tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35907992668790721852024-03-13T22:32:34.473-07:00Welcome to Lola's BlogEntertainment News, Gossips, Stories that touches the heart, Fashion.stay tuned!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507214557031675143noreply@blogger.comBlogger55125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590799266879072185.post-79273266892452770172013-09-23T03:54:00.004-07:002013-09-23T03:54:39.049-07:00Hearts of Steel: Chapter SixteenI didn’t want to go, but Mother insisted as only mothers could. Insisted was just a nice way of saying threatened. As I sat in the living room with my feet propped on the table, the remote to the satellite dish permanently attached to one hand while my other hand burrowed into a bowl of heavily buttered popcorn, she said in crisp, unarguable tones, “Get up, Priye.”<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
I looked up at her. It wasn’t as if I had a choice. She’d positioned herself directly in front of the television. Her arms were folded resolutely across her chest. I bit my tongue to keep the smarty-pants remark from popping out of my mouth. If we’d been kids and that had been one of my brothers standing in front of the television, he would have definitely gotten a remark about “bottoms not made of glass.”<br />
<br />
Instead, I said respectfully, “Mum?”<br />
<br />
“Get up off the couch. You’re coming with me.”<br />
<br />
“Where are you going?”<br />
<br />
“Not me – we. We’re going to the botanical gardens. I’m on the schedule to volunteer today, and I want you to go with me.”<br />
<br />
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask her where on the schedule I was, but I didn’t. If I didn’t want my tongue to be pulled from my head, I’d better keep it civil.<br />
<br />
My shoulders slumped farther into the couch cushions. It was bad enough that I was giving up my weekends to help with the family reunion planning. I didn’t complain because all I had to do was take meeting minutes, hardly enough work to break a sweat. I’d cracked a nail or two as I typed on my computer keyboard, but nothing that a quick trip to the manicurist couldn’t fix.<br />
<br />
That wouldn’t be the case if I went volunteering with Mother today. I’d seen what they made some volunteers do. Imagine willingly putting yourself in the position of weeding, pruning, and tilling. It wasn’t for me. Not on a Saturday afternoon.<br />
<br />
“Do I have to?” I felt all of twelve years old, whining to my mother. I just wasn’t in the mood.<br />
<br />
“Yes, you have to. Come on. You might enjoy it.”<br />
<br />
“Digging, weeding, and pruning. Yes, Mother, that ranks very high on my list of things I’d rather be doing on a Saturday afternoon. It ranks right up there with getting a root canal without the benefit of anesthesia or having bamboo shoots poked under my fingernails.”<br />
<br />
“No bamboo shoots under your fingernails today, Priye. If you’re in the gardens, you’ll be wearing gloves.”<br />
<br />
“You don’t know what a comfort that is to me,” I muttered.<br />
<br />
Mother reached behind her and switched off the television.<br />
<br />
Ah-ha! I had the remote control. All I had to do was angle the infrared beam around and behind her just so and . . .<br />
<br />
That’s what all of the television-watching was really about – avoiding those feelings.<br />
<br />
It had been four weeks since I’d said good night to Jack. Good night had really been good-bye, because I hadn’t called him before I’d gone back to Accra. I hadn’t returned his call when he’d left a message with my parents. I’d screened all of my calls through my answering machine at my apartment.<br />
<br />
It didn’t take him long to figure out that I wasn’t going to return his calls. Not quite two weeks, almost ten days, and his calls had stopped coming. I didn’t know whether to be relieved or angry that he didn’t try harder. It was my game; but he wasn’t playing by the rules. A man who’d obviously been around as much as he had should have a pretty good grasp of the rules. He just wasn’t playing by them.<br />
<br />
To keep from feeling the pain, I filled my head with pulp fiction. With over three hundred channels brought conveniently into my parents’ home via satellite, it was easy to lose myself in melodrama rather than believe I’d lost a perfectly good man. No, not lost. Thrown away.<br />
<br />
“Turn that thing off or I’ll take out the batteries and hide the remote,” Mother threatened.<br />
<br />
“When I grow up and have kids of my own, I’m going to let them watch television until their brains rot out,” I announced.<br />
<br />
“I should live so long.”<br />
<br />
“To see your grandkids?”<br />
<br />
“For you to grow up,” Mother retorted. “Now, go upstairs, and change into something a little less comfortable.”<br />
<br />
“What’s wrong with what I have on?” I teased, pulling at my T-shirt.<br />
<br />
“I’m not going to be seen with you in those jeans. Look at them. Cut up nine ways till Sunday. More holey than righteous, is what they are.”<br />
<br />
“These aren’t holes, Mum. They’re a specially designed ventilation system.”<br />
“Ventilation system? Now that’s just plain nasty. I wouldn’t go around telling people that you need a ventilation system around your bottom, Priye.”<br />
<br />
“Mum!” I tried to sound shocked, but I couldn’t. I was laughing too hard.<br />
<br />
“You brought it up,” she reminded me. “Now, for the last time, go upstairs and change. Why don’t you put on that pretty sundress your grandmother bought for you?”<br />
<br />
“The one with the huge sunflower print?” I said with a neutral face. Sure. Why not? I shrugged fatalistically. “I don’t want anyone to accuse me of not getting into the spirit of the botanical gardens. I have a better idea. Why don’t you stick me in a flowerpot and let me wave to the guests as they tour the facility?”<br />
<br />
“You’re wasting time. I don’t care how you stick your lip out. You’re going. And you’re going to enjoy it.”<br />
<br />
“I will? How do you know?”<br />
<br />
“Call it mother’s intuition.”<br />
<br />
“Do you get mother points for saying that?” I asked. But I trudged toward the stairs anyway.<br />
<br />
“Hurry up, Priye. The shop opens at ten. I want to pick up a few things before we have to check in.”<br />
<br />
It was only eight in the morning, but as I told you before, Doris Johnson Cole hates to be late.<br />
<br />
“I’ll be down in a minute, Mum,” I promised. “I just want to jump in the shower.”<br />
<br />
“Priye, we don’t have time for that.”<br />
<br />
“Do you want me to show up on time and funky or five minutes late and smelling like a rose?”<br />
<br />
“Use the body wash in the guest bathroom.” She suggested.<br />
<br />
“I thought so,” I muttered.<br />
<br />
It didn’t take as much time to get ready as I’d thought. Once I was finally up off the couch and moving around, I could convince my body that it wasn’t a weekend, laze-about kind of day but a midweek, oh-my-God-I’m-late-for-work-kind of day. I cut corners from my usual morning routine wherever I could.<br />
<br />
As the water ran in the shower, gradually warming, I slathered on facial cream and added a dollop of toothpaste in my toothbrush. I brushed my teeth in the shower, spinning around three times to let the water splash all over my body. Spat down the drain, opened my mouth to rinse, and swiped off the facial cleaner at the same time.<br />
<br />
You have to be careful to time the spitting and rinsing the coordination is crucial. If you don’t rinse your face well enough before you open your mouth to wash the toothpaste away, you wind up with a mouth full of facial cleanser. And if you don’t rinse your mouth well enough, you could wind up having your face tartar-controlled with minty-fresh toothpaste.<br />
<br />
I stepped out without completely drying off and smeared cocoa butter all over to seal in the moisture. Extra lotion to my elbows, kneels and heels – notorious trouble spots of dryness on my body.<br />
<br />
I’d just stepped into my underwear when I heard my mother’s distinct call.<br />
<br />
Bommmmp! Bomp-bomp.<br />
<br />
She was already outside, tapping on the horn with her trademark impatience.<br />
<br />
“All right. All right. I’m coming!” I could let myself sound as irritated as I wanted to. With the sound of the bathroom exhaust fan whirring, I knew that there was no way she could hear me. Then again, there were times when I thought she couldn’t possibly hear me and she busted me away.<br />
<br />
I shimmied into my dress and reached behind me for the zipper. The dress was sleeveless, with a scooped neck and full, flowing, A-line skirt that fell an inch above my knees. I twisted my hair off my head into a loose ponytail, swiped honey-glaze lipstick across my lips, and I was ready to go. All I needed was to slide my feet into a white leather mules and I was ready to go.<br />
<br />
<br />
*************************************************<br />
<br />
<br />
Stubbornness. Nothing but pure bullheadedness kept me from picking up the phone and calling Priye. I’d already tried that, and she’d made it very clear that she didn’t want to have anything to do with me. Fine. If that’s the way she wanted it. But the least she could have done was told me to my face – not hid behind the formidable wall of her relatives.<br />
<br />
I don’t even know what I could have done to make her shut me down so hard. One minute we’d been at Big Dog’s, enjoying the music, enjoying each other, the next – nothing.<br />
<br />
“Take me home, Jack.”<br />
<br />
Just like that. No warning, no preamble, just “take me home.” It wasn’t even the kind of “take me home” that led me to believe that she wanted to leave to restart that private party of our own. That’s where I’d thought we were heading once I’d started to slow-dance with her. I could tell by the way that she moved with me, against me, that she’d been feeling the mood as much as I had. Her body, supple and suggestive, had molded perfectly against mine. When she’d pulled away from me, I’d had to do some creative standing to keep everyone else at the party from knowing what I’d been thinking.<br />
<br />
Priye had only been gone for five minutes. Maybe ten. Something must have happened in that time. But she wouldn’t tell me. Wouldn’t talk to me. She’d ridden home in silence, with her arms folded across her chest, her face turned toward the window.<br />
<br />
“Priye, what’s the matter?”<br />
<br />
“Nothing.”<br />
<br />
I hated that “nothing” crap. Why did women do that to me? Don’t sit there and tell me nothing when it’s obvious that isn’t the case.<br />
<br />
“Nothing” doesn’t put that scowl on your face that broadcasts to the world that I’ve screwed up – though for the life of me, I can’t figure out how.<br />
<br />
“Nothing” doesn’t make you pull away when I reach out to take your hand.<br />
<br />
“Nothing” doesn’t make you slam the door and jerk your head aside when I try to kiss you good night.<br />
<br />
“Nothing” hurts.<br />
<br />
As I stood in front of the mirror, preparing to shave, my hand started to tremble. At first, I believe it shook with suppressed anger. No one wanted to be blown off, to be cast away without an explanation, no matter how brief the acquaintance. I’d thought she was feeling me as much as I was into her. Could I have been so wrong? Could my instincts have been so off?<br />
<br />
As my hand continued to shake, so violently that I had to clench my wrist to stabilize it, I had an inkling that my tremors were something more than mere emotion. I sat on the end of the porcelain, claw-foot tub, collecting my thoughts and massaging my hand as the trembling subsided and numbness set in.<br />
<br />
I pressed hard into my palms with my thumb, sliding it up and down the center for several moments until I realized that I couldn’t feel my thumb working. I only knew that I pressed one hand into the other because I saw it happening with my own eyes. I heard the soft hiss of skin against skin. But I didn’t feel it.<br />
<br />
Five minutes passed. Maybe ten. I’m not sure how long I sat there, trying to get feeling back into my hand. I sat there long enough until I felt my rear starting to numb, too. But that was no mystery. Sitting on the small lip of the tub as it dug into my bottom, no wonder at all that it started to numb.<br />
<br />
I got up when I heard the phone sitting in its charger start to ring.<br />
<br />
“Yeah,” I answered, my voice surly, uncooperative. Whoever this was, I didn’t feel like being bothered.<br />
<br />
“And a blessed good morning to you, too. Mr. Deneen.”<br />
<br />
It only took a second to recognize the voice and the phone number. The caller ID indicated that the call came from the same phone that called me to invite me to Mrs. Johnson’s anniversary dinner. The voice was distinctly Mrs. Johnson’s. Strong, stern, and unmistakable.<br />
<br />
“Mrs. Johnson?”<br />
<br />
Why in the world would she be calling me now? Something had to be wrong. Something had happened to Priye.<br />
<br />
That’s why she hadn’t returned any of my calls! That had to be it!<br />
<br />
But the casual question that followed crushed my hopes that something serious had made her turn away from me like that.<br />
<br />
“How are you, Mr. Deneen?”<br />
<br />
“How am I?” I echoed like an idiot. How did she think I was? She didn’t seem like the woman who’d appreciate sarcasm. . .that is, she wouldn’t appreciate it directed at her. There was no problem with her dishing it out. Still, she struck me as a woman who did nothing casually. She’d called for a reason. If I wanted to find out what it was, I had to keep her talking. I kept my tone as neutral as possible.<br />
<br />
“I can’t complain.” That is, I wasn’t going to. She knew that I was hurting; otherwise why would she call? That didn’t mean I had to behave like a punk and let her know how deeply that wisp of a woman had dug into me.<br />
<br />
“And how are you, ma’am?”<br />
<br />
“A touch of arthritis, but, if the Lord is willing, I suppose I’ll make it.”<br />
<br />
“I’m sorry to hear you aren’t feeling well,” I responded. Inside, I felt like screaming. What was the point of this conversation? If she wanted to exchange information about injuries, I could go on, pain-for-pain, until she threw up the white flag.<br />
<br />
“Mother, give me that phone!” I heard someone in the background call out.<br />
<br />
“Let me do this!” Mrs. Johnson’s voice was muffled, as if she’d placed her hand over the phone.<br />
<br />
“Let me talk to him before you scare him off.”<br />
<br />
“I’m not going to scare him off. Let me handle this, please Pammie!”<br />
<br />
Moments later, Mrs. Johnson was back on the phone. Not a trace of her earlier annoyance was evident in her tone.<br />
<br />
“Aren’t you wondering why I called, Mr. Deneen?” she asked pleasantly.<br />
<br />
“Of course I am. I was trying to be polite and wait for you to offer an explanation.”<br />
<br />
“You’re running out of time! They’ll be leaving soon, Mum?” Priye’s aunt Pam said loudly. She must have been standing very close to Mrs. Johnson, directing her words into the mouthpiece.<br />
<br />
“All right. All right, Pammie. I couldn’t think of a single, reasonable way to be subtle, Mr. Deneen, so I’ll just come right out and say it . .”<br />
<br />
“You need to get your lovesick bottom over to the botanical gardens today. This very afternoon.” Aunt Pam’s order came out loud and clear over the phone.<br />
<br />
“And why is that?” I asked, not sure which one I was talking to now.<br />
<br />
“Why are you asking me so many questions when you could be talking to Priye?”<br />
<br />
Priye! She was in town and hadn’t called me. Instead, I was talking to her relatives.<br />
<br />
“I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” I hedged. She didn’t want to see me. If she did, she would have called me instead. I wasn’t going to go chasing after her.<br />
<br />
“That’s the problem with you young people. You think when you should be acting and run off half-cocked when you should be firing your brain cells instead. Are you going to tell me that you don’t want to see my granddaughter again, Mr. Deneen?”<br />
<br />
“Of course I do, but. . .”<br />
<br />
“But nothing. She’ll be at the botanical gardens all day today working. It closes at four, so you have plenty of time to figure out why you were so foolish in the first place as to let a wonderful girl like Priye slip away from you.”<br />
<br />
“Yes, ma’am.” I said dutifully. “Closes at four. I’ll be there.”<br />
<br />
But I had a split second of indecision. What if Priye and I managed to patch things up? What if we eventually married? What if we ever argued and she ran to her relatives for support? I could see that no matter what the case, I would always be the villain. They would always take her side over mine, her word over mine. Even knowing that, I still wanted to be with her.<br />
<br />
“I’ve also taken the liberty of making dinner reservations for you at six-thirty.”<br />
<br />
“I don’t know what to say,” I admitted.<br />
<br />
“That’s why I’ve called you so early in the morning, Mr. Deneen. I’ve given you plenty of time to study up on ways to impress a woman – assuming, of course, that after flexing your muscles, you’ve exhausted your repertoire of ways to attract them.”<br />
<br />
“Flexing is a good start, though, Flash,” Aunt Pam interjected. “Don’t stop doing that.”<br />
<br />
Good old Aunt Pam. At least someone was on my side.<br />
<br />
“Another piece of advice, Mr. Deneen,” Priye’s grandmother continued. “When you go calling on Priye at the botanical gardens, don’t bring flowers. Your gesture might go unnoticed in light of where you are.”<br />
<br />
“I’ll try to be more creative.” This time, my own sarcastic bent slipped out.<br />
<br />
“Something about one carat in a marquise cut shows a hell of a lot of creativity, Flash!” Aunt Pam suggested.<br />
<br />
“Don’t be crude, Pam.” Mrs. Johnson chastised.<br />
<br />
“Just trying to help the man, Mum.”<br />
<br />
“Goodbye, Mr. Deneen.”<br />
<br />
“Goodbye, Mrs. Johnson. And thank you. Both of you.”<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507214557031675143noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590799266879072185.post-82279942573548809522013-09-23T03:51:00.001-07:002013-09-23T03:51:12.384-07:00Hearts of Steel: Chapter FifteenI hated football. I absolutely despised it. It was idiotic and barbaric. I couldn’t find a single socially redeeming quality whatsoever in the game.<br />
<br />
So when I found myself, two weeks later sitting five rows back from the fifty-yard line screaming my head off. I could only justify my behaviour conceding that I must be certifiably insane.<br />
<br />
And each time I leaped to my feet, threw my hands in the air and shouted, ‘Goooaaal!” along with the other enthusiastic participants of the ‘wave’ I imagined that I could feel my little gray brain cells dying off – one by one.<br />
<br />
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<br />
“Look, Mike, there he is!” I grabbed on to my brother’s arm and pointed excitedly down on the field at Jack. “See him? That’s Jack.”<br />
<br />
“Yeah. Yeah. We all see him. Mike yawned as if bored and brushed my hand off. He then turned to the complete stranger sitting behind us and said, “Everybody, look. My sister, Priye, has finally found a man. Everybody, look here!” he pointed with both index fingers, shouting loudly and drawing enough attention to make me want to sink down beneath the seats.<br />
<br />
“Stop that!” I said, punching his arm as hard as I could. “Ow! What did you do that for?”<br />
<br />
“See what you did? You made me miss the snap. Look, he’s going out for a pass! Go, Jack, Go! Way to go Flash.”<br />
<br />
I grabbed Mike’s arm, just below the elbow and squeezed with both hands. He didn’t notice the grip on his arm. He was too busy trying to avoid my stomping on his feet as I jumped up and down.<br />
<br />
“He’s going all the way!” Mike predicted as Jack broke free from one tackle, pivoted, then reversed directions to barely sidestep another tackle. In his effort to get away he nearly collided with his own teammate. The third t9ime proved not to be the charm as what I could only describe as King Kong in a football jersey launched himself at Jack. He wrapped his massive arms around Jack’s waist and slung him, back first, to the ground.<br />
<br />
“Leave him alone, you chicken!” I shouted.<br />
<br />
“Chicken?” Mike made fun of my choice of insults.<br />
<br />
“It’s the first thing that popped into my head.” I shrugged. I turned back to the game. “Oh, now, that’s not fair! Look at them piling on my baby for no good reason. Why won’t the referee throw in a penalty flag? That hit was obviously a late hit.”<br />
<br />
“Priye, let the boys play,” Mike complained. “Nothing makes a game drag on longer than officials who want to stop the game every two minutes.”<br />
<br />
“They didn’t have to sit on his head like that,” I complained.<br />
<br />
“Didn’t Flash tell you, Priye? Jack’s a player who uses his head.”<br />
<br />
“You are so not funny.”<br />
<br />
“Don’t worry about him, baby sister. Jack isn’t going to let anyone mess with that pretty face of his. He has to have something to fall back on when he’s too old to play anymore.”<br />
<br />
Only three minutes left in the game. The score had been frozen in favour of the visiting team.<br />
<br />
Would the Steeldogs play it safe and go for the first down? Or would they risk losing possession for the sake of scoring to go for the win? If I hadn’t just had them done, I would have bit my nails.<br />
<br />
“Go for it!” I shouted, wondering why they were taking so long in the huddle. What was there to decide? They wanted to win, didn’t they? Go for the score.<br />
<br />
“Go for it!” I shouted again, and to my surprise, the crowd around me picked up the chant, waving their pennants in time with the chant. “Go for it! Go for it!”<br />
<br />
I knew if Jack had anything to say about it, there wouldn’t be any debate. A tie, in his book was just as good as a loss. A tie was just as bad as admitting that some other tram was just as good as the Steeldogs. Or, if they tied with a third team, a tie told their fans that the Steeldogs weren’t doing their jobs. They weren’t giving their fans their money’s worth.<br />
<br />
“Ohhh! Tell me when it’s over, Mike. I can’t watch!” I exclaimed burrowing my head in his shoulder. However, I made sure that I left one eye uncovered just in case I found the resolve to take a quick peek.<br />
<br />
I felt so ridiculous, holding my breath, crossing my fingers, and sending up prayers for a game against which I had become a one-woman crusader. I couldn’t help it. That was my man down there. It had taken a while to come to grips with that fact. Besides, who could resist? He looked so hot in that butt-hugging uniform.<br />
<br />
“They’re going for it,” Mike said. “Jack’s a split out. My guess is that he’ll run a post right up the middle.”<br />
<br />
“To play it safe, they’d better send someone across the field to draw some of that attention away from Jack if he’s going to be the go-to guy.”<br />
<br />
“Look at you, Coach Cole.” Mike nodded in admiration of my play-calling ability. How quickly he’d forgotten Daddy and I used to sit and scream plays at the television as soon as we got home from Sunday service.<br />
“If they’d just kicked that field goal when I told them to, instead of that weak quarterback sneak, we would have this game in the bag.”<br />
<br />
“What is this ‘we’ stuff all of a sudden? I thought you hated football.”<br />
<br />
“Yeah. I hated it so much. I got us tickets for the next three home games. Are you complaining about my fanlike dedication, big brother?”<br />
<br />
Mike turned an invisible key to seal his lips and tossed the key over his shoulder. His silence was short-lived. He let out a shout as Jack scored a goal.<br />
<br />
“Did you see that? That’s my baby!” I screeched and blew him a kiss. Could he see me? I couldn’t be sure. It wasn’t as if I didn’t stand out. Correction – I would have stood out if I’d been walking down the middle of the street dressed as I was. I wore a Steeldog T-shirt – not the printed one, the classy embroidered one. A cap was barely jammed down over my recently done hair. Ouch! What a feat that had been pulling my braids through the rear opening of the cap. I wondered if he could see me if I waved the giant foam number one finger.<br />
<br />
When the clock ticked down to seconds and another win for the team, like everyone else, I broke out into the celebration song.<br />
<br />
It was only the first game of the season, with thirteen more games scheduled. Yet the mood was undeniably jubilant. Over fourteen thousand fans had crowded into the field. We were all singing with one voice – one loud, off-key, off-beat voice. That was okay. It was the thought that counted.<br />
<br />
As the players filed off the field, the celebration song changed.<br />
<br />
All of us waved good-bye to the defeated team. The chant echoed up to the rafters. Everyone was all hyped now, with two away game wins and one home game win under the team’s belt. I wondered whether the enthusiasm would last the entire season. We fans could be so fickle.<br />
<br />
“Come on,” I said, edging past my brother.<br />
<br />
“Where are we going?”<br />
<br />
“Down there.” I pointed to the row of seats directly above the players’ exit. I didn’t wait to see if Mike would follow. I wanted to tell Jack congratulations. I wanted him to know how proud I was of him, before he got preoccupied with postgame wrap-up.<br />
<br />
When I looked over my shoulder to locate Mike, I made a small noise of disgust. He wasn’t paying attention to me at all. He was too busy trying to get a phone number from a pretty little spirit leader of the Steeldog Show Steelers.<br />
<br />
Moving against the flow of traffic, I made my way to the player exit just in time to see Jack swipe his hand across his forehead.<br />
<br />
“Jack!” I called out to him, waving my arms in the air. But I was competing with a hundred or so other stragglers. They were all calling out to the players as if they were as intimately acquainted as I was with Jack.<br />
<br />
Perhaps, in their minds, they were. That was all part of being a fan. When you followed their careers, celebrated their victories or mourned over their defeats, memorized their player statistics before they did, studied the game as that you could offer advice to make them better players, it brought you close to them – or as close as security would allow you to get.<br />
<br />
I placed my thumb and middle finger to my lips, whistling shrilly. That had to get his attention. It was a sound I knew he’d recognize. He’d heard it the day my grandfather almost sold him off to several of my cousins.<br />
<br />
Jack’s head snapped up, scanning the crowd until he zeroed in on me. When his face lit up in recognition, I blew him a kiss in answer to his wave. He held up both hands and opened and closed them twice rapidly. Twenty minutes. Give him twenty minutes and he’d be ready to go.<br />
<br />
I nodded and gave him the thumbs-up sign. It was all prearranged. Underneath my T-shirt, I wore my going out clothes. All I had to do was pull-off my tennis shoes and socks. I’d stuffed my dress shoes into my large, leather shoulder bag. When Mike came up to me, I was sitting in a seat, sliding on my shoes and fluffing my hair.<br />
<br />
“Well?” I asked, knowing full well from his expression that he hadn’t had much success with asking one of the Show Steelers out for a date.<br />
<br />
“Those girls are tough.” He grinned at me. “Won’t give a brother no play.”<br />
<br />
“Maybe,” I suggested sweetly as only a baby sister could, “it’s because your game is weak.”<br />
<br />
<br />
*********************************************<br />
<br />
<br />
“Good game, man. Good game.”<br />
<br />
I shook the hands of my opponents, hugged those who had been friends and former teammates from previous jobs. It had been a close game, a hard-fought one, with both sides scratching and clawing for every inch, every point.<br />
<br />
I hadn’t been sure if we would be able to pull this one out. It sure felt good to win. But what felt even better was seeing Priye’s face. Knowing that she was there pulling for me, cheering for me, made every blow worth it.<br />
<br />
Speaking of blows, I think I took a hard one in the ribs. Each breath felt a little like sucking peppers into my lungs. I knew that I was going to be feeling the effects of this none for a while. At least, until the next game, when I would be psyched up with so much adrenaline that I wouldn’t feel the first few hits.<br />
<br />
Adrenaline could only take you so far, however. The rest was training, conditioning, and willpower. I would keep going out there, game after game, hit after hit, until by the end of the season I was a walking mess of sprains, bruises, and pulls.<br />
<br />
How I loved this game!<br />
<br />
I welcomed every tackle. The harder they bite me, the more I enjoyed it. Sounds masochistic, but nothing could be further from the truth. I didn’t want to be hit for pain’s sake.<br />
The fact that I was a target let me know that I was doing my job. If the opposing team’s players didn’t fear what I could do to run up the score, they wouldn’t bother with me. If I was a candy-ass, not worth their effort, I could run fake routes by them all day long and never get a scratch.<br />
<br />
Let me nurse my wounds. Each ache, each twinge, each minute soaking in a tub of salts or icing down a limb brought us that much closer to the championship. By next game, I’d be out there again – goading them to bring it on.<br />
<br />
“Say, Flash. Is that your latest?” The big, offensive lineman whose block made it possible for me to get into the end zone slapped me on the back of my head to get my attention.<br />
<br />
“What’s the matter with you, Flash? Look up there.”<br />
<br />
I looked up and saw Priye waving frantically at me. I grinned and waved back.<br />
<br />
She put her fingers between her teeth and whistled shrilly again – long and loud. So that’s where that noise had come from. I’d heard it before, just as the game had ended, but hadn’t paid it too much attention. I suppose I was still in game mode, completely focused, drowing out any noise that didn’t help me make my plays.<br />
<br />
Now that the football game was over, my thoughts turned elsewhere. To her. As far as my heart was concerned, Priye was now the only game in town.<br />
<br />
“What do you mean latest? That’s my last, my only. Hopefully sooner rather than later, my baby’s mother.”<br />
<br />
“Damn, Flash. You serious?”<br />
<br />
“As a heart attack.”<br />
<br />
“You sure you didn’t take another shot to the head on that last play? Since when?”<br />
<br />
I shrugged. “Since Paul rode off into the sunset with his one and only. It’s got me thinking.”<br />
<br />
“Yeah, right. Thinking with the wrong head. What did Paul say to you to convince you to let your brain make decisions without women? Do you realize what you’re passing up if you go one-on-one?”<br />
<br />
He waved and grinned at a couple of ladies leaning so far over the safety rail, I was sure security would be scraping them up with a spatula before long. When they caught Big Dog and me looking, they leaned even farther – giving us unrestricted views of their bountiful cleavage.<br />
<br />
“Been there. Done that. That stuff gets old man. Either that or I did. The older I get, the more I realize it doesn’t make any sense to pass up something. . .someone. . .you know is right.”<br />
<br />
“What did she whip on you? Some kind of Western Black Voodoo Magic?”<br />
<br />
“I don’t know. Whatever it is, it’s working pretty strong.”<br />
<br />
I held up my hands, indicating how long I expected to be in the showers.<br />
<br />
“Why don’t you bring her by the crib tonight? I’d like to meet the woman who took Jack Deneen down.”<br />
<br />
“Why? So you can try to take her away from me? No, thanks. I’ll keep Priye to myself until I’ve had a chance to warn her about you dogs.”<br />
<br />
Big Dog chuckled. “Nothing’s going to happen to your friend, Flash. I’m having a little after party to celebrate our humiliation.”<br />
<br />
“Did I hear you invite some of their players to the party, too?”<br />
<br />
“Yeah, so? What about it?”<br />
<br />
“That’s like fraternizing with the enemy.”<br />
<br />
“Fraternizing? Who’s fraternizing? I’m just getting my party on. Are you coming or not?”<br />
<br />
“I don’t know. Priye’s only in town for the weekend. I don’t want to waste a minute of it jacking around with you clowns.”<br />
<br />
“Are you sure?”<br />
<br />
“That you’re clowns? Absolutely positive.” I laughed.<br />
<br />
Big Dog shook his head and tsked at me. “Crying shame. Lost your manhood and your sense of humour at the same time. That girl’s got you totally whipped.”<br />
Big Dog snapped his wrist – his rendition of crackling a whip.<br />
<br />
“We might stop by later,” I conceded. It did no good to earn the grudging respect of your opponents, yet have your own teammates ridiculing you. We might go, if only for just an hour to show our faces.<br />
<br />
“You know the party won’t get good and started until after midnight. You’ve got enough time to handle your business.” He took another look at Priye and made a small sound of appreciation. “Or get your business handled. She’s a tiny thing, Flash. Don’t hurt her.”<br />
<br />
<br />
**************************************************<br />
<br />
<br />
It was something more than a gathering of closest friends and just shy of an orgy. Jack inched along, maneuvering his car past the line of illegally parked cars to get a parking spot that was secluded, yet close enough to the road to not get blocked in.<br />
<br />
“Is it like this all the time?” I mused, watching a steady flow of people moving in and out of the house and all about the grounds.<br />
<br />
“What do you mean?”<br />
<br />
“So many people. Does your friend – what’s his name?”<br />
<br />
“Big Dog,” Jack supplied,<br />
<br />
“Oh, yes. How could I forget?” My tone was pure sarcasm. “Does Big Dog know all these people?”<br />
<br />
“Not by name. But I’m sure if you ask him, he’ll say that there was something familiar about the faces.”<br />
<br />
I looked over at Jack. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask whether he’d ever thrown a party in which he only “remembered the faces.” I didn’t want to ask. I thought it sounded tacky, suspicious, and jealous. Things had moved incredibly fast for us. Too fast for me to think I could exercise any claim of ownership.<br />
<br />
“And what sort of parties do you put on?”<br />
<br />
The words came out anyway. So much for being tactful and discreet.<br />
<br />
“The private kind,” he said, lifting my hand to his lips.<br />
<br />
“The kind where I not only remember the faces, but cherish them.”<br />
<br />
I smiled despite myself. Even if he had thrown a wild party or two in his lifetime, for the moment his answer mollified me. It wasn’t only his words that soothed my anxious spirit. When he’d held me in his arms tonight, I’d felt nothing less than cherished.<br />
<br />
As he eased into a parking spot and shut off the engine, I took a deep breath. I wasn’t sure if I was ready for this – to be thrust into the limelight as Jack’s latest conquest. I didn’t want anyone who might have known Jack’s other girlfriends to compare me with them.<br />
<br />
I’m no slouch, but I’m realistic about my body. If I could, I’d trim a few inches off of my thighs and slap them up on my breasts. If I was doing the sculpting, I’d make myself a little taller, a little sleeker – at least enough so I wouldn’t look like a munchkin walking in on Jack’s arm.<br />
<br />
He saw me hesitate. He’d already opened the car door and was climbing out, and I hadn’t taken off my seat belt yet.<br />
<br />
“Are you all right, Priye?”<br />
<br />
“Of course. What makes you ask?” I opened my purse and put on a show of searching for my lipstick to justify my hesitation. I don’t think he was convinced.<br />
<br />
“We don’t have to go, if you don’t want to,” he offered.<br />
<br />
“Don’t be silly. You drove all of this way. Of course we’re going in.”<br />
<br />
“Are you sure? Say the word and we’re out of here.”<br />
<br />
“I dare you to try to back out of that parking spot after all of the maneuvering you did to get me here.” I smiled at him. “Just give me a minute to fix my face.” A quick flick of my wrist to take the shine off my nose and forehead. Pucker. Swipe. Voiler! Instant luscious lips. I was as gorgeous as I was going to be; so I unbuckled my seat belt and climbed out.<br />
<br />
The path to the front door was marked by white lights running along both sides. As we approached the door, someone stumbled outside, leaned against the pillar, and proceeded to be violently ill in the bushes.<br />
<br />
Jack looked down at me and said sympathetically, “We won’t stay long. I just want you meet some of the guys.”<br />
<br />
“That isn’t one of them, is it?” I asked hopefully.<br />
<br />
Jack took a few steps back, lowered his head to try to get a good look at the face, then shook his head. “No. . .no, I don’t think so.”<br />
<br />
“Oh, good!” I said with exaggerated relief to show him that I had a sense of humour.<br />
<br />
He placed his arm around my waist as we walked up the stairs. Jack rang the doorbell as we entered, only as a matter of courtesy. The door was wide open. I doubted if anyone would have heard the bell over the music anyway.<br />
<br />
“Keys, please.” A young woman dressed in what looked to me like a bikini made of mint-green dental floss held up a huge, wooden salad bowl in outstretched hands.<br />
<br />
Jack fished his keys out of his pants pocket and dropped them into the bowl.<br />
<br />
“Thanks, Flash.” She eyed him for a moment – too long of a moment to make me comfortable – and disappeared into the crowd.<br />
<br />
“I take it that when we’re ready to leave, we’ll have to hunt her down to get the keys back.”<br />
<br />
“Uh-huh,” he said distractedly, looking over the heads of the partygoers as if he was searching for someone. He didn’t appear to notice the key keeper. But I wasn’t taking any chances.<br />
<br />
“I’ll tell you what,” I suggested. “When it’s time to go, you let me hunt her down.”<br />
<br />
Something in my tone must have caught his attention. He looked at me as if he was actually pleased that I was the teeniest bit jealous.<br />
<br />
“Come on. Let’s see if we can find the big man himself. The sooner we show our faces, make introductions, the sooner we can get out of here.”<br />
<br />
We left the foyer, past the formal dining room, back through the kitchen, and finally outside where someone said they might have seen Big Dog. The house, in square footage, wasn’t that large. But it was packed with more people per square inch than I’m sure the fire marshal would consider acceptable. I could almost see the sign on the door being torn down and trampled: MAXIMUM OCCUPANCY NOT TO EXCEED 200.<br />
