Love Like a Summer Rain

“For the water women everywhere”

            Naiya hated the days she could not return Kevin’s calls or days when she could not come to him. Naiya didn’t know if she would ever be able to tell Kevin about the rape.  Some days she could not bear to be touched.  The countless dates with nice men or mean men, it didn’t matter to Naiya, she treated them all the same.  She hated being that woman who didn’t trust anyone.  That woman who burned away all her possibilities. That mad Kali spirit woman who sometimes inhabited Naiya and refused all advances.

            Naiya was so hungry for years that she filled herself with everything African wanting to believe it would magically cure her blues.  Her soul blues. The change of name; initiations with beads and water.  Dancing in circles far from any Christ.  She was grateful when she failed the African priest’s tests.  If she could have only managed to lie to herself good enough, it almost would have worked.  But it did not and Naiya knew more than anyone she could not hide.  Was it a lifetime ago when she walked along the Rio shoreline, allowing the below-the-equator sun to enter her skin; almost to the point of blistering her arms and thighs?  She remembered dancing among the women who wore white and for a moment belonging.  They were kind to her; but strangers, nonetheless. Still she persisted in attempting to hide herself in Afro Brazilian culture in order to escape the American one that never accepted her, the one that never loved her reflection.   Naiya always had to return home, to America; to herself, and that familiar embattled woman.  How was she to let old wounds heal?  She just wanted to live.  Naiya did not know if Kevin really believed her when she told him she wanted him.  He was still there; whether it was curiosity, the prospect of conquest, lust or love that propelled him she could not tell.  

Om, Om, Om.  Naiya chanted by the open window in her four-room apartment.  It was summer, it was hot and too damn early to be up – but Naiya was up fighting the tired in her twenty-six-year-old body.  Om, Om, Om.  Naiya waited for a sound, a vision to answer her chant.

Damn it! Her legs were cramping again.  She had been sitting cross legged for only twenty minutes.  She knew she needed water.  “Om, Om, Om,” she repeated trying to call up some eternal, high energy that would get her head right for the day.  “Shante Om, Shante Om,” she chanted pushing her mind past the present discomfort of her body.

She sat so long her ears became crowded with the inner rumblings of emotions which erupted into a low static that broke her concentration.  Naiya doubted, no she feared that which danced inside her without prodding; that which was a free indefinable thing.  She was trying to let loose a dream, she had no language to contain.  No twelve-step program to order her life.  This self was new uncharted territory.  Hope was free and hers for the taking.  She continued her chant, prayer, and litany.  Om, Om, Ommm.

Naiya jumped and opened her eyes.  She had forgotten to close her own window.  That loud ass alarm of Mrs. Alegria’s was blaring from her apartment window waking up the whole side of the eighth-floor apartment building or so it seemed.  Damn, she had some awful timing.  She thought of telling Mrs. Alegria to tune into natural time but Naiya did not speak much Spanish.  If Mrs. Algeria wasn’t home, her husband always came to the door brandishing a foot-long machete that made most folks think twice about extended conversation.

Naiya knew like most of her neighbors and the Alegria’s, she had chosen to live on this dead-end block in the heart of Flatbush for one reason only – the cheap rent.  It didn’t matter if she and the other neighbors listened nightly to the pop-pop of guns and shouts of elders being robbed on the dark side streets.  They all knew the constant threats they faced.  The Alegria’s had three locks on their door.  Naiya had two locks and one fake lock and a police lock all in the name of protection.  In this one block, this small alcove; a place so insular that on some Saturday mornings one could see women carrying baskets on their heads as if they were still in some village along a river in Caribbean or Africa.  It was against this backdrop and collision of people from the Caribbean, Asia and Africa, that Naiya had created a life.  She was head strong and heart strong and longed for something more.

Naiya stood up flexing her legs and walked to the closet – beginning the ritual of getting ready for work.  She took less than ten minutes to dress, do her hair and put on jewelry.  She believed in the natural look and wore no makeup.  She was what some folks called maple, honey brown with a medusa’s head full of braids.  She was lean, tall with long feet and long arms which always worked for Naiya when she was at the dance studio.  She wore a purple cotton top with a matching wrap around skirt.  She wore gold pumps with no stockings.  Naiya was not one to study herself in a mirror too long.  Wild honey, peppermint tea and homemade zucchini bread was a more than palatable breakfast as she ran out her apartment to the subway.

