“The sun will always punish those who despise it. The harder you work to avoid the light, the hotter you’ll find yourself. Working hard to avoid the inevitable only makes for a tougher time finding peace.”
This quote is so loud within my once quiet mind. I don’t know where it came from, or who said it. It’s just known. I know the quote just the same as I know the sun I’m currently cooking under.
Yet and still, I walk this long road, aiming my eyes at the ground to help my hand’s attempt to protect me from this unforgiving flame. I haven’t seen an exit for miles. My back is burning and my feet are tired. It’s so quiet out here, the sounds of the cicadas pretty much own the ambiance.
“Shit.” I look down at my phone once again hoping to have gained some sort of bar signifying service. I’ve been walking for hours. I’m hungry, I’ve run out of water and I’m just trying to get back home.
From where I don’t know, I’m just trying to get back.
I look the right to find a big blue house that stands tall, just a bit behind a sign that says “Fresh Oranges, Berries and Honey”.
I’m stopped by a truck turning into the long narrow driveway I walk alongside to get to the makeshift fruit stand.
The passenger side window rolls down and it’s Paul.
Huh?
“Paul?!” I move closer to the car excitedly.
He shakes his head no.
“My name is not Paul.” There’s no accent. Paul has an accent, he’s Haitian.
“You look just like Paul?”
“You came to buy some fruit baby?” He’s apparently over my comparison to this unknown individual.
I shake my head no.
“I’m trying to get back home.”
“Where are you from then?”
“San Diego.”
The dark man whistles as if in disbelief.
“You’re far as fuck from home. How the hell did you end up here in Texas?”
“Texas?” I look around confused.
“Get in. Let’s get to the house and figure out what the hell you got going on.”
I remain silent in my unrest due to this odd situation I’ve found myself in. What the hell am I doing in Texas? Why am I walking on the side of the road. I don’t feel good, my head hurts and I could really just use a nap.
I follow him into the kitchen of this huge house that is dressed in yellow, green , and blue hues all over.
“My mom and uncle will be back soon. They’ll know what to do. My name is Deme. Short for Demetreus. Who are you?”
All I can do is open and close my eyes while I attempt to process the information being given to me.
“Hello?”
I just stare, unsure of how to answer the question. Who am I?
“Okay then… You want to try an orange? This batch here is the best we’ve had all season. Pretty red color too. Blood orange.”
I bob my head up and down, secretly desiring to just get my mouth wet with something. My tongue feels like a rice cake. He grabs one of the oranges out of the big bowl full of them sitting just atop the counter. He lays a cutting board flat, then proceeds to cut the orange into four slices. The flesh is red, just as he said it would be.
He slides the cutting board over to me sans the knife, leaning over the counter to watch as I bite into one of the slices.
There’s nothing sweet about this orange. I gag at the salty, iron-heavy taste. There’s red juice all over my hands.
Dropping the slice to further examine it, I realize it’s not juice from the fruit, it’s blood I’ve just consumed.
I look up at the familiar looking stranger and start to panic.
“You’ve got blood on your hands.” He speaks in a matter of fact way with hardened eyes. He turns his head to the right to look out of the big sliding glass doors. I do the same and it’s now dark out. What the fuck is going on?
The moon is big, bright, beautiful and belittling. I gasp at the sight of it. But my focus is broken by a tree branch on which something swings. Something hanging from a rope, a body.
My hands are grabbed and I turn my head back forward to Desmond, instead of Paul’s look alike. He grabs my wrists to stop me from going anywhere.
“You have blood on your hands Amanda, you can’t leave. No one will keep you safer than I can. You’ll go to prison for what you did to that girl.”
“Let me go.” I yank my arms away from him and fall back, landing on my side.
My body jerks violently, allowing me to open my eyes to find Desmond with his still closed. I’m sweating terribly and my heart is beating far too fast for me to be comfortable.
I wipe my hand down my neck to destroy the tiny water beads that adorn it. While in the shower, I try my hardest to piece together the whole scene I just lived through. Why Paul? What does he have to do with any of this?
A bloody orange? Could that body have been Reagan’s? The one hanging from the tree under the moon? Desmond doesn’t want me to leave. I know that for sure. But he’s never said anything about it being because of what I did. He’s never mentioned that again actually, it’s like we both forgot about that whole situation.
Someone is dead because of something I did. I do have blood on my hands. That’s no small thing.
There’s a white and gray cat that sits on the back patio chairs throughout the night I believe. It’s still really early so I’m about to disturb his slumber. I open the door and he slowly opens his eyes, meowing twice.
“Shhhh, it’s okay. I’m friendly.” I come outside with a bowl of tuna that I usually set out for him when Desmond isn’t here. He doesn’t like cats much at all. Maybe something traumatic happened to him on account of one in the past.