<br />
There was maximum partying going on here. There were people everywhere, in groups of twos, threes, and more, all trying to hold conversations and the ever-present thump of music. There was a definite lack of chairs. Some had found seats on countertops. Others leaned on stair railings or sat on tables. I don’t think anyone minded the bumper-to-bumper bodies. Nobody but Jack and me.<br />
<br />
He led the way, his tall frame parting a way through the crowd like Moses and the Red Sea.<br />
<br />
“Hey, Flash. Glad you could make it, dog.”<br />
<br />
Dog. It was the universal greeting of all the men here tonight – whether they were on the Steeldogs’ rooster or not.<br />
<br />
“Big Dog.” Jack greeted his friend with some sort of complicated, soul-brother handshake that I’d sometimes seen my brothers give when they met up with their friends.<br />
<br />
“And I see you brought some class to my little soiree.”<br />
<br />
Big Dog looked me up and down like a pit bull eyeing a cut of prime rib. He smiled at me with a mouth full of gold-capped teeth. The top row spelled out Big. The bottom row spelled out – you guessed it – Dog.<br />
<br />
He was a big man, not as tall as Jack, but with a tree-trunk neck, wide shoulders, and squat, muscular legs. If I were the man he’d blocked trying to make room for Jack’s run into the end zone, I would have stayed down until the team trainer came to check on me, too. There was no way I would have tried to get up and risked having him hit me again.<br />
<br />
I was having a hard time imagining how something so big, that looked so unwieldy, could move so fast. I must have stared a little too long, a little too hard. It was Jack’s turn to call up the green-eyed jealousy monster. He tightened his arm around me and said with an edge in his voice. “If you could spell soiree, Big Dog, then I’d believe you could hold one.”<br />
<br />
“Why don’t you introduce me to your new friend, Flash?” Big Dog suggested.<br />
<br />
“Big Dog, this is Priye Cole. Priye, this is my boy, Dolan Cantrell. But everyone calls him – “<br />
<br />
“Let me guess,” I interrupted. “Big Dog?”<br />
<br />
“In the flesh,” he said.<br />
<br />
And plenty of it, I thought. I lowered my eyes. Staring too long might send out the wrong signals. I didn’t want to give Dolan Cantrell any ammunition for locker-room tearing. Boys would be boys. And for the first thing boys did together in the locker room was talk about girls. I wasn’t going to give Dolan Cantrell anything he could use to strain his relationship with Jack.<br />
<br />
“Thanks for inviting us to your soiree, Mr. Cantrell,” I said, putting extra emphasis on the us. I wanted to let him know that Jack and I were a couple. We were together. Make no mistakes about it.<br />
<br />
Holding out my hand to him, I hoped that he wouldn’t try to greet me with that soul-brother handshake as he’d used to greet Jack. It was too complicated for me, never the same shake twice.<br />
<br />
“You’re always welcome in this dog’s house,” he replied and leaned in as he took my hand. “With or without Flash.”<br />
<br />
I pulled away, without responding to his comment. That is, I didn’t respond verbally. Instead, I moved closer to Jack, practically sealing my hip to his.<br />
<br />
Big Dog stepped back. “Make yourselves at home. There’s plenty to eat. Whatever you want to drink; if I don’t have it we’ll send for it.”<br />
<br />
He’d slaughtered the phrase, but we got the gist of it. So did everyone else. The way his house was being used, you’d think that the guests paid the mortgage here.<br />
<br />
“Are you hungry?” Jack asked.<br />
<br />
“You mean fight that crowd to get to the snack table?” I asked, raising my eyebrows. “You’re a braver man than I thought.”<br />
<br />
“It did look swamped,” he agreed.<br />
<br />
“There probably isn’t anything left worth fighting the crowd for anyway,” I suggested – the very model of sour grapes.<br />
<br />
“Probably right. Maybe some leftover cold cuts.”<br />
<br />
It was stupid, boring, party small talk and we knew it. But we were here and here we had to stay until we’d made a decent showing. We stood, pressed against a far wall for a moment, each of us in our own way trying to determine when would be a good time to make our exit. I didn’t want to be here. Judging from Jack’s expression, he really didn’t want to be, either. He was there because his teammate had asked him to come.<br />
<br />
“So,” he said loudly. He had to. The music had been cranked up another notch.<br />
<br />
“Yes?”<br />
<br />
“Do you want to dance?”<br />
<br />
“A chance for what?” I shouted back.<br />
<br />
“No. . .dance!” he corrected, pointing to an area by the pool where the patio furniture had been cleared.<br />
<br />
Because of the type of music that was being played, there wasn’t as much dancing going on as there was stomping, flailing, and pumping it up – that stupid lift-your-palms, raise-the-roof motion. Geez, I’ll be glad when that fad dies.<br />
<br />
I shook my head and shouted, “Maybe the next song.”<br />
<br />
He nodded in agreement. But the next song wasn’t much better. Or the next. Or the next.<br />
<br />
Was I getting old, or was this music really bad? I remember when people went to parties to dance. Even if we didn’t hold each other, we at least looked at each other,<br />
<br />
Jack leaned against the wall, one arm around my shoulder. His free hand clasped the neck of a long-necked beer, which he seeped very, very slowly. In the twenty minutes that we stood there and people watched, I don’t think he went through a third of it. Still, I kept an eye on his intake. With the other eye I kept a lookout for that string-bikini-clad babe to make sure she didn’t come over and jiggle her ample set of. . .keys at him.<br />
<br />
As the music played on, I felt a fresh longing rise up inside me. Jack had done a pretty thorough job of taking care of my needs – enough to see me through to next month when I got back into town again, I’d thought. Evidently not. Through no fault of his own, I was the needy one. Definitely time to make an exit.<br />
<br />
Jack was feeling it, too. He pressed me closer to him, his arousal evident as he throbbed against my pelvis.<br />
<br />
“Let’s get out of here,” he whispered harshly against my cheek.<br />
<br />
“I’m with you,” I agreed. “But I’ve got to make a stop first in the ladies’ room.” I stood up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek.<br />
<br />
“Don’t get lost,” he said, squeezing me in the small of my back.<br />
<br />
“I won’t.”<br />
<br />
When I left him, he was talking to a group of fans who’d taken advantage of my absence. As long as I was by his side, and he was obviously interested in no one but me, we were left mostly in peace – except for an occasional fan who swooped by, fast enough to get a steely look from Jack for the interruption.<br />
<br />
The first bathroom that I tried downstairs had a line that snaked all the way around to the den. The bathroom in the downstairs master bedroom was also in great demand.<br />
<br />
I jostled my way up the stairs to a guest bedroom and adjoining bathroom. The anteroom had his-and-her sinks and enough track lighting to illuminate a small airstrip. It made the perfect congregating place for female guests to reapply their makeup and tighten up that hair. Nothing like a good, dancing sweat to loosen up those bonded weaves. Bottles of hair bond passed back and forth almost as much as unopened foil packages of condoms. I would have passed this room up, too, and taken my chances on the long drive back, but the door leading to the commode was ajar.<br />
<br />
“Are you next in line?” I asked the girl standing closer to the door.<br />
<br />
“Nuh-uh. You gon’ ahead.”<br />
<br />
“Thanks.”<br />
<br />
As soon as I shut the door behind me. I heard a burst of laughter that the door couldn’t muffle. Something told me that they were laughing at me. It wasn’t something. Someone. A group of someones. As I listened to the conversation that followed, I realized that I was the topic of conversation. They’d raised their voices deliberately so I could hear them. Three distinct voices.<br />
<br />
“Was that. . .?”<br />
<br />
“It sho’ was.”<br />
<br />
“I know that wasn’t that whore all over J.D?”<br />
<br />
My jaw dropped. Who were they calling a whore? Which one of them was it? If my panty hose hadn’t already been down around my ankles, I would have stepped out and made some very serious corrections to their perceptions.<br />
<br />
“Damitra, girl, wasn’t J.D. supposed to be your man? What’s he doing pushing up on her like that?”<br />
<br />
“I don’t know. . .but I know one thing, I know he’d better not be doing her in the same bed that he and I did it.”<br />
<br />
“I told you that you shouldn’t have given it up to him so fast.”<br />
<br />
“What did you expect me to do? You know the man’s attention span aint nothing but that long.” I heard her fingers snap. “He stays as horny as a dog. Whenever he wants some, he wants it right then, right there. If I’d said no, he would have been out sniffing around somebody else that much sooner.”<br />
<br />
“Don’t worry ‘bout it, Sandra. He’ll get tired of banging that cow. You wait and see. As soon as she drops her panties, he’ll drop her. Kick her to the curb like trash.”<br />
<br />
“That’s right. Don’t even worry about it. Don’t even think somebody like her could take your man.”<br />
<br />
“I wish she would try. I’m going to burst up that heifer’s action right now.”<br />
<br />
I strained, but I couldn’t hear how she was going to do it. Their voices faded. Either they’d gotten tired of shouting through the door, or they’d moved on.<br />
<br />
Though tears of white-hot anger scorched my cheeks. I told myself that it didn’t matter. Whoever that Sandra was, she was just jealous. She was jealous of the fact that she wasn’t woman enough to hold on to Jack. She’d called me a heifer. A cow. So what if I had a little extra going on? That only meant that I was woman enough for both of us.<br />
<br />
I told myself that she was just one woman. Only one. But what if there were others? How many others? How many times would I have to listen to variations of this conversation? How many times would I have to compare myself against the women in Jack’s life and tell myself that there was nothing wrong with me? It was all them. Sooner or later, however, would the stacks of them grow insurmountable?<br />
<br />
Just listening to this once was more than enough for me. I didn’t think I could stand any more like Sandra, out there, ready to clue me in on Jack’s past.<br />
<br />
As I sat with my cheeks propped on my fists, my elbows resting on my knees, I wondered how I was going to get through the rest of the evening without letting Jack know that my feelings had been hurt. I wondered if I had the courage to continue to nurture the relationship even though I had doubts.<br />
<br />
Mostly, I wondered which one of those heifers had used the last of the bathroom tissue and left without replacing the roll.<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507214557031675143noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590799266879072185.post-86520622106538900892013-09-23T03:47:00.000-07:002013-09-23T03:47:08.138-07:00Hearts of Steel: Chapter Fourteen“Stop that!” Mother slapped my hand away as I reached to pinch off one of the cakes that she’d left cooling. “Those are for the meeting.”<div>
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“I can’t help it, Mother. They smell sooo good.”</div>
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With my elbows on the counter, I stuck my face over the pan. The light steam rose, swirled around my face, and tickled my nostrils. Those cakes had my name all over them.</div>
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I cupped my hand to my ear. “What did you say, little cake? You say that you’re all alone? I’ll save you. I’ve got a special home for you right in the middle of my stomach. Plenty of room for you.” My fingers reached for a golden, sticky-sweet corner.</div>
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“Don’t even think about it,” Mother warned. Her back was turned to me, so it was a mystery how she knew what I was doing. One day, I was going to pull her hair back, search for the eyes in the back of her head, and poke them out. You’d think that after all these years; those eyes in the back of her head would need bifocals. But not today. They were as </div>
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sharp as ever.</div>
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“But Mum. They’re calling my name. You always told me that it was rude not to answer when someone called.”</div>
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“You’d better stop snacking between meals, Priye. Here, this should hold you until Pamela and Ebere get here.” She tossed a cake to me. </div>
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“It’s not the same,” I grumbled as I peeled off the produce sticker before biting into it.</div>
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“Maybe not. But it’s better for you.”</div>
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“Yummy.” I sighed and leaned on the counter again. “When are they supposed to be here?”</div>
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“Soon.”</div>
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I waited a full minute before asking, “Are they here yet?”</div>
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“No.”</div>
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Another minute ticked by. “Are they here yet?”</div>
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“No, Priye.”</div>
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This time, less than a minute before asking, “Are they here yet?”</div>
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Laughing as hard as I was at her expression, I barely missed the wooden spoon she swung at my head. </div>
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I ducked, but she swung again.</div>
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“Girl, are you trying to work on my last nerve?”</div>
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“I have a lot of time to make up for,” I said. “Being away so much, I don’t get these rare opportunities to remind you why you and Daddy worked so hard to get me through school and out of the house.” I planted a wet, sloppy kiss on her cheek.</div>
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Mother made a grand display of wiping it off with a dish towel.</div>
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“You were just here last weekend for your grandparents’ anniversary. If I’d known you’d come back so soon, we would have worked triple jobs to get you into a school further away from home.”</div>
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“You know you miss me, Mum,” I said, wrapping my arms around her ample waist, rocking back and forth until she squawked.</div>
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“Of course I miss you. That’s why I asked you to help with the reunion planning. If me and your father couldn’t get you to come back on your own, maybe the power of the whole family behind us could get you to come back. So, why don’t you make sure that everything is set up in the family room before Pamela and Ebere get here?”</div>
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“Are you trying to get rid of me?” I asked in mock hurt.</div>
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“Now, whatever gave you that idea?” she asked as she shoved me toward the door.</div>
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“If you wanted to get rid of me, all you had to do was start talking about the weather.” I raised my eyebrows at her. I wanted her to know that I wasn’t fooled by their little tete-a-tete in the restaurant bathroom with Aunt Ebere, Aunt Pam, and Grandma.</div>
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Mother opened her mouth as if to protest. She knew better than to try to deny it since it was obvious that I was on to her. She didn’t get the chance to. The doorbell rang, saving her from trying to deny that they’d been talking about us cousins.</div>
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“Are they here yet?” I asked, barely managing to keep a straight face.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“No. It’s my great-grand mother. Of course it’s them.”</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“It sure took them long enough. It isn’t as if you ladies don’t all live within a stone’s throw of Grandma’s.”</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As I headed for the door, I asked, “Did you ever think about moving out of Lagos, Mum?”</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“What for?” she asked, trailing behind me. “Everything I needed, ever wanted is right here.”</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Shrugging, I tried to make her understand. “I don’t know, Travel, see the world, find out what life’s like outside the city limits. You and Aunt Ebere and Aunt Pamela were raised here. I’m sure you’ve seen everything there is to see. When you were old enough to be on your own, why didn’t you move away like me, Brenda and Joy?”</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“When our wandering foot gets to itchin’, we pick up and go,” Mother said defensively. Me and your aunts and sometimes your grandparents get in the car and drive until the itch is satisfied.”</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“There’s so much more out there,” I protested. “Places you cant get to in a day or a weekend drive.”</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Yes, there’s more out there,” Mother echoed. “And they’re standing on the front porch waiting to be let in. Don’t keep your aunts waiting, Priye. Besides, didn’t you ever see that movie The Wizard of Oz?”</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Ooh, I’m telling Aunt Ebere and Aunt Pamela that you’ve called them wicked witches!” I said, deliberately misunderstanding her.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“I did not! You stop playing around and open that door.” I flung the door open and welcomed my aunts’ warm greeting with open arms and kisses of affection. Brenda stood behind them, grinning at me and waving one of Jack’s autographed T-shirts in my face. I reached for it, but she held it high out of my reach.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Where’s Joy?” I asked, trying to hide the disappointment in my voice. I was hoping to see her before taking off again for Ghana.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“She couldn’t make it for this meeting.” Brenda told me. “She said that she’d try to be here for the next one. She didn’t say much, you know how Joy is, but I think she’s not doing well.”</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” I murmured.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Come on in, ladies.” Mother said, ushering Brenda and my aunts inside. “Let’s not put Joy’s business out in the street. Priye, make sure that you call Joy and see if she needs anything, or if there’s anything we can do to help out.”</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Yes, Mum. But you know how she is. So independent. Miss Carry-the-world-on-her-shoulders.”</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Just like your mother,” Aunt Ebere remarked. “She’d work herself to death before accepting charity.”</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“It’s a crying shame that she had to work herself sick.” Aunt Pam added. “She wouldn’t have to work so hard if Joy’s no-good father would lift a finger to help.”</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“How do you know he is no good?” Brenda asked, breaking the cardinal rule of interrupting their conversation. You never did that. Not only was it considered rude, but you didn’t find out any good gossip that way.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Had to be a no-good.” Aunt Pam went on, “Otherwise, he’d be there to help out.”</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“If help comes from you and Brenda, it won’t be so hard for her to accept,” Mother said, quickly changing the subject.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Come on in, ladies,” Mother said. “We’re meeting in the family living room soon.”</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Aunt Pam sniffed the air. “Doris, I know that isn’t your world-famous, pound-adding, make-you-want-to-reach-around-and-slap-your-mother cake I smell baking in there.”</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“It sure is.” Mother laughed. “You’d better be glad that you showed up when you did, Pammie. Priye was just about to eat it all.”</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Not all,” I contradicted. “Just most of it.”</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Go into the family room. I’ll be back in a minute with the cake and tea.”</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Need some help in the kitchen. Aunt Doris?” Brenda called out.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Suck-up,” I muttered out of the corner of my mouth. She smirked at me as she took a seat.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“No, I’ve got it, honey. But thanks for offering.”</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Mother returned, setting down a silver platter with a carafe of tea and the plates and cups, silver server, cream, and sugar bowls.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Why don’t you give me that cake recipe, Doris?” Aunt Ebere asked, reaching for the wedge-shaped dessert server.</div>
<div>
“I thought I gave you the recipe already.”</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“You must have left out an ingredient or instruction or something. It didn’t come out quite right.” Aunt Ebere complained.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Tell the truth and shame the devil, Ebere. It came out like a brick. I broke a cap biting into it.” Aunt Pam insisted.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Sat in the dentist’s office for thirty minutes in agony while I waited to be treated.”</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Mother glared at Aunt Pam. “Be nice, Pammie. Not in front of the girls.”</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Oh, don’t mind us,” Brenda said, scooting to the edge of her seat and leaning forward into the conversation. “This is just getting good.”</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“You certainly are getting mean in your old age, Pammie,” Aunt Ebere said, pouring herself a cup of tea.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“I am not getting mean. Doris was always the mean one. It wouldn’t surprise me if she made a switch in the recipe on purpose to keep the secret. Something like two cups of plaster instead of flour. Yes, that would be just like her.”</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“I was not the mean one,” Mother protested, stirring cream into her tea and taking a sip.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Yes, you were. You were the mean one. I was the gifted one. Pam was the smart one,” Aunt Ebere insisted.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“I thought I was the gifted one,” Aunt Pam sounded wounded.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“You’re both wrong. I was the smart one and the gifted one,” Mother corrected them all.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Nooo,” Aunt Pam said adamantly. “I was. And I was Aunt Rosa’s favorite, too. She told me so.”</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I bit into my cake to keep from laughing out loud. Aunt Rosa had a pretty good scam working. As long as we were all her favorites, we would all bend over backward trying to please her.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Are we ready to start?” Mother asked. “Let’s join hands and bow our heads. Ebere, would you lead us in prayer?”</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I clasped hands with Brenda on one side and Aunt Pam on the other. We all had our heads bowed dutifully, but not before I sneaked a peek at everyone’s solemn expressions. All kidding was aside now. As soon as the last echoes faded from the “amen” in unison, I knew the banter would return – the rapid-fire jabs and sibling one-upmanship. If ever I’d wondered where I’d gotten my acerbic tongue, the doubts were erased in the presence of my aunts. My wit had been carefully honed by these three Johnson sisters.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But for now, there was no sarcasm, no silliness. Giving thanks was serious business. And this sprawling family had much to be thankful for. We had all gone our separate ways – some paths keeping us closer to home than others. But one thing was certain. My aunts and uncles had done their share to make certain that my path was always a secure one,</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As I grew older and ventured out on my own, I experimented. I tried their collective patience. But when I fell, someone was always there to help set me on my feet again. Sometimes with a gentle nudge in the right direction; sometimes with a figurative kick to the seat of the pants to get me going.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As Aunt Ebere continued to pray, punctuated with a fervent “yes, Lord,” or “help us, Lord” from Mother and Aunt Pam, I felt a shiver run through me. Brenda squeezed my hand. She must have felt it, too. She turned her head toward me and smiled. I could have sworn that there were tears in her eyes.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I wouldn’t be surprised. A lump that had nothing to do with the cake formed in my throat as well. Something about my aunt’s voice brought to mind a flood of memories. And I wondered. . .how many times had my family prayed that same prayer of guidance over us?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Late at night, when we were all tucked safely in our beds or going about our day-to-day business, how many times had their prayers gone up to cover us? How many disasters had we averted due to their diligence?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The love that spanned generations was evident in my aunt’s plea for continued strength and guidance. I used to wonder where it all came from – the patience, the wisdom, the humour it took to raise us.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This third generation of the Johnson children certainly did our best to try to use it all up. If we’d truly known that their strength was divinely derived, I don’t think we would have tried so hard to irk them. Backed by legions of warrior angels, our mothers and fathers, aunts and uncles, cousins and extended family kept us on the straight and narrow – sometimes dragging us kicking and screaming, but inching along just the same.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Amen.” I echoed at the close of Aunt Ebere’s prayer.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Priye.” Mother’s voice was oddly subdued and a little trembly. “Read back the minutes from the last meeting.”</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I nodded, because I didn’t trust my own voice yet. Placed my laptop on my lap.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Okay, let me see. Old business meeting notes. We settled on how many committees we’re going to create to help with the planning. Seven committees in all including budget and finance, correspondence, family history, food, programs, reunion site hospitality, and transportation.”</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“You missed one,” Mother noted. “Remember, Uncle Eddie suggested we create a first-aid committee.”</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“I might have know that Scrape-a-day would suggest something like that.” Aunt Pam said, reaching for another slice of cake.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Scrape-a-day?" Brenda and I questioned in unison.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"That's what we used to call your Uncle Eddie from the time he was about seven years old. He couldn't get through the day without falling down, bumping into something, or otherwise injuring himself."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Okay, adding first-aid committee to the list." My fingers flew over the keyboard. "We also roughed out a budget and mailed out reunion questionnaire surveys."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"I've already started to receive some responses back." Aunt Ebere pulled out an expanding file folder. "Out of three hundred surveys that we sent out, we've gotten sixty or so back."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Sixty responses back already. That's not bad. Up from last year. Remember how we had to beg and plead to get those surveys back?" Mother reminded them.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Almost everyone is up on e-mail now," Brenda said. "When we put pictures from our last reunion out on that Web page that Uncle Boma created, that generated a lot of excitement."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"I'll send out another e-mail in a week or so to remind everyone to get those surveys back so we can really make some headway in the planning." Aunt Pam made a note to herself and I added that information to the action items section of the meeting notes.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Last but certainly not least of old business, Aunt Pam, Aunt Ebere, and Mother opened the checking account at First Bank so we can start to deposit funds. We can add N2,500,000 raised at the auction last week."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
That drew a round of applause from all of us.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Thanks to a certain Mr. Deneen." Brenda said, holding up the shirt she'd bought. "That was very nice of him to volunteer his . . .uh. . .services."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Yes. Yes, it was," I said stiffly.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"I hope you thanked the nice man for his effort, Priye."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Aunt Pam teased. "Because of him, we have enough to start this reunion planning off right. You know how our parents hate for us to beg for money. Now, we don't have to beg as long or for as much."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I cleared my throat delicately. "If I run into him again, I'll be sure to pass along your sentiments."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"If?" Brenda picked up on my uncertainty. "What do you mean, if?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"It means if. As in maybe. As in I don't know."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"You're joking, right, Priye? You must have plans to see him again." Brenda grabbed my hand and squeezed.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Why are you making such a big deal out of this? I didn't have plans to meet him the first time. Or the second time. That was all your doing," I said, pinning each aunt with a stare. "You are the ones who set me up."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Are you complaining?" Aunt Ebere wanted to know. "Because if you are, I know a couple of your cousins who'd jump at the chance at being set up with such a fine figure of a man."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"She's not complaining," Brenda said, throwing the T-shirt at me. "She's just mad because she didn't think of the idea herself."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Stop teasing Priye." Mother came to my defense. "She has a lot on her mind these days, without us meddling."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Meddling?" Aunt Ebere and Aunt Pam protested. They looked at her as if she'd turned traitor.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Hmmmph. Nobody mentioned meddling when a certain someone introduced that sweet little girl from the hospital to Dad's brother's wife's youngest cousin. I won't mention any names." Aunt Pam pursed her lips and stared directly at Mother.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Her name was Linda," Mother said cooly. "Did you know that she's already expecting? They say it's going to be twins."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"I should have known. I've been dreaming about schools of fish lately." Aunt Ebere insisted.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I covered my eyes with my hands. My family. Had to love them.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
That's how it went for the entire meeting - the back-and-forth teasing. And somehow, in the midst of it all, we moved the family reunion planning just a bit further along.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
By the end of the meeting, I was exhausted. My typing fingers had blisters on top of blisters. When I remarked on that to Brenda, she huffed, then rolled her eyes to me. I recognized that look. She wasn't teasing anymore. There was something on her mind.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"What?" I mouthed to her, shrugging.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Nothing," she replied in a tone that I knew meant anything but that. Something in her voice caught my mother's attention. She looked questioningly at us.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Let me take care of these for you, Aunt Doris," Brenda said quickly and gathered up the desert dishes.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Thank you, sweetie," Mother said. She glanced over at me, not-so-subtly tilting her head to indicate that I should follow Brenda. I gathered the tea cups.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"All right, Bren," I challenged as soon as we were out of hearing. "What's up?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"I told you. Nothing's the matter."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"I don't believe you."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
She whirled around to face me. Her mouth was a tight line. "And I don't believe you, Priye!"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"What did I do?" I exclaimed. My mind raced back over the events of the meeting, trying to figure out what I could have said or done to make her angry with me. I know that I'd grabbed the last piece of cake, but she'd insisted that I take it.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Nothing," she repeated.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"I swear, Bren, if you say that one more time, you're going to be wearing the last of this tea." I warned.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
She shook her head, her face an odd mixture of humour and disapproval. Carefully, she set the dishes into the sink. I moved next to her, wrapping my arm around her shoulder.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"No, don't try to make up with me," she said, hitching her shoulder to move me aside. "I'm mad at you."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Why?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Because of what you're doing to Jack?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"And that is?" I prompted.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Brenda formed her lips to say "nothing" but changed her mind. "What did he do to make you want to blow him off?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Now it was my turn to say the favourite word for the afternoon. "Nothing," I murmured.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Brenda stifled a giggle. "Then what you're doing doesn't make any sense. You should count your blessings, girl. Without even trying, you've managed to find a man like Jack. A man any girl would kill for. Why are you passing up on a perfectly good man?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Of course you would say that. You've only seen what you've wanted to see. You've only seen him at his best - charming, handsome, and generous."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Have you seen him any other way?" Brenda asked. "Has he ever been anything but the perfect gentleman to you?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"No. . ." I admitted slowly.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"So, what's the problem?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
She had a point. The longer that I thought about it, the more I realized that's all he'd ever shown me, as well. He wanted me, was giving me his best. And until he showed me otherwise, I should take it. Take a chance. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"I should call him," I murmured.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"You've got that right," Brenda urged. She reached for the wall phone and extended the phone to me. "What's the number? I'll dial it myself before you chicken out." Her finger was poised over the buttons.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"He's probably not home," I said, making up an excuse.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Then leave a message. I'll bet you he'll call back."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"I can't call him. What if Mum or the aunts walk in?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"I'll keep watch on the door. You're running out of excuses, Priye. Keep jacking around and you'll lose that man. No pun intended."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"All right, all right." I gave in.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So, even though I had misgivings I called him - with Brenda standing right there, staring me dead in my mouth.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I kept it vague, loose, giving him an out if he wanted one. When he'd told me that he couldn't meet this weekend, I had the sinking fear that maybe Brenda was right. Maybe I'd played it too cool and lost my opportunity.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Then again, maybe not.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