The day fell open like an aging flower, petal by petal fading away into the uninterrupted motion of phones, paperwork, deadlines and bosses who needed women to make their business agendas happen.  All day Naiya felt like she was playing catch up.  She had two deadlines at four o’clock.  Maybe she could take lunch then.  It was absurd.  Murray was such a scuz bag.  He always brought her work just as the day was closing, which made her day longer.  Naiya barely had any time to cook or do normal activities. She was so out of step with her regular nine to five buddies.

“Waxwermer Cable, can I help you?”

Silence.  “Can I help you?”  Naiya was about to hang up when she heard his voice.

“Naiya.  It’s Kevin.  How are you?  You didn’t return my call last night, so I thought I would catch you at work.

“Oh Kevin, I’m so sorry about that – I got in late and thought I might wake you.  Some nights I leave here at 11:00 and still get in at midnight even with a cab.”  She started twirling her braids with her index finger.  Her braids held slender bands of turquoise and silver.  She was pleased he had called.

“I told you, anytime you call it’s alright with me. 1:00 a.m. or 3:00 a.m.”

“I will keep that in mind – even if I am sleeping at that time myself….,” she laughed.

“You think you’re funny.  I’m not letting you off the hook that easy. So, what happened with the tenant’s meeting you were setting up?  Did anyone show?”

“We had about sixteen people. Not bad considering all the issues we must deal with in this building.  Nobody wants to pay the measly four dollars a month membership dues.  Folks can be so cheap sometimes. Anyway, we have a start and an agenda.  Getting these old white people, Caribbean and Puerto Rican folks together is no easy task.  Everybody wants something different from the group.”

“That is better than you expected, right? At least they showed up at all.  I should have you come over and organize our building, but I want to keep you for myself.”

“Don’t even think about.  I can barely get my raggedy building going much less yours.”

“Are you going to the march next Saturday?”

“Yeah Kevin.  Want to go together and hang out later?”

“Yeah, let’s do that. Will I get to see you before then?”

“Kevin hold on for a second.”  Naiya put the phone back in the cradle.  She could see Murray heading her way.

“Do you think you can have these edits by tomorrow?  I want to have this report ready for my meeting with Scott.”

“Naiya looked through the wad of papers.  “Sure, thing Murray.  I will see you in the morning?”

“I should get in about eleven tomorrow.  Good night.”

Naiya waited until the glass doors leading out Waxwermer Cable closed before she picked the phone back up again.

“Kevin, so sorry.  Of course, Murray has more work for me.  What were we talking about?

“The art opening?”

“Oh yes, I have an opening to go to on Friday. Want to come and get me out of this place?  I don’t care what Murray must do – I am leaving on time.  Oh, it’s this Afro Asian artist, Albert Chong –you might like his stuff.  We can go eat or drink afterwards.”

“Afro Asian?  Sounds interesting, though I mostly want to see you. The art will only be extra.”

“Thanks.  Come at six-thirty.  I should have Murray off my back by then.”

“You call that leaving on time?”

“I’m trying to allow for any last-minute changes – he’s always bound to have up his sleeve.”

“Okay.  Art, dinner and who knows what else.”

“That’s right, who knows what else?  Kevin, thanks for calling. See you then.”

“Okay, sweetness.”

By the time they hung up from each other, Naiya had twisted half her braids into cascades of curls.  They had done this dance of dating and going back and forth, to be exclusive or not.  She had taken a long time to make up her mind about him.  Almost four months.  She realized he had many sides.  Most were kind, likable.  He could be distant but mostly he was available and wanted to be with her.  Kevin had more than three kinds of smiles; inside of them were many things, some she recognized:  desire, hope and feelings so subtle, she could not name yet.  Naiya knew it would be good to see that brown hunk of a man after such long week.  She loved his long clean hands, the pale whiteness of his nails, and the lone white cowrie around his neck, so simple yet sexy on him.