I close the door back and move closer to the cute little feline. I set the bowl down in front of the chair he occupies before taking a seat in the chair next to him, pulling my legs up to sit criss-crossed. This is the only way I’ll drink my morning tea.
“Good morning Tea Cake.” I gently rub my fingers against the kitty’s silky fur. I’m not sure who he actually belongs to, but someone is taking care of him besides just me. He’s groomed every other week and sometimes smells like cologne.
I’ve been in love with “Their Eyes Were Watching God.” Tea Cake comes and goes, just like this kitty here. So that’s what I call him. Tea Cake comes and goes just like Desmond too. He goes today, and honestly, it doesn’t bother me anymore.
We have our fun but that’s just it right now. He’s had this permanent little attitude I can’t fucking stand to be around. I’m better off here by myself. But I love him still, and I always miss him.
The door opens and I catch him fully dressed with his hoodie up and his hands tucked into his pockets . He leans down and grabs my face to kiss me twice.
“Good morning baby.” He stares into my eyes, leaning forward to tease my imagination with what he may do next.
“Morning.” I whisper.
“You okay? You were having a nightmare it seemed like.”
And he slept through it?
“Mhmm. I’m good.”
“It had something to do with Paul?”
I shrug him off.
“No. Why?” I shake my head again, content with playing stupid to prevent another disagreement.
“You said his name. And you know what, he talks about you a lot. Him and Tommy have kind of been buddy- buddy as of late. So, your brother is friendly with your boy toy from the school and his competition. It’s funny don’t you think?” He’s fishing for something.
I just respond with another shrug.
“I don’t know what you want me to tell you Des. It doesn’t matter either way. Have a safe trip.” I sip my tea, refusing to say anything further.
He kisses my cheek and then my neck.
“I’ll miss you.”
“Mhmm.” I have no energy to engage with him, or anyone other than this cat on the ground eating tuna next to me.
I’m exhausted, despite having slept 10 hours. I’m ready to get this baby out of my belly so I can sleep on my stomach again. There’s really a difference in your quality of life when you have to change the position you’ve slept in since your own birth.
“Love you.” I take his hand a moment before he walks away to show that I still care in some capacity for him. He needs to hear shit like this.
“Love you too. See you in a few days. And it’s cold out here. Come back in the house and stop playing with that nasty ass cat before you catch something you can’t get rid of.”
Just that quick, his left hand grips the back of my head, just above my neck. His kisses are a bit more ferocious.
“I’m going to miss you so much baby. Let me see you a bit before I go.” He tries to pull me up and back into the house.
“Desmond, I don’t feel too hot.” I know whatever excuse I try to give him, he’ll just shoot down.
I’m brought back in and slowly dragged over to the sofa.
“You were so tired last night, I let you sleep. I still want to spend some time with you, you know I can’t go without you for too long. Please, baby?” His lips torture the back of my neck. I can feel how eager he is and the thought of being touched right now makes me nauseated.
But I can’t say no, I can’t piss him off just before he leaves or it’ll take him forever to come back.
“Alright, I’ll let you be. Sorry boo.” He pulls away, most definitely feeling my resistance. I don’t want him to feel any kind of way, especially now that he knows there may have been something between Paul and I that’s serious enough for me to dream about.
“No, it’s okay. I want to. Come on.” I put on a happy face and turn to see him fixing himself up.
“You sure? I was just fucking around. We don’t have to get into all that right now.” I don’t trust him. No part of me believes that he’s not pretending to not be upset. He’s bothered. I can tell he probably feels like I don’t want him.
“Yeah, I’m okay. For this, I’m okay. I want it.” Wrapping my arms around him, I embrace him with as passionate a kiss I could perform.
When will this be over? This solitude that slowly drives me insane? The days are long and mostly slept through at this point. TV has become a new form of torture and I don’t feel like seriously reading a book. I’ve resorted to sitting out here and writing my thoughts.
I trace my dreams and try to interpret them.
What could Paul mean? He must be wondering where I am. He must be thinking of whether or not he’ll ever see me again. I know he likes me, he’s never denied it. He just knows better than Desmond in that respect. Always has. We keep things fun and friendly. Well, we kept them that way. Though I did convince him once before to pick me up from school when my brother was out of town because I didn’t feel like calling an Uber.
He took me to get some food and then took me home. We joked around while we were out, but it never went further than that. Tommy doesn’t know that this happened or that we have each other’s numbers, but he never needs to. Nothing ever happened, and now nothing ever will.
I’m another baller’s baby momma. And quite frankly, it doesn’t get tackier than that. I’m just, so fucking tacky.
Engagement