He had other commitments this weekend that he couldn't get out of. But he'd sounded so pleased that I'd called.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"What about next weekend, Priye?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Can't," I said. "I won't be in town then. Work stuff. You know how it is."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I was spending an awful lot of time and money flying home every other weekend to help my family plan this reunion. I suppose I could have handled it over the phone to try to save money. But this was an opportunity that wouldn't come my way again for a while. Next year, someone else would be picked to serve on the reunion committee.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Though this opportunity was costing me. My work was starting to suffer, not to mention my bank account - even though reunion funds took care of half the tab for my travel expenses. One of the perks of being the chairperson of the fund-raising committee.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'd used my share of reunion funds, but I was also spending a lot of time helping to generate funds, too - organizing familly fund-raisers, soliciting donations from private companies, stuff like that. If I wanted to hit my own company up, I'd better show my face around there. I hadn't spent the extra time in the office like I needed in order to stay ahead of the pack.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"What about the week after that?" Brenda suggested excitedly, not ready to give up on us just yet. I clamped my hand over the phone, but Jack had heard her and started laughing.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Is that Brenda?" He asked.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Yes," I admitted. "She's here."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"I'll tell you what, Priye. I've got a game in a couple of weeks. I can get you some tickets. As many as you want for you and your family. We can hook up after the game. How does that sound?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Works for me," I told him. A stadium full of screaming fans wasn't exactly what I had in mind; but if that was the best he could do on short notice, I wouldn't turn it down. Besides, a lot could happen in a couple of weeks. Maybe something else would come up before then. We could still meet and I wouldn't have to go to the game.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"All right. See you in a couple of weeks."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Bye, Jack."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"And, Priye?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Yeah?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"I'm glad you called."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"So am I, Jack. So am I."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
An awkward silence filled the line, as if he wasn't quite ready to hang up; but I could hear my mum and aunts stirring, their voices growing louder.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Bye," I said quickly. Then hung up the phone. "Happy now?" I addressed Brenda.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
She squeezed me tight. "Now that's the Priye that I know and love! And it's not about my being happy. Not this time. This is about your love and your happiness!"</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507214557031675143noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590799266879072185.post-86631441619376608852013-09-23T03:43:00.001-07:002013-09-23T03:43:46.783-07:00Hearts of Steel: Chapter Thirteen"Whose idea was this anyway?" I grumbled.<br />
<br />
"I believe it was your grandmother's," Mother reminded me. "There, I think that's all of it."<br />
<br />
She compared the items crammed into the boot of her car to the items on her list. Coolers filled with ice, chairs, first-aid kits, poles, tie-downs. How in the world did she get all of that in there?<br />
<br />
"Are you sure that's all? I don't think we've hit critical mass yet. There's still a centimeter of space remaining in the far left corner of the trunk."<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br /><br />
<br />
"Good. You can put your sense of humour in there. That ought to fill that tiny space right up," Mother replied as she slammed the boot shut. Or rather, she bounced on it a couple of times until she thought that she heard the lock catch.<br />
<br />
"Do you have the directions to the recreation center, Priye?"<br />
<br />
"Uh-huh." I nodded. "They're in my purse in the car." Mother looked at me with laser-beam eyes, charring me on the spot.<br />
<br />
"Okay, okay. It was just a joke. I put a copy in the glove compartment." I relented, waving my hands to ward off the evil in her gaze.<br />
<br />
"And what about Jack? Is he going to be able to make it?"<br />
<br />
"He promised that he would try."<br />
<br />
"That really was sweet of him to donate some of his personal items and to volunteer his time for our family fund-raiser."<br />
<br />
"Volunteer? He told me that Granddad practically held him hostage and forced him to submit."<br />
<br />
"That's Daddy for you. He never was one to let an opportunity pass."<br />
<br />
"He could have at least waited until Jack came out of the bathroom before pouncing on him."<br />
<br />
"I think Jack handled him like a gentleman," Mother said.<br />
<br />
"He probably thinks we're a family of nutcases."<br />
<br />
"And he'd be right." Mother opened the car door and tapped on the horn. "Sunny! Sunny, let's go. Time to go!"<br />
<br />
Actually, it was more than a tap. More like a boooooooommmmmp! bomp-bomp! bomp-bomp-bomp!<br />
<br />
Loud enough so I could see a couple of our neighbours poking their heads out of doors or peeling back window curtains to look, then shaking their heads in silent disapproval.<br />
<br />
"Do you want me to go and get him, Mum?" Anything to stop her from leaning on the horn again.<br />
<br />
"No, he'll be out in a minute. She leaned on the horn again. This time, if it was even possible, more obnoxiously. "He can't stand it when I do that."<br />
<br />
"He's not the only one." I remarked.<br />
<br />
Daddy flung the door open, working his lips at Mother. I couldn't read the words, but I understood the gist. As he approached the car, he said, "You know I hate it when you do that, Doris."<br />
<br />
"What?" Mother said innocently, raising her eyebrows. "Oh, you mean this?"<br />
<br />
She reached her arm inside the car door again.<br />
<br />
"Don't do that again unless you want to draw back crowd."<br />
<br />
"You're the boss," she said, casting a glance at me. "Let's get moving."<br />
<br />
"We have plenty of time, Doris."<br />
<br />
"I'm sure Mum's already there, wondering where we are and how she could have raised such inconsiderate children to keep her waiting."<br />
<br />
"I just got off the phone with your father. That's what took me so long to get out here. They're just setting out themselves."<br />
<br />
"Then let's hurry up and get there before they do, Sunny."<br />
<br />
It was a constant battle between them. Mother hated to be late. She would rather arrive her destination twenty-four hours early than arrive one or two minutes late.<br />
<br />
Daddy, on the other hand, hated to be rushed. I think it had something to do with being a roofing contractor. He learned in the early days of his business that if he rushed a job, even at the client's insistence, it usually meant that he wound up with mistakes - mistakes for which he had to eat the costs.<br />
<br />
"I'll drive," Daddy offered. He adjusted the seat to accomodate his longer legs. Mother pulled back the seat to let me climb in. Then she took the front seat, rummaging through the glove compartment for the instructions to the recreation center.<br />
<br />
He cranked up the engine.<br />
<br />
The car had started right away. By the way he'd cocked his head and frowned, I expected to be leaving a trail of clunking car parts down the road.<br />
<br />
"How long has this oil light been on?"<br />
<br />
"Is the oil light on?" Mother sounded surprised as she peered over my father's shoulder at the dashboard.<br />
<br />
Again, my father's lips moved, but no sound came out of his mouth. It was like watching a ventriloquist's dummy without the ventriloquist to provide the sound.<br />
<br />
"You all right back there, Sweet Cole?" Daddy called out to me.<br />
<br />
The floor was covered with extra bags of ice so I'd swung my legs around and bent my knees. My feet rested on the armrest of the opposite door.<br />
<br />
"Just fine, Daddy."<br />
<br />
"Good. Now, duck your head down while I make a reverse."<br />
<br />
He rested his right arm along the headrest behind my mother while his left hand made tiny adjustments of the steering wheel to back out of our house.<br />
<br />
"You sure you can see, Sunny?" Mother also craned her neck to keep watch.<br />
<br />
"Yes dear," he replied automatically.<br />
<br />
"Watch out for that child on the bike, Daddy," I pitched in.<br />
<br />
"Will you let me do this? I've been driving since long before you were born, little girl."<br />
<br />
"Yeah, but it's a lot easier using three-sixty vision when you're siiting on top of a horse, Dad." I said sweetly.<br />
<br />
"Oh, you want to crack on your father? You hear that, Doris? That's your daughter. Do you want to say something to her about that smart mouth?"<br />
<br />
"Shame on you, Priye. You know perfectly well that your father didn't get his driving practice on a horse," Mother said. She paused dramatically for effect, then said, "Everybody knows that the Model T's provided perfectly good viewing distances way back then."<br />
<br />
"Oh, ho! It's going to be like that, then? I knew I should have ridden with Mike and Dozie. Let me slow down to about forty so you two can jump out."<br />
<br />
"Daddy, you wouldn't put us out."<br />
<br />
"Say I won't, when I will."<br />
<br />
"We love you, Daddy!" I sang out, leaned forward, and kissed him right in the center of his bald spot.<br />
<br />
"I love you, too. Sweet Cole." He reached behind his head and patted my cheek. "Say, what time is that beau of yours coming to the outing?"<br />
<br />
"Beau? Daddy, no one says beau anymore."<br />
<br />
"Your father does," Mother said.<br />
<br />
"What do you call him, then?" Daddy asked.<br />
<br />
"He's just a friend, Dad."<br />
<br />
"A friend, huh?"<br />
<br />
"Uh-huh."<br />
<br />
"A real friend would have gotten you home sooner than three o'clock in the morning, Priye."<br />
<br />
I glanced at Mother. She cleared her throat delicately and touched her neck.<br />
<br />
"He said that he had some things to take care of this morning, but he would be there as soon as he could."<br />
<br />
"He'll probably be there waiting for us when we get there," Mother predicted.<br />
<br />
I had my doubts. After the way I'd left him high and dry, I didn't think he'd be in too much hurry to see me again.<br />
<br />
"How do you know?" I asked.<br />
<br />
She smiled back at me; her eyes were warm and kind. "Call it mother's intuition."<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
*******************************************<br />
<br />
<br />
I've got a bad feeling about this.<br />
<br />
I'd heard that line in a movie once. The hero had ventured out, far away from home (in a galaxy far, far, far, far away, I think) on a foolish quest to rescue his damsel in distress. As the hero and his band of loyal followers willingly went into what he knew had to be a trap, he mustered his courage and proceeded, despite the overwhelming odds.<br />
<br />
That's how I felt as I pulled up next to the pavilion where Priye's family had gathered. Completely overwhelmed. I was walking openly, willingly into a trap. A very cleverly disguised trap, but a trap all the same. They were going to suck me in. Me, Jack Deneen, Lone Wolf, was about to willingly volunteer to become part of the pack.<br />
<br />
I wasn't fooled by the pleasant surroundings. A huge awning was decorated with balloons, and streamers fluttered in the strong breeze. Music blared from four-foot high speakers.<br />
<br />
I stood by my SUV for a minute, taking it all in. There were more relatives here today than there had been at the anniversary dinner the night before. I thought I recognized a few faces, but few of the names came to mind. Maybe it just seemed like more of them, now that they were all spread out - not restrained by the confines of the restaurant.<br />
<br />
"Afternoon, Flakes picker!"<br />
<br />
The thirteen-year-old who'd nearly busted a gut laughing at Ivie's predicament last night shouted at me from across the field. What was that kid's name? Baal? No, that wasn't it, as much as I'd like to believe that he was the spawn of Satan. His name was Jamaal. That was it.<br />
<br />
His arm heaved forward and launched a football at me. He had amazing distance. One of these days, he was going to make some university football coach proud. If only he could have done something about that aim. The ball arched high over everyone's heads, then came plummeting down again. Its target: an invisible bull's eye in the middle of my wind-shield.<br />
<br />
Instinct made me reach out. The ball slapped against my outstretched palm. I didn't give myself time to think or bobble the ball. I squeezed my fingers, palming the pigskin, not unlike a basketball player palms a basketball. I snapped my arm against my chest and counted myself lucky that the sun wasn't in my eyes.<br />
<br />
I tossed the ball back to him. "Here you go, little man."<br />
<br />
A spontaneous round of applause broke out. Playing to the crowd, I gave a mock bow. "Thank you. Thank you very much."<br />
<br />
"Can anyone tell me where Priye Cole is?" I called out to the nearest relative.<br />
<br />
"Priye? I think she's under the big tent, setting up the auction."<br />
<br />
"Thanks."<br />
<br />
I slung my bag filled with two signed jerseys, a football, and a stack of fresh-off-the-press program booklets over my shoulder. I shook a few more hands, then headed for the tent.<br />
<br />
As I approached it, I saw Priye on the far side. Her back was to me - which was all right with me. I was rather enjoying the view.<br />
<br />
She reached up high above her head, trying to catch a runway stack of paper plates sent airborne by the huge fan circulating under the tent. She wore a pair of lime-green hip-hugger shorts that clung to the curves of her round bottom so closely, it made me jealous of the material. Along with many of her relatives, she wore a purple T-shirt bearing the words JOHNSON FAMILY REUNION in script and circling a silhouette of a large oak tree. Her flair for making a fashion statement made her stand out from the rest of the crowd. A silk, floral scarf that picked up the color of her shirt, shorts, and the highlights of her hair added the perfect touch to her outfit.<br />
<br />
Someone tapped her on the shoulder - her cousin Brenda, I think it was - and pointed her out to me.<br />
<br />
"Hey!" Priye called out, waving to me. "You made it," she said breathlessly.<br />
<br />
Secretly, I wished it was the sight of me that had caused the flush in her cheeks and not the virtual obstacle course she'd just traversed to make it to my side.<br />
<br />
"I said I would," I reminded her.<br />
<br />
"I know," she said, looking up at me. And in doing so, the scarf around her neck shifted a bit. Fashion and function, I resisted the urge to trace the purplish passion mark peeking out from the bottom of her scarf."<br />
<br />
"Did I do that?" I whispered. My hand involuntary reached up to adjust the scarf.<br />
<br />
"No, I was attacked by leeches," she retorted, then softened her tone. "But that's all right. It's making everyone curious about me. Thanks for coming out, Jack. I know this is a busy time of year for you, with your first game of the season coming up and all of your practices and stuff."<br />
<br />
. . .Anything for you, Priye.<br />
I wanted to tell her, but not under the watchful gaze of her relatives. I knew that she was being especially cordial, and equally as cool, for their sake.<br />
<br />
I followed suit, keeping my hands firmly in plain sight.<br />
"Not a problem, really. I'm glad I could help."<br />
<br />
We stood for several seconds without speaking, letting our expressions tell each other what we were too cautious to say out loud. When the silence grew long enough to attract attention, I cleared my throat and coughed delicately to remind her we were about as unobserved as bugs under a magnifying glass.<br />
<br />
"So." She drew out the word as she tucked her hands into her back pockets. "What did you bring?"<br />
<br />
"Oh, a few things. Some T-shirts, a few program booklets. Stuff like that."<br />
<br />
"Cool! Come on, you can lay them out over here."<br />
<br />
I followed her to the auction table. The handmade, comforter was one of several retail-quality craft items that would be auctioned off to help raise money for Priye's family reunion.<br />
<br />
"Wow." I whistled under my breath. Impressive. The craftsmanship of the collection of rag dolls, lace dolies, and pottery made me believe that there was plenty of creative energy and talent within Priye's family. A lot of time, effort, and love had gone into the making of those items.<br />
<br />
For a moment, I felt uncomfortable. All I'd done was grab some things out of my closet, collect a few printer overruns, then scrawl my signature. In comparison to the devotion her family members had put into these craft items, where was the value in what I'd done?<br />
<br />
I felt a little better when I saw a food processor, still in original packing, among all of the handmade items. As I continued down the table, a collection of hunting knives caught my eye. I lifted one of the blades, pulling it from its sheath, and admired its workmanship. Sunlight glinted off the blade as I moved it back and forth in the air.<br />
<br />
"Who are you supposed to be, Jackie Chan?" Priye teased.<br />
<br />
"Say, how can a brother get in on this action?" I asked.<br />
<br />
"It's an auction," she said slowly, as if pointing out the obvious. "Did you bring your wallet?"<br />
<br />
I couldn't help teasing her in turn for that Jackie Chan crack. So I patted my back pocket. My meaning was perfectly clear. It had the effect I wanted. Priye colored quite nicely, then lowered her eyes.<br />
<br />
"Do you take credit cards?" I asked.<br />
<br />
"What do you think this is? Shoprite? All transactions are cash or cheque only. And we'll need two forms of identification for all cheques over 100,000."<br />
<br />
"Boy, you Johnsons are tough."<br />
<br />
"We have to be. We have a lot of expenses if we want to make the next reunion a success. We're raising money to cover reunion costs, set up a university scholarship, and leave enough money left over for the next reunion committee to have some seed money to start off with." She ticked off the items on each finger as if she were noting a shopping list. "We take our family reunions very seriously. So, if I seem a little difficult, don't take it personally. It's only business." She patted my cheek.<br />
<br />
Patting my cheek was the only physical contact that Priye would allow me while we were gathered in front of her relatives today - a considerable change in her behaviour since the party. She'd been very willing for me to demonstrate my affection for her then.<br />
<br />
In fact, she'd seemed to welcome my less-than-casual touches during dinner. It had been as if she wore me on her arm like a charm, a prize to be displayed before all of her gawking relatives.<br />
<br />
The mood certainly had changed. Now, she would barely allow me within a foot of her invisible boundary of personal hands or a casual, friendly hug. Anything more would reignite the passion she'd doused when she'd left me cooling in the shadows of her parents' house.<br />
<br />
"You hungry?" She asked.<br />
<br />
She must have read my mind. But it wasn't food that I wanted. My soul needed sustenance. I needed to take her in. All of her. I wondered if there was a way that I could convey those feelings without sending her running to the safety and security of her parents.<br />
<br />
"Sure."<br />
<br />
"We've got tons of food over there. Enough to feed a small nation."<br />
<br />
"Did you cook any of it?"<br />
<br />
"I'm on the fund-raising committee," she said.<br />
<br />
"That means no," I translated. "Can you cook?"<br />
<br />
"When I have to."<br />
<br />
"And when is that?"<br />
<br />
"When my credit card is maxed out, I've run out of cheques, and it's after hours for the restaurants that deliver," she said without one iota of shame.<br />
<br />
"Pitiful." I shook my head and tsked-tsked. "I guess this means that a brother could starve to death waiting on a home-cooked meal from you, then."<br />
<br />
"A brother had better learn how to dial for restaurants," Priye replied. She stopped and surveyed the spread laid out on the row of tables. "Or make frequent trips to my grandmother's house. You'll always have plenty to eat there."<br />
<br />
The way she said it gave me a small ray of hope. I'd always have plenty to eat there. Always. She expected me to be there. She wanted me there. She wanted me. Maybe I was reaching, searching for a secret coded message in the seemingly innocent conversation. Let me stretch. I needed the exercise anyway.<br />
<br />
She started at one end of the first food table and picked up a plate and plastic utensils prewrapped in a decorative napkin.<br />
<br />
"Try some of this." She ladled a more-than-generous portion of potato salad onto my plate. From the weight of the salad as it hit my plate, I had a feeling that it was going to sit just as heavy at the bottom of my stomach. This wasn't a reconstituted mashed-potato-flake-made salad. This was the real deal. Huge chunks of potato, egg, onion, were held together with real mayonnaise, mustard, and a secret ingredient. On the recipe card in front of the dish, it actually stated, 'Secret ingredient to be taken to my grave.'<br />
<br />
"My aunt Pam's recipe," Priye noted.<br />
<br />
"Seems like you've sampled some of it."<br />
<br />
"Not some - all. I personally sampled every last dish on this table. It was a tough job; but I take my duties as chairman of the fund-raising committee very seriously."<br />
<br />
"What has the fund-raising committee got to do with food tasting?"<br />
<br />
"Somebody has to make sure that the food is delectable, or, at least very edible. All of these recipes will go into a booklet that we'll sell at the family reunion. If the food's no good, people will remember that and won't buy the recipe book next time. There goes our revenue."<br />
<br />
She ushered me further down the line. "Now, here is a grilled chicken dish. I think this is my Uncle Eddy's recipe. Tender, juicy. Careful when you pick it up. The meat just falls off the bone."<br />
<br />
By the time we'd reached the end of the first table, my plate was nearly buckling under the weight.<br />
<br />
"There's no way I'm going to eat all of this at one sitting, Priye," I warned her.<br />
<br />
"Pace yourself," she said. "We haven't passed the desert table yet."<br />
<br />
We had just found a seat on the outskirts of the pavilion when Priye's grandfather stood up at a makeshift podium.<br />
<br />
"All right, everybody, quiet. May I have your attention, please?"<br />
<br />
He banged a wooden spoon until it cranked. One piece flew off into the air. Yet the conversation continued around him until Mrs. Johnson stood up with a microphone.<br />
<br />
She tapped it. "Is this thing on? Is this thing on?"<br />
<br />
A squeal of feedback and a burst of static from the speakers got everyone's attention.<br />
<br />
Mr. Johnson knelt downl to adjust the speakers' volume control.<br />
<br />
"Oh, goodness. That's better," Mrs. Johnson said, pressing her finger to her ear. "I want to thank everyone for coming out here today. It's so good to see so many new faces. How are you doing, sweetheart?"<br />
<br />
She waved and blew a kiss to a young mother with a cooing, waving child in her lap.<br />
<br />
"George and I also want to thank you for all of the lovely presents last night."<br />
<br />
"I don't know what we've done to deserve it, but the Lord has certainly blessed our family." Mr. Johnson also clasped his hand around the microphone and leaned to speak into it. "Let's take a moment now to join hands, bow our heads, while we thank Him for what he's brought to this family, and what, I know, He'll continue to bring us through."<br />
<br />
Priye reached out and took my hand in hers without hesitation. She looked over her shoulder and took the hand of another relative.<br />
<br />
The prayer lasted only a moment, but I could tell the relatives were starting to get restless. Many had come a long way to be here today and didn't relish the trip back. It was time to cram as much fun into the time remaining. They wanted to start the party. They wanted to get the auction going.<br />
<br />
I originally had my eye on that collection of carving knives and was determined not to be outbid. But a four-foot woman with eyes of cold steel stared me down. Once the bidding started, she called my bluff.<br />
<br />
"Sold! Come on up her, Ebere, and get your knives."<br />
<br />
When she ran up to collect her merchandise, she practically gloated and stuck her tongue out at me in passing.<br />
<br />
"Be nice, Auntie." Priye laughed. "Nobody likes a sore winner."<br />
<br />
The auction went on for about an hour. Merchandise, money, and mayhem all exchanged hands. There was so much going on around me, I couldn't keep track of it all. Priye did what she could to keep me informed. But she had her own responsibilities, helping this fund-raiser run smoothly.<br />
<br />
"And now," Mr. Johnson said dramatically. "The moment we've all been waiting for. . . Somebody give me a drumroll, please."<br />
<br />
Tables rattled as Priye's relatives pounded on their tabletops and stomped their feet to give the effect he wanted.<br />
<br />
"I want to welcome a special guest here today. Let's give a handclap of praise to - Jack The Flash Deneen! Come on up here, son."<br />
<br />
I pointed to myself and mouthed, "Me?"<br />
<br />
"Yes, you," Mr. Johnson insisted. "Don't be shy. Come on up here; let us see your goods."<br />
<br />
Someone from the crowd whistled. I think it was Priye. When I looked back over my shoulder, she was standing at the rear of the tent with her thumb and middle finger poised above her lips.<br />
<br />
As I approached the podium, I started to reach behind Mr. Johnson. My intention was to start the auction of my items with a T-shirt. But Priye's grandfather spun me around to face the crowd and patted my shoulder with wide, exaggerated motions. "Fine, fine, young man. All right, all of you unmarried ladies out there, who's going to start the bidding?"<br />
<br />
Did I misunderstand him? Had I heard him correctly? It sounded like. . .no! I couldn't have heard what I thought I heard. It sounded as if he was going to put me on the auction block.<br />
<br />
Panicked, I looked over at Priye. Her eyes had grown to the size of saucers. Her hands were clamped over her mouth - whether in shock or to stifle her laughter, I couldn't be sure.<br />
<br />
"Did you know about this?" I mouthed to her.<br />
<br />
She shook her head, lifting her hands in innocent protest, but she was laughing openly now, holding her stomach and hanging on to her cousin for support. If this was some sort of practical joke, I wasn't getting it. I wasn't getting it because I was it.<br />
<br />
I turned to Mr. Johnson, reaching for the microphone.<br />
<br />
"Wait. I think there's been a mistake. I'm not. . ."<br />
<br />
"Getting any younger," Mr. Johnson glibly ad-libbed as he jerked the microphone out of my grasp. "I need a bid. What's it going to be for this Steeldog?"<br />
<br />
"Thirty thousand!" A cry rose up from the corner of the room.<br />
<br />
"Thirty thousand? Oh, please, don't insult our guest. Thirty thousand wouldn't buy you his shoe. I know you can do better than that."<br />
<br />
"Fifty thousand," came the counterbid. It was Priye's cousin Joy enthusiastically waving in the air.<br />
<br />
"Fifty? Now you're hurting my feelings. I'm not doing my job as a Pastor if I can't sell you on one of God's wonders of the world!"<br />
<br />
He slapped me soundly on the back again. "But fifty is the bid. Who'll give me fifty-five? Fifty-five, anyone?"<br />
<br />
"Fifty five thousand!" Priye stood up and tossed a couple of quarters to Joy.<br />
<br />
"You're not helping me," I called out to Priye. She smiled sweetly and shrugged.<br />
<br />
"Sixty thousand!" Another offer on the table.<br />
<br />
"Sixty-five."<br />
<br />
"Seventy!"<br />
<br />
The bids flew back and forth across the room like volleys of ammunition.<br />
<br />
"Hold on a minute, now. Let me make this official. The bid is seventy. Seventy. Seventy. Seventy. Do I hear eighty! Eighty? No? What about seventy-five?" Mr. Johnson's voice was rapid in its rhythm.<br />
<br />
"Seventy three thousand."<br />
<br />
"Chicken change," Mr. Johnson scoffed. "Lift up your arm, boy."<br />
<br />
He grabbed my elbow. "These ladies obviously don't appreciate a real he-man when they see one. Why don't you flex a little for the ladies?"<br />
<br />
There was no getting out of it. I was up there. I was for sale. If I didn't go down for an embarrassing seventy-three thousand and some change, I'd better do something to sweeten the pot.<br />
<br />
Without giving myself time to talk myself out of it, I reached for the hem of my shirt and pulled it over my head.<br />
<br />
The cry that went up in response brought a grin to Mr. Johnson's face. "Two hundred thousand!"<br />
<br />
"Now, that's what I'm talking about, son." He congratulated me on my quick thinking. "For two hundred thousand naira, you can have the shirt," he said, tossing it toward the woman who'd made the last bid.<br />
<br />
She reached up to snatch it out of the air, but was elbowed by the woman with the knives.<br />
<br />
"Two hundred. Two hundred. Can I get a two-fifty? Lord, somebody give me two hundred and fifty thousand for this man."<br />
<br />
"Two hundred fifty."<br />
<br />
"Three hundred!"<br />
<br />
"Three twenty-five."<br />
<br />
"Three hundred and fifty thousand."<br />
<br />
"Come on now, this man is an international celebrity. I bet if he said he could arrange a date with Denzel Washington that you'd get off the naira."<br />
<br />
"Ooh, Denzel! Make it five hundred thousand naira!"<br />
<br />
The bidding went on for several more minutes between a group at Priye's table and another group of women across the room - all ranging in age from teen to twilight years.<br />
<br />
By the time Mr. Johnson banged his makeshift gavel and yelled, "Sold!" My bidding price had practically doubled the amount they'd gotten for the previously auctioned items.<br />
<br />
"Come up here and claim your prize."<br />
<br />
I looked questioningly at Mr. Johnson. Just what was it exactly they were supposed to get? Not one word was spoken of T-shirts, program booklets, or autographed footballs. As far as getting them a date with Denzel Washington, I'd probably have better luck getting one with George Washington.<br />
<br />
I made a mental note to Mr. Johnson's church. He must be quite a persuasive pastor. If he devoted as much passion to selling his congregation on the benefits of heavenly treasure as he did to convincing this crowd to part with their money for momentary, earthly pleasure, I imagined that his entire flock would be heaven-bound.<br />
<br />
"Claim their prize? And just what would that be, sir?" I asked. What had he planned on delivering for his enthusiastic auctioning abilities?<br />
<br />
"Just give each of the girls a hug and a smooch on the cheek," he muttered out of the corner of his mouth.<br />
<br />
I looked over at Priye, but Mr. Johnson grabbed my chin and turned my attention back to the women rushing up to the podium.<br />
<br />
"Don't worry about Priye, son. It's all for a good cause. She'll understand."<br />
<br />
Understanding was one thing, since it was for a good cause and all. But liking was a different matter altogether. Things were still too new between Priye and me to assume that her fledgling feelings could withstand competition. Even worse, competition from her relatives.<br />
<br />
I know that I'd be concerned if a group of men surrounded her, ogled her - expected her to give something up to each of them. As well-intentioned as Mr. Johnson was, I wasn't going to risk alienating Priye. Not even for the sake of the money.<br />
<br />
As the first young lady stepped up to me, I reached for a T-shirt and cordially shook her hand.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507214557031675143noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590799266879072185.post-72185338177338999802013-07-18T13:32:00.000-07:002013-07-18T13:32:00.188-07:00Hearts of Steel: Chapter TwelveI hated to leave him like that, but what else could I do? Somewhere, in the great, unwritten parenting handbook, it has been decreed that parents will forever have that power over their children. I could be a hundred years old, blind, deaf, and toothless. It didn't matter.<br />
<br />
Whenever that porch light went on, I'd better run toward it as if it were the light showing the way to heaven. I'd better hear my parents when they call my name loud enough to rival the final trumpet blast, and answer for my sins if they had to flash the porch light more than twice to get my attention.<br />
<br />
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<br />
Maybe that's why my brothers did so well in running. They must have unofficially broken Olympic records trying to get home when neighbourhood kids warned them that someone was flashing for the Cole kids.<br />
<br />
As I sat and sipped my morning tea, I contemplated the events of last night. Maybe things had turned out for the best. My mother turning on the porch light had saved me from what might have been a gross error in judgment. I had to admit, I hadn't been thinking very clearly.<br />
<br />
I'd been acting on pure instinct. That was the trouble. Maybe I shouldn't trust my instincts when it came to Jack Deneen. He was so unlike anyone I'd ever met. I couldn't trust my usual defense mechanisms when it came to dealing with the opposite sex. What experience did I have? A few fumbing attempts in the university?<br />
<br />
And all of my dealings with the men on my job were strictly eight-to-five. I had no inclination to get to know them any deeper than the thickness of their three-piece suits.<br />
<br />
Relatives, by default, weren't considered. I grew up with my brothers, learned by trial and error how to deal with them. Male cousins weren't much harder than brothers to figure out. But there, my experience ended.<br />
<br />
You couldn't say that about Jack. He knew exactly what he was doing, and how well he was doing it. I had no doubt that given five more minutes, I would have firsthand knowledge of his skills.<br />
<br />
"Oh, God," I groaned, pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes. This wasn't like me. This wasn't like me at all. How did things get so out of control so fast?<br />
<br />
If anyone had told me that I would be getting it on with a virtual stranger, I would have sued him in court for slander. I just wasn't the spontaneous type. Just ask anybody. Priye Cole was careful, calculating. The ultimate control freak. What had I gotten myself into? A better question to ask, why was I so quick to let him into me?<br />
<br />
"Well, now. I didn't expect to see you up so early."<br />
<br />
Mother leaned on the wall at the kitchen entrance, her arms folded, watching me. "Or didn't you go to bed last night?" Her tone was full of suggestion.<br />
<br />
"I went to sleep. I didn't go to bed. . ." The "with Jack" was left unspoken, but clearly implied. "Were you waiting up for me?"<br />
<br />
She had barely said a word to me when she'd opened the door to let me in last night. But her sleep-filled gaze had taken in my disheveled appearance, my rumpled dress and matted hair. As I'd passed her, she'd reached out, plucked a crushed flower from the back of my hair, and set it on the dining table.<br />
<br />
"Of course, I waited for you, Priye. Just doing my job."<br />
<br />
She moved casually over to the table and poured herself a cup of tea. Mother held the warm mug between her hands, staring over the rim before looking up at me. "Looks like I'm not the only one working overtime."<br />
<br />
"And what's that supposed to mean?" My tone was more belligerent than I had a right to be.<br />
<br />
Mother took the tone in stride. No one in the Cole household was ever their best before their first cup of tea.<br />
<br />
"Oh. . .nothing. But, you'd better fix that scarf before your father comes down. It's cute, goes with the outfit, but clashes with that big purple necklace on your neck."<br />
<br />
Unconsciously, I lifted my hand and adjusted the floral scarf knotted at my neck.<br />
<br />
"So." She set the mug down with a clink against the table, then began to drag out pots for breakfast. Her back was to me as she asked, "Do you want to tell me all about it?"<br />
<br />
"There's not much to tell, Mum."<br />
<br />
"I find that very hard to believe, Priye."<br />
<br />
She wasn't going to leave me alone until she had some sort of account of last night. I started slowly, gathering my thoughts and carefully choosing my words. "After we left the hospital, Jack and I went out for a drink."<br />
<br />
"And?" She prompted.<br />
<br />
"Biscuit?" I suggested.<br />
<br />
Mother heaved a wistful sigh and bit her lip. "You have to admit, he is one very sexy man."<br />
<br />
"Mu-um!"<br />
<br />
"What?" Her expression was all innocence.<br />
<br />
"But you're married to Daddy."<br />
<br />
"Until death do us part," she said. "But am not dead yet, dear. I have eyes."<br />
<br />
"It wasn't like that, mum. We just talked."<br />
<br />
"Talked?"<br />
<br />
"Yes, mum, we talked. You know, the lost art of conversation."<br />
<br />
"You don't get a mark like that with just talk, Priye. I may be old, but I'm not senile. I still have a vague memory of how it works between men and women."<br />
<br />
She stood at the stove as she cracked eggs and dropped them into a sizzling pan with one hand.<br />
<br />
"Jack is a wonderful conversationalist," I said softly. "We talked about everything, from Politics to Music."<br />
<br />
"I hope you used protection, Priye," Mother said bluntly.<br />
<br />
"I didn't know there was protection against conversations," I said flippantly.<br />
<br />
She whirled around, waving a wooden spoon at me, "That isn't funny, Priye."<br />
<br />
"I know, mum. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to smart off."<br />
<br />
"We had this conversation when you were sixteen and again at eighteen."<br />
<br />
"When you went with me to pick up a prescription for birth-control pills. I know, mum. But the only thing I ever really used those pills for was to clear up my skin."<br />
<br />
"Are you sure you don't need a refresher course? I'm serious, Priye. You know how I feel about s.ex outside of marriage. We raised you up in church, hoping that you would follow the church's teachings. . .but. . ." She paused and seemed to reconsider what she was going to say.<br />
