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“Liar!” I yelled, slamming the phone into the cradle. I wailed so hard, the heavens must have heard me. All God had to do was give me a sign. Prove I was right, and make a liar out of that lieutenant. “Please, Lord, let Adam call!” I cried to the ceiling, as my body slumped to the wooden floor.
Aunt Frances arrived. I’d managed to call her between bouts of hysteria, and pangs in my belly. She rushed over and fell to her knees, pulling me close to her bosom. “Lawd, Jesus. I’m so sorry, baby,” she cried.
My eyes were glazed from wetness. I was in shock, and the water gushing out of me let her know I was in labor. “Jasmine, you gettin’ ready to be a mama.” She gently grasped my shoulders, trying to raise me off the floor. “Baby, I know you hurtin’ in all this madness, but your miracle ’bout to come.” Aunt Frances was plump and solid, over 200 pounds easily, but I managed to jerk away from her. She sighed in frustration. “You ain’t makin’ this easy for me, gal.” She grunted as she leaned her body over to retrieve the phone. “I ain’t gonna fight wit ya, ’cause you need to save your energy. Auntie gonna get you some help, and we gonna get through this.”
I leaned my head against the oak nightstand, clenching my stomach. Bearing the brunt of bad news. Aunt Frances called Dr. Tate and Sarah, the elder midwife/spiritual advisor of Sapelo. The cramps to my stomach were getting worse. I curled into a fetal position, feeling defeated.
“Baby, you can’t stay like this,” she said, wiping my damp brow with her palm. “I gotta get you to the bed and check you.” I didn’t resist this time. She scooped me up into her arms and put me in the bed. When she rolled up my drenched, cotton nightgown, she gasped. “Lawd, this baby got plans of his own. Jasmine, I see the head. You gon’ have to push! Pull your legs back and push!”
“God, no!” I screamed in agony. I couldn’t believe what was happening to me. The pain raging through my body was nothing compared to what I thought Adam had endured. All I could see was his beautiful body, mangled by missiles. A dog tag to them, but he was everything to me. Our love, destroyed over senseless shit. There was nothing patriotic about a father, a brother, a son… Adam sacrificing their lives to protect political interests in foreign lands.
“Dammit, push!” she screamed, bracing my legs.
“I can’t! I can’t!”
“We gotta get this baby out! I know you can, do it. Do it now, Jasmine!”
I pushed with all my might, desperate to give birth to the only joy I had left.
“Owwl…!” I yelled, sweat beading on my nose. I couldn’t hold my trembling legs anymore. It felt like my vagina was being ripped apart. I grimaced from the burning between my thighs, but tried to push again.
“That’s it. Push!”
“Adam!”
“Bear down!”
I was weak from grief. I tried to bear down, but it was too painful. Just as I mustered the strength to push again, everything went dark.
***
When I blacked out, my baby got stuck in the birth canal. Through prayers mixed with tears, Aunt Frances reached inside of me, and pulled him out…but it was too late. His heart had stopped beating. I often wondered how I survived that horrifying night. I’d lost a lot of blood. Dr. Tate wanted to cut me open, and take out my uterus to stop the bleeding. Aunt Frances and Sarah told him, hell no. Sapelo women believed in the healing power of spirits. Sarah called upon the souls of my husband and son to save me. A miracle, some cabbage compresses, and old-wives roots prevented another life from being washed away.
KEEP ME CRYIN’
1972
Do four-and-a-half years change anything? Not when you live like you have nothing to lose. Ain’t no closure in watching caskets close. I’d had the best in Adam, so finding love again was not an option. I consumed my days with practicing law, and ended my nights masturbating into an erotic lull. Warm bubble baths by candlelight, legs looped over my ceramic claw tub, with my hands squeezing my nipples to hardened satisfaction. My life had come to this…pleasing me, and me only. I couldn’t risk someone, or something else, shattering the last piece to my fragile heart. Callousness was the pill I swallowed every day, to prevent sadness from driving me insane.
***
I’d gotten used to the feeling of my fingertips teasing the fleshy ignition switch cushioned between my vaginal walls. I needed more. I deserved more, which was why I agreed to Aunt Frances setting me up with Eugene, the son of one of her childhood friends in Atlanta. We had some stuff in common: he was a lawyer; a Gemini, born on the same day, June seventh. He’d gone to law school at Howard, graduating five years ahead of me. He contemplated relocating to a coastal area, like St. Simons, which was just across the water from Sapelo. After exchanging a few letters, and receiving his picture, I decided to invite him to my home for dinner. I certainly never imagined I’d be accepting blind dates, but based on his description: six feet tall; mediumbrown skin; athletic build; and the likeness of Arthur Ashe, I figured, what the hell?
Needless to say, when I heard someone knock at six in the evening, and I opened the front door, I was not charmed. My Arthur Ashe was all of five foot feet eight; splotchy mediumbrown skin, the likeness of sandpaper; and a hairline that may have once been a thick afro. Time had made a bee-line straight through the middle of his damn head.
Once again I figured, what the hell? But this time I answered the question. Tonight was strictly need-based. Dinner, sex, and his ass on the next ferry back to Atlanta.
“Good evening, Jasmine,” he said, almost sung. I knew his glance of me was more breathtaking than the air I almost choked on, after seeing him.
I was never much on makeup, but tonight was my rite of passage into the lion’s den of dating. I wanted to spruce up pale cheeks that were accustomed to tear streaks. I had applied a light dusting of amber rouge, a touch of cranberry lipstick, and brown mascara to accentuate my teal-colored eyes. The baby oil I’d brushed through my hair, gave my bun a satin finish. I was one of the lighter sistas of Sapelo, thanks to my no-name white father, who obviously didn’t want more than a fuck from my runaway black mother. Curly locks, wrapped in a tattered blanket. That’s how my Aunt Frances first met me, when she opened the door to her porch thirty-one years ago. She had sacrificed her aspirations of becoming a registered nurse to care for me, like I was her own. She wanted me to be happy, and feared I was too young to be alone. I didn’t think I was too young to be alone, but I was getting too old to let a traumatic past blindside the nuances of life. Aunt Frances said a woman had yearnings that couldn’t be denied. I agreed, which was why I accepted my date’s bouquet of roses, and stepped aside as he walked in. Tonight would not be the makings of rocket science, but whatever happened, I hoped I wouldn’t regret it.
“Eugene, the roses are simply gorgeous,” I blurted out with glee, my attempt at enthusiasm.
He grinned. “Beauty is truly in the eyes of the beholder of those roses.”
I kept a strained smile after his corny comment, keeping my disappointment about his appearance at bay. I cleared my throat. “Please make yourself at home,” I said, pointing to the sofa.
When he removed his trench coat and sat down, I bit my lip to prevent from cracking up. His copper-colored polyester suit clashed with the floral slipcovers of my living room sofa, creating a piece of work louder than the Matisse print hanging above. I couldn’t hold back the low chuckle that escaped my mouth. The wine I had been sipping on while cooking dinner had me giddy, and I wondered if his body was just as tasteless as the suit.