Friday had come faster than she expected.  Kevin met her in the lobby of Waxwermer Cable dressed all in black; his shirt sleeve just barley covering his bulging muscles.  Soon as he saw Naiya, he kissed her lightly on her nose, then lips.  Which made her laugh.  He tasted good.  He smelled good.

“Do you want to go see the art or make a detour?

“A detour?  Where?” She teased back at him.

“My place?  Your place?”

“Maybe later?  I still want to meet Mr. Chong.  And you promised me dinner too. Remember that?  Let’s detour later?”  She could not tell if he was disappointed or plotting something else.

“Dinner?  I’m dinner.  Kevin pulled her closer – gently kissing her again.

“You sure you want to see art?”

Naiya eyed him feverishly.  Naiya was not sure she was ready for the implications of his invitation.  She knew if their relationship was going to grow to another place, she would need to meet not just on his terms but own her terms as well.  For the first time in a year, Naiya felt like she wanted to try again with Kevin and open herself to him.

“Know what? Let’s get out of this lobby and go to the exhibit.  I don’t need these people all up in my private business.”

Albert Chong’s art was all that she had heard and read about.  It was deeply African, complex, ancestral and covered in symbolism she knew well, having visited Bahia, Brazil so many years before.  They fussed over prints and originals but did not purchase anything.  Kevin convinced her to come to his place for dinner.  He lived on the third floor of a building off Prospect Park.  As soon as he opened the door, she could see a large red, yellow and green flag hanging on a wall in the living room.  The Ethiopian Lion of Judah was embossed in gold in the center of the flag.   Underneath was a white leather sofa and rug.   The room felt warm and lived in.

“This place is really nice and large.  How long have you lived here?

“About eight years.  It’s a good space.  Want to take the tour?”

He started to lead Naiya by her hand, but she resisted for the moment.

“Maybe later.  I’m hungry.  Let’s get some food.

“It’s four rooms.  Five, if you include the bathroom.  Do you want to listen to some music?”

They might have been 80’s children but they were bohemian to the core.  Naiya had her own style of dress blending western style cloths with African accessories from all over the continent.  She left her shoes at the door.

“It’s okay if I move these?” she said, pulling pillows from his sofa to sit on the floor.

“Yeah, if that works for you?”

Kevin ordered vegetarian roti, rice and beans along with three sides dishes.  He joined her on the floor cupping two glasses and a bottle of wine.

Later Kevin brought her to the river of desire and back.  He sat holding Naiya against him – the black brocade of her braids forming a bas relief upon his chest.  Kevin’s hands massaged her shoulders.  His tongue found her mouth then began the journey across her neck toward the slope of her breast.  Was it the change in light or his touch? The room began to close in upon her.  With a little warning Naiya felt the past crashing in upon her spirit.  Waves of an uncontrollable panic washed over her causing her breath to shorten.  She knew there was nothing Kevin had done to her.  Damn.  No deep breathing or counting backward helped.  Whether it was real or not she felt the discomfort of fear entering her body.  Naiya drew back her shoulders and turned over on her belly, knocking him aside.  “Not now”.

“Why not?” he said, as he raised his head staring her.

“Kevin, I’m sorry, I need a moment.  I need more time.”

“For what? Why do you need more time?”  The West Indian lilt in his voice became more pronounced.  “You American women!   I should have stuck with a home girl…”

“My Americaness has nothing to do with it.”  Naiya drew her legs up and brought her arms around her knees, her long wrap covering her body.  She watched him suck in his breath, his hard-on stretching the fabric of his pants.  She did not seem to care that she had brought him to the brink of desire, then pushed him away to reject him once again.  She could feel his spirit and mind working, wondering what to do next.

“You know Naiya, you are original.  I have had many a scene and many a night with a lot of women.”  The look she gave him told him lying was not necessary.

“Girl, you don’t know what you’re turning down.  I know you want me – so why don’t you let me make love to you?”