<br />
Was it something on my face that silenced her? An expression? I don't know if she could have accurately read my expression. Maybe because I wasn't exactly sure what I was feeling.<br />
<br />
I was fearful of disappointing my mother, angry at myself for letting myself be so easily manipulated. At the same time, I was eager to see Jack again. I was secretly pleased that he was as aroused as I was; though my brothers would probably tell me that it didn't take much to get a man in the mood. I still wanted to believe that it was something about me that Jack wanted, not something that he could get from any woman on the street.<br />
<br />
"You're a grown woman. You do what you want to do. I just want you to be careful. Not with all these diseases flying around. It kills."<br />
<br />
"I'll be careful." I promised her. I didn't insult her by telling her that there was no need for care. I didn't promise her that I would abstain. How could I? I couldn't even promise myself.<br />
<br />
"And next time, stay to the far side of the house. There's a blind spot there where the porch light barely hits."<br />
<br />
"How do you. . ." I began, then quickly closed my mouth with a click. I didn't want to know. The image of my parents in passion was more than this baby girl wanted to picture.<br />
<br />
Mother then pulled up a chair beside me, folded her arms on top of the table, and whispered conspiratorially. "With those luscious lips, he has to be a great kisser."<br />
<br />
"He's all right," I said.<br />
<br />
"Come on now, on a scale of one to ten, where does he fall?"<br />
<br />
"You don't give up, do you?" I shook my head.<br />
<br />
"If I was the giving-up kind, you and your brothers wouldn't have lived past puberty."<br />
<br />
"What? What do you mean? We were such angelic children!"<br />
<br />
"Hah!" Mother snorted in derision. "Just who gave you that impression?"<br />
<br />
"Aunt Rosa. She said that we were wonderful kids. She told me that I was her favourite."<br />
<br />
"She tells all the children that. I was her favourite before you and your generation came on the scene. Besides, our Aunt Rosa, has a nasty habit of egging you children on.<br />
<br />
I laughed my heart out till my back ached.<br />
<br />
<br />
********************************************<br />
<br />
I should have been more honest with Priye and told her how her abrupt shutting down had affected me.<br />
<br />
When I left Priye last night, she'd known that I wasn't being truthgul. The way she'd kept insisting that I shouldn't be mad let me know that she had an inkling of how I felt. It was only an inkling, however. There was no way she could know the full extent of my emotions. Hell, I didn't even know. I didn't want to dwell too deeply on them last night. It was much better for my sanity if I concentrated on other matters.<br />
I'd left her, driven around the city for a while, letting the necessity of focused thinking to navigate the Saturday night streets of Lagos occupy my attention. I'd driven until the needle indicating the level of gas in my tank had sunk dangerously close to empty.<br />
<br />
In the calmer light of day, I can honestly say that I wasn't really mad at her. That is, I'd thought about it and come to the conclusion that she wasn't deliberately being a tease. Her responses were too open, too unrestricted to be practiced.<br />
<br />
In those heated moments, she'd wanted me just as much as I'd wanted to have her. It must have taken just as much effort for her to emotionally withdraw as it had taken for me to physically withdraw.<br />
<br />
Was I mad? That wasn't exactly the right word. It didn't fully sum up the cauldron of emotions boiling barely beneath the surface. Disappointed, yes. Frustrated, somewhat. Aroused? Definitely. The combination of all three had put the scowl on my face that she'd translated to anger.<br />
<br />
They say that discretion is the better part of valor. Loosely translated, rather than make a foolish mistake and force her to accept my passion, I'd backed off, letting the cooler head on my shoulders prevail.<br />
<br />
Some of my teammates would have encouraged me to "go for it." To "get it while it was hot." Others would have advised me against letting a woman know right from the get go how to get to me. But the ones whose advice I trusted, the ones who would have recognized that I'm looking for something more than a quick lay, would have held up my friend Paul as the perfect example.<br />
<br />
He'd made it very clear early on how Priscilla turned him on. She didn't have to read the heated thoughts burning in his head. Every touch, every whispered offer, every heated glance he tossed her way melted down her token resistance. In the end, she would only let him go so far. Paul had left it up to Priscilla to decide just how far he would go.<br />
<br />
They went, all right. All the way down the aisle.<br />
<br />
As I toyed with the idea of calling Priye to apologize, I decided against it. She'd backed off last night, put some distance between us. In doing so, she'd put something in my mind. It was my turn now. It was my turn to give her something to think about. Would she think about me?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507214557031675143noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590799266879072185.post-19384980294192353502013-07-17T09:24:00.001-07:002013-07-17T09:24:06.711-07:00Hearts of Steel: Chapter ElevenMind over matter. Mental telepathy. Or some sort of sleight-of-hand parlor trick. It had to be. Otherwise, how could I at one instant be this close to giving Jack the brush-off, and in the next, be in his arms?<br />
<br />
Not just holding him, or hugging him, but pressing myself against him as if he could absorb me into his skin. How did it happen? What did he do to me? Wave a magic pendant in front of me to put me into a trance?<br />
<br />
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<br />
It wasn't supposed to end like this. I had my speech so carefully prepared. I was supposed to be kind, sympathetic, but firm in my resolve. I'd tell him what a good time I had, tell him what a sweet person I thought he was. I'd shake his hand, maybe give him a perfunctory peck on the check, then send him on his way. Simple, direct, all loose ends tied.<br />
<br />
I held my hand out to him. A cordial, socially acceptable handshake of dismissal. He'd understand that, wouldn't he? Didn't all of his games begin and end that way? No matter how much he hated or respected the other team, didn't he always put aside his differences for a sportsmanlike ending?<br />
<br />
But as I drew closer, my senses were suddenly overwhelmed.<br />
<br />
"Priye!"<br />
<br />
He murmured my name and pressed his lips against my cheek. It wasn't the first time that he'd kissed me that night. He'd brushed butterfly kisses across my cheek, my hair. He'd even given my hand a very continental peck. But the passion in that single utterance after he kissed me on the front porch did more to excite me than all of the coy, flirtatous, give-and-take conversation we'd shared during the night.<br />
<br />
"Jack..."<br />
<br />
I flung my arms around his neck, launched myself off the steps, and clung to him for dear life.<br />
<br />
I should have been more discreet and thought how we must have looked to the neighbours. I should have worried about how that gossip would eventually reach my grandmother's ears.<br />
<br />
Even at three in the morning, I knew that someone, if not my own parents, would be watching. A strange, expensive car pulls into the neighbourhood, parks in front of my parents' house - you'd better believe there would be talk among certain prominent circles in Oniru Estate, where I live.<br />
<br />
Vestiges of those recriminations echoed in my ears like wind rustling through the poplar trees. Priye Cole, the headstrong daughter of Doris and Sunny Cole, turned up her nose at perfectly good local schools to run off to God knows where, finally drags her fast tail home in the middle of the night with a strange man, and practically mauls him in plain sight. The hussy! What could she possibly be thinking?<br />
<br />
He'd groaned my name and instantly, none of that mattered. None of those concerns bothered me when Jack held me, caressed me. He kissed my cheek, my jaw, my ear, my hair. I felt my spine melt away as his large hands splayed against my lower back, drawing me to him.<br />
<br />
Kisses strayed to my eyelids, the tip of my nose. He caught my lower lip between his teeth, gently nipping, then moving along my jaw. All I could do was hold on as he literally carried me up the steps and pulled me into the shadows at the farthest corner of the porch.<br />
<br />
Shielded by the flower-covered trellis connecting the porch, I used the false security of the shadows to push the bounds of propriety. Never, in ten thousand years, would I have imagined myself like this. Never, not even during my wildest, most rebellious teenaged days, would I ever have believed that I could be this desperate for a man's touch.<br />
<br />
I'm absolutely certain that if my first sexual experience had been anything like this, I could have easily become known as the campus skank. I would have done anything to seek out these sensations. Thank my lucky stars that my first time hadn't been anything like this.<br />
<br />
As each of Jack's touches grew more insistent, I grew less fearful of discovery. I couldn't fault him for moving fast. I encouraged him. Not with words. I encouraged him with soft sighs as the mystery unfolded and with groans - greedy and guttural - as mystery turned to mastery.<br />
<br />
Wordlessly, mindlessly I let him know in unambigous terms how he affected me. When he found the rught spot, and he did repeatedly, I rewarded him with more access. Heat from his palms warmed the backs of my thighs, slid upward past my thigh-high stockings, kneaded the contracting muscles of my bottom, bare and exposed by the thong Brenda had convinced me would help to make the lines of my dress lie smoother.<br />
<br />
He pulled me closer, lifted me several inches, so that my feet dangled in midair. My back crushed morning glories on the wall as thick as carpet as he pressed against me. I felt him throbbing, lengthening, seeking me out. As my knees separated, Jack settled between me, slowly, deliberately moving his hips in a rhythm that I was able to fall into naturally, as if we'd been dance partners for years. I gasped as his fingers probed warm, moist depths. Warmth ignited instantly to flame. I bit into his shoulder to keep from crying out.<br />
<br />
At first, I might have been able to fool my parents into thinking my soft, mewling cries belonged to some kind of animal - a stray female cat in heat, perhaps. But what kind of cat calls out, "Now, Jack! Please!" in the middle of the night? Somehow, I had to keep myself together long enough to remember where I was.<br />
<br />
"Back pocket," he growled, once again bringing to mind images of the untamed.<br />
<br />
I didn't have to question what he meant. I knew.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
************************************************<br />
<br />
<br />
I didn't knoe how much longer I could hold out. When I'd explored her, felt how she constricted around my fingers and imagined how she would feel with me fully inside her. I knew that it wouldn't be long. . .my ability to wait, that is.<br />
<br />
Length, in other aspects, wouldn't be a problem. I was a big man, in more than one sense of the word. I had no question whether I could satisfy her. It wasn't vanity. It wasn't an overinflated estimation of sexual prowess.<br />
<br />
I knew that I would because it's all that I wanted to do. All of my energy, all of my passion was focused on a single objective: to bring pleasure to Priye Cole. I don't remember ever wanting a woman so much.<br />
<br />
My deepest concern was whether or not I would hurt her. She'd seemed so small and tight. One finger, then two. . .I'd barely begun to explore before I felt early contractions - ever-widening ripples of pleasure making her tremble.<br />
<br />
She'd called out my name and pressed her face into my shoulder in a futile effort to prolong the inevitable. You might as well have asked her to hold back an ocean tide.<br />
<br />
"Back pocket."<br />
<br />
I don't know who reached my wallet first, but it wound up in my hand. Priye made up for her lack of quickness by aggressively tackling the buttons of my shirt. She managed to undo the first three before frustration and haste gripped her.<br />
<br />
For someone so small, she surprised me with her strength. She yanked on either side of my shirt, sending several buttons flying into the floor. My own clothing became my worst enemy while I tried with one hand to hold her and with the other to undo the buckle of my belt and the clasp of my waistband. The sound of the zipper going down sounded more like a rip of fabric as I yanked it away from me. An apropos sound. Not unlike the rip of my sanity as anticipation of bringing pleasure to her bordered on the unbearable.<br />
<br />
The humid air was nothing compared to the heat pouring off my exposed skin. My head swam in delicious delirium as my heightened senses took it all in. The cloying smell of the flowers, the intermittent wind whistling through the trees.<br />
<br />
"Let me," she offered, taking the foil packet out of hand. Priye carefully withdrew the condom and covered the tip of my p.enis with its lubricated coolness. Before fully sheathing me, she ran her hand up and down my skin. Her fingers closed around my girth, squeezing possessively until I cried out, "Enough, woman!"<br />
<br />
I unfurled the condom as Priye reached behind her and clung to the treils. I grasped her hips, maybe a little too roughly. She gave a little gasp and bit her lip.<br />
<br />
"Oh, no," she choked out, her face stricken.<br />
<br />
"No?" I echoed. Not something I wanted to hear at this late stage of the game. "What's wrong?"<br />
<br />
She lowered her head to my shoulder. Her voice was muffled as she said, "I have to go in now."<br />
<br />
"What do you mean?"<br />
<br />
"My mum. . .or maybe my dad. . ." She nodded in the direction of the front porch. "They've flashed the porch light."<br />
<br />
"Flashed the porch light?" What was that, some kind of secret Cole family code?<br />
<br />
"When I was a little girl, and stayed out a little past my curfew, the porch light coming on was my signal to come in," she explained.<br />
<br />
"You. . .you've got to be kidding me."<br />
<br />
"I'm not."<br />
<br />
"Priye, you're a grown woman." I smoothed my hands over her to emphasize my point.<br />
<br />
"I know that I am. You know that I am. But to my family, I will always be the Sweet Banana."<br />
<br />
"Sweet Banana?" I wanted to laugh. Something told me that it wasn't a good time. The look on her face was deadly serious.<br />
<br />
"A nickname my dad gave me. That's probably him flashing the lights on and off at me. I've got to."<br />
<br />
"Pretend like you didn't see it." I moved to block her view of the porch. "See? Problem solved." I tried to pull her to me again, at least for another kiss. But she turned her head aside.<br />
<br />
"Problem not solved. If I'm not in the house in five minutes, they'll turn the floodlights on us."<br />
<br />
"And after that, what's next? The dogs?"<br />
<br />
She then roughened her voice in a poor imitation of her father's. "As long as you're living under my roof, young lady, you'll obey my rules."<br />
<br />
"You and your family are intentionally trying to drive me into the nuthouse, aren't you?"<br />
<br />
"We don't have to try. It's a natural progression from prolonged exposure to us. I'm so sorry, Jack. I didn't mean for things to get this far. . .so fast."<br />
<br />
"It's all right, Priye." I mentally crossed my fingers behind my back at the little lie. It wasn't all right. I was hurting pretty bad. I'd live. I wouldn't like it. But I'd live.<br />
<br />
"Promise me that you won't be mad at me."<br />
<br />
"I'm not mad." Again, another half-truth. I could feel the punitive flames of hell licking at my toes. Lust and lies. There would be a seat at the right hand of the Devil himself for those two.<br />
<br />
"Are you sure?" She looked at me, narrowing her eyes. She didn't believe me. I guess I wasn't a convincing actor.<br />
<br />
"I'm not mad," I said through clenched teeth. Flames rose higher, scorching my knees. At any moment, I was going to spontaneously combust.<br />
<br />
"Yes, you are," she said, and planted a kiss on my nose. "You are mad."<br />
<br />
"Okay, not really, really mad."<br />
<br />
"I'm sorry, Jack. Are you still coming to the outing tomorrow?"<br />
<br />
"I've got some things I need to take care of in the morning, but I'll be there."<br />
<br />
"See you tomorrow, then. Good night, Jack."<br />
<br />
I watched her turn toward the house. She looked back only once, then waved, then hurried to the front door. Before she could get her key out of her purse, I heard the door crank open. She paused, speaking to whoever it was behind the door, then disappeared inside.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507214557031675143noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590799266879072185.post-54017861484072624182013-07-17T09:20:00.004-07:002013-07-17T09:20:52.135-07:00Hearts of Steel - Chapter Ten"Take me home, Jack."<br />
<br />
She might as well have said, "Take me to the moon," for all of the effort that it cost me to walk out of there. I couldn't leave for several reasons, only one of which was the desire to knock in the mouth the knucklehead who'd thrown that drink at us.<br />
<br />
Just as Priye had not wanted to end our date at the emergency room, I didn't want it to end on that note, either. The look on her face when the drink had splattered against her got to me. She was angry, disgusted, and a little frightened. Not of the knuckleheads at the other table, but of me. Of my reaction. She'd taken one look at my expression and bolted for the door. I'd run her off.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
She'd put up with a lot this evening. The constant interruptions. The overt flirting. Not from me. From my behavior, you'd never know that there were other women in the room. Where Priye was concerned, I had tunnel vision. But that didn't stop other trains from trying to jump onto my tracks.<br />
<br />
I don't know how she handled it and still managed to maintain her composure. Perhaps I'm jaded. I'd started taking all of that attention in stride. After all, football was the profession that I'd chosen. I'd known what I was getting into.<br />
<br />
When I'd signed that contract, I knew that my performing for the crowd didn't always end at the last whistle. Sometimes when the game was over, especially after a win, we had to put on our best performance. Each and every one of us Steeldogs was a public-relations representative. We'd joined an exclusive job. We were charter members of the entertainment industry. It had its perks and its downsides.<br />
<br />
Even with all of the talking Priye and I had done, I hadn't had the opportunity to warn her about that particular hazard of the job.<br />
<br />
Since we were at the beginning of the season, the press stayed all over us - keeping our images in the public eye. Good money was dished out to keep the excitement high, even to the point of creating rivalries and scandals. If a fan became a little too enthusiastic, so much the better for the team's reputation.<br />
<br />
A man could talk all night long. He could reinvent himself with words, paint any picture that he wanted. But let a raw emotion like anger, or fear, or even love unexpectedly surface - that's when the true worth of a man came out.<br />
<br />
Some people say that a woman can look at a man's shoes and judge his worth. Priye had looked into my eyes. Whatever she saw there frightened her. It made her want to leave me standing there - all by myself.<br />
<br />
As she'd left me, I'd taken a moment to collect my thoughts. I couldn't believe that just that quickly I'd lost her. But I had. Realization of her loss had swept over me and left me feeling conflicted, confused. I wanted to show those knuckleheads that Steeldogs don't play. I wanted to show them that Jack Deneen was not a man to be trifled with. Jack Deneen was a man. Period.<br />
<br />
Maybe that's what had changed my mind. The farther Priye had walked away from me, the quicker the cloud of confusion had lifted. Jack Deneen was a man, all right. And nothing more. In a room filled with people, Jack Deneen was all alone.<br />
<br />
More than I wanted to beat them down, I wanted my woman by my side. That's right. Mine. That's how I'd come to think of Priye. I'm not sure when, or how, or even exactly, why. I had no right to. During our conversation, there had been no grand declarations of love. Neither one of us had gotten on our knees or made other such sweeping gestures of devotion. I couldn't think of one good reason why I should make a claim to her. But I did.<br />
<br />
So I'd left it all behind me. All of the anger, and the trash talk, and the macho bull posturing. I'd opened my wallet and carefully placed a few bills on the table. On my way out, I'd made a quick detour by their table. Hadn't said a word. Just walked by. It had taken every ounce of my self-discipline not to react, even as they continued to harrass me.<br />
<br />
"Loser."<br />
"Has-been."<br />
"You mean never-was."<br />
"You got that right."<br />
<br />
On the playing field, we talked a lot of trash. It's all a mind game, trying to get the opponent so rattled that they make a mistake. Everybody did it.<br />
<br />
But the ones who really had the best mind games were the ones who didn't have to utter a sound. Just stood there. Just glared. If you could get your opponent to screw up with just a look, then you knew that you were at the top of your game.<br />
<br />
The trouble was, we weren't on the playing field. Priye wasn't my wife and she wasn't my mother. She didn't deserve having a drink thrown at her. So when I'd passed the table of knuckleheads without speaking, pinning them with a long, hard stare, I think it got my point across. I'd let them live - tonight.<br />
<br />
I'd caught up to Priye at the door. Her hesitation had been barely noticeable as she'd pushed on the handle to make her way outside. As I'd come behind her, she hadn't seemed to acknowledge me. Yet our eyes had met in the dark glass. I'd watched as the tensiond drained from her face. Slowly, she'd closed her eyes as she let out a long, cathartic breath.<br />
<br />
That had brought a fresh surge of anger in me. She'd been so worried that I'd start a fight. Did she see me as nothing more than a big, dumb dude whose only answer to being challenged was to start pounding? Maybe that had been my first reaction. She hadn't given me a chance to show her that I could be otherwise.<br />
<br />
I'd opened the car door, helped her to settle into her seat. She'd said nothing, and neither had I. What could I have said? Sorry for standing up for myself? Sorry for trying to protect you? It hadn't seemed right. If I'd tried, my tongue would have stuck to the roof of my mouth. Apologizing for having a normal, typical male reaction would be like apologizing for breathing.<br />
<br />
Still, as I'd watched her out of the corner of my eye, I'd had to say something. Anything was better than the smoldering, uncomfortable silence.<br />
<br />
"Where are we going, Priye?"<br />
<br />
It wasn't a simple question. It was as close to asking "what about us?" As I could get without coming right out and saying it. Perhaps I was too subtle. I don't think she picked up on the hidden question within a question. Instead, she started going on and on about the different routes we could take to get to her parents' house, and the merits of taking one freeway over another.<br />
<br />
I didn't want to hear that from her. If I really wanted to know how to get to her parents' house, I would have simply activated the Global Positioning System on the panel in front of me. The GPS could have gotten me wherever I wanted to go - without the slight tremor in its voice or the nervous wringing of hands.<br />
<br />
We rode the remainder of the way to her parents' place in virtual silence. Except for an occasional clarification of direction - turn right there, turn left there - there was no noise. I didn't even turn on the radio or put in a CD. What is that old adage about misery loving company? I kept it quiet. I wanted her to experience every moment of agonizing silence along with me. Not because I wanted to hurt her. Heaven forbid! I would never intentionally hurt her.<br />
<br />
What I wanted was for her to hurt for me, with me. I wanted to know if she was as broken by the untimely death of our budding romance as I was. If only I knew that she was feeling as desperate as I was feeling, then I would know that there was still a chance for us.<br />
<br />
More than jealousy, or infidelity, or even the death of a partner, I believe that apathy is the greatest killer of love between a man and a woman. If she could bear the silence that had fallen between us, then perhaps she wasn't the woman for me. If the silence did not affect her as deeply as it did me, then there was no meeting of the minds. Without a meeting of the minds, there was no joining of our hearts. Chalk up this evening to just another wild time and call it quits.<br />
<br />
As we drove, I divided my attention between the road and Priye. The overhead streetlights alternated between illuminating her face and casting it in shadow. She stared straight ahead, with her hands clasped primly in her lap. As we approached her parents' house, she turned her face toward the passenger window.<br />
<br />
That's when I saw it. She'd done it so quickly, it might have been a gesture to move aside a stray strand of hair. But I had been watching, hoping, for any sign. Any glimmer of hope on which I could focus.<br />
<br />
The glimmer slid down her cheek. What I'd thought was a reflection of residual spring raindrops left on the windshield were tears. She'd been crying! I didn't know whether to laugh or cry myself.<br />
<br />
If she felt this way, after barely a first date, then her feelings had to run as deeply as mine. I didn't have to guess whether I was alone in this feeling. Her silent suffering said it all.<br />
<br />
Priye cleared her throat and said softly. "We're coming up on my house now."<br />
<br />
Priye's parents lived in an older, well-established section of Victoria Island - before planned communities had become all the rage and individuality had taken a backseat to community. It was a curious mixture of old-fashioned charm and modern-day conveniences.<br />
<br />
The house itself was two stories tall, and painted the palest yellow with white trim along the windows. A large wraparound screened porch practically invited relaxation with porch swings on both sides of the deck. A single porch light cast a pale yellow glow that accented the front door, but didn't quite reach the farthest corners of the porch.<br />
<br />
On the right side of the house, set back even farther from the main road, was a gazebo covered with purple flowers around the trellised wall and up the column supports.<br />
<br />
I'd parked. The gates opened. As she walked up the path, her pace was considerably slower than when she had walked away from me at the restaurant. It could have been due to fatigue. It had been a long night. Wishful thinking made me hope that her pace was directly related to her reluctance to leave. She ambled wiith her hands clasped behind her, swinging that little purse by its strap.<br />
<br />
I followed alongside her with my hands shived deep into my pockets. As we walked, my elbow brushed hers once, maybe twice. To the casual observer, the contact might have been incidental. It wasn't. At least not on my part. I meant to touch her. I wanted a lot more than just to rub elbows with this woman. But she'd shrouded herself in an air of impenetrable, personal space that I couldn't charge my way through.<br />
<br />
She climbed the first step of the front porch, then the second. As she turned to face me, I could almost hear the mental gears grinding, turning. She was searching for a polite, socially acceptable method of telling me good night and good-bye. Raising her eyes to the stars for inspiration, Priye took a deep breath, shrugged, and said, "Well, at least it isn't raining anymore."<br />
<br />
"No," I agreed amiably. "Looks like it's going to clear out quite nicely."<br />
<br />
I suppose it was as safe as any conversation opener.<br />
<br />
It didn't take long for her play-it-safe mood to change rapidly. I could see another emotion transform her face as irritation with herself set in. In our conversation, we'd gone well past the play-it-safe mode. Without preamble, Priye stuck out her hand.<br />
<br />
"Thank you for a lovely evening, Jack."<br />
<br />
"A lovely evening?" I echoed without trying to hide the sarcasm in my tone.<br />
<br />
She folded her arms and her expression changed again. Defensive this time. Good-byes didn't come easily to Priye, and I wasn't cutting her any slack. If she was going to write me off, I didn't want mealy-mouthed platitudes. Give it to me straight. If she never wanted to see me again, then she was going to have to tell me. Right then, right there.<br />
<br />
I wasn't going to leave until she told me where I stood. Or, if it came to that, where I could go.<br />
<br />
"I had a good time," she confessed.<br />
<br />
"But?" I pressed. "I definitely hear a 'but' tacked on somewhere at the end of that sentence."<br />
<br />
"Are you pulling words out of my mouth?"<br />
<br />
"No, ma'am. I'm not. I'm trying to draw them out."<br />
<br />
"As much as I like you, Jack - and I do like you - I just don't think. . .that is. . .we can't. . .uh. . .we could never. . .the differences between you and I. . .you understand, don't you, Jack?"<br />
<br />
Perfectly. But for the sake of one last shot at us, I pretended that I didn't.<br />
<br />
"No, I don't. Why don't you break it down for me?"<br />
<br />
She had a hard time bringing herself to tell me good-bye. Fine. I didn't want her to say it anyway. Though no one could argue that I hadn't given her every opportunity to say it. At the airport. At the restaurant. The hospital. During the long, silent drive to her house. She could have dismissed me at any time and avoided altogether the awkwardness of the after-the-disastrous-date-is-over drop at the front door.<br />
<br />
Instead of a good-night kiss, she could have told me to kiss off, to go away. She could have urged me to forget that we'd ever met. Or, to temper that cruelty with kindness, she could have promised to stay in touch or asked that we always remain friends. She could have made her point any number of ways. But she hadn't. She'd stammered and faltered. And in that faltering, Priye had given me the opening that I needed to try to change her mind.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507214557031675143noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590799266879072185.post-61738093210633293232013-07-10T08:53:00.000-07:002013-07-10T08:53:17.388-07:00Hearts of Steel: Chapter Nine"Don't lose them," Priye said and grasped my arm.<br />
<br />
"I won't," I promised. "Don't worry."<br />
<br />
"There!" She pointed excitedly. "They're turning off there."<br />
<br />
A flash of red brake lights and the amber blinking of turn signals pointed the way to the caravan of cars that had left the restaurant.<br />
<br />
"I see them, Priye. Relax. Even if they do get ahead of us, I know what hospital they're going to."<br />
<br />
"I don't believe this," Priye muttered. "All we wanted was a quiet evening with the family."<br />
<br />
"I did my part," I replied, trying to ease her fears with a little humour. Very little. "I didn't talk about football tonight."<br />
<br />
She returned a reluctant smile.<br />
<br />
"At least your grandmother liked her bears. That's something to be thankful for, huh?"<br />
<br />
"Her face did kinda light up when we brought them in," she remembered.<br />
<br />
"That's better." I squeezed her hand.<br />
<br />
"I'm sorry I'm not being better company. I'm just a little worried about my cousin, Ivie."<br />
<br />
"She'll be all right."<br />
<br />
"How do you know?" She demanded. "She could have brain damage."<br />
<br />
"I doubt it!" I laughed at Priye.<br />
<br />
When she made a huffing noise at me and folded her arms, I patted her reassuringly.<br />
<br />
"They were just being kids, Priye," I continued. "They're extremely resilient. The doctors will be able to take care of her just like that."<br />
<br />
"Corn flakes?" She said incredulously. "What normal kid sticks corn flakes up her nose?"<br />
<br />
"Could have been worse," I offered.<br />
<br />
"I don't see how."<br />
<br />
"It could have been vegetables. Ivie told me at dinner that she hates vegetables."<br />
<br />
Priye's smile widened. "She told you that?"<br />
<br />
"Uh-huh. Made me swear that I wouldn't tell anyone. She's got everyone fooled into thinking that she's a good girl who always cleans her plate."<br />
<br />
She looked at me, pursed her lips, and shook her head. "You're on her side, aren't you?"<br />
<br />
"Whew. . .boy. . .the rain really is coming down," I said, deliberately sidestepping the question. "Here, put this on."<br />
<br />
I handed Priye my jacket to throw over her as she opened the car door. I tried to find a parking spot close to the emergency room entrance. The best that I could do was about fifteen yards away. The parking lot was full tonight.<br />
<br />
Priye stepped out and down into a puddle of standing water. I heard her curse under her breath and wondered whether she could still take her brand-new shoes back, as long as she kept the receipt.<br />
<br />
I placed my arm around her waist, guiding her as we headed for the emergency-room doors. The doors slid open as soon as we stepped under the cover of the awning.<br />
<br />
Priye slid the jacket off her shoulders, shook some of the raindrops off, and handed it back to me. She did all of this with barely a break in her stride. She'd caught sight of Ivie's parents talking to the nurse.<br />
<br />
"Uncle Anthony," she called out, and clasped him warmly to her in a supportive hug.<br />
<br />
I turned my eyes away so that she would not see the surge of jealousy. I didn't mean to feel petty. It was just that I had been looking forward to spending this time with her. Having to spend it in the emergency room of a hospital, instead of over a candlelight dinner, did something to me. Emotionally, I was somewhere between pissed that I'd skipped practice for this, relieved that little Ivie seemed to be all right, and pleased that Priye had chosen to ride to the hospital with me instead of abandoning me at the restaurant with the remainder of her family.<br />
<br />
Something in me kinda snapped. Before I'd gotten a chance to get close to her, I was upstaged by a nine-year-old with corn flakes crammed up her nose. At some level, I felt about as childish as Ivie. I was three times her age, but was behaving, in my opinion, half her age.<br />
<br />
While Priye tried to get information from her relatives, all I could do was stand by and try to look as if I was being supportive. A person could only stand around for so long without feeling about as functional and uplifting as the reproductions of artistic prints adorning the hospital walls.<br />
<br />
I touched Priye lightly on the shoulder and said, "If you need me, I'll be over there." I indicated a row of chairs across the room.<br />
<br />
"Uh-huh. Okay," she replied, though I wasn't entirely convinced that she was talking to me. She could have been responding to her uncle, for all the attention that she gave me. She never quite looked directly at me, just sort of turned her head toward the direction of my voice.<br />
<br />
I took a seat and tried to find a way to look sympathetic, yet supportive. It's possible, though I put a cramp in my facial muscles like you wouldn't believe. The muscles that controlled my eyebrows alone went through some serious contortions; furrowed with concern, raised with sincerity, then arched in sympathetic support.<br />
<br />
It wasn't that my sentiments weren't sincere. They were. No one could have foreseen how events would have turned out tonight. No one. I'd prepared for grilling from the parents, maybe scorn from the grandparents. I hadn't figured on having to dust off my old CPR skills.<br />
<br />
I emphasized my emotions because I knew that everyone would be watching me. Priye came from a large family, but it was an extremely close-knit family that jealousy guarded against any rivals for affection. All I had done was give Priye my phone number. You'd think, from her grandmother's reaction, that I had passed on the plague.<br />
<br />
No self-respecting mack would have let an opportunity for getting to know a beautiful woman pass by. As I sat in the hospital waiting area, I thought about what I might have done to change the progression of events that had brought me here.<br />
<br />
"What are you in for?"<br />
<br />
A voice, gravelly and demanding, accosted me as if I were an unwelcome guest at the country correctional facility.<br />
<br />
I looked to my left, then to my right, and twisted around to try to find the interrogator. A little boy, who couldn't have been more than eight years old, sat cross-legged on a chair behind me and four seats over.<br />
<br />
His arms were folded, his chin resting on his forearms as he peered back at me with two of the oldest eyes that I'd ever seen in a child. Curious and suspicious at the same time.<br />
<br />
"Are you talking to me?" I pointed to myself.<br />
<br />
"Yes, I'm talking to you," he responded. He had an old man's voice, too. I didn't get that much bass in my voice until long after puberty.<br />
<br />
"I'm not sick, I said. "I'm here for a friend of mine."<br />
<br />
"The fine lady in the black dress." He nodded his approval to me. I wasn't quite sure how to respond to that. They say that kids are brutally honest. And it was obvious that he had good taste in women. So I let that one go unchallenged.<br />
<br />
"What are you in for?"<br />
<br />
"I'm not here for me, this time. I was here last week. For this."<br />
<br />
He held up his arm and I noticed that it was encased in a bandage from elbow to wrist. The bandage was covered with signatures in various inks, various colours.<br />
<br />
"I'm here for my sister. Can you hear that screaming?"<br />
<br />
I lifted my head, training my ears in the direction of one of the wards."<br />
<br />
"I don't want injection! I don't want injection!" It was a childish treble, rising in pitch, intensity, and frequency, followed by the crash of something loud and metallic.<br />
<br />
