, no eyes glanced my way.

“If you say so. He was nice to me,” she whispered. “And he didn't have to be, but he was. He was kind and gentle. We grew to be good friends. I miss him,” she said, her voice soft and wistful. I knew she was back with him, going back in time, reliving memories.

“What's it like?”

“What?”

“Being in love.”

She closed her eyes. “It feels like…you know that feeling you get when you watch Mama dance?”

I nodded.

“It feels like that. You get goose bumps and get tingly all over…Yeah, that's what love is like.”

“Excuse me while I throw up.”

She shrugged. “You asked. Tell me something, why is it that you're asking me? Why haven't you been in love before?”

“No time, I guess. I wanted to launch my career first.”

“And now?”

I sighed. “Now I'm sad that I never got that tingly feeling.”

“We both need to get back out there.”

“That's the least of my problems, Renee.”

“Maybe it would be nice to have someone to share your problems with.”

“Maybe.”

“Mama really liked Peter. I hope that she would like whoever else I brought home.”

“Why do you care?”

She looked down.

“You don't understand, Mama has this way of doing things. I couldn't date someone she doesn't approve of.”

“What about what
you
want to do?”

She turned to look out the window again. “I don't know what I'd do without Mama.”

“Try living in my shoes for a while. You'd do just fine. I swear, Renee, you irritate me sometimes. You're too old to still be acting like this. Cut the cord already.”

“It's hard to not need her opinion—”

I groaned.

“I would think after today you would see how warped Beverly's opinion is. Her opinion doesn't matter, Renee. If you don't see that then you're as stupid as you are pretty.”

“You don't like me.” Her voice was flat as paper, devoid of emotion.

I didn't comfort her with a lie. I just sat next to her, silence filling us like water in a sponge.

“It's sad that you don't. That you don't even try to like me. I know you love me—”

“I do.” I say. And I do. She's my sister. I
have
to love her.

“I know you do. But liking someone—that goes deeper. If you like someone you would hang out with them even if they weren't blood, even if they weren't family. And I would. I would hang out with you even if we weren't family. But you wouldn't. I would not be the kind of woman that you would like. And that's sad. Because I really like you. You being home, us hanging out—it's the most fun I've had in a really long time.”

I didn't reply. Today had been too much hurt and I didn't want to imagine hurting Renee. Pain is pain, even if it's not intentional. I didn't want to hear about it.

“Sorry I called you stupid. I didn't mean it.”

“Of course you did, Mariah. But I forgive you anyway.”

She closed her eyes and I followed suit, thankful for the reprieve.

Baby Monkey

I was home. The wind caught my breath as soon as I pushed open the glass door leaving the airport. I waved for a cab, and the young man jumped out and grabbed Renee's bags while I watched.

If I had my weave, he would be jumping on my bags, too.

After her bags were stowed away in the trunk, he lifted my bag and threw it in, slamming the trunk closed. “Where to?” he asked, his eyes glued to Renee. She glanced at me and I told him the hospital Norma was in. He seemed annoyed by my voice, and after a sharp reprimand he started driving.

I'd called Norma as soon as our plane landed, and she screamed with delight when I told her I was in town. I needed to hear someone who loved me unconditionally. It felt good to be loved.

“Don't you think we should check into a hotel first? Maybe rent a car or something?”

“You're right. I'm not thinking straight. Omni Hotel, please,” I said to the driver. He nodded, sneaking peeks at Renee the whole time. The Omni was in my old neighborhood, and I needed to see something familiar right about now. He pulled up in front of the hotel and we grabbed our bags and checked in, Renee waving her black American Express card out of her wallet, not noticing how the clerk's eyes perked up and his voice got two octaves higher.

“You want to share rooms, right?” Renee asked. I didn't, but I didn't feel right suggesting different rooms since she was paying for everything.

“Fine by me.”

We checked in and opened the door to our suite. The room was modern, yet homey enough that it didn't feel like a hotel.

“Do you think I have time for a quick shower?” Renee asked, pulling her luggage on top of her bed. I didn't plan on taking a shower, but since Renee was taking one, I couldn't go around as the dirty sister. Broke, black, and ugly, yes, but definitely not dirty.

“Sure, just be quick. I'll jump in when you finish.”

“I'll be out in five,” she said.

When the bathroom door closed and I heard the burst of the shower start, I laid across the bed and cried again. Thankful that I remembered to bring my journal, I pulled it out and wrote:

I'm not working, and don't have a dollar to my name.

My hair is a complete disaster.

I'm completely alone and haven't had one successful relationship.

I haven't accomplished anything worthwhile since being born twenty-nine years ago.

Things would have been different if I knew about my father. Maybe I wouldn't have turned out so screwed up.

The more I thought about my life, the sadder I became.

I heard the shower shut off and I wiped my eyes, not wanting Renee to see me cry again. I threw my journal back in my luggage.

“It's all yours,” she said, wearing a thick, white terry cloth robe and towel-drying her long hair. My hair was so short that a square of toilet paper could dry it. I went into the bathroom, undressed and started my own shower. The tears came again, and I let them come, not sure if my face was wet with tears or the water. I've always felt that a shower was a woman's best friend, her own personal place to cry. After several minutes, I got out and towel dried myself. I looked in the mirror and reeled back in horror at my hair. I forgot to tie it down, so it was wet. Wet hair is never a black woman's friend. I threw on a robe and walked into the room to see if Renee had any styling products I could borrow. In the rush, I hadn't brought a thing with me.

“Sure,” she said, handing me a silver, high-gloss tube of gel. “I use this to control the frizz in my hair.”