“She was trying to hear the sound of her own voice again, clean, whole and happy.  She did not know how to tell him she needed him to love her, gentle and slow.  So instead she said, you think you are that good, huh?”

“Yeah, I am,” he said, folding his leg underneath his other knee.  “Now you know you have run out of excuses.  I’ve heard the I’ve got my period line; I feel sick line; I have no protection line.  I got you covered in every way.”

He laid a lazy hand under his shirt and began to run his hands in slow, deep circular motions across his stomach.  Naiya sat staring.  He leaned over her and wrapped two large size, ham hock looking legs around her.  She felt the heat rising in her groin.  Kevin’s hands kneaded her hips – she wanted him and yet something from that night, those long nine hours continued to haunt her, preventing Naiya from being fully present.  She still needed something.  When? When would she forgive herself for just being a woman who needed someone to fill, her deepmost, beautiful self?  Even as her hands shook Naiya gently removed Kevin’s hands firmly from her body.

“Girl, what are you doing to me?  Why not now?” He said, pulling his legs away, standing up and retreating to the sofa.  “I don’t where you are right now, but I don’t want to lose you.  I don’t want to lose you to some past or some man who didn’t care enough.”

Naiya knew she really was testing his limits.  After all, he was just a man.  How could she explain to him what had happened in such a way he would not run away labeling her damaged goods?

She struggled for words. None came.  She could see frustration blooming across his face.  Naiya did not want a man releasing himself inside of her and pleasing only himself.  She did not desire a lover that made her feel like she was a victim all the time.  Nor one that left her feeling empty.  The worst were the ones whose giving was dictated by a hidden supply and demand, which had more to do with how many women they could have in any given day or week.  Naiya had watched too many of her friends deal unsuccessfully with those types.  She did not want to get in line in order to have a relationship.  The storm of Naiya’s feelings began to roll down her cheeks.  Kevin leaned closer, cautiously testing the waters.  “Baby, I don’t know what you are going through, I don’t know if I ever will know but I do know I care about you.  Come here,” he said, slipping from the sofa to the floor again as wrapped his whole body like a cocoon around her.  He held her with his eyes, his heart a faint beat against her check.  “It’s alright Naiya.  It’s alright.  I wait you out as long it takes.  It might kill me, but I will wait.”

Later that night at home, Naiya washed her skin with Jasmine scented coconut oil.  Her brown skin shimmered like the purple skin of plums.  After drying off, she massaged her muscles practicing the acupressure techniques she had learned Omi’s healing lodge.  This time between men had taught her to take care of herself.  Some women counted time by the number of men they had; some counted by the money and precious items they got from men.  Naiya counted time by absence; by the fine misty aura of the blues that sometimes overwhelmed her in the deep, dark nights.  She desired the familiarity of friends and lovers who can curse each other out righteously and still end up laughing.  Naiya counted time by the vast yawn of her need.  Absence bought on by a longing for not just touch but comfort found in walking hand in hand, cuddling and speaking the simple language of lovers.

For once, Murray let her leave early enough for her to catch a dance class.  Katanga’s drum changed rhythm.  Naiya is aware of Loremil Machado entering the dance floor; feet moving in a torpedo of waves pounding the ground into the swiftest of sambas.  All she could see was his curly, reddish-blonde hair flying in the steaming air of the room.  His hips mimicking the sweetness of sex and dance.  Naiya stood with the novice dancers melting in the heat and wishing she could move like Loremil.  His motion is seduction, whirring war against inertia.

In the middle of his dance lesson Naiya and the other dancers joined him.  Naiya followed the steps mimicking the fierce footsteps of the samba – the staccato movement of one’s feet and hips.  As she danced something hidden and larger than Naiya latched onto her.  She lost the rhythm of the samba and began moving in a circle – round and round.   Inside the beat of Katanga’s drum Naiya finds herself traveling on her way back to Africa, to the same white sand village; seashells in every step.  The dancers form a circle around her as old and new as the rope around a young girl’s waist. The djembe drum fanning its message of movement without resistance.  The sting of palms against warmed animal skin transports her to an otherworldly space; images fly across her mindscape.