"That's her. She's going to get stitches. Flipped off the bed and busted her fat head wide open. Mum told her to stop jumping in the bed. That's what she gets for not minding."<br />
<br />
"Stitches. Man, that's rough."<br />
<br />
"She'll be all right," he said knowingly. "When they strap her down, she'd get the injection."<br />
<br />
"How do you know so much about the emergency room? Do you want to be a doctor when you grow up?"<br />
<br />
He gave me a look that said, Oh please!<br />
<br />
"What's your name, son?"<br />
<br />
"Mum said that while she's in there with Dammy, that I shouldn't talk to strangers. I shouldn't tell them anything. Not my name. Not where I live. Or nothing."<br />
<br />
"That's good advice that your mother gave you." I extended my arm to him. "Just so we're not complete strangers, name is Jack. Jack Deneen. My friends call me J.D."<br />
<br />
"Nooo," he contradicted with all of the enthusiasm of a child catching an adult in an untruth. "Everybody calls you Flash."<br />
<br />
"Now, just how do you know that?"<br />
<br />
"My daddy saw your picture in the paper and told my mum that you might just do some good for football if your ego didn't get as big as your head. What's an ego, Flash?"<br />
<br />
"You tell your father. . ." I began, then quickly checked myself. This was a kid, even if he did have an old man's mouth. "You tell your father thanks for the advice." I amended.<br />
<br />
"Do you want to sign my bandage, J.D?" He asked, holding his hand up again.<br />
<br />
"Sure. If you can find some room for me."<br />
<br />
"Mrs. Larry's whole class signed it. Even Junior. And he's the one who pushed me off the stairs in the first place. See? He signed it right there and drew the broken bones with the blood gushing out of it."<br />
<br />
"A veritable Vincent van Gogh," I remarked.<br />
<br />
"A very who?"<br />
<br />
"Van Gogh. He was a famous artist back in the day."<br />
<br />
"Emeka is not going to be an artist when he grows up. My mum says that he is going to be a sociopath. What's sociopath, J.D?"<br />
<br />
"You'd better have your parents explain that one." I deferred.<br />
<br />
He tossed a dark blue pen to me from his stash of crayons markers, and pens crammed conveniently, if not orderly, into a zippered plastic bag.<br />
<br />
"I think I see a spot right here," I said. "It's just below the elbow." He turned his back and extended his arms as best as he could. I signed my name with a flourish and drew a flattened oval with cross-hatching. That was my rendition of a football. In the center of the oval, I penned my jersey number. Not exactly worth displaying, but the artistic attempt brought a smile to his face.<br />
<br />
"Thanks, J.D. I guess this means we're not strangers anymore. So I'll tell you my name. My name is Damola, my parents calls me Junior. I still don't know why. But I'm not going to tell you where I live. I don't want my mum to beat me."<br />
<br />
"Pleasure to meet you, Junior. And you're welcome." I resisted the urge to reach out and pat him on his head. I settled for balling up my fist and holding it out to him for a little dap. He clenched his own fist and tapped it once on top of mine.<br />
<br />
"There you go," I encouraged. It struck me as oddly sentimental, how small his hand looked on top of mine. For a moment, I could almost imagine that this wasn't a stranger's hand. Instead it was the hand of my own son, sharing a special moment with me despite the grimness of our surroundings.<br />
<br />
When who I presumed to be his parents came out to collect Junior, he ran up to them, shouting on top of his lungs that I had signed his bandage. My signature had been elevated to importance over Emeka 's gore-gushing bone drawing. A proud moment for me - to go from booger-picker to best ball player all in one evening.<br />
<br />
"Looks like you've made a new friend." Priye settled into the seat next to me.<br />
<br />
"He's a good kid." I assessed.<br />
<br />
"If a little loud," she observed.<br />
<br />
"You have issues with kids?" I asked, partially to tease her about the comment she'd made about the kid in the airport. The other part of me wanted to feel her out. I wanted to know her feelings about kids in general.<br />
<br />
Myself, I can see an entire carload of kids. I want enough to start my own football team, offense, defense, and coaching staff included. Sounds impractical, maybe even like the ramblings of a madman. But that's what I want. And I want a woman who shares that vision. Or nightmare. It all depends on how you looked at it.<br />
<br />
So far, Priye seemed two for two against children. She loved the kids in her own family. Her panic when Ivie had fallen back in her chair, choking and grasping at her throat, told me that she had the capacity within her to love. But it's different when they're your relatives or someone else's kids. You could love them as much as you want to, then give them back when it's inconvenient for you to have them around.<br />
<br />
I still didn't have a good clue of where she stood on having children of her own. That reminded me of how little I actually knew about her. Did she want kids? Could her thinly dislike of children be a symptom of sore grapes? Maybe she wanted kids but couldn't have them.<br />
<br />
Though I couldn't help but notice that she had what my grandfather called baby-bearing hips. Her hips were wide enough to handle the load of the last stages of pregnancy. Yet they were not so wide that I couldn't wrap my hands around her. They were not so unwieldy that I didn't want to put my hands on either side of her and pull her toward me.<br />
<br />
"Look, Daddy! Look who signed my bandage!" Junior turned around so that his father could get a good look. "Jack 'The Flash' Deneen. You were wrong, Dad. He's not a struck-up pretty boy with washed-up dreams of ever playing in the NFL. He's good people."<br />
<br />
Priye and I exchanged glances. I don't know who started laughing first. The gleam of amusement in her eyes might have been sparked by the quirky twitching of my lips. She laughed until tears came to her eyes, then rested her head on my shoulders to gasp for breath. I kissed the top of her head.<br />
<br />
"How's Ivie?" I asked.<br />
<br />
"She's going to be all right. She's more scared than hurt and more embarrassed than scared. Thanks for acting so fast, Jack."<br />
<br />
"I'm glad I was there to help."<br />
<br />
"Don't be so modest. You know that you picked up a few points with my family, don't you? They'll be talking about you for weeks to come.<br />
<br />
"Really?" I asked, toying with a few strands of braids that had worked themselves loose from her twist. My index finger traced the line of her jaw and followed along the outline of her full lower lip.<br />
<br />
"And what about you, Priye? Will you be talking about me, too?"<br />
<br />
She pulled her head away, coy. "I can talk about you now, if that's what you want," she replied, lifting one eyebrow in mock annoyance. "Let me see. What's an old standby? Oh, yes. You're ugly and your mother dresses you funny."<br />
<br />
"That's not what I meant and you know it."<br />
<br />
"I know," she said, turning serious in an instant. "And I can't say what I'll be thinking about in the weeks to come, Jack. I haven't planned that far ahead."<br />
<br />
"Then why don't you let me put something on your mind now?" I asked tacit permission for something I'd pretty much made up my mind I'd do from the moment I saw her at the restaurant: I was going to kiss her. I had to. There was no way I wasn't going to try.<br />
<br />
As I leaned forward, I hovered just a fraction before moving in. I wanted to give her the chance to change the direction of the conversation. She didn't pull away. Instead, she closed her eyes.<br />
<br />
"Hey, Flash! My dad wants to shake your hand."<br />
<br />
Junior popped between us, yelling his father's offer to make introductions.<br />
<br />
"Hold that thought," I murmured to Priye, and forcibly pulled myself away.<br />
<br />
<br />
**********************************************<br />
<br />
There he goes. I sighed in both relief and resignation. I watched as he chatted with the little boy’s family. The Flash was charming, gracious, as smooth as fresh silk. He certainly had a way with people. His popularity had something to do with being some kind of hotshot athlete. But I was equally sure that Jack Deneen would be just as charismatic flipping patties at some joint.<br />
<br />
He was a force unto himself, drawing everyone in and around him with all of the intensity of a tornado during the play-by-play reconstruction of a Steeldog glory game. As the gathering around Jack grew larger, I felt my patience growing thinner. This wasn’t the time or place for gridiron grandstanding. This was a hospital. There were sick people here. People on their deathbeds. The feats of an athlete seemed inconsequential in comparison to the life-and-death battles going on all around us.<br />
<br />
Not everyone agreed with my sense of propriety. When a young woman resident in too-fight scrubs stood close, laughing a little too loud at one of Jack’s corny jokes, I felt my waning patience come to an abrupt end. I’d had just about all I could take of Jack Deneen and his entourage of devoted fans for one night.<br />
<br />
Yes, I was grateful for his quick thinking and his knowledge of CPR. Because of his efforts, my cousin Ivie would live to hate and hide another corn flakes. And yes, I had to admit that we made a good-looking couple, walking arm in arm into the restaurant. Heads had turned as we’d walked by. The way my family responded favourably to him, I had private, fleeting fantasies of seeing him as a permanent addition. If he looked at me one more time with heat in those tiger eyes, I was going to melt into a messy puddle.<br />
<br />
But the more time I spent in his company, the more I realized how much I didn’t know about him. I see the public face that he puts forward, the crowd-pleaser, the female magnet. Judging by the quick way he’d dumped me for the willing ear of an audience, it made me rethink how much I wanted to know him.<br />
<br />
I hoped that it wasn’t jealousy. Could I be that petty, that selfish? He was a man of the public. His profession counted on his being +able to please the people. So he wasn’t doing anything. Not really. He was just being Jack. If I couldn’t handle who and what he was, then the fault was mine. It was better that I found out now, before I allowed myself to get emotionally invested in him.<br />
<br />
I told myself that it really didn’t matter. I was only going to be in town for a few more hours anyway. I might as well enjoy his company for the little time we had left. I stood up, physically putting myself away from the negative feelings that were starting to bring me down. A few words to my aunt and uncle to check on Ivie, make my excuses. Said my good nights. Then I raised my hand to vie for Jack’s attention.<br />
<br />
When I knew that he was watching, I held my hand up in the shape of a T. Time out. Game over.<br />
<br />
He nodded and mouthed over the heads of his fans, Sorry. He tried to pull away, but not before signing a few more autographs, shaking a few more hands.<br />
<br />
“Time to go now, Jack.”<br />
<br />
“Is everything all right?”<br />
<br />
“Uh-huh. They’re taking Ivie home tonight.”<br />
<br />
“Some crazy night, eh, Priye?”<br />
<br />
“Absolutely insane. I’m exhausted.”<br />
<br />
“Then let me give you a lift home.”<br />
<br />
“Do you mind? I’ve got to get out of here. I can’t stand being in hospitals.”<br />
<br />
“Come on then.” He placed his arm around my shoulders. And in that moment, all of my irritation fell away. He felt so right, he should have been at my side all along. As if he’d always be there.<br />
<br />
Still, I couldn’t bring myself to trust those feelings. So much had happened this weekend. My emotions had gotten a total working over.<br />
<br />
“The rain’s stopped,” he said as we stood under the awning of the emergency-room entrance.<br />
<br />
“Uh-huh,” I responded, and congratulated myself on what a witty conversationalist I’d turned out to be tonight. I looked out onto the parking lot, shaking my head. “Some date this turned out to be.”<br />
<br />
“Thank you,” Jack said, with a wry twist of a smile.<br />
<br />
“Why are you thanking me? It was horrible! First, you’re raked over the proverbial coals by my family. Then you have to dredge cornflakes out of my cousin’s nose and wind up driving through a spring monsoon to get to the emergency room. Please, Jack. You don’t have to be kind.”<br />
<br />
“I wasn’t being kind, Priye,” he gallantly denied. At least, I thought I was being gallant. “Trust me,” he replied. “I was being completely selfish. My actions were motivated by my own self-interests.”<br />
<br />
“I don’t believe you.” I shook my head slowly back and forth. “I don’t think you have a selfish bone in your body.”<br />
<br />
At that, he laughed loud enough to draw the attention of several of the waiting room occupants still inside. He bit his lip to stem the laughter, leaned close, then whispered.<br />
<br />
“Yes, I do, Priye Cole. And one of these days, when we get to know each other more intimately than we do now, I’ll show you.” He raised my hand to his lips and kissed it. His eyes never left mine. And before I knew it, the words popped out.<br />
<br />
“I don’t want the evening to end like this.” They flew out of my mouth before the wisdom of revealing my innermost thoughts could prevent them. I think that I surprised him as much as I did myself. He took a started step back and didn’t speak for a couple of seconds.<br />
<br />
“In that case, darling, what would you suggest?”<br />
<br />
I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know. I just know that we can’t let the date end on this note. Maybe we could go out for a drink or something? To talk, rationally, normally, without the fear of a fiery airplane crash or being under the watchful eye of my relatives.”<br />
<br />
“Sure. I’d like that. And I know the perfect place.”<br />
<br />
“What are we waiting for?” In my mind, I reasoned that I had one more chance to correct the karma between us. If we couldn’t make an honest connection sitting and talking over a drink, then there was no hope for us. None at all.<br />
<br />
I had a two-o’clock flight tomorrow out of Lagos back to my safe, predictable life in Accra. Here was my chance to step out, to take a chance. A little voice in the back of my mind kept urging, egging me on.<br />
<br />
. . .Go for it, Priye. You go, girl.<br />
<br />
“I’m going, I’m going.” I said out loud in response to the voice, and ignored the strange look that Jack threw in my direction. I had to make myself take this chance. As much as I liked him, if we didn’t establish a bond here and now, I had no doubt our chances for success would be ruined once I was back in Accra. I barely made time for my own family. I couldn’t see myself putting forth the effort for a man whom I’d known only a couple of days.<br />
<br />
The drive to the restaurant was quiet. But the silence wasn’t strained. It was natural, expected. It was as if we both were caught up in our own thoughts. Once, we stopped at a red light. He clasped my hand and raised it to his lips. Such a sweet gesture. So smooth.<br />
<br />
One part of me basked in the attention. The other half wondered how many women he’d charmed with so polished a move. No! I pushed the thought to the back of my mind. I’d made the decision to go with this feeling. I wasn’t going to ruin it by letting negative thoughts seep in. I didn’t want to know who he’d been with. He was with me now. In here and now, that was all that mattered.<br />
<br />
He held my hand. I squeezed back. I couldn’t go so far as to kiss him but I could let him know what kind of effect he had on me.<br />
<br />
Jack released my hand long enough to pull into a parking spot. It was even more crowded here than at the hospital. I glanced at Jack.<br />
<br />
“Are you sure you want to go in there? It looks kinda crowded to me.”<br />
<br />
“It’s a popular place, so it’s always crowded. Don’t worry about it, darling.” He winked at me. “I’ll get us a table.”<br />
<br />
“You must know somebody on the inside.”<br />
<br />
“I know a lot of somebodies,” he admitted.<br />
<br />
“I don’t doubt it,” I muttered under my breath. If he heard me, he didn’t respond. Instead, he helped me out of the car. His arms was wrapped securely, possessively around my aist as we walked up to the door.<br />
<br />
From the moment we walked in, I could feel all eyes on us. I felt self-conscious at first, not unlike a bug under a magnifying glass. From the number of people who hailed him as soon as he walked through the door, I couldn’t tell if it was because he was a sports celebrity or because he still frequented this place.<br />
<br />
“Welcome back, Flash.” A hostess greeted him with a kiss. She barely glanced at me. Why would she? Who pays attention to window dressing? That’s how I felt. Like something to adorn his arm, like a watch or a cuff link.<br />
<br />
“Hi, Anne. Got a table for me?”<br />
<br />
“Always, sweet thing. Just give me a minute to clear out your regular spot. Next time, don’t make yourself such a stranger.” She disappeared through a maze of tables.<br />
<br />
“One of your old haunts?” I asked.<br />
<br />
“Yeah, me and my boy, Paul, you remember him? The one who was on his honeymoon? We practically lived at this restaurant anytime we are in the country.”<br />
<br />
“I wasn’t talking about the restaurant,” I said, then winced. Did that come out of me, sounding like a jealous hag?<br />
<br />
“Oh, you mean Anne? She’s like a sister to me.”<br />
<br />
I rolled my eyes. I could grab any man here, plant a sloppy wet kiss on his lips, but that didn’t make him my cousin.<br />
<br />
Anne came back, crooked her finger at Jack, and led him to a table in the rear of the restaurant.<br />
<br />
Jack held out the chair out for me, kissing me on the cheek as he slid it under me.<br />
<br />
“So,” he said, as he took a seat across from me, “what shall we talk about?”<br />
<br />
“What do you want to talk about?” I countered.<br />
<br />
“You,” he said simply, leaning onto the table.<br />
<br />
I could feel my face growing hot under his direct glare. “Do you want to narrow the subject field a little? That’s a pretty broad topic.”<br />
<br />
“Nope. I want to know everything about you, Priye.”<br />
<br />
“That’s impossible. Even I don’t know everything there is to know about me.”<br />
<br />
“Okay,” Jack relented. “Then let’s start with something simple.”<br />
<br />
“Simple is good,” I agreed, nodding enthusiastically.<br />
<br />
“How’s this for starters? Tell me how you feel about me?”<br />
<br />
I nearly choked, so unexpected was the question. Kinda early to start talking about feelings, though mine were running the gamut with this man. Why couldn’t he ask me what my favorite colour was or my favourite food? Why not start with something like where I grew up or the types of movies I liked. Any one of those would have been an appropriate first date question.<br />
<br />
“What?” he asked, smiling smugly at my stunned expression. He knew that he’d rattled me. I guess that was his way of paying me back for playing it so cool at the airport.<br />
<br />
“Simple?” I suggested, lifting an eyebrow at him.<br />
<br />
“A man of simple needs and wants,” he corrected. “Not simple of mind.”<br />
<br />
“What do you want?” I asked.<br />
<br />
Now it was Jack’s turn to raise an eyebrow. The heat in his eyes answered the question for me. The way his gaze swept over me caused my heart rate to quicken. My breath caught in my throat. I cleared it delicately and clarified my question by asking: “What do you want out of life? What happens when you’ve played your last game?”<br />
<br />
“I’ll be in my grave and hopefully heaven bound,” he responded. “But seriously, I have other plans. Other ventures I’m working on. My sports center, for example.”<br />
<br />
He took a few minutes describing his business ventures to me. I listened intently, injecting questions to keep him talking. Anything to keep the focus off me. I think he knew what I was doing, but was willing to let me get away with it for now.<br />
<br />
“And when I get too old to run those anymore,” Jack continued, “I hope to settle into my old rocker, spend my golden retirement years on secluded property somewhere. I’d spend my days fishing and watching my children, grandchildren, or even great-grandchildren grow up healthy, wealthy and wise.”<br />
<br />
“I take it that means you want children?” I stated the obvious.<br />
<br />
“Lots. Lots and lots and lots.”<br />
<br />
“You plan on having several wives then?” I teased. “One woman couldn’t possibly have all of those babies.”<br />
<br />
“Maybe,” he conceded, then took my hand across the table. “But won’t it be fun trying, Priye?”<br />
<br />
“You weren’t an only child, were you, Jack?”<br />
<br />
“No. I have a younger sister, Joella.”<br />
<br />
“Where does she live?”<br />
<br />
“She stays with my dad in the States.”<br />
<br />
“And your mum?”<br />
<br />
“She lives in Accra. I’d like for you to meet them. My dad should be visiting Accra soon.”<br />
<br />
I tried to imagine Jack’s father, an older version of himself. And what about his mother? What kind of woman was she to help raise such a man?<br />
<br />
“What do they do?”<br />
<br />
“Retired. My mother has a side business, selling jewelry that she designs over the Web. My father’s retired from the state department.”<br />
<br />
“Do they. . .” I began, but Jack cut me off.<br />
<br />
“Want to become grandparents. Of course they do.”<br />
“So, we’re back to babies again, are we?”<br />
<br />
“You have something against them, Priye?”<br />
<br />
“I come from a very large family, very close family. I would be a pariah if I said that I didn’t want children.”<br />
<br />
“But how do you really feel about them, Priye? I’m learning about you that what you say and how you feel don’t necessarily go hand in hand.”<br />
<br />
By the intense way that he squeezed my hand, it seemed important to him that I answer yes. To be honest, I hadn’t really thought about children of my own. I mean I assumed that one day I would get married and have kids. But that day wasn’t here yet, so I hadn’t dwelled on it.<br />
<br />
“What makes you think that I wouldn’t want kids?”<br />
<br />
He shrugged. “Remember that kid at the airport?”<br />
<br />
“Kwame? How can I forget?”<br />
<br />
“He seemed to get on your nerves.”<br />
<br />
I started to laugh. “He was getting on my nerves, but only because he was after my bears.”<br />
<br />
I stroked Jack’s hand, easing his concerns. “I love kids, Jack. Absolutely adore them. That’s part of the fun of helping my parents plan our family reunion. I get to see all of my younger cousins again. That business about Kwame. . . well, that wasn’t as much about kids as it was a certain kind of kid. My parents doted on us. But my brothers and I were raised very strictly. My parents didn’t tolerate such ill behaviour from us. And I won’t tolerate it from my kids.”<br />
<br />
I think I’d answered that question to his satisfaction. I could feel the tension easing from his face.<br />
<br />
“Anything else bothering you Jack? Anything you want to know?”<br />
<br />
So we talked. And we talked. . .<br />
<br />
So we talked. And we talked. And we talked. And we sipped. Then we talked some more. Sometimes over each other in our haste to get the words out. The floodgates had opened and the flow would not be stanched.<br />
<br />
In a perfect world, we would have shared, in the three hours that we talked, a lifetime of memories. He, painting a picture of his world; me carefully outlining and censoring the details of mine.<br />
<br />
I sat with my chin propped on my fist, watching his expression change with each glimpse he gave me into his life. His emotions bubbled beneath the surface. I imagined his entire body to be a percolator, constantly steaming, bubbling. To take in his aroma was to be uplifted, rejuvenated. I couldn’t get enough of him.<br />
<br />
We talked. And talked. Had an argument about his ever disturbing fans, who didn’t know when to mind their business and stay glued to their seats, rather than signing autographs. We stopped talking. Stood up. Then left the restaurant.<br />
<br />
Jack climbed into the car, inserted the key into the ignition, and was out of the parking lot before he finally spoke to me. His movements were jerky, mechanical.<br />
<br />
“Where are we going, Priye?” Jack asked. His tone was clipped, precise, carefully modulated to dampen the irritation I knew he must have felt. I guess he thought that he was trying to be civil to spare my feelings. It didn’t work. I knew that he was mad. He knew that he was mad. I think I would have felt better if he’d just been honest about it, instead of hiding behind that veneer of false civility. It made me feel worse to think that he couldn’t be honest with me.<br />
<br />
Where are we going? Nowhere fast, I thought glumly.<br />
<br />
All of the progress we’d made as we sat and talked was nullified in a single act of senseless aggression. Hmmmmph. Just like football. It’s no wonder I loathed the game so much.<br />
<br />
I gave him directions to my parents’ house.<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507214557031675143noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590799266879072185.post-10249687073232187182013-07-06T01:28:00.001-07:002013-07-06T01:51:33.907-07:00Hearts of Steel: Chapter EightI couldn’t take my eyes off him. This was worse than it had been at the airport. When I’d first caught sight of him, striding through the terminal, I had what I’d considered to be a mild case of curiosity. It had been just an exercise in people-watching to help pass the time. The way he carried himself would have drawn my eyes to him – even if I’d been in a committed relationship. After all, I am a woman. I’ve got eyes.<br />
<br />
I used them to their full effect, zeroing in on him with laser-beam accuracy. This time, I didn’t have a magazine to hide behind. This time, when he saw me, he knew that I was watching him. My appraisal was open, unfiltered.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br /><br />
I wanted to speak with him again in the worst kind of way. Not at all like when we were on the plane. Then, I’d kept the conversation going because it kept me distracted. He’d prevented me from making a total fool of myself – shrieking in unadulterated terror each time the airplane rode the wave of another air pocket.<br />
<br />
But this. . .this was something entirely different. As he stood in the foyer of the restaurant, I knew beyond a shadow of doubt that he was waiting there for me. No chance meeting. No happened-to-be-going-my-way. He was there, with an invitation from my grandmother, but with an inclination to be there that was all his own.<br />
<br />
As soon as he saw me, his entire face lit up with a smile. His eyes, both feral and gentle, swept over me. I closed my eyes for a moment, thankful for the fashion fates that had guided me in the choice of this outfit.<br />
<br />
I’d read romance novels where the heroine claimed to be floored at the sight of the romantic interest. I’d always passed that off as a crock of horse spit – often quickly flipping past those initial meeting pages to get to the “good part.” The happily-ever-after part.<br />
<br />
If a man wanted to quicken my breath, let him touch me. Pleasure me. None of this eyes-meeting-across-a-crowded-room business. You couldn’t pay me to believe that a simple look could make my heart pound and my breath freeze.<br />
<br />
I renege. I recant. I take it all back. Jack Deneen’s gaze could – and did. If I had ten thousand years and just as many words, I don’t think I could ever explain it – how I felt both cherished and challenged. How he, without saying a single word, could make my backbone straighten and my knees weaken. I felt my face with flush and hypersensitive nipples pucker as I brushed by a bracing wind.<br />
<br />
The very pit of my stomach churned, not unlike the feeling I got every time I stepped onto an airplane. This time, it wasn’t a knot of fear but an expanding, volcanic flash of desire. I doubted, in my state, if I could eat a single bite of dinner tonight.<br />
<br />
At the same time, I wanted to nibble along his freshly shaved jawline. I wanted to sample the delicious curve of his full lips. I could spend the entire evening touching my tongue to each of his fingertips and watching his response each time I tasted another digit.<br />
<br />
The pressure of my brother’s hand against the small of my back as he steered me to our private dining area jolted me back to reality. I had better get a grip on myself before I entered the dining area. Grandma, Mother, and my aunts would be watching me like a hawk. I could almost see my grandmother sniffing the air, and instantly determining from the changing scent of my pheromones that I wasn’t thinking “nice girl” thoughts about Jack Deneen.<br />
<br />
“Priye,” Dozie said, squeezing my elbow. “We’d better get moving, girl. You know how Grandpa doesn’t like to be kept waiting, especially when there’s food involved.”<br />
<br />
“I’ll be there in a minute,” I said, not taking my eyes from Jack.<br />
<br />
“Who’s that?” Dozie demanded, and indicated by the sudden addition of bass in his voice that he didn’t take too kindly to the towering “super-hot” dude in the Armani suit visually feeling up his little sister.<br />
<br />
Working with my father in our family roofing business had given Dozie his own share of sculpting. He wasn’t as tall as Jack, but I think they matched each other, inch for inch, in the width of their shoulders.<br />
<br />
“Grandma invited him,” I said quickly, disengaging my elbow from his possessive grip. More of my relatives had started to pour into the foyer. If I didn’t move quickly, I wouldn’t get a chance to talk to Jack privately before dinner. I’d be too overwhelmed with multiple versions of “long time, no see” greetings, wet kisses of welcome, and exclamations of how I’d grown.<br />
<br />
“Go on in. I’ll be there,” I promised, pulling away from him.<br />
<br />
“Grandma invited him, huh?” he said, suspiciously, “I don’t think he’s a relative. I would have remembered him. Though something about him is kinda familiar. He wouldn’t be from Grandpa’s side of the family, would he? Cousins from out of state?”<br />
<br />
More like out of this world! Jack’s gaze was sending me reeling to the stars. “He’s Jack Deneen.” I refreshed my brother’s memory.<br />
<br />
Dozie snapped his fingers in recognition. “That’s right! He’s that striker for the Steeldogs. I didn’t know Grandma had that kind of stroke to get that hotshot striker to come to her dinner party.”<br />
<br />
He started toward Jack.<br />
<br />
“Where do you think you’re going?” I put my hand in the middle of his chest to stop his progress.<br />
<br />
“To talk football, maybe get his autograph. What do you think?”<br />
<br />
“Oh, no, you don’t.”<br />
<br />
“Why not? He’s a football player. That’s his job. He’s not going to mind me talking a little shop with him. Maybe give him more pointers to improve his game.”<br />
<br />
I glanced back at J.D where he stood patiently. From this distance, his game looked pretty good to me. In the back of my mind, I wondered why he hadn’t approached me yet.<br />
<br />
“Listen, Dozie, you are not going to ruin this night for me. . .that is, I mean. . .Grandma with talk about that stupid game.”<br />
<br />
I kept my voice low and tight, tapping my index finger into his chest for emphasis. I could hear them now, monopolizing the conversation with football stats and predictions for the games to come. I didn’t want to hear it. I had issues with the game. But that didn’t mean I wanted to insult the man who played it.<br />
<br />
“Go on, now. Get to getting. I’ll be in to dinner in a minute.”<br />
<br />
“Oh, all right,” Dozie grumbled. “But I don’t see why I just can’t talk to the man.” It was like sticking a plate of his favorite food, in front of him, handling him a spoon, and telling him that he’d better not touch a crumb.<br />
<br />
I waited until he was almost out of sight, smoothed my hands over my dress, then started toward Jack. Just as I’d feared, I had to wade through a wall of well-meaning relatives before I could cross the twelve feet that separated us.<br />
<br />
“Hi,” I said a little breathlessly, and felt a little foolish for the inadequate greeting.<br />
<br />
“Hello, Priye Cole. I was wondering whether I’d have to send a search party out to rescue you.”<br />
<br />
God, how I loved the way he said my name – as soft as a kiss. Possessive and familiar, formal and respectful. We didn’t speak for several heartbeats, letting our eyes communicate privately what curious onlookers had no right to hear.<br />
<br />
<br />
**********************************************<br />
<br />
<br />
I pulled another handkerchief from my inner pocket and dabbed at Priye’s cheek. It gave me an excuse to move closer to her.<br />
“A present from one of your relatives,” I said and wiped away a smudge of lipstick, undoubtedly left by one of her female kin. At least, I hoped it was a female.<br />
<br />
Pressing the handkerchief into her palm for safekeeping, I took the opportunity to squeeze her hand in silent welcome.<br />
<br />
“If this keeps up, I can start a collection of Jack Deneen memorabilia,” she said, lowering her eyes. She then noticed the flowers that I’d completely forgotten I’d brought for her.<br />
<br />
“Are those for me?” She sounded pleased, even surprised. It made me wonder what kind of men she’d been dating to be so astonished by an old-fashioned, yet effective, means of showing interest.<br />
<br />
“That depends.” I said, holding them toward her, then pulling back just as she reached for the gold cellophane wrapper.<br />
<br />
“On what?”<br />
<br />
“On whether or not you think these are good enough to convince your grandmother that my intentions are completely honorable.”<br />
<br />
Priye’s laugh hinted at her embarrassment, but she said, “You have to convince me first, Jack Deneen.”<br />
<br />
“And how do I do that?” I asked, leaning toward her.<br />
<br />
She didn’t step away, but met my gaze head on. “You can start by handing over those lovely flowers.”<br />
<br />
“Do you like them? They’re yours then.”<br />
<br />
Ten minutes until eight o’clock. I’d been waiting at the restaurant, determined to be on time, since 7:25.<br />
<br />
Since I wasn’t sure about their local food, I’d been requested a menu and a few minutes of the maitre d’s time to figure out what I could tolerate and what I’d better steer clear of. Whether the supper tonight was buffet style, order from the menu, or preplanned courses, I was going to make sure that I wouldn’t embarrass myself in front of Priye’s family.<br />
<br />
“Shall we go in?” I suggested, crooking my arm. She slipped her arm through mine. Her hand rested on my forearm.<br />
<br />
“Do me a favor, will you Jack?” she asked, looking up at me.<br />
<br />
What? Anything for you, Priye. You name it. Walk barefoot over a bed of hot coals? Bring you the moon? Develop a cure for the common cold? If you ask it, I’ll do it. . .<br />
“What is it? What can I do for you?”<br />
<br />
“Try not to talk about football tonight,” she pleaded with concerned eyes.<br />
<br />
. . .Oh woman! Anything but that!<br />
<br />
I looked at her. “Are you serious?”<br />
<br />
“Very,” she said, pressing her lips together.<br />
<br />
“May I ask why?”<br />
<br />
“It’s my grandparents’ sixtieth anniversary. That’s quite an accomplishment, especially these days when couples are lucky if they last five years without tearing each other apart. It’s a special night for them. I just don’t want anyone to steal their thunder.”<br />
<br />
“You mean me?”<br />
<br />
She nodded. “something tells me that you’re going to be a very hot topic of conversation at tonight’s dinner table.”<br />
<br />
“Why do you think your grandmother invited me if she was concerned about anyone taking away her limelight?”<br />
<br />
“That’s another long story. For another time.” Priye promised.<br />
<br />
“So what do I do if someone asks me a football-related question?”<br />
<br />
“Punt,” she suggested, with a raised eyebrow.<br />
<br />
“Unlike the NFL, there is no punting in arena football.”<br />
<br />
“I know that,” she said in the same prickly tone as when I’d caught her offering child-rearing advice – or rather paddling-to-the-rear advice – to the airport hellion. “I meant it figuratively.”<br />
<br />
“I see,” I said slowly. “I’ll do my best, Priye. But I can’t promise if your grandmother pins me down with threats to my person if I don’t explain the difference between a touch-back and a touchdown, that I won’t cave in.”<br />
<br />
“I couldn’t ask for anything less than that, Jack Deneen,” she said wryly.<br />
<br />
Together, as close to hand in hand as we could manage, we entered the area reserved for Priye’s grandparents’ anniversary dinner.<br />
<br />
In all, there were about thirty Johnson family who had gathered.<br />
“There certainly are a lot of your relatives here tonight.” I murmured out of the corner of my mouth.<br />
<br />
Normally, crowds didn’t bother me. I was used to the pressure of their scrutiny. But this was different. I didn’t have my teammates with me, sharing the responsibility of success or failure. I had Priye; but I wasn’t completely sure what team she was on. She seemed pleased to see me. But if Mrs. Johnson gave me the thumbs-down, would she side with her?<br />
<br />
“Oh, this is nothing, just a fraction of my family. You should see us in about a year.”<br />
<br />
“What happens then?”<br />
<br />
“That’s when our family reunion is scheduled. My mother and aunts are doing the planning this year. Tomorrow, we’ll meet and have the official kickoff planning session.”<br />
<br />
“You need an official meeting to figure out when you all want to meet again?” I sounded incredulous.<br />
<br />
“Have you ever been to a family reunion, Jack?”<br />
<br />
I shook my head. “I get together with my relatives during all the major holidays when time allows. But we’ve never had an official reunion.”<br />
<br />
“You don’t know what you’ve been missing!” she exclaimed. “It’s like having a huge party with hundreds of your closest friends. No two reunions are ever alike, because each year there is a set different set of planners.<br />
<br />
It didn’t bother me a bit to think that I’d still be with Priye in a year’s time. What bothered me more was the here and now. We approached the dining table.<br />
<br />
I took a mental deep breath and gave myself a rousing pep talk.<br />
<br />
. . .All right Jack. Here you go. Don’t fumble this one. . .<br />
<br />