“Thanks,” I said. I walked back into the bathroom and squeezed a gob of it into my hair and smoothed it down. The top layer of my hair was sleek and shiny, but I could feel the layers underneath rising from my scalp, making my hair swell up like a pregnant woman's feet. “It will have to do,” I muttered to myself as I walked back to the bedroom.

“Here you go,” I said, throwing the gel back to Renee. She was already dressed in a pair of grey slacks and matching grey cardigan. I threw on a pair of jeans and black sweater. Not exactly my former self, but still not too bad.

“You look like a model going out on a casting call,” Renee said.

“You must be delusional. I look like a baby monkey with my hair like this.”

She laughed. “You have funny ways to describe yourself. I think you look great.”

“Well, that's nice of you to say…”

“Why don't you feel pretty?”

“I do feel pretty.”

“No, you don't. You're always saying negative things about yourself.”

“I've had a pretty rough day today, Renee. I don't feel like getting into a big deep discussion about my self-esteem.”

“I wasn't trying…” She shook her head. “All right, I'm sorry. Should you call Norma first, or should we head to the hospital now?”

“Let's just go. I'm ready to see a familiar face.”

Renee's lips turned down, and I realized my mistake.

I sighed, frustrated with hurting her feelings, but more frustrated that I had to apologize every five minutes.

“Sorry. You're face is nice, too—”

“I know what you meant. Let's go. I haven't seen Norma in years.”

* * *

Saying Norma had a big family was like saying an elephant was big. She had a huge family, and when we finally made it to her room, we had to squeeze into it. I recognized several members of her family and went around the hospital room, giving hugs to everyone and introducing Renee to the people she didn't know. Renee stood in the corner of the room, and shook hands while I went up to see my best friend—the new mom.

“You're here,” she said, grabbing my hand. Her face was flushed and her long hair lay across her pillow like a rainbow over her head. She squeezed my hand and my eyes watered.

“What's wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing,” I said, shaking my head. I wouldn't dare tell her my story yet, not when I was here to see her newborn daughter. I shook my head and willed back tears. “Nothing's wrong,” I added, more for my sake than for hers.

“You're lying. Something's up.”

“Later,” I said, giving her a kiss on her cheek. “Where is she?”

“She's in the nursery. Chris is sitting with her.”

“Good. I'll go down and see her in a minute. How are you feeling?” I asked, sitting on the edge of her bed.

“Besides the fact that my vagina feels like a balloon? Perfect. She's so beautiful, Mariah. She has my eyes and Chris's mouth. She's too perfect. We named her Elizabeth Mariah.”

“That's beautiful,” I said. I was beyond flattered that she gave the baby my name, especially after looking at how big her family was. “You didn't have to do that.”

“I wanted to. You're my best friend, it's the least I could do.”

“You look happy,” I said. And she did. Her brown eyes glowed and she couldn't stop smiling. Most of the time her bright mood was infectious, but not today. No matter what, I couldn't get her happiness to rub off on me.

“Tell me,” she said, rubbing my arm. “What is it? What happened?”

I shook my head. “Soon. Right now I want to see that darling girl of yours.”

“I'm leaving tomorrow. How long do you plan on staying in New York?”

I shrugged. “I'm not on a schedule.”

“So you'll come by the house tomorrow?”

“Of course.” I stood. “I want to see the baby.” I nodded at Renee. “We'll be back.”

We left the room and took the elevator to the ninth floor, to the nursery. We signed in with the clerk, and waited for Chris to escort us to the nursery. The security in a maternity ward was tighter than Janet Jackson's abs, so we couldn't see the baby without a parent present. He came through the heavy steel doors and I hugged and congratulated him. I introduced him to Renee and he led us to the nursery—a proud papa showing us his daughter for the first time. His gait suggested that he hadn't slept well in several days, and I wondered if all parents knew what lay in store for them when they decided to have a family—the sleepless nights, the responsibility of taking care of a new life. It was a lot to take in a short period of time. He stopped in front of a large window and we peered at a multitude of babies—some crying, some sleeping—just a room of nothing but precious life.

“There she is,” he said, pointing at a small white crib on the far side of the room. “There's my Elizabeth.”

Her head was covered in a thick cap of dark hair. She yawned and pursed her red lips in a slight grin as if she could sense us watching her and was putting on a show just for us.

“She's beautiful.”

“Wait until you hold her,” he said. “Come on.”

I followed him into the room but noticed that Renee hadn't budged.

“You're not coming?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No, I'll just wait for you here.”

“You sure?”

“Positive. I'll go back and wait up front.” She walked away before I could say anything else.

I followed Chris into the nursery and almost tiptoed to her crib, not wanting to make a sound. He nodded at one of the nurses and then picked her up so smoothly that it looked like he'd been doing it for years.

“You're good at that,” I said.

“I've had a couple of hours to practice. I was scared to pick her up at first, but now…” he looked down at his daughter. “Now I can't seem to put her down. You ready?” he asked, positioning her to slide her into my arms.

I opened my arms and was holding my best friend's baby.
Little
Elizabeth
.

Tears sprang into my eyes for the billionth time today as I cradled her in my arms. I began to rock her.
How could something so foreign to me become so natural?

“Look who's talking. You're a pro at this,” he said.

“No, but I want to be.” I looked up at him. “How does it feel?”

“I can't describe it. But I can say that I never felt this kind of love for anyone before. Who knew something this small would cause the biggest change? I'd give my life for her,” he said, stroking her soft hair.

Did my father feel the same way when he saw me? Did Paul even get a
chance
to see me? I looked at Chris peering down at his daughter with so much love in his eyes, and I wondered if my father had ever looked at me like that.