A woman dressed in yellow dances in a frenzy somewhere beyond the reach of the others. She pulls Naiya by the hand to a river too wide and deep to cross alone.  Yet the water is cooling to her spirit and Naiya drifts in afloat, as if she already knew the way.   Brackish river waters begin to rise steadily as if to drown her.  Naiya’s raises an arm stretched taut over waves as if to swim.  Suddenly she is back in the room and once again surrounded by the other dancers.   Loremil continues to dance fiercely – it is both an African peace dance and the dance of a thousand monarchs in the noon day sun.  Finest filigree of energy sent to burn.  To remind one what aliveness is as pure energy, pure dance.  By the time he stops dancing his Lycra top is completely wet with perspiration, hard won and earned.  And Naiya covered in a sweaty river of her own is not the same.

The other dancers told her what happened.  Naiya does not remember changing direction and dancing in a whirling motion.  Nor was she aware of her near collapse.  That night on her way home she stopped by Mrs. Alegria’s apartment. 

As soon as Naiya entered her apartment Mrs. Alegria took one look at her and grabbed a bottle of some flowered water and sprinkled it all over Naiya.

“Do I look that bad?” Naiya asked, not really wanting an answer.

“Come.  Come sit here,” Mrs. Alegria motioned to a large, brown old style, leather chair.  Naiya sank promptly into its depths.  Mrs. Alegria disappeared into the far recesses of the apartment and returned with several pillows – one she placed at the curve of her back, a small, round one fit right in the crook of her neck.  She then motioned to Naiya to remove her shoes – as she pulled a padded ottoman underneath her raised legs and feet.

“Gurl, close your eyes and rest a spell.  You can stay here for the night.”  Mrs. Alegria turned the living room lights low.  Naiya did not protest as she fell asleep.

She rose several hours later to the smells of plantains, shrimp, yucca and garlic cooking.  As she walked, she noticed a side room, soft lights flickering on the walls.  When she peeked inside, she caught sight of an altar with pictures, candles, glasses of water and other objects.  Naiya felt a warm and gentle energy all around.  She also noticed a mound of blue and white cloth cover in blue and white beads sitting in a semi-circle off to the side.  Funny she had never noticed this room before.

She followed her nose into the kitchen.  It was large enough to house a small wooden table and four chairs.  Mrs. Alegria had already set the table and laid out a pile of condiments to suit every taste.  She turned from the stove to face Naiya.

“Ah, so you are back.  When you walked in here you looked so lost.  Your spirit and body needed to rest.  You look much better now.”

“I don’t know what I would have done without you.  Thank you so much for putting me up.  That dance class left me completely empty.”

“Sit down, the food is almost done.  Here have some coffee.”

“The dark, rich expresso filled her nostrils.  Naiya was so grateful for Mrs. Alegria’s kitchen, her food and most of all – her company.  Mrs. Alegria’s children lived in other parts of the country and Naiya was all too happy to be her “play” daughter today.

Naiya damn near ate the whole pan of shrimp and garlic sauce over yucca.  Mrs. Alegria began to untie the knots that were around her spirit.   First Naiya told her about the Anan, who just vanished, left with the door between them still ajar.  She spoke about Kevin and her complicated feelings for him.  And then she told her about the other one the violent one before him.  How on what was supposed to be a simple date he had held her hostage in her own apartment refusing to leave – all her requests falling on deaf ears.  Was she even human to him?   He was the thief of her innocence, of her joy. His refusal to stop when she asked him to, left her destroyed.  What she knew of trust and of men gone.  After staying overnight, he demanded money from her of which she had little.  How in the end, she tricked him giving him only a small amount of money – knowing the larger pile was hidden. She was surprised she had survived that night into another day.  How she would forever be on guard against any man; any father’s son who dare show any interest. That was all she was able to tell Mrs. Alegria.  And here she was partly showing herself to Kevin who kept asking that she love and trust again.

Mrs. Algeria cupped Naiya’s face in her hands, looking closely at her as she spoke.