There were five round tables in the room, each able to seat seven or eight people. She steered me toward the head table, to a woman I knew had to be Mrs. Adesuwa Johnson, a striking woman of indeterminate age and timeless grace. I thought I’d had her pegged until I noticed a woman who might have been her twin sister sitting just a couple of seats over. They were involved in a lively discussion. Their voices rose slightly above the rest of the family’s.<br />
<br />
At one point, the rest of the room quieted, until everyone realized that they weren’t the target of the elder Johnson sister’s wrath. I couldn’t make out exactly what the conversation was about. But the words mark of the devil, juvenile tendencies, and laser peel made their way across the room.<br />
<br />
“My grandmother’s sister must have told her about her tattoo. And now Grandmother has hit the roof. I knew she would. I told my aunt Rosa that she would.”<br />
<br />
“Are they twins?”<br />
<br />
“No. My aunt Rosa is older; but you’d never know it the way my grandmother behaves.”<br />
<br />
“Bossy?”<br />
<br />
“I wouldn’t say that.” She looked up at me, wrinkling her nose at my choice of words. I could tell that she was searching for a diplomatic way of rephrasing my assessment of her grandmother.<br />
<br />
“It’s just that she knows what’s best and likes to tell you in no uncertain terms. She’s strict, but fair. Come on. Let me introduce you to her.”<br />
<br />
“Are you sure that’s a good idea, Priye? They seem to be a little preoccupied.”<br />
<br />
“Don’t tell me that a big, strong athlete like you is afraid of a couple of little God-fearing, churchgoing ladies?”<br />
<br />
“Your grandmother has all the gentility of a Bengal tiger,” I remarked. “And I mean that respectfully.”<br />
<br />
She squeezed my arm. “Come on, Jack. Don’t be afraid. I won’t let anything happen to you.”<br />
<br />
I stopped. “You heard me?”<br />
<br />
“Of course. I heard you. I know I seemed scared out of my wits, but I was listening to you, Jack. I heard every word you said.”<br />
<br />
As we approached the table, the conversation dropped off bit by bit. It seemed as though all eyes swiveled toward us.<br />
<br />
“Grandma,” Priye said, loud enough to be heard, but not so loud as to appear to talk over the conversation between the sisters. “I have someone that I want you to meet. Grandma, this is Jack Deneen. Jack, this is my grandmother, Adesuwa Johnson.”<br />
<br />
Mrs. Johnson looked up at me for what seemed like several minutes and didn’t say a word. Then she held out her slender hand.<br />
<br />
“How do you do, Mr. Deneen.”<br />
<br />
“Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Johnson.”<br />
“Thank you for coming on such short notice. I hope we didn’t inconvenience you.”<br />
<br />
“Not at all,” I replied, and mentally crossed my fingers against the small stretch of the truth.<br />
<br />
“Your seat is there, Mr. Deneen,” Mrs. Johnson indicated. “Next to my sister, Rosa Lawson.”<br />
<br />
“Mrs. Lawson.” I extended my hand to her, but she stood instead and clasped me warmly to her.<br />
<br />
“Priye told me how you kept her company on the plane, Mr. Deneen. Not being a big fan of air travel myself, I can appreciate how much comfort a friend can be. Thank you.”<br />
<br />
I think I said something equally gracious to Priye’s aunt. But inside, I was soaring. So far, so good. They hadn’t dismissed me outright. I’d been a bundle of nerves, waiting for Priye and her relatives to arrive. Scenarios of varying degrees, from mildly embarrassing to the unforgivably uncouth, had flown through my mind as I’d used the Global Positioning System in my car to get to the restaurant.<br />
<br />
I could only imagine what kind of silly grin I had on my face at the time. My motives for sitting next to Priye on the plane had been purely selfish. But if by being so, I could win one more Johnson over to my side, I’d take the praise.<br />
<br />
“So you’re with the Steeldogs?” A tall, elderly gentleman dressed in a dark, three-piece suit stood and held out his hand to me. A large, rawboned man, he looked uncomfortable in the fancy surroundings. His hands, large and gnarled, spoke of advanced age, failing strength, but the uncommon endurance as he patted at his shining, perspiring forehead with a handkerchief.<br />
<br />
“This is my grandfather, George Johnson,” Priye introduced. “Grandpa, this is my friend, Jack Deneen.”<br />
<br />
“Pleasure to meet you, sir.” I said, shaking his hand.<br />
“Congratulations on your wedding anniversary.”<br />
<br />
“Thank you, thank you. Yes, I’m feeling mightily blessed.” Once the pleasantries were over with, he thrust his hands in his pockets, leaned close, and said, “So, son, what do you think of your chances this year to take it all?”<br />
<br />
I shrugged, pressing my lips together and shaking my head.<br />
<br />
He stood, staring at me, watery brown eyes blinking periodically, as if he expected me to say more. I didn’t. I’d promised Priye that I wouldn’t.<br />
<br />
I glanced at Priye and responded carefully. “I. . .uh. . .I really couldn’t say.”<br />
<br />
“What do you mean you can’t say? You trying to tell me that you’re sworn to secrecy about whether or not you’re going to make it to the UEFA cup championship?”<br />
<br />
Rosa Lawson caught the look that passed between Priye and me, then chuckled softly. “You poor boy. Priye, tell me that you didn’t put a gag order on our guest.”<br />
<br />
“Aunt Rosa, you know me better than that,” Priye dissembled.<br />
<br />
How could she have sounded so innocent knowing fully well that’s exactly what she’d done?<br />
<br />
“Uh-huh. It’s because I know you that I’m hereby overruling you.” She looked up at me with a conspiratorial wink. “I’m sure Priye meant well. But I’m here to tell you, the child has some major issues with the game of football. But that doesn’t mean it has to ruin your evening, does it, Jack?”<br />
<br />
“No, but I promised that I’ll try not to bore anyone with my stories.”<br />
<br />
“Let’s just say that our friend Jack found some very creative uses for duct tape and stink bombs,” her aunt Rosa continued.<br />
<br />
“You heard about that?” I asked in chagrin.<br />
<br />
“Oh, I can’t wait to hear this one,” Priye said.<br />
<br />
“Sure you can,” I said, patting her shoulder. “I think a more interesting story is what turned you off football.” I turned the conversation back to her. “You didn’t tell me that you didn’t like the game.”<br />
<br />
“Oh, well. . .I guess the subject never came up,” she said and winced. We both knew that wasn’t exactly true. She’d had plenty of opportunity to tell me to stop running my mouth about the game. It had been mostly all I talked about on the flight from Ghana to Lagos.<br />
<br />
From the way she’d responded, I’d thought she was a dedicated fan. She’d nodded at all the right moments, asked questions at all the appropriate intervals. I looked at her now with a grudging respect. She must have been in agony the entire trip – between the threat of imminent death on one hand and my boring her to death with my stories on the other. I wouldn’t be surprised if she hadn’t entertained thoughts of jumping out of the plane to put an end to her misery.<br />
<br />
"Is everyone here? I'm ready to eat now," Priye's grandfarher announced to the room.<br />
<br />
"Please join us at our table, Mr. Deneen," Priye's grandmother indicated a couple of seats.<br />
<br />
"Oh, goody! We get to sit at the grown-up table," Priye said in mock awe.<br />
<br />
"You won't be so pleased when you find out about all the embarrassing stories I'm going to tell Jack all evening," Aunt Rosa predicted.<br />
<br />
"Aunt Rosa," Priye began in warning.<br />
<br />
"Don't sound so surprised, honey. You know we were not going to let this evening slip by without trying to totally humiliate you."<br />
<br />
"Grandma, you're not going to let her do that, are you?"<br />
<br />
"You mean totally humiliate you?"<br />
<br />
"Yes."<br />
<br />
"Well, not totally," Mrs. Johnson promised.<br />
<br />
"Exactly," Mr. Johnson added, "I mean, what kind of loving, supportive grandparents would we be if we went around telling your friends that when you were nine years old you put Vaseline on your chest to encourage your bust to grow?"<br />
<br />
"George, leave the girl alone. Don't embarrass her in front of her friend."<br />
<br />
"Thank you Grandma," Priye said in relief.<br />
<br />
"Besides, she wasn't nine - she was twelve and still flat as a pancake."<br />
<br />
Priye put her elbows on the table and hid her head in her hands. "Times like these I almost wish I was adopted."<br />
<br />
"We won't have to embarrass her," Mrs. Johnson said, lifting a disapproving eyebrow. "I'm certain her questionable table manners will do the job for us."<br />
<br />
She jerked her arms back, and folded her hands primly in her lap. I leaned over and whispered loudly so that almost everyone at the table could hear, "If you can remember to keep your elbows off the table, I'll try to remember not to chew with my mouth open."<br />
<br />
"Can we order now?" Mr. Johnson insisted.<br />
<br />
"In a minute, George. Wait until the whole family is here," Rosa said.<br />
<br />
"If some folks want to delay, that's their business. We told them what time dinner would start." He waved over one of the waiters and indicated to start taking drink orders.<br />
<br />
I was glad that I had arrived good twenty minutes early. Seemed like running late was an unpardonable sin in this family. Moments later, a couple I assumed were Priye's parents walked briskly into the dining area.<br />
<br />
I might have passed the father on the street and not recognized him as being related to her. He stood about five-foot-eight or-nine, with the build of a pro wrestler: wide shoulders and long arms, barrel-chested. His dark hair was speckled with gray, bristly and shaved close to his head. Though the suit he wore was well tailored, probably altered to fit his irregular features, subtle body movements led me to believe that he'd rather be wearing something else, something that allowed him a greater range of motion.<br />
<br />
He togged at his tie as if to adjust it and he walked with his hand near the buttons on his jacket, as if he wanted at any moment to rip the confining cloth away. When he came over to shake my hand in introduction, his grip was firm, sure and callused - the mark of years of hard labour.<br />
<br />
The woman who walked in on his arm was definitely Priye's mother. They say that eventually all daughters turn into their mothers. I couldn't help staring. That was going to be Priye in twenty years or so. My head swiveled back and forth, noting the similarities between the two women. They had the same heart-shaped face, the same deep-set eyes.<br />
<br />
"Sorry I'm late, Mother," Priye's mother said as she leaned down to kiss Mrs. Johnson on the cheek. "Happy anniversary."<br />
<br />
Mrs. Johnson reached up and patted her daughter affectionately, then sniffed delicately.<br />
<br />
"You smell like petrol," she noted.<br />
<br />
"We had a flat tyre. I helped Sunny change it."<br />
<br />
I also noted the obvious differences. Mrs. Cole had a few more lines around the mouth and eyes, a touch of gray in her hair. She wore her weight comfortably, as if she'd stopped worrying about conforming to what the fashion industry pushed as the perfect size.<br />
<br />
She exercised to maintain good health, I could tell that from the firm tone of her bared arms. But she wasn't going to starve herself or squeeze into too-small clothes or shoes. That I noticed by the light gray silk, free-flowing, two-piece tunic and pants and low-heeled shoes that she'd selected.<br />
<br />
Also, unlike Priye, she wore her obvious affection for and devotion to her husband openly. Priye still sought for relatives' approval before emotionally investing in a relationship. Doris Johnson Cole may have once had to go through a similar approval process, but she had passed through. Sunny Cole was now a member of the family - and the one and only man in her life.<br />
<br />
During the course of the evening, I don't think Mrs. Cole realized how often she showed to the world how much she loved - and was still in love with - Sunny Cole. From the time the first course was served, they shared from each other's plate, offering tender morsels. They participated in the table conversation, yet at the same time managed to convey to the room that they were wrapped up in each other. He held her hand, she leaned her head on his shoulder. He laughed at her jokes; she kept his plate full.<br />
<br />
The more I watched them, the more encouraged I became. In a few years, that could be us. If Priye and I could make it past these crucial, beginning stages of desire cooled by doubt, romance tempered by rationalizations, we had a chance.<br />
<br />
If - and what a huge if - we were willing to accept the unexplainable pull toward each other, celebrate rather than condemn our differences, we, too, might find that once-in-a-lifetime love.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507214557031675143noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590799266879072185.post-12290797640104034392013-07-03T14:50:00.002-07:002013-07-03T14:50:20.413-07:00Hearts of Steel: Chapter SevenI heard the telephone ringing, but couldn’t find it right away. It was stuffed in the bottom of my bag, wedged somewhere beneath my sweaty workout gear. My first inclination was to let it ring. I had voice mail. Whoever it was could wait. But something, loud and unwilling to be ignored, in my mind said, “You’d better answer that. It could be Priye.”<br />
<br />
Instinct, maybe. Or wishful thinking. I didn’t remember being this impatient waiting for a woman to call since high school. I congratulated myself. Somehow, I’d almost managed to get through the entire practice without thinking about Priye Cole, and wondering whether or not she was thinking about me.<br />
<br />
As the telephone continued to ring, I flipped it open and checked the caller ID before answering. It was a number that I didn’t recognize. Usually, I don’t answer those kind of calls. There are so many scams out there. You answer a call from someone you don’t know, accept long distance charges from an unfamiliar area, the next thing you know, you’re fighting an outrageous bill with little recourse because you were the idiot who took the call.<br />
<br />
The number was unfamiliar, but the area code said that it was a local call. I took a chance.<br />
<br />
“Hello?”<br />
<br />
“Yes, hello. May I speak with Jack Deneen, please?”<br />
<br />
“Speaking.” I paused in midstride. It was a voice that I didn’t recognize. Feminine. Elderly. There was the tiniest bit of treble, indicating advanced age. And it was colored by a soft, cultured drawl. At the same time, it was an authoritative voice. The way she asked for me made me believe that she knew that she was speaking to me before I’d confirmed it.<br />
<br />
“Mr. Deneen, my name is Mrs. Adesuwa Johnson.”<br />
<br />
I didn’t recognize the name. If this was another telemarketer trying to sway me, I was going to be perturbed. “How did you get my number, Mrs. Johnson?”<br />
<br />
“Never you mind how I got this number. What I want to know is what intentions you have for my granddaughter.”<br />
<br />
I could have dismissed her as a crank caller – simply hung up the phone and turned off the ringer. After repeatedly getting my voice mail, crank callers usually gave up. Yet something about this call didn’t feel like a crank. Most cranks that stumble on my phone number don’t know that it’s mine. That is, they don’t ask for me directly. This woman had.<br />
<br />
“You mean you make it a habit of passing your private number out indiscriminately, sir?”<br />
<br />
That struck a raw nerve. I should have hung up. I could have hung up. I didn’t. Instead, I stood out there in the parking lot, tired, baking, wondering who this was and what they wanted. If curiosity killed the cat, what was it going to do to this Steeldog?<br />
<br />
I cradled the phone between my ear and shoulder as I climbed into my SUV and started the engine. I adjusted the air-conditioning to full blast cold, thinking that the jolt of cold air would also cool my temper. I was too tired, too hot for guessing games.<br />
<br />
“There is nothing indiscriminate about my behaviour, madam,” I said, adopting her formal tone. It was indeed formal, almost regal. This was the tone of a woman who commanded respect.<br />
<br />
“I can’t answer your question because I’m not sure who your granddaughter is and how she got my-”<br />
<br />
She cut me off, even as the realization of who this woman might be hit me. An image of Priye, adjusting those ludicrous bears on the airplane seat, saying almost in chagrin, “Grandpa always gets the window seat.”<br />
<br />
Those bears were presents for her grandparents. This must be Priye’s grandmother.<br />
<br />
“Let me refresh your memory, Mr. Deneen. Priye Cole is my granddaughter. She’s a nice girl – a good girl.”<br />
<br />
Priye! She’d contacted me. Correction – it was her grandmother who’d called. I couldn’t even begin to imagine how she’d gotten my number. What would possess her to call me? Overprotectiveness, obviously. Somehow, she’d found the number and was now rushing to her granddaughter’s defense of what her tone suggested was an evil, immoral, callow fellow.<br />
<br />
It almost made me want to laugh. If only she knew how unnecessary her defensive response was. Priye was quite capable of fending off any unwanted advances. As easily as she could draw me to her with her reluctant smile, she could also chill me with a disapproving frown and a toss of her head.<br />
<br />
“More than nice, Mrs. Johnson. The very essence of proper civility.” I said, and hoped that she didn’t hear the humour I tried to squelch from my tone.<br />
<br />
“I see.”<br />
<br />
I couldn’t tell by her tone if she was mollified or if she thought that I was full of it.<br />
<br />
I forged ahead, unmindful of the verbal roadblocks the grandmother was throwing in front of me. It must be genetic, this coolness of verbal response. Priye was loaded with it.<br />
<br />
“In fact, Mrs. Johnson, I’m surprised that she kept the number at all. She was very reluctant to take it. I think she did it to humour me, to get me to stop bothering her with my completely unsolicited conversation.”<br />
<br />
“Hmmmm. I see.”<br />
<br />
Again, the noncommittal response. Was she giving me monosyllabic replies to keep Priye from knowing what was going on?<br />
<br />
I took a chance and asked, “Is she there with you now? She can tell you for herself.”<br />
<br />
Either Mrs. Johnson didn’t fall for it or Priye wasn’t there with her. I kept talking, quickly, trying to erase whatever negative impression she had of me.<br />
<br />
If I had to guess at Mrs. Johnson’s age, I would wager that she had been raised in a time when people valued manners over expediency. I wasn’t going to find out what I wanted to know by bombarding her with prying questions. It was going to take gentility. Finesse.<br />
<br />
“Mrs. Johnson, it’s obvious that you care very much for Priye. I can hear the concern in your voice. You can rest assured that my, uh. . .intentions are completely honorable. If you know her so well, then you also know what an attractive, intelligent, well-bred young woman she is.”<br />
<br />
Was I laying on too thick? Was I smothering my chances of ever getting to see Priye again? If Mrs. Johnson didn’t think I was sincere, she could end this conversation just as quickly as I could – with the press of a button. Click. Dial tone. No more Priye.<br />
<br />
If Priye was as close to her family as the conversation led me to believe, then I wasn’t going to get very far with her without going through the grandmother first. I had to keep her talking.<br />
<br />
“Is that a fact?” she said, in a curious mixture of material pride and condescension of my obvious flattery.<br />
<br />
“An undisputed fact, madam. I’d be a sorry spectacle of a man – stone-blind, deaf in one ear, and dumb as a brick – if I didn’t at least try to get to know her better. I’d like another opportunity to try, if that meets with your approval, Mrs. Johnson.”<br />
<br />
“ Well, sir, in that case you can tell her yourself over dinner.”<br />
<br />
Victory! Something had worked. Either that, or she was luring me to do me in, to make sure that I never bothered her granddaughter again.<br />
<br />
“Do you like Nigerian food?”<br />
<br />
“I love Nigerian food.” I said enthusiastically, though I wasn’t sure if I did or didn’t. I hadn’t tried it in a long while. I had a vague recollection of needing lots and lots of water. But for the chance to see Priye again, I’d eat a platter of Pepper.<br />
<br />
“Eight o’clock sharp at the Nobles restaurant. Do you need directions?”<br />
<br />
“I’ve visited Lagos countless times and even have a home here,” I said solemnly, assuming that a woman like Mrs. Johnson would appreciate the appearance of stability.<br />
<br />
“No, I don’t imagine that you do.” She used that tone again that felt oddly like a slap on the wrist – as if admitting that I knew my way around the city was like admitting that I got around.<br />
<br />
What could Priye have told her about me to give her that negative impression? There wasn’t much she could have said. I thought I’d been my best behaviour at the airport.<br />
<br />
“May I ask the occasion, Mrs. Johnson?” My mind raced ahead to figure out what I had in my closet to pull together appropriate attire.<br />
<br />
“It’s my anniversary, Mr. Deneen. A very special one, so please dress accordingly.”<br />
<br />
The phone line went dead. And just like that, I had a date. I had a date!<br />
<br />
I slapped the steering column and crowed triumphantly to the roof of the SUV. Suddenly, I paused. Doubt crowded in. I had a date, but which one? Priye or her grandmother?<br />
<br />
It didn’t take a Rhodes scholar to figure out which woman I preferred. But if I had to charm the older one to get to the other, well. . .a man had to do what a man had to do.<br />
<br />
And the first thing I had to do was get the feel of the football practice off me. Even though I’d taken a brief shower after the drills, my grandfather would have called it “a lick and a promise.” I needed hygiene fortification. I needed charm power. That meant the works: haircut, manicure.<br />
<br />
Somehow before eight o’clock, I had to squeeze in the second practice session, buy an anniversary gift for the grandparents, buy flowers for Priye, wash myself, get my car detailed, select an outfit, find the restaurant. . .<br />
<br />
If Mrs. Johnson was as discerning a woman as she sounded over the phone, then she would scrutinize me from head to toe. Normally, I wouldn’t have worried. I am a man of discerning taste – a little gift from my mother. She would scrimp and save to purchase something of quality that she wanted, rather than settle for something of lesser value.<br />
<br />
Sometimes that meant extravagance. But not always. She taught me the value of caring for the few quality items we had. The alternative was not caring for the cheaper items because we knew they were easily replaceable. Mother was not one for waste. Now, I choose my clothes and accessories carefully, paying as much attention to quality and style as I do to the price tag.<br />
<br />
My grandfather taught me a long time ago that money couldn’t buy class. Class came from within. It was conveyed by the way you conducted yourself.<br />
<br />
“Keep your head unbowed, Jackie boy. There’s nothing wrong with a long day’s honest work. A little dirt under your fingernails won’t kill you. And that’s the God’s honest truth.”<br />
<br />
Then he’d sent me off with a pat on the back, saying, “But your mother will kill you if you come to the supper table without washing your hands.”<br />
<br />
Let Mrs. Johnson use the white-glove test on me. I was going to pass the inspection with flying colours.<br />
<br />
As I pulled out of the parking lot, I considered the possibility of blowing off the afternoon practice session. Maybe I was taking an awful chance, jeopardizing my good standing with the coaching staff and team owner by going AWOL. We had a scrimmage game next week, which was why I was here in the first place.<br />
<br />
What if this night turned out to be disastrous? What if I got to the restaurant and found that I couldn’t stand to be around Priye Cole and her intrusive, well-meaning, family?<br />
<br />
I paused at a red light, my fingers nervously drumming on the steering wheel.<br />
<br />
Why was I doing this again? I tried to rationalize why I was having recurring thoughts about a woman I barely knew. I played over in my mind our chance meeting at the airport – from my first glance at the full lipped, full hipped, honey dripping woman nestled between two bears, to the last look as I left her struggling with those toy monstrosities on the plane.<br />
<br />
We had only been together two hours. Not much time. But packed within that two hours, I’d shared with her a gamut of emotions that left me wanting to laugh with her and love with her. In reliving those two hours, my hands tingled when I remembered the strength of her fingers as she clasped my hand in fright.<br />
<br />
The plane had dipped unexpectedly, raising a cry from the passengers. She’d stopped in mid-sentence, and her hand had flown out to grab mine. It had been an instinctual response. One human being seeking out another when one believes that death is imminent. We were not so perfect strangers, sharing a less-than-ideal situation. The brush of her fingertips against my palms had sent a jolt up my arm, that made me want to wrap it around her tense shoulders and draw her close to me.<br />
<br />
They say that adversity brings people together, forges an undeniable bond. Could my attraction for Priye be a by-product of that experience? Could I, in seeking her out, subconsciously be seeking the closeness we’d shared, if only for a while?<br />
<br />
I shook my head at my foolishness. Psychobabble. I’d wanted to get to know her before I ever stepped foot on that plane - before the forces of nature ever forced us into each other’s company. Nature had played a part in guiding me to her before the storm.<br />
<br />
My mouth turned up into a smile, remembering how she’d reluctantly laughed in polite tolerance of my jokes. I appreciated the depth of her commitment to her family. I was given a glimpse into her upbringing by her open expression of irritation at the airport hellion.<br />
<br />
Only two hours. Two lifetimes’ worth of emotion combined into that short spam of time. I don’t remember ever before meeting a woman so open, so passionate about life.<br />
<br />
Open is such a funny word to think of in terms of Priye Cole. Because if you’d asked her, I’d bet that she’d say that she hadn’t revealed a thing about herself to me. Her carefully modulated responses to my questions might have deterred a less persistent man.<br />
<br />
I can attest that you don’t get far in this world giving up at the first, halfhearted block. If you wanted something, really wanted it, you kept at it.<br />
<br />
If I was willing to brave the perils of a family in full force on a first date, then I was going to make it worth my while. Maybe I’m just crazy. One too many sots to the head without my helmet. Call me crazy, then.<br />
<br />
I wasn’t going back this afternoon to practice. There was just too much at stake.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“Vamp,” Brenda said, shaking her head. Her expression was my prime factor in deciding against one of two dresses that I’d bought to wear to my grandparents’ anniversary dinner. We sat in my room, comparing our purchases and catching up on old times.<br />
<br />
“Who asked you?” I muttered, holding the dress in front of me as I checked out the effect in the mirror. Traffic-stopping red. It had a high collar, but was shorter than I remembered. Its hemline was definitely nearer to my waist than it was to my knees. My mother wouldn’t approve, but I was sure Jack Deneen would. After the verbal lashing my grandmother had given him, I wanted him to know that at least one Johnson woman was on his side.<br />
<br />
“You did,” Joy reminded me. “You asked, And I’m here to tell you, that the dress says hoochie mama to me,” she concurred. “All you need now is six-inch nail tips and sparkling gold shoes.”<br />
“To match the gold tooth you’d need right up in front for all the world to see when you skin and grin at that football player.”<br />
<br />
“You ladies are nothing nice,” I chastised.<br />
<br />
“Trust me, you don’t want to wear that one,” Brenda said. She pulled off the plastic store covering protecting the second dress. That dress was more demure, but I had to admit, I liked the way it fit me better than the first dress. When I sat down in it, I wouldn’t have to worry about whether my hemline would crawl up my thigh with all the vigor of a salmon heading upstream to spawn.<br />
<br />
The dress was black suede, and slightly off shoulder. The hemline was longer, falling just below my knees, but a kick pleat in the rear gave a tantalizing glimpse of my thigh when I walked. I ought to know. When I bought it in the store, I’d paraded up and down in stocking feet in front of the dressing room for a full ten minutes before taking it off. It had only taken me a split second to decide that was the dress I wanted – even when I saw the hefty price tag.<br />
<br />
The fact that it appeared to slim my hips and lift my bust line was enough to blind me to the cost. Together with the open-toed, black suede pumps and the eight-inch pearl strand necklace that I’d borrowed from my mother (that is, that she didn’t know I’d borrowed), the outfit made me feel very sophisticated.<br />
<br />
Standing in front of the full-length mirror in my room, I held the dress up to me and pulled my hair high, off my neck. Turning my head to the left and to the right, I considered the possibility that my cousins were right. This was a better choice. More appropriate for the evening. I’d feel more comfortable in this dress, more confident.<br />
<br />
“I look good,” I lifted my chin and announced to the room.<br />
<br />
That sent Joy and Brenda into spasms of laughter.<br />
<br />
“Oh, you’re just jealous!” I accused them.<br />
<br />
“I’ve got to go before Priye’s head swells, sucks up all of the oxygen from the room, and pulls us into the resulting vacuum.” Brenda stood as if to leave.<br />
<br />
“Spoken like a true university professor,” I teased.<br />
<br />
But before she left, she kissed me on the cheek. “You know that I’m just messing with you, Priye. You sure do look good, girlfriend,” she whispered. “Now, you go get that man.”<br />
<br />
Joy made gagging noises. “Oh, brother. With all of this saccharine-sweet sentiment flying around. I’d better go before I need an insulin shot.”<br />
<br />
“Come here, girl. Show us some love,” I called out to her.<br />
<br />
We opened our arms and drew Joy into our circle. For a moment, we were kids again, swearing to be best friends forever – to never let anything come between us. And nothing did. Except of course, life itself.<br />
<br />
Suddenly, I felt ashamed for every cursory e-maid I’d ever sent them in my halfhearted, family-obligated effort to stay in touch. I regretted the missed birthdays, graduations, and promotions. I lamented over tears we’d never shared together, losses we’d never helped each other to bear. I wanted to recant every broken promise to call, every unanswered Christmas or birthday card.<br />
<br />
And at that moment, I resolved to try harder. To be a better cousin, a better friend.<br />
<br />
“Get out of my room,” I said through a throat tightening with emotion.<br />
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“See you tonight, Priye,” Brenda promised.<br />
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“Later, cuz.” Joy planted a peck on my cheek and followed Brenda down.<br />
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I moved to the window, drew the curtains back, and waved at them from the window. The sound of their car engines, fading as they headed down the road, was an eerie reminder of just how easy it was to lose sight of what really mattered to me.<br />
<br />
There was a time when there had been nothing I didn’t know about my cousins. Now, they were virtual strangers to me.<br />
<br />
“Not again.” I made a solemn promise, one that I intended to keep this time. I turned to my stuffed animals. With them as my witness, I would have to stick to it.<br />
<br />
“I’ll never let them out of my life again.”<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507214557031675143noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590799266879072185.post-25537462075004177442013-07-02T08:30:00.002-07:002013-07-02T08:30:33.392-07:00Hearts of Steel: Chapter 6Fifteen yards out, I planted my foot and pivoted a hard ninety degrees to make a lateral cut toward the goalpost. As I looked over my shoulder to check my progress, I sensed the ball before I heard it whistling through the air, I could feel it before I saw it hurdling toward me – a dark speck against a cloudless cerulean sky.<div>
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Sometimes, in practice, it paid to count on more than just your physical senses to make a play. My junior high school coach imparted that bit of wisdom to me once after I’d dropped my third pass in a crucial game.</div>
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Old Coach Reeves. I wonder what ever happened to him.</div>
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“Son,” Coach would say to me, patting me on my shoulder in restrained macho sympathy. He called everyone son. And he patted everyone on the shoulder. Sometimes, I think it was because it was easier than remembering our names. The way we were switching positions, it didn’t do to call us by our jersey numbers. Those were just going to change again when the coaches made player and position adjustments as they did after every loss.</div>
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Sometimes, I can still hear the rattling of phlegm in Coach Reeves’ throat – the sound that he made to announce that he was about to make a speech. Actually, it was the sound he made before he spat out a loogie and began making his speech.</div>
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“Son, my great granny, Lord rest her soul, could have caught that ball in her false teeth. This ain’t rocket science. It don’t make no sense for someone with as much love as you’ve got for the game to be so lousy at it. If you want to make it past a third-string junior varsity, you’d better start using that head up there for something more than bouncing that ball off of it. It’s either that, or go over and talk to Coach Thorpe about getting a spot in his soccer team”</div>
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Old Coach Reeves. I wonder what ever happened to him.</div>
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For all of the warm fuzzies he gave us during those early, insecure years, maybe he was hit by a bus. His brand of encouragement didn’t make sense at the time. I’m not sure that it makes all that much sense to me now.</div>
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But I do know this. Any player who was ever worth anything, who was ever remembered for anything, had something more on the ball than being able to use his eyes, ears, and hands to handle one.</div>
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They all had that unexplainable something. A sixth sense that helped them zig when others would have zagged, leap when others would have ducked. Whatever it was they had, it made the difference between a championship year and a see-you-next-year. I’d like to think that I have that extra something.</div>
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The sting of the leather pierced through my practice gloves, causing the centers of my palms to tingle, almost itch. I clenched my hands ever so tightly, a gentle reassurance that I’d done my job. Another pivot to turn upfield again. Simple, rote. As predictable as clockwork.</div>
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Another fifteen yards up, I stopped and threw the ball to one of the trainers before jogging back to my position at the end of the drill line. It was only nine o’clock, but the day was already starting to warm. The sun made my sunglasses hot to the touch, caused beads of perspiration to collect under my bandana The blue and white cloth darkened to a solid blue of wetness. I didn’t mind too much.</div>
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If I concentrated really hard, I could pretend that the sound of trainer’s whistles were the sounds of tropical birds, stirring the humid air with their song back on my grandfather’s sugarcane farm in Puerto Rico.</div>
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I don’t know why I’m so nostalgic about the place. I didn’t spend much time there. I’d only visited a handful of times. My grandfather had made his home on the outskirts of America and didn’t return often to the soil of his birth. Nothing nostalgic about sweating for hours in the sun, chopping cane for the enrichment of someone else.</div>
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My own father didn’t even think of having ties to the island. Not that island, anyway. </div>
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I was born on American soil - literally. My mother went into labour near the tail end of the transatlantic flight. Born in America herself, with Ghanaian heritage, she didn’t want her children growing up among foreigners.</div>
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“Move up.”</div>
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Someone behind prodded me, reminding me of where I was, and what I was supposed to be doing. The drill line moved swiftly, methodically, and it was my turn again.</div>
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“I’m surprised to see you here, Flash,” another team member from the drill line opposite me called out. Everybody called him the Deacon, for his fanatical drop-to-the-knee-in-prayer pose after every score – even if it was the other team’s.</div>
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“What do you mean?”</div>
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“I thought you were going on the honeymoon with Paul.”</div>
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I could have taken that comment to be a crack about my friendship with Paul. We hung out together so much, we were often ridiculed. In fact, sometimes we acted like an old married couple – completing each other’s sentences, squabbling over things that didn’t matter, or letting things that should have torn us apart slide without so much as a blink.</div>
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Too many times to count, we’d sometimes show up to practice wearing almost the same outfit. To cover, we confounded the other teammates, especially the rookies, with “Didn’t you get the memo? How come you aren’t properly dressed out?”</div>