“I am so sorry something this ugly happened to you.  Naiya, you need to tell him.  If he cares for you this will only make him care even more.  Tell him.  If he was going to run away, he would have already.  And leave some room for him to speak too.  Those last words made Naiya looked over at Mrs. Alegria. She had not considered Kevin might have his own stories to tell.

“Then both of you can free up and move on.  Can you do that?”

“I hope so.”

“What? You hope so. I need you to be stronger than that gurl.  You are the one the ancestors visited in the dance class?  I know you can handle one conversation.”

Naiya began to laugh.

“You are stronger than you know Naiya”

Naiya knew without her saying it directly Mrs. Alegria would pray up some help for her with her ancestors.  She stayed the night, playing cards and drinking rum, as Mrs. Alegria shared stories of her life before her marriage.

Before this night Naiya remembered that things began to shift for the better after she had finally agreed to come to Omi’s healing circle.  There were women of all races and backgrounds sitting in half shell, semi circles.  One of two living rooms were painted a deep turquoise with white molding against bleached, oak wood floors.  A late autumn light came through windows on two walls.  When folks found out what happened to Naiya, some came over and brought words of comfort, another took a quilt off the back of one of the sofas and wrapped it around her, “this will help you to stay grounded.”  One by one they shared their stories.  Naiya told them of the date rape.  How she had only known him a few hours. Of his refusal to stop when she asked him to stop.

When she paused the voices in the room rose offering support and gentle advice on reclaiming her body and right to love any way she wanted and to be with whomever she chose.  Naiya had already gone to the police and yet she already knew nothing would come of her claim.  Naiya knew one thing that day, if she was going to have a life, she needed to stand up in love again.  The circle left Naiya feeling strong and less alone with her pain.  Yet the nightmares continued.  It was always the same dream.  Naiya with claws and talons, completely transmogrified not into a glorious, self possessed woman but a tiger, ancient lover now mute turned into a fighting spirit.

Kevin began to come over to her house every Saturday, with some excuse.  The first time was without notice, he just happened to be in her neighborhood and decided to ring her bell.  She was surprised and let him in.  He came with a bottle of wine and a signed Albert Chong print wrapped in a ribbon of cloth.  They sat listening to jazz and talking all night.  He never once pressed himself upon her.  That impressed Naiya in a crazy way.  For once, a man who could control himself.  The next week he arrived with a bag of fresh food and cooked some Creole dish his mother had taught him. Again, they sat up all night talking and fighting; him feeding her and making himself comfortable all over her apartment.

One Saturday, she met Kevin at Prospect Park at the Lincoln Road entrance.  Kevin had bought a blanket and they sat akimbo, leaning against each other by the lake.  She had bought thermos of hot tea.  He offered her a choice of currant rolls or coconut bread.  Naiya tried both and settled on a currant roll.  On a whim she decided to tell him the story of her life before him, hoping it would clear the air between them once and for all.

“A while ago, when I still lived in Manhattan, I met this man on the street.  To this day, I do not remember his name.  I don’t know what deceptive spirit had cast him as an easy catch.  I was so furious with Anan, this other man for the way he left me. Sometimes folks do stupid shit.  That became the fuel for what I opened myself to that night.  Fuel for trying things I would normally have avoided.  I thought I needed this man.  I really didn’t know what I was doing.  I had no idea who he was really.  Where did he live? I didn’t know.  Did he tell me where he worked?  I literally had nothing to identify him with.  I was so naïve, seduced by his looks.  Honestly, the cool air blowing softly around my living room was all we had in common.  I didn’t know anything.  I was expecting fun, but even the sex was no good.  Yet he would not stop when I asked.

Kevin leaned closer to her, “are you saying he…

“Yeah, he raped me.”

He made a sound of disgust with his lips.  Kevin kept staring at her and holding her  hand.  “I got you,” he said.

“Then the asshole refused to leave my apartment.  I kept trying to figure out what to do? It was eight o’clock in the morning when he left.  I remember  watching get out of the door way.  I watched him, looking at his knapsack as he walked down the hallway ending the longest nine hours in my life.  Later, I got dressed and went to the police station – what a waste of time.”

Naiya was unprepared for the look of relief that spread over Kevin’s face.