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Any other time, I would have dismissed the ragging as business-as-usual jokes. But not this time, I couldn’t quite shrug it off. A few snickers from other team members, sly and lascivious, made me uneasy. Judging from the harsh hazing that followed, I could tell that they hadn’t all been as drunk as they’d seemed to be the night before Paul and Priscilla’s wedding. Someone had seen what had gone wrong between Priscilla and me. Gossip could run through a team like this one quicker than athlete’s foot fungus.</div>
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As I came up again in line, my turn to run the sprint pattern, I wondered if there were more than two witnesses to Priscilla’s proposition. It was possible. There was so much confusion the night before the wedding. We’d rented out almost an entire hotel floor. Most of us needing privacy had returned to our rooms. . .or to somebody else’s. The chorus of “Get out!” or “Shut the door” had rung out more often than the chorus of “Get me to the church on time.”</div>
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I’d slipped away to down a couple of aspirins. The music and the mood had worn me down quicker than I’d like to admit.</div>
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Makes me melancholy to think that I can’t handle the high life like I used to. Maybe that’s why I didn’t resist right away when Priscilla found her way into my room. I’d let myself buy her flimsy excuse of needing a quiet, private place to fix her makeup. What could be more appropriate than her own suite? I’d asked her point-blank.</div>
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“Have you been to my suite lately?” She’d laughed and jerked her thumb in a direction down the hall. “Your coach should have as much enthusiasm and attendance at practice as I’ve got going on in that room.”</div>
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“Paul’s just letting off steam. A last go-round before he has to settle down and become Mr. Responsible.”</div>
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“Exactly. That’s why Paul practically worships you, J.D. You understand him. I love him, but he’s not exactly Who Wants to Be a Millionaire material, is he now? If you understand him, then you know exactly what I’m feeling. You know why it’s important for me to be here.”</div>
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Her voice had been too low, too deliberately pitched for that to be a simple agreement with my sentiment.</div>
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When alarm bells started going off in my head, I’d dismissed them as just the beginnings of the headache. That sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach had been just a physical reaction to the aspirin. It couldn’t have had anything to do with the fact that I had a sneaking suspicion that my best friend’s woman was about to come on to me.</div>
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It couldn’t have been that. I simply refused to accept that it was true, and that I’d then stood by and said nothing when the time in the ceremony came for me to object to the wedding.</div>
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I suppose if I wanted to take the moral high road, if the incident ever came to the full light of day, I could say with a clear conscience that nothing really happened. Nothing had. Not really. Something had pulled me back – whether it was the fear of discovery or my sense of propriety that was stronger, it didn’t matter. The end result was that disaster had been averted.</div>
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Priscilla was with Paul now and I wasn’t. I was here. I couldn’t help but feel that even with my perception of Priscilla’s faults, she was with Paul. He had someone. Someone who he cared for deeply. And what did I have? Who did I have? No one.</div>
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*******************************************</div>
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“You’ve got my back if they team up on me, don’t you ladies?”</div>
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My cousin Joy put her hand in front of her mouth, pretending to daintily dab at her lips with her napkin, as she passed along a request for solidarity to Brenda and me.</div>
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I was in midsip of my water and had to swallow quickly to keep from choking through my laughter.</div>
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“Don’t trust Brenda to hang with us, Joy,” I whispered back. “I think she’s already been subverted.”</div>
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Joy looked at Brenda, who’d raised both of her hands in protest of her innocence.</div>
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“What does she know?” Joy demanded. “Who are they going after this time? Which one of us is the target?”</div>
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“She won’t tell,” I said in disgust.</div>
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“Not even after you tickled her?” Joy asked.</div>
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“How did you know I tickled her?” I sounded surprised.</div>
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“Oh, please. That’s how you always got anything out of us, Priye. When we were kids, all you had to do was waggle your finger at us and we spilled our guts.”</div>
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“Not this time,” Brenda said. “We’re not kids anymore.”</div>
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“And we’re no spring chickens, either. That’s why we’re having this discussion,” Joy reminded us.</div>
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“Shh! Here they come.” I motioned for silence before our aunts and Grandma returned from the ladies’ room. We cousins weren’t fooled. They couldn’t all have to go at the same time. They were plotting something. I knew it.</div>
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When I’d tried to follow them into the ladies’ room, to scope out their plot, they’d clammed up so quick and stared at me as oddly as if I’d walked into the wrong bathroom. I’d almost had to back up and take a second look. Yeah. I was in the ladies’ room. I was in the right place.</div>
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Aunt Ebere had gotten a funny look on her face. Not funny ha-ha. Funny like “I’m busted” kind of funny. She’d then turned, actually done an about-face, and said, “So, Doris, do you think that the weather should be clear on the Anniversary night?”</div>
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“Oh. . .oh yes,” Mother had stammered, like she couldn’t get her lips to change directions fast enough. “Clear and warm. Perfect for the family reunion.”</div>
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What was she? An almanac? Why in the world was she trying to predict the weather almost a year away from the event? They had changed the subject. It had been obvious on their collective guilty faces.</div>
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“What are you doing in here, Priye?” Grandma had asked bluntly. </div>
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“It’s a bathroom.” I’d stated the obvious. “I thought I’d take care of a little personal business before we started shopping.”</div>
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“There are no more shops,” she’d then retorted and stepped into the last one. “Go on outside and wait until one is freed up.”</div>
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I couldn’t believe it! She’d ordered me out of the bathroom! And after all I’d gone through to bring her those bears. Of course she didn’t know about them yet. The celebration dinner wasn’t until tonight – which was one of the reasons we were all out shopping. It was a chance for us to spend some time together, as well as spend a little money.</div>
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“We’ll be out in a minute, honey.” Aunt Rosa had patted me affectionately. At the same time, she’d steered me toward the door.</div>
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By the time I’d made it back to my seat, I’d been wearing an expression of mild irritation. They couldn’t treat me like that! I was grown. I held down a job. I paid rent. But I’d just been told when to go to the bathroom like a three-year-old. What was wrong with that picture?</div>
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As soon as I’d resumed my seat, Brenda and Joy had pounced on me, pumping me for information.</div>
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“Well? What did they say?”</div>
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“Who’s it going to be?”</div>
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“When are they going to spring a man on us?”</div>
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I’d shrugged. “You got me.”</div>
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I didn’t know any more than when I’d first followed them inside. All I had were my suspicions – and a suspect, long range weather forecast.</div>
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The rest of the luncheon went relatively smoothly, with talk centered mostly on our respective jobs and the various cities to which we’d all moved. We talked about who would likely be on which reunion committee, how exciting the reunion trip should be, and how many we expected to attend.</div>
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Even though our table waiter was cute and attentive – and who wouldn’t be with a table filled with attractive women – no one seemed to be trying to foist us off on him. Maybe my trip to the rest room had put a scare into the matchmaking militia, making them to regroup, rethink their strategy.</div>
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Maybe not.</div>
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It happened so fast, my head reeled from the shock. One moment I was reaching for a credit card, offering to pick up the tab for lunch; the next, I was instantly transformed into the “target.”</div>
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It all happened in the blink of an eye. Or rather, in the fluttering of a paper. I’d almost forgotten that I had it. Jack Deneen’s telephone number. But as I pulled my wallet from my purse, the paper drifted to the floor and made all the impact of an atomic bomb.</div>
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“You dropped something, Priye,” Joy said, reaching for the traitorous scrap.</div>
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“Oh!” I bent down to reach for it, but Joy was half-way there. As I leaned over to snatch it up before anyone could spy the contents, our heads collided.</div>
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“Ow!”</div>
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“Careful.”</div>
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“Watch it.”</div>
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That split-second delay in grabbing it made all the difference. Brenda’s sharp eyes noticed the Steeldogs logo and the handwritten note with the request for me to call Jack. It wasn’t as if she had supersharp sight. She was able to notice it because she was faster than both Joy and me combined.</div>
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Brenda managed to scoop the note from both our grasps. She was so fast, it reminded me of a scene from that old Kung Fu series. Snatch the pebble from my hands grasshopper.</div>
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“Priye!”she said, looking up at me with shinning eyes.</div>
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“Where did you get this?”</div>
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“What is it?” Mother asked, wanting to know what kind of dropped paper, short of a C-note, could cause so much commotion at the restaurant table.</div>
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“Nothing,” I said hastily and held out my hand for Brenda to return it. You should have seen how easily the shining in her eyes turned to the glimmer of sweet revenge. This was her payback for my tickling her. </div>
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“Nothing,” Brenda echoed, mimicking me, then waved the paper in front of everyone’s noses, gloating. “Nothing but the phone number of one of the sexiest men in the world! Sexy and unmarried. Did I mention that he wasn’t married?”</div>
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<div>
Her admission was like waving raw meat in front of a pack of pit bulls. “It’s from Jack The Flash Deneen of the Steeldogs.”</div>
<div>
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“What?”</div>
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<div>
“Who?”</div>
<div>
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“How did you get that?”</div>
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“What’s a Steeldog?”</div>
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Questions from my relatives came from every corner.</div>
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“It says here that he wants Priye to call him at her earliest convenience. And he’s underlined earliest.” She turned the note around for the others to see, show-and-tell style.</div>
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“Where did you get that?” Aunt Rosa asked, then snapped her fingers in remembrance. “Wait a minute. . .I think I saw him. He was on the flight from Ghana, wasn’t he? I saw a man – a long, tall, gorgeous drink of water – coming off the plane. He was literally mobbed, people asking for autographs. I knew he was some kind of celebrity, but I couldn’t connect the face with the name. So that was Jack Deneen, huh?”</div>
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“Priye, have you been holding out on us?” Joy wanted to know.</div>
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“No, of course not. There’s nothing to tell.”</div>
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“Maybe I should tickle you until you confess,” Brenda suggested, raising a finely arched eyebrow at me. “It would serve you right.”</div>
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“There’s nothing to confess,” I insisted. It was my turn to raise my hands in protest of innocence.</div>
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“Uh-huh” Grandma said, narrowing her eyes at me.</div>
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Suddenly, she broke into a wide smile and nudged my aunt Ebere. Aunt Ebere nudged Aunt Pam, who sort of winked at Aunt Rosa. It looked like a human version of a domino rally.</div>
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The only thing I could do was put my head in my hands. That was it. My fate was sealed. If it hadn’t been decided among them who would be the “target” when they all went into the ladies’ room, the traitorous scrap of paper had made the decision for them. There was no question now. I was it. The target.</div>
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<div>
“Let me see that,” Aunt Pam said, holding out her hand across the table. I had to resist the urge to snatch it out of Brenda’s hand as she held it out for them.</div>
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“You know, there’s been a lot of buzz in the local sports news about that man. They say he’s pretty good.”</div>
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“I wouldn’t know.” I said stiffly. “I don’t follow football.”</div>
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“Yeah. I hear he’s supposed to be some kind of superstar at that, too.” Joy said slyly. “I was at a club once, where a bunch of Steeldogs were supposed to hang out.”</div>
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“And what were you doing at a club, missy?” I asked, trying to throw the heat off me.</div>
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“Uh-huhh. Don’t even try it, missy,” Joy stressed in return. “I was there for a bridal shower for a friend of mine. Anyway, someone yelled out, ‘Steeldogs in the house!’ The next thing you know, the place is a zoo. You’ve never seen so many women lose their minds all at once. Screaming. Running. Dropping their own dates like they were bad pennies. It was ridiculous. There were so many bras and panties with telephone numbers thrown at those poor players that it looked like an explosion at a lingerie factory.”</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“What’s the matter, Joy? Couldn’t get yours off fast enough?” I asked snidely.</div>
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<div>
“You hear that, Aunt Doris, Priye is being ugly to me.”</div>
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<div>
“Play nice, girls,” Mother said automatically, sounding as she had when we were kids growing up together. </div>
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<div>
Aunt Pam scanned the note, shaking her head.</div>
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<div>
From there, things went from bad to worse. Grandma peered over Aunt Pam’s shoulder, reading the note aloud to herself.</div>
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“This is a crying shame,” she said softly. “In my day, when a man wanted to spark a woman, he did so with respect. He came to her parents’ house and courted openly, like a nice girl deserved.”</div>
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“George was over at our house so much, we started to adopt him,” Aunt Rosa remembered. </div>
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Grandma laughed out so loud. It was a wonderful laugh, sort of like Brenda’s. It made me think that humour was hereditary.</div>
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She then turned her piercing gaze to me. “That’s how we did it in those days, Priye. Respectfully.” She placed her palms flat on the table and leaned forward so that her face almost brushed the centerpiece. “You are a nice girl, aren’t you, Priye? You didn’t do anything to give that man the impression that you weren’t?”</div>
<div>
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“Grandma!” I squeaked, my face as red as the cherry glaze on my cake. I could feel waves of heat wafting from my face, threatening to wilt the flowers of the floral arrangement.</div>
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“Of course she’s a nice girl, Grandma.” Joy stepped in smoothly. “Priye probably wouldn’t give that dog the time of the day. That’s why he had to push his telephone number on her. Otherwise, he’d have hers and we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now. Isn’t that right, Priye?”</div>
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Sweet Joy. I should have known that she’d back me up. My head bobbed up and down in agreement, like a cork.</div>
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“Well, we’ll just see about that. Somebody give me one of those phones.”</div>
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Quicker than lightening, four different telephones appeared on the table in front of my grandmother. Nokia. Samsung. BlackBerry. Android. She had her pick.</div>
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She adjusted her glasses and said, “Read that number out to me, Pammie.”</div>
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“What? What did she say? Mother, what did she say?” I asked.</div>
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My breath came out in a breathly whisper. Panic had closed my throat, making it difficult to speak, even breathe.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
“She asked your aunt Pam to read that man’s number out loud to her,” Mother said calmly. She took a sip from her coffee as casually as if my grandmother had asked someone to read a selection from the menu to her.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Grandma held the telephone almost at arm’s length, trying to read the small numbers on the handset as Aunt Pam called out the numbers.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I turned pleading eyes to Aunt Rosa. It was her sister. Couldn’t she do something to stop her? But Aunt Rosa only gave me that its going to be all right look.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Grandma put the telephone up to her ear and cleared her throat deliberately, waiting for someone to pick up on the other end – while I waited for a miracle to end this. A bolt of lightening. A herd of wild elephants. Abduction. I wasn’t choosy, just as long as I didn’t have to be conscious for what could very well turn out to be the most embarrassing moment of my life. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Yes, hello. May I speak with Jack Deneen, please?”</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Tell me this is a sick joke,” I whispered to Brenda, tugging on her sleeve.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Shh!” she shushed me and brushed my hand off of her.</div>
<div>
“I can’t hear.”</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“This is going to be delicious,” Joy said, rubbing her hands together. I had a sneaking suspicion that she wasn’t talking about the food.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Mr. Deneen, my name is Mrs. Adesuwa Johnson.” She paused, then said, acerbically, “Never you mind how I got this number. What I want to know is what intentions you have for my granddaughter.” </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
She paused, waiting for the response, then said, “You mean you make it a habit of passing your private number out indiscriminately, sir?”</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Another pause. “Let me refresh your memory, Mr. Deneen. Priye Cole is my granddaughter. She’s a nice girl – a good girl.”</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I grimaced, fearful of what Jack must have been thinking. He’d been unexpectedly kind by keeping me company on the plane. After the brush-off signals that I’d given him at the airport, he hadn’t had to do it.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Grandma then lifted her eyes to the ceiling as if listening very carefully to the response. “I see.” Another pause. “Hmmmm. I see.”</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“What? What does she see?” I asked aloud to no one in particular. No one was listening to me, anyway. Their eyes and ears were all glued to Grandma’s lips.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Is that a fact?” Grandma continued, then looked curiously at me.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“What’s a fact?” I demanded but respectfully, because you didn’t use that tone with Grandma. Not unless you wanted your lips knocked into next week from a lightning fast, backhanded slap. I personally had never received such treatment. But I’d heard things.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Well, sir, in that case you can tell her yourself tonight over dinner. Do you like Nigerian food?”</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Tell me what? What is she doing?”</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Why are you so interested?” Brenda wanted to know.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“You don’t follow football. Remember?” Joy put in her two cents.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My own words had come to haunt me.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Sounds to me like she’s just invited him to dinner.” Aunt Rosa said, winking at me.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I shook my head, not comprehending. The setup couldn’t be as simple as that. These women were masters at it, often taking weeks of planning to arrange a meeting between the “target” and the “intended.” They’d been in the matchmaking business for years, as long as I could remember them planning family reunions. By producing that phone number, I’d made it too easy for them. I’d taken all of the fun out of their matrimonial machinations.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Grandma said with finality, “Eight o’clock sharp at the Nobles Restaurant. Do you need directions? No, I don’t imagine that you do. It’s my anniversary, Mr. Deneen. A very special one, so please dress accordingly.”</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
She then closed the phone and handed it back to Aunt Pam.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The table was silent for a moment. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
All eyes turned toward me. Then, an explosion of laughter had more than a few patrons staring at us. -</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507214557031675143noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590799266879072185.post-76181822415778953242013-07-01T01:04:00.002-07:002013-07-01T01:04:17.387-07:002face Idibia and Banky W spotted with Ebenezer Obey<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5a7sdAJaerZhGMQPMtkPC68NKxpyHjRYx1IiaoMahDrhN9P6TlcpdJhO3g7styx7vFbTiQE9hjNKxYFiLx1kT2Y8kqo8LpJ-bh7azVKzpI4YEtP0Q3dLtEOZP_HLJBT3zoF0FZuX-PYo7/s320/banky2babaebenezer.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="2face Idibia and Banky W spotted with Ebenezer Obey" border="0" height="352" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5a7sdAJaerZhGMQPMtkPC68NKxpyHjRYx1IiaoMahDrhN9P6TlcpdJhO3g7styx7vFbTiQE9hjNKxYFiLx1kT2Y8kqo8LpJ-bh7azVKzpI4YEtP0Q3dLtEOZP_HLJBT3zoF0FZuX-PYo7/s400/banky2babaebenezer.png" title="2face Idibia and Banky W spotted with Ebenezer Obey" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2face, Ebenezer Obey and Banky w</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Well, they were at the Ebony Life TV Launch at Eko hotel, yesterday....2face idibia, Ebenezer Obey and Banky W (three kings).<br />
<br />
and less i forget, Steve Forbes' <i>(publisher of forbes magazine)</i> is in Nigeria at the moment for the event
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507214557031675143noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590799266879072185.post-74458192328732681562013-07-01T00:55:00.003-07:002013-07-01T00:55:43.875-07:00Iceprince wins 'Best African Act' at BET Awards '13Yipeeeeeeeeeee!!!<br />
<br />
Beating 2face Idibia to it at the BET Awards in Los Angeles, Ice Prince has won the ‘<b>Best African Act</b>'. <br />
<br />
Apparently, for Ice Prince, this is his second time at being nominated for the
award in the same category. Last year he lost out to Wizkid and
Sarkodie.<br />
Meanwhile, Yvonne Nelson earlier wished the rapper best of luck.<br />
<br />
Yvonne wrote this along with a photo of her and Ice Prince on her
Instagram page: ‘<i>Good luck Panshak…#BET you are a WINNER….make me proud.
Make Africa proud….my Hommie 4life…yeaaa he calls me Hommie. He’s cool
like that</i>‘.<br /><br />
Congrats to him! Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507214557031675143noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590799266879072185.post-77821406228373084142013-07-01T00:50:00.003-07:002013-07-01T00:50:27.206-07:00Check out Toolz outfit to Ebony Life TV Launch<div style="text-align: center;">
She is looking sassy and classy as always :) </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1FSd5oHa1ug1CC5CcXkF1J97clrw4FAa4e9l2O5VQKp8ddz8vUFJSWTdexkOibWkE4gLxFSyUvHx6RsfEhvU0SxTwEMbpIP2UyYPwRBlj_S25twTqOhVraL2L1aJmjdK6Xo3ly1Z29S2_/s320/tooolz.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1FSd5oHa1ug1CC5CcXkF1J97clrw4FAa4e9l2O5VQKp8ddz8vUFJSWTdexkOibWkE4gLxFSyUvHx6RsfEhvU0SxTwEMbpIP2UyYPwRBlj_S25twTqOhVraL2L1aJmjdK6Xo3ly1Z29S2_/s320/tooolz.PNG" /></a></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507214557031675143noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590799266879072185.post-71133588448617019372013-07-01T00:42:00.001-07:002013-07-01T07:08:32.200-07:00Hearts of Steel: Chapter 5It took a few minutes to figure out where I was. When I opened my eyes, I was a little disoriented. My room didn't feel like my own. It was. It was just my room of several months ago.<br />
<br />
Without moving my head, I let my eyes scan the contents. I had to squint, because sometime during the morning, someone had drawn back the curtains and opened the miniblinds. Probably my mother. She was a firm believer in the power of fresh air to cure all ills. She'd also opened the window a crack so that a steady, whistling breeze cut through the room.<br />
<br />
She'd been doing that since I was in secondary school, when my body had started to go through the change - during what my older brothers affectionately called 'The Musty Years.' Between the ages of eleven and fourteen, I went through a lot of Secret and Love's Baby Soft. We should have bought stock in those companies.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
The morning breeze rattled the glossy paper of my posters. These posters covered almost every inch of wall space. My Secondary School Certificate, with the cracked picture frame from when I'd thrown my size-six shoe at my brother for sneaking into my room, made a soft <i>thump-thump-thump </i>against the wall. How old was I then? Fifteen? Sixteen?<br />
<br />
Above my head were strung several decorative fishnets that held all of my stuffed animals and baby dolls. There were so many, it was a minor miracle that they hadn't come crashing down to crush the life from me. Teddy bears won at trade fairs, hearts given on Valentine's day and enough Barbie dolls to stage own beauty plastic pageant. They all swung precariously overhead, obviously staring at the microcosmic world of a young girl's room through button eyes. Even the ones with the eyes that my brother Dozie had picked out with a screwdriver seemed to be doing their best of keeping their toy vigil over me while I slept.<br />
<br />
God, it was good to be home.<br />
<br />
In my apartment in Accra, I hadn't had the time, money, or inclination to decorate, to give my new place a sense of home. I had one lonely ivy plant, badly in need of water, that was sitting (wilting, actually) in the terra-cotta planter that my Uncle Edward had given me as a going-away present. That was one of the few items in my bedroom in Accra that gave me any indication of where I'd come from.<br />
<br />
One of these days, I thought as I stretched languidly, I was going to repot the thing and give it a new lease of life. Or - I yawned and rolled over, pulling the covers over my head - I could wait for the last of the yellow leaves to drop off and save me trouble.<br />
<br />
It's not that I didn't care about the gift my uncle had given me. I did. I took very good care of the terra-cotta planter. I dusted it once a month, whether it needed it or not. Sometimes, I think I could hear the voice. "You know, a little water won't break the thing."<br />
<br />
I tried to go back to sleep, but my cousin Brenda, who'd spent the night with us, was singing in the shower softly to herself.<br />
<br />
Okay, not so softly and definitely not in key. I didn't mind listening to her caterwaul. I was surprised and pleased that shek'd agreed to sleep over.<br />
<br />
No mystery when I found out why. Her own home was full, with overflow relatives who'd come in at the last minute to attend my grandparents' anniversary party. Some folks from my grandpa George's side of the family had decided at the last minute to show. One of them, Brenda said, was a chain smoker. Another was rumored to have an overactive bladder. No, she'd said as diplomatically as she could to her parents, it was best if she found another place to crash for the weekend.<br />
<br />
Listening to her now, I was reminded of the time we'd put on a talent show when everyone had come over to celebrate my mum's birthday. No, I take that back. We weren't really celebrating her birthday. Because if you ask my mum every year on the day rumoured to be her birthday, she'll give her age as twenty-five. She's been giving that same answer for about twenty years now. Can't call it a birthday party if the responsible party won't admit to getting older.<br />
<br />
So, on the day rumoured to be her birthday, we'd eaten cake and ice cream, danced to old records, and played dominoes until the wee hours or the neighbours called the police on us. It's not clear in my memory which event came first.<br />
<br />
Brenda, Joy, and I had done our version of Tina Turner's theme song to the movie 'Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome.' It was a routine that brought the house doen.<br />
<br />
The refrain still echoed in my head. Maybe with adequate psychotherapy I'll be able to get that song out.<br />
<br />
We'd gelled and teased our hair so that Tina would have been jealous of our dos and sneaked fishnet stockings from my brother Mike's room. Skirts pinned tight and enough lipstick to compensate for our preteen pouts, we'd sung and strutted our stuff.<br />
<br />
Come to think of it, I don't think either of us sang very well then, either. It was the effort that we'd put into it that made my mum, Aunt Ebere, and Aunt Pamela clap so vigorously and hug us so tightly that we thought our ribs would crack.<br />
<br />
I was still grinning at the memory when Brenda stepped out of the bathroom with a huge towel wrapped around her torso and another on her head. She'd slept in the daybed beneath the huge window in my room, having made enough room for herself by pushing more of my stuffed animals onto the floor.<br />
<br />
"You're awake now, Sleeping Beauty?" She greeted me.<br />
<br />
"Did you save me any hot water?"<br />
<br />
"I think I left you a couple of drops," she teased, wrinkling up that cute freckled nose of hers. She sat on the edge of the bed, pressing her thick, black hair between the towel to dry it. For a moment, I experienced a moment of jealousy. You could stick a bird's nest in Brenda's hair and she would still look good - naturally.<br />
<br />
I, On the other hand, have to work at it. Not just work. Getting my hair so that I'm happy with it is a major undertaking. It takes hours of planning, preparation, and implementation.<br />
<br />
I have what I affectionately call "in-between hair." Not good, not bad. Not long, not short. If I'd entered my head of hair in a beauty pageant, I would probably walk away with the Miss Congeniality award. It tries so hard to be good. But every now and then, Lord help me, every now and then, it does what it wants to do no matter how I cajole and threaten to shave my head bald.<br />
<br />
Since I'm so much on the go, I don't have time to fool with it. I pay others a tidy sum to do it. Yvonne over in Accra does wonders with a human hair weave. She doesn't own a shop. She's just a lady who does hair.<br />
<br />
I was lucky to find her. A friend of the lady who works in the mailroom in my building told me about the man who now sometimes does my nails about Yvonne.<br />
<br />
She and her teenaged daughters, Jessica, Martha, and Erica, see me religiously, every eight weeks for no less than ten hours to wash, condition, tint, and braid. I go in as much for the gossip as I do for the gorgeous hair that results from the ordeal.<br />
<br />
"Gee, thanks. You are so kind."<br />
<br />
"Don't mention it." Brenda then reached into my nightstand drawer for the metal nail file I've always kept there. If I went to her room, I'd find one almost exactly like it by her bed. When we were kids, we'd bought matching nail files so that we could pry open each other's diaries and read them. That was, we rationalized, the best way to tell each other secrets without openly confessing. If either of us ever got caught doing something wrong, we could honestly say to our parents, "She never told me that!"<br />
<br />
Brenda curled one long leg under her, and bent the other knee so that she could rest her finger on it while she filed. Her voice was slightly broken by the vigorous filing action.<br />
<br />
"So, are you going shopping with your parents today?"<br />
<br />
"Do I have a choice?" I asked, pulling a long face.<br />
<br />
She wasn't fooled. As much as I complain about my parents - and what recently left-the-nest child doesn't? - I loved being around them.<br />
<br />
"Of course you always could stay here," Brenda suggested. "But you know how good Aunt Doris is at finding sales. She knows how to sniff out a good bargain. If you're not there when she finds one, you're going to be kicking yourself."<br />
<br />
"I know. I'm still kicking myself for the last time we went shopping."<br />
<br />
I yawned and stretched again, thinking I'd sneak in a few extra winks before Mother came up to roust us out of bed.<br />
<br />
"Come on, Priye. Get up," Brenda said. "I'm ready to play."<br />
<br />
"I'll be up in a minute."<br />
<br />
"No, you get up now!" She said, in a voice so much like my mother's, I almost shot straight up out of bed. For a minute, I was back in secondary school, jumping to the drill sergeant-like command of her voice.<br />
<br />
"I know you don't want me to come up there," she went on to threaten. Brenda could almost imitate my mum as well as I could - she'd spent the night over at my house or me at hers so many times. We were so inseparable, we were almost mistaken for sisters. Me, Brenda, and my cousin, Joy.<br />
<br />
I sat up, stuffed a pillow under my nightgown, and then plumped it under my backside. Standing up in the bed, I put my hands on my hips and strutted up and down, exaggerating my walk by sticking my butt out even further. My feet sank ankle-deep into the mattress as I paraded up and down the bed.<br />
<br />
I crooked my finger and shook it menacingly at Brenda. "If you girls don't get out of bed, I am not driving you to school. You can walk to school for all I care. I don't know what you think this is. If you think that I was put on this earth to drive your behinds around all day, you've got another thing coming. This isn't a taxi service, you know. Burn up my fuel for nothing. Hmmmmph."<br />
<br />
Brenda burst out laughing, trying to frown at the same time. "Oh, girl, you know your mother's backside is not that big."<br />
<br />
"I know. I was doing your mum."<br />
<br />
"I've got your mum for you!" Brenda leaped up and grabbed another pillow. She dove toward me, trying to swat me with it. She swung so hard, I barely got out of the way in time.<br />
<br />
Oooomph! She caught me on the side of my head, and down I went, arms flailing to keep me from tumbling off the side of the bed.<br />
<br />
"You've been practicing," I gasped, rubbing the side of my head.<br />
<br />
"Nuh-uh. I haven't had a good pillow fight in years. You're just getting old and tired. You're just slow."<br />
<br />
"Who's getting old?" I said huffily. "I'm not old. And if you weren't so 'flicted yourself, you could have knocked me into next week instead of missing me by a mile. Old? I've got your old for you."<br />
<br />
"Girl, you know I'm just playing," she mollified. She paused and grinned at me. "You look good for your age."<br />
<br />
I was only a few months older than Brenda, and she wasn't going to let me forget it.<br />
<br />
"Seriously, Priye. You must be beating all of those business execs off with a stick."<br />
<br />
"Yeah, with all the work I have to do, I don't have time to be thinking about men."<br />
<br />
Brenda leaped forward and clamped her hand over my mouth.<br />
<br />
"Shhh!" She said frantically.<br />
<br />
"What?" I asked, my words muffled by the palm of her hand.<br />
<br />
"Do you want someone to hear that?"<br />
<br />
"Oh, no," I groaned, realization suddenly hitting me harder than Brenda ever could in a pillow fight.<br />
<br />
"That's right." Brenda nodded. We looked at each other and said solemnly in unison. "The target."<br />
<br />
I slid off the bed and tiptoed to my bedroom door. As I pulled it open just a crack, I winced at the creaking sound of hinges.<br />
<br />
"Is anybody out there?" Brenda whispered.<br />
<br />
I shook my head and blew out a breath with all the relief of a teenager sneaking past sleeping sentry parents after breaking a curfew.<br />
<br />
"That was too close, P." She collapsed on my bed.<br />
<br />
"This close to the family reunion planning meeting and you want to blab that you're not dating? That's like waving a red flag in front of a charging bull."<br />
<br />
"Or a piece of cake in front of Uncle Edward." I giggled.<br />
<br />
"You know how our family like to single somebody out every year to get hooked up at the reunion. Last year it was our cousin, Daniel. The poor man didn't stand a chance. One minute, he was winning the prize for coming the farthest to attend the reunion; the next thing you know, Grandma is throwing that registered nurse at him."<br />
<br />
"Grandma swears to this day that the woman tripped." I repeated what I'd been told.<br />
<br />
"And you believe her?" Brenda said incredulously.<br />
<br />
"It was kinda suspicious. Unless the woman tripped over air. I don't remember anything that would make her fall on Daniel like that."<br />
<br />
"Fall on him. Fall for him. However it happened, it was all carefully orchestrated. Our folks are the masters at it by now. Every other year, before, during, or after the reunion, you can count on a wedding."<br />
<br />
"Or an engagement announcement," I said glumly.<br />
<br />
"They switch off. Last reunion it was a male cousin. It's going to be a single girl this year. Boy, girl, boy, girl. That's how it goes."<br />
<br />
"And I had to shout out that I'm not seeing anybody." I slapped my forehead. I'd even mentioned it to Aunt Rosa. It was like painting a giant bull's-eye on my forehead.<br />
<br />
Brenda patted my shoulder as if in sympathy. "Girl, if you haven't got a man by the time you check into the hotel at the next reunion, you'd better grab one of those drivers. Pay him a couple of extra bucks to represent until the heat is off you."<br />
<br />
"What about you, Bren? How's your love life?"<br />
<br />
Though we'd been as close as sisters when we were growing up, we'd sadly grown out of touch. If it weren't for the special occasions like my grandparents' anniversary, a family reunion, or a wedding, I don't think we'd make the time to have these heart-to-heart sessions like we used to do. It made me sad to think that the girl who I'd shared everything with was now a woman who I knew so little about.<br />
<br />
Brenda lowered her eyes and blushed. When she did so, it made the freckles across her nose stand out more.<br />
<br />
"Not really," she said, toying with the edges of my dust ruffle.<br />
<br />
"Not really?" I repeated, mocking her. "What does that really mean?"<br />
<br />
She shrugged. "It means I'm seeing someone but not really seeing him."<br />
<br />
"What does that mean? Is he poking you in the eyes every time you come near or what?"<br />
<br />
"No!" Brenda laughed. It was an infectious laugh. No one who hears it can ever resist smiling a little in sympathetic humour. She could always make me laugh - even when the occasion didn't call for laughter. Like the time we both got caught trying to sneak out of school, sitting in the principal's office, trying to explain to parents who were beyond furious. . .closer to nuclear meltdown. Things probably would have gone better for us if Brenda hadn't made me laugh at the wrong moment.<br />
<br />
Three weeks' grounding is a long time when you're seventeen. I still owe Brenda for that one.<br />
<br />
"It's a little too soon to tell right now. I don't want to jinx it," she replied quietly.<br />
<br />
I leaned close and pried open her right eye.<br />
<br />
"What are you doing?"<br />
<br />
"Do you remember how mother always said that she could look in our eyes and tell if we were sick or just faking to get out of going to school?"<br />
<br />
"Yes, I remember. She was always especially suspicious on days she knew that we had exams. We had to be bleeding from the eyeballs before they let us stay at home."<br />
<br />
"You got to stay home with bleeding eyeballs?" I exclaimed. "My mum dropped eye drop in my eyes and told me to get on to school."<br />
<br />
"At least you didn't have to go to school with chicken pox. I told my mum that it wasn't an acne flare-up."<br />
<br />
"She should have known better. You never had acne a day in your life," I grumbled. "Witch."<br />
<br />
"It was my last day of SS3. Mother didn't want me to miss it. Most students give away momentos and sign yearbooks on the last day of school. I wound up giving the entire SS3 class chicken-pox. I'm sure they loved me for that. But that doesn't explain why you're prying my eyes open."<br />
<br />
"I'm just checking to see if you look sufficiently lovesick to keep Grandma and the rest of the matchmaking militia from making you the target."<br />
<br />
"But what about you? If they zero in on you, I'm sorry, P, I can't help you. Normally, I'd have your back. You know that. But not this time. This time, I can't stop them from hooking you up with. . .with. . ." Her voice trailed off. And suddenly, I knew that she knew something. Years may have passed since we'd last spoken to each other. But I knew that look. That look that said she'd let something slip without meaning to. All we Johnson women had that look.<br />
<br />
I think Jack Deneen had seen that look on my face in the airport when I'd said out loud how that little Kwame should get his behind spanked for behaving like such a brat.<br />
<br />
Brenda was trying to cover up that look now. I wasn't buying it.<br />
<br />
"With who?" I demanded.<br />
<br />
She shrugged and shook her head.<br />
<br />
"With who? You know something, don't you, Bren?"<br />
<br />
"Nooo," she quickly denied.<br />
<br />
"Yes, you do! You traitor! You're in on it. They got to you, didn't they? How'd they do it, Bren? What did they promise you? That you'd be safe from their plotting for at least two years?"<br />
<br />
"I don't know anything. You're talking crazy. You'd think I'd give you up?"<br />
<br />
"To save your unmarried hide? You'd better believe it."<br />
<br />
"Priye, I am so hurt," Brenda said, pressing her hand against her heart as if wounded.<br />
<br />
"You don't know what hurt is," I contradicted. I was going to make Brenda tell me what she knew the only way I knew how. I grabbed her foot, upended it, then started to tickle her in the spot that I knew would send her into hysterical spasms of laughter.<br />
<br />
"Cut it out, Priye!" Brenda flipped over onto her stomach - squealing, gasping, crying, and threatening all at once.<br />
<br />
"You'd better tell me!" I shouted as I plopped down and straddled her thighs to keep her immobile. It was like trying to hold down a bucking steer.<br />
<br />
"I'm going to tell Aunt Doris!" She warned.<br />
<br />
"That's not all you'd better tell, Brenda Obazee."<br />
<br />
"I told you. I don't . . .don't . . .don't know anything. Priye, cut that out before you make me wet the bed!" Brenda shouted conveniently, as Mother had just poked her head into the room. She had the pressed-thin lip look that she always got when she tried hard not to laugh.<br />
<br />
"If you do, you'll be stuck here doing laundry while we're all out shopping. Priye, get off of her before you cut off her circulation or something."<br />
<br />
"Yeah, and we have to amputate my legs," Brenda said, playing the sympathy card. "She's gotten heavy, Aunt Doris."<br />
<br />
"Think about it this way. If we have to amputate, you could get the child's plate at the lunch today and save yourself some money." I said with exaggerated brightness.<br />
<br />
Brenda launched another pillow at me. I ducked and pulled on the corner of her towel. I guess I thought of it as a symbolic exposing of her meanness.<br />
<br />
"Priye!"<br />
<br />
"Oh please. Like we haven't seen those before."<br />
<br />
"Will you two stop kidding around? That was your grandma on the phone. She'll swing by at ten o' clock to pick us up, and she expects us to be ready."<br />
<br />
"Shop till you drop. Ching-ching!" I initiated the sound of a toy cash register.<br />
<br />
"For a man for Priye," Brenda muttered under breath. I narrowed my eyes and wiggled my index finger at her. I still had some tickle power left, my warning told her.<br />
<br />
"Get dressed and come down to the kitchen. I'm afraid all I've got is coffee. We'll stop and have a big lunch later. I think your grandmother has a special place in mind that she wants to try."<br />
<br />
Brenda and I exchanged concerned, knowing glances. Grandma never did anything without a plan. If we weren't careful, we'd be fending off proposals from bus drivers.<br />
<br />
"What was that for?" Mother asked, her lips pressed so tightly in the no-laughing line that they practically disappeared.<br />
<br />
"What was that for?" I asked.<br />
<br />
"That look."<br />
<br />
"What look?"<br />
<br />
"You know what look. That look that passed between you two."<br />
<br />
"What look? Did you see a look, Bren?" I asked, turning to face her.<br />
<br />
"I don't know. I wasn't looking." Brenda backed me up. Good old Brenda. I could always count on her, even after all of this time.<br />
<br />
"Yeah, right. You two would back each other up if one of you said that the moon was made of cheese."<br />
<br />
"That's Swiss, Aunt Doris," Brenda corrected, and planted a kiss on Mother's cheek.<br />
<br />
"Oh, go on!" This time, mother did laugh, and gave Brenda a crushing hug. "It's so nice to have you here, Brenda. You should visit more often."<br />
<br />
"Maaaaaaah-aaaaaahm! That's not fair," I said in my whiniest voice. "You didn't tell me to visit often." I pouted.<br />
<br />
"That's because I like her better than I like you." Mother then patted my cheek affectionately before heading out.<br />
<br />
"So, you're finally admitting it. I always knew."<br />
<br />
"You two go on and get dressed. You've got about fifteen minutes before they honk for us."<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507214557031675143noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590799266879072185.post-80695500133911914612013-06-30T02:36:00.000-07:002013-06-30T02:36:05.002-07:00Photo: Tonto Dike Crying<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTMiQmxXJD-tLoLH6Avzxj8VdQNH8lH3ss9Qkj4Qtinhyphenhyphen7EanNYGb3Sd1DDv339Q5uYMF6f3Rne3FwyMji6OH890uhpiTqaZa0oh_NqkLsWtQsd3JtlYhRrJ8lxVjHktcbq0IgOQM-k5Cb/s280/tonto.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTMiQmxXJD-tLoLH6Avzxj8VdQNH8lH3ss9Qkj4Qtinhyphenhyphen7EanNYGb3Sd1DDv339Q5uYMF6f3Rne3FwyMji6OH890uhpiTqaZa0oh_NqkLsWtQsd3JtlYhRrJ8lxVjHktcbq0IgOQM-k5Cb/s280/tonto.jpg" /></a></div>
Poko babe dey cry!!! . . .lolAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507214557031675143noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590799266879072185.post-35313857821503825952013-06-30T02:32:00.002-07:002013-06-30T02:32:52.985-07:00What is "I love you" in your Local DialectEnglish - I love u<br />Spanish - Te amo<br />Finnish - mina rakkastan<br />
See more after the cut. . . <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />French - je t'aime<br />German - ich leibe<br />Italian - ti amo<br />Chinese - wo ai ni<br />Swedish - jag alskar dig<br />Turkish - seni seviyorum<br />Hungarian - se ret lay<br />Setswana - ke ago rata<br />Kinyarwanda -ndagukunda<br /><br />How do you say I love you in your mother Language?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I cant help but add this:<br />
In pidgin English, you can call it "I dey feel you" "I want make we roll" "You dey give me brain touch" etc. . .lol<br /><br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507214557031675143noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590799266879072185.post-63195011690847413452013-06-30T02:26:00.002-07:002013-06-30T02:28:10.741-07:00The Inhumane Treatment of EcoBank Nigeria Staff By Its ManagementThe management team of Eco Bank Nig Plc
for upward of 2 years have decided to treat its staff like slaves. They
make the staffs work till very late from Monday to Friday, and compel
them to be at work on most Saturdays and Sundays. <br />
See more after the cut. . .<br />
<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>Please in God's name
who is the Group head Operations of the Bank, who ever you are, this is
not being productive or getting the best from your staffs. you compel
staffs to be at there desks on Saturday and Sunday under the disguise of<br />
<br />
Customer Account Update<br />
KYC<br />
ATM Update<br />
Customer migration<br />
Banking software migration<br />
<br />
It
must be noted that Eco Bank Nig is not the only bank that either got
acquired or merged with another bank.How come years after, staffs of
the bank are still compelled to go to work on Saturday and Sunday?<br />
<br />
All I would like to know is if Eco Bank Nig were to be paying its staff on hourly basis, would this be happening? Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507214557031675143noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590799266879072185.post-51135001959890902512013-06-30T02:19:00.000-07:002013-06-30T02:19:13.386-07:00Photo: Iyanya + LagbajaThe Kukere crooner was spotted with Iyanya at a concert in Abuja. .<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgntN01aXmt34RMG0jZ_S52SdJ6ZJ79MfD3yjNEAJjxBIDkFiW73oq2cabsKqYmO_sG2b0fDZPcU6i0UHl1EGgu5Hn83qZRE7SkeoTdubioRjvQ8mPd_PlVQUKnjv8en4WK6cGk2yLfDI5s/s320/lagbaja.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgntN01aXmt34RMG0jZ_S52SdJ6ZJ79MfD3yjNEAJjxBIDkFiW73oq2cabsKqYmO_sG2b0fDZPcU6i0UHl1EGgu5Hn83qZRE7SkeoTdubioRjvQ8mPd_PlVQUKnjv8en4WK6cGk2yLfDI5s/s320/lagbaja.png" /></a></div>
<br />
Are we seeing a Collabo-to-be. . . .cant wait ooooooo. . . Kukere + Konko Below. . . .lolAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507214557031675143noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590799266879072185.post-37791452347565508092013-06-30T02:09:00.000-07:002013-06-30T02:09:04.206-07:00Fans Blast Dr. Sid on Twitter<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7GqFE0Cm6R8mhQmNS-JRzkDquuydtFc0fApgAgS4rrOOgnHk9Ms1gyeeRgfAPnc2o7O8eeoFBejORRGFCAMZPOwyE894HAqdI8M5QfdfYqeFmKmRCYIZ4d5rDMTpGz625ddWiPfyQ8vX_/s320/dr+sid.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7GqFE0Cm6R8mhQmNS-JRzkDquuydtFc0fApgAgS4rrOOgnHk9Ms1gyeeRgfAPnc2o7O8eeoFBejORRGFCAMZPOwyE894HAqdI8M5QfdfYqeFmKmRCYIZ4d5rDMTpGz625ddWiPfyQ8vX_/s320/dr+sid.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />See tweets after the cut. . .<br />
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<a name='more'></a><br /><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7kzVvcoDMOkgrAPa1NtcJSusrTFChBPYsdI2XEG2mqNuiZP67mNoXy1Tyk4Qo-bIQVmeMvCVSc6OPddm_mf_iiVqtMOJiZp0aS72WgrHrVVqtmVjT_JbtmNMY7_Paf27bsb8s7RVDqJdU/s400/dr+sid+t.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="68" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7kzVvcoDMOkgrAPa1NtcJSusrTFChBPYsdI2XEG2mqNuiZP67mNoXy1Tyk4Qo-bIQVmeMvCVSc6OPddm_mf_iiVqtMOJiZp0aS72WgrHrVVqtmVjT_JbtmNMY7_Paf27bsb8s7RVDqJdU/s320/dr+sid+t.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi26xIHRk_nCkwgr-SHcsQ_Y4GAYvp3gxdCTWSzcmTdc3hyphenhyphen-s8VnvuavE-_eO4WbUx89iEkqxKgq5c3mteGwQKWEXbLDMxV6W6rBuIMl9bNZhH4enEZ5D6K9qzGBba75kxbAkD3EihtUutV/s320/dr+sid+tt.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi26xIHRk_nCkwgr-SHcsQ_Y4GAYvp3gxdCTWSzcmTdc3hyphenhyphen-s8VnvuavE-_eO4WbUx89iEkqxKgq5c3mteGwQKWEXbLDMxV6W6rBuIMl9bNZhH4enEZ5D6K9qzGBba75kxbAkD3EihtUutV/s320/dr+sid+tt.png" /></a></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507214557031675143noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590799266879072185.post-13124473143304814412013-06-30T01:56:00.000-07:002013-06-30T01:56:03.311-07:00Photo: 2shotz New Haircut, Hot or Not?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKGqKnlZiUMMA_17LRKqog-xtI8R_cZqUkSpY689QGi1lFpICLv4HkcR6WVyaVceZK8OWOzfz87rsqpMGtnNkGj3w1Me0DflGw6fxFGsECol1XpT7o_6GgJFB9UX9ql4fyX8pGT6_rFe2i/s320/2shotz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKGqKnlZiUMMA_17LRKqog-xtI8R_cZqUkSpY689QGi1lFpICLv4HkcR6WVyaVceZK8OWOzfz87rsqpMGtnNkGj3w1Me0DflGw6fxFGsECol1XpT7o_6GgJFB9UX9ql4fyX8pGT6_rFe2i/s320/2shotz.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507214557031675143noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590799266879072185.post-36981602106376594302013-06-30T00:50:00.001-07:002013-06-30T00:50:47.399-07:00Chemistry Teacher flogs female student to coma in Lagos<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Apparently, it was gathered yesterday that a certain Abigail incurred the wrath of her teacher when she
allegedly behaved rudely and acted contrary to his instructions during
class session on the fateful day.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The Chemistry teacher was said
to have asked all students whose parents were not present during the
school’s open-day to stand on their feet, an instruction which Abigail
allegedly ignored.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
She reportedly disregarded, the teacher’s instruction and sat down while others stood up.</div>
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<br />
<a name='more'></a><br /></div>
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This infuriated the teacher and he called her out, gave her some strokes of the cane for her action.</div>
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<br /></div>
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It was reliably gathered from our source that Abigail passed-out in the process and commotion ensued afterwards.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
She
regained consciousness minutes later when some packs of sachet water
were poured on her by her classmates and her frightened teacher who
initially thought she was pretending.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The matter was said to have
been reported at Iponri Police Station by the girl’s parents while
Sebastine was arrested the following day.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507214557031675143noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590799266879072185.post-88816331037502074212013-06-29T12:27:00.003-07:002013-06-29T12:27:37.272-07:00Mike Adenuga Pays N200 Million For His Burial Spot In A CemeteryTh3 Second African and Nigeria Richest Man and CEO of Globacom
Telecommunication Plc Chief Mike Adenuga,was reportedly paid a whooping
sum of N200 million,to secure a place for him to be buried after his
dismiss. Chief Mike Adenuga got himself some space at the Vaults and
Garden, an ultra modern cemetery in Ikoyi, Lagos, beside Federal Radio
Corporation Of Nigeria.<br />
<br />
Former Governor of Lagos Asiwaju Bola Ahmed Tinubu, open the cemetery
in October 30th, 2006,Since then the cemetry as being used by the rich
people and super rich people in nigeria. The cemetery space cost from
rate of N750,000 to N40million or even above that price.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507214557031675143noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590799266879072185.post-66981721321856275772013-06-29T06:29:00.000-07:002013-06-29T07:27:16.463-07:00Hearts of Steel: Chapter 4When I stepped off the plane, I thought about all of those comedy movies and cartoons where the frightened passenger throws himself on the ground and kisses it - promising never to fly again. It didn't seem so funny to me then, or farfetched. If it weren't for having to lug these bears all the way down to the passenger pickup area, I would have been down on my knees, thanking the Maker for allowing me to come through in one piece.<br />
<br />
I suppose, in a small way, I should thank Him for Jack Deneen, too. If it weren't for Jack talking to me, calming me down, and even on occasion making me laugh, I would have been a nervous wreck. Or worse, carried off the plane heavily sedated like that crazy guy from that <i>Twilight Zone </i>episode who saw a gremlin, bent on mass destruction, harassing him on the wing of the plane.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br /><br />
<br />
I edged my way past the milling crowd. The family hugs of greeting seemed more emotional, more heartfelt. Kisses between loved ones seemed more passionate. Embraces of friends were less restrained. It was as if getting off that plane made us all realize just how close we'd come to never getting off another plane again. Humbling thought. A near-death experience can certainly put things in perspective.<br />
<br />
"Over here, honey!"<br />
<br />
"Aunt Rosa! What are you doing here?" I was surprised to see my aunt Rosa in the airport. She was actually my grandaunt, my grandma's older sister; but she never liked the sound of the word grandaunt. Said it made her sound unappealing. Seeing her here now was a pleasant surprise. She almost never flew. Her motto - if God had intended her to fly, she would have been born with wings. <br />
<br />
"I thought Uncle Edward was going to pick me up."<br />
<br />
"He is. I just came along for the ride. Actually. . ." She looked at me and winked. "Take a look at this." She reached into her purse, pulled out a wallet, and handed me a card.<br />
<br />
"What's this?"<br />
<br />
"What's it look like?" she said smugly.<br />
<br />
"It's a driver's license. Aunt Rosa! You finally learned how to drive? Oh, my God. I don't believe it."<br />
<br />
"Your uncle Efosan is still driving that old '75 Peugeout."<br />
<br />
"You mean the big yellow one with the gray primer on one door and mismatched blue door on the other?"<br />
<br />
"And the bobbing-head dog on the dash. Yes, that's the one. It's big enough and built like a tank. When he told me that he was coming to pick you up from the airport, I talked him into letting me drive. I figured out that was the best way to break in my new license without breaking my neck."<br />
<br />
She grasped my shoulders and squeezed with warm hands.<br />
<br />
"Let me take a look at you. Honey, what are they feeding you down in Ghana? When did you grow hips?"<br />
<br />
"I didn't grow them," I corrected. "I think it was a drive-by 'hipping.' One night, I went to bed as a size-seven. The next thing I know, I'm squeezing myself into size twelves. I try to exercise, but I spend a lot of long hours on the job, eating fast food at my desk."<br />
<br />
"Hmmmmph." Aunt Rosa then pressed her lips together and folded her arms. For a moment, she looked so much like my grandma that I started to hand over the bears to her.<br />
<br />
"Don't you worry about it, honey. It looks good on you. I told your mother that you were too skinny anyway. 'Doris,' I said to her, 'that child isn't going to get enough to eat out there, all by herself. Once she is out there on her own, she'll forget everything we taught her about nutrition.'"<br />
<br />
"I didn't forget," I quipped. "I just didn't apply what I'd learned. You'd think that after sitting all those days in the kitchen, listening to you and Grandma and Mother swap cooking stories, that I'd know enough to be a master chef by now. Besides, I'm not alone. I know you're just a couple of hours' drive away. Aunt Rosa, if ever I need you."<br />
<br />
"Turn around. Let me get a good look at you."<br />
<br />
I spun around slowly, taking the bears with me.<br />
<br />
"You didn't call to say that you were bringing friends with you, so I can only guess that those are for Adesuwa and George."<br />
<br />
"Uh-huh. What do you think of them? You think Grandma will like them?"<br />
<br />
"That papa bear is a little on the thin side, don't you think?"<br />
<br />
"Aunt Rosa!" I started to laugh.<br />
<br />
"Come on. Let me take one of those off your hands. However did you manage on the plane with this 'burden', Priye?"<br />
<br />
As I touched my hand to my hair, patting it gently, I said, "I've always depended on the kindness of strangers."<br />
<br />
Aunt Rosa took Grandpa bear from me. As she turned away, heading for the parking garage, my eye caught a spot of color on her right shoulder.<br />
<br />
"Aunt Rosa, I think you've got a smudge of something on your back." I dug inside my purse for the handkerchief that Jack had given me with the intention of wiping away the smudge.<br />
<br />
Aunt Rosa looked over her shoulder and said, way too casually for me. "Oh. . .that. That won't rub off , honey. That's permanent." <br />
<br />
"Permanent?" Funny. I'd never noticed before that Aunt Rosa had a birthmark on her shoulder. I peered closer, then gasped when I realized that the only thing permanent about Aunt Rosa's smudge was the ink.<br />
<br />
"Close your mouth, honey, before you swallow a fly." She placed her index finger under my chain and lifted so vigorously my teeth clicked.<br />
<br />
"Aunt Rosa!"<br />
<br />
"What?" She said, sounding so innocent. But her dark brown eyes snapped and sparkled - like they always did when she was holding back a laugh at your expense.<br />
<br />
"Don't 'what' me missy," I said, sounding older than she ever could. "What is that on your back?"<br />
<br />
"It's an Egyptian cross."<br />
<br />
"I know what a cross is," I said, wagging my hand at her. She'd given me a silver ring with an emblem of an Egyptian cross as a graduation present. "What's it doing back there?"<br />
<br />
"Healing quite nicely. Don't you think?" She paused in midstride to examine the exquisite work. I had to admit that it was lovely. The symbol was edged in black.<br />
<br />
"Does Grandma know anything about this?"<br />
<br />
"Not yet."<br />
<br />
"When did you...how did you...why in the world...have you lost your mind?" I could only think to ask in exasperation. "Why would you put yourself at risk like that?"<br />
<br />
"What risk?"<br />
<br />
"You know tattoos don't just wash off. You could have gotten hepatitis, or cancer, or anything."<br />
<br />
"You sound just like your mother. That Doris worries about every little thing."<br />
<br />
"I'm afraid I'm going to have to side with Mother on this one, Aunt Rosa."<br />
<br />
"I'm not some starry-eyed sixteen-year old, Priye. I'm eighty years old. I knew what I was getting into. I did my homework and checked it out completely before I went. Body Expression"s has a very good reputation - as far as tattoo parlors go."<br />
<br />
"Body Expression? You got a tattoo from there?"<br />
This was getting better by the minute. I'm sure my tone and my scrunched up expression conveyed my disapproval. But then I had to check myself. Aunt Rosa was a grown woman. A lot "growner" than I was - and had been that way for awhile. After all, who was the one carrying on, slaving over a couple of teddy bears? I was ready to punch a kid's lights out because I thought he was thinking too hard about those bears. How adult was that?<br />
<br />
Who was I to judge her if she wanted a tattoo? The more I looked at it, the more it grew on me. It was a work of art. An expression of Aunt Rosa's boundless free spirit - a testimony for all to see of her passion for her life.<br />
<br />
"So did it hurt when you had it done?" I asked, curiously getting the better of my prudish nature.<br />
<br />
"It hurt more than a splinter and less than childbirth." Aunt Rosa tilted her head and regarded me with an imprish grin. "You know, he had this cute butterfly design that would look really sweet right about there."<br />
<br />
She jabbed at a spot on the side of my right thigh.<br />
<br />
"No. Never. Not me," I quickly denied. "With the way I'm spreading, that cute little butterfly will look like a pterodactyl mauling my leg in six months' time."<br />
<br />
"Priye, you're not that big." Aunt Rosa insisted. "Don't get caught up in all of that superskinny, supermodel crap. You look good. If you're not eating right and not exercising, well...that I'm concerned about. With a little behavior modification, we can fix that, even if it takes me flying down to Ghana every week to check on you."<br />
<br />
"You don't have to do that, Aunt Rosa."<br />
<br />
"I love you like you were one of my own, Priye. I want you to take care of yourself."<br />
<br />
"I will, Aunt Rosa," I said, making a mental promise to try to do better. I'd been in such a hurry to graduate and get out on my own, I'd forgotten how much strength I got from family and their support. They were always going to love me, whether I made it to the top rung of the corporate ladder or not.<br />
<br />
We linked arms and passed through the doors leading to the parking garage.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
**********************************************<br />
<br />
<br />
I extended my arm, aiming the garage door remote in the direction of the control box inside. The batteries were going. It took a few seconds before the infrared beam activated the door. The door finally lifted, slowly, looking oddly like the huge maw of some prehistoric beast about to swallow me whole as I eased the nose of the Lincoln Navigator into the left parking spot of the two-car garage.<br />
<br />
A quick flick of my wrist shut off the ignition. As much as I was glad to be in my Lagos home again, I just sat there, listening to the "un-noise" of interior of my SUV. The low whir of the radiator fan, still running to cool the engime after the drive from the airport, the subtle tick-tick-tick of the car keys swinging, clicking against the steering column. I could even hear the soft creak of leather under me as my weight settled into the seat. I pressed my fists to my eyes, saying a small prayer of thanks for the safe arrival from my trip.<br />
<br />
I'd only been away for a few months, but it sure felt good to be in my Lagos home again. After a moment of silent reflection, centering myself, I gathered my traveling bag and my thoughts and headed inside.<br />
<br />
Once inside, I sniffed. I could tell that Sandra had been doing a little extra cleaning. Automatically, my hand reached for the security control pad on the wall to enter my code and disarm the system. I threw open a couple of windows and turned on every ceiling fan in the house. The cross breeze felt good.<br />
<br />
Sandra meant well, but to her, clean wasn't clean until your eyes burned from an infusion of cleaning chemicals. One of these days, she was going to blow my house sky-high with all of her creative mixing.<br />
<br />
She'd conveniently sorted my mail into bills, junk mail, and letters from friends - which, I noticed, seemed to be getting fewer and fewer. Nobody took the time to write letters anymore. All of my friends were "webbing" it, e-mailing me jokes, scams, and scares as fast as any Web server could handle them. I tossed the stack back onto the table, resolved to go through it all, even the junk mail, after I'd settled in.<br />
<br />
I headed for the refrigerator. Now that the contents of my stomach weren't churning around like smoothies in a waring blender, I was ready to break the fast. Sandra had been busy in there, too.<br />
<br />
Though I'd given her a few months off while I was away, she'd prepared a few meals for me. She'd made the kinds of meals that always tasted better the second day as leftovers. Rice and chicken, spaghetti, salad.<br />
<br />
"Thank you, Sandra. You're a true godsend." Literally, I think when God made the earth, he took whatever forces of nature were left over from the making and formed Sandra. She must be nearly sixty years old, having been with my family for almost fifty of those years. She was a little hard of hearing, especially when you asked her to do something that she didn't want to do or didn't think it wise to have done. You didn't give Sandra orders; you made suggestions, recommendations. Remember that, and she would take care of you with as much fierce loyalty as she had toward her own. She'd watched over my sister and me since we were old enough to pronounce her name. And when I had moved to Ghana, she relocated with me. And when I got a house in Lagos, Nigeria, she insisted on taking care of it for me.<br />
<br />
Priye Cole, it was driving me crazy to know that I couldn't stop wondering why she wasn't interested in me. I've had women walk away from the before. Not many, but enough. I couldn't shake the feeling that this time, I'd lost someone different. Someone special$<br />
<br />
I've got to get her out of my head before tomorrow's practice. I can't have my head stuck up in the clouds when my feet have to pound ground.<br />
<br />
The next step was my home gym. Sandra calls the room the chamber of horrors. Every device in the room looks like the instrument of choice in a Salem witch-trial torture chamber, with its assortmment of carefully selected pulleys and weights, benches and racks. The left rear leads to the pool and hot tub. To my right, a small area lined with shelves holds clean towels, my workout clothes, and an assortment of natural liniment and rubs for when I overdo it. Not if, when. I always do. To my left, the entire wall is mirrored to help me monitor and correct my form. Am I vain? I don't think so. Just a consummate perfectionist.<br />
<br />
I stripped out of my clothes, down to my underwear. That's when I caught my reflection in the mirror. I take pride in myself, in my appearance, and my abilities. As I stood there, nearly nude, I wondered what Priye would say if she saw me now. Would she roll her eyes in feminine disgust? Would she give me that noncommittal half smile? The smile that promised nothing, revealed nothing.<br />
<br />
I flexed my arms and ran my palms along the bulge of my biceps. I did a half turn, watching how the muted light threw shadows across the planes and valleys of my abdomen. I thought about how small, soft fingers would feel around me, caressing my shoulders, down my back. My back arched as I imagined her perfectly manicured nails clutching me, raking across my skin as only a woman in the throes of passion would.<br />
<br />
"Damn it, J.D. Cut it out!" I chastised myself, snatching my hands away before I could measure how aroused the very thought of her made me. This was ridiculous. Why was I driving myself nuts? For as much as I was able to discover about her, I might as well be dreaming about a fantasy woman.<br />
<br />
I threw myself into my workout, determined to exercise my demons way. I reached for a jump rope to pump up the old cardiovascular system. The wooden handles had worn smooth through consistent use. The nylon cord was a blur as I made it hot pepper - a jump rope game my sister and her friends used to play. Sometimes I'd join in. Though admittedly at first to annoy her. Looking back on it, I suppose I have her to thank for my speed and sureness of foot. After a couple of times of having that rope, moving at lightning speed, slam against my ankles, I learned how to pick up my feet.<br />
<br />
My feet skipped and shifted to the rhythm of a beat only they understood. My hands were held at my sides. My wrists flipped up and down to keep the momentum going. I spun the rope until every breath burned through my nostrils, until the rubber worn from the bottom of my athletic shoes threatened to make me slip.<br />
<br />
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! The nylon cord hit the hardwood floor until I thought I saw sparks fly.<br />
<br />
Finally, pushed beyond an unspoken limit, I collapsed onto the floor, sucking wind and laughing aloud at my silliness. What was I doing? Getting all worked up over a woman - a woman I barely know. I hadn't been this sprung since my sophomore year in high school when I'd had a crush on a senior.<br />
<br />
Languidly, I pulled myself to my feet, stripped out of my workout gear, and grabbed a towel. It was the hot tub for me now. The feel of the hardwood under my bare feet was replaced by the inlaid stone floor that formed a two-foot splash guard around the perimeter of the hot tub.<br />
<br />
Good old Sandra. I could tell by the lingering scent of chlorine that she'd had the pool and hot tub serviced while I was away. I sat on the edge and adjusted the force and direction of the jet sprays churning just beneath the surface. As I treated my legs to a water massage, I stared into the boiling water and thought how adequately the water reflected how I felt.<br />
<br />
My calm surface suddenly, explosively, was broken by inner churning. All for the want of a woman. Not just any woman. One woman. Priye Cole.<br />
<br />
I slid off the edge of the hot tub and carefully eased in. The jet spray and heat soothed my aching muscles. Yet my mind stayed in turmoil. There was nothing that I could do about it but accept the feelings for what they were. . .whatever they were.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507214557031675143noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590799266879072185.post-49443813647087391482013-06-28T06:53:00.000-07:002013-06-28T06:53:13.961-07:00Photo: The Obamas' Trip to Former Slaving Port in SenegalPresident Barack Obama has spent the afternoon touring a Senegalese Island where Africans were shipped across the Atlantic into slavery and
he called the visit a 'very powerful moment.' Obama says visiting Goree
Island Thursday with his family helps them fully appreciate the
magnitude of the slave trade. They toured the museum at the Maison des
Esclaves where slaves were gathered before going through the 'Door of No
Return' and being forced onto ships bound for North America.<br />
<br />
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<br />
Obama also
said that, as an African American and an African-American president,
the trip gave him an even greater motivation to stand up for human rights
around the world, and the visit came just hours after he clashed with
his Senegalese hosts over gay rights.<br />
<br />
He said the island is a reminder
of what happens when civil rights are not protected. <br />
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How sweet! How hope to visit this place with my family, as well, hopefully, Christmas! ***heheheheheheheheheheheh* Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507214557031675143noreply@blogger.com1