“Now I can see what you are going through. I thought it might be something that bad or even worse. Can I hold you?”

She looked over at him, drinking in the soft amber of his eyes.  “Yes, you can.”

Kevin lightly put his arms around her shoulders and drew her closer.  She did not refuse him.

“Thanks,” she said softly.  Grateful for his touch.

“I know, you know this now, so man of these so-called men out here don’t care nothing for women.  Something like that happen to my sister.  For a long time, I think she decided to trash every guy she met.  I don’t think she cared who or what she slept with.  She finally find the right one.  Somehow she is back to being herself now.”

“Naiya, I know it’s hard, but you can’t let a thing like that hold you back, you know?  I got you Naiya.  I got you.”

Naiya lifted her chin as her eyes met Kevin’s.  They had decided to walk around the park on the dirt path that encircled the lake.   There were late afternoon joggers, kids playing soccer, as a fine mist began to fall on them.  It was soothing to Naiya.  When they got to the Park Slope side of the park the mist turned into a deluge.  They ran and took shelter under the Grand Army Plaza arches.  Kevin and Naiya held each other tightly as a small group of people gathered with them to wait out the storm.  The wind whipped the rain over them.  A half hour later they were both completely soaked, as rays of sunshine burst through clouds.  Kevin was shaking the water out of his sandals.

“Want to get a cab?  This weather is ridiculous!”

“No, we may as well complete the circle.  By the time we get over to Lincoln Road, we should be dry,” Naiya said laughing.  They both were lighter, cleansed in a way, as they sauntered back into the park.

The next week Kevin changed up and came way late unannounced on a Friday.  She had just received her new bookcase.  Kevin sat up half the night trying to read the Japanese instructions and putting it together for her.  Naiya figured she might have made it through the shelving, but no way would she have figured out the glass doors.  He was so sweet he even put her books on the shelves.  Later they sat upon some throw pillows on the floor listening to Betty Carter – arguing about the power of the improvised line and percussive staccato of bebop.  Two bottles of pinot noir later they were cuddled up under each other still listening to music until the sun rose.  Naiya was not sure she wanted to let Kevin know how deep he was getting under her skin – she did not want his big head to swell even more.

In gratitude for his help she made him breakfast and let him rub oil all over her feet.  Still he held out which drove even her crazy.  Naiya knew he wanted to make love to her – to untie the ribbon that held the gift of her body.  She always held back, in a way that became increasingly a tease or flirt.  She was beginning to expect that she could count upon Kevin to be of use; and to be a solid, loving friend.  They began to spend all their weekends together.

It is early morning.  The lean warmth of two worn blankets covers them.  Dreams caught in night sweats linger under her eyes in the grey dawn that passes for a new day.  Naiya awakens slowly feeling the hairs of Kevin’s legs against her thighs.  Kevin is still asleep, and she is glad.  She remembers last night.   Somewhere between her tears Kevin began to kiss her all over.  He picked her up and placed her down upon the platform bed running kisses from her ankle to belly to her mouth and back again; the play of his lips making her giggle.  For once she did not resist him.  Her doubts fell away long before the movement of his body entering her.  Naiya did not realize the extent of her desire as Kevin’s made new rhythms in her body.  She felt open and free yet found.

Kevin rolled over to the other side of the bed; leaving her breasts, legs and arms Naiya’s own reclaimed territory.  Naiya held her breath for a minute hoping he will stay asleep.  He did.  Naiya got up.  Her naked body created shadows dancing in the muted light of the morning.  She found a piece of colored cloth and wrapped it around her body as she walked to the window.  She kneeled down, facing the direction of the sun.   She did stretches for several minutes before she sitting down, cross legged.  She began to chant softly.

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Jacqueline Johnson is a multi-disciplined artist creating in both poetry, fiction writing and fiber arts. She is the author of A Woman’s Season, on Main Street Rag Press and A Gathering of Mother Tongues, published by White Pine Press. Recent exhibitions are: Yours for Race and Country: Life of Colonel Charles Young and Soul of Zora. Works in progress include: The Privilege of Memory and How to Stop a Hurricane.