Breathe

Hi friend. Have you done this lately? Without guilt or burden, without stress or pain, without pressure? Your pain will make your joy all the more intense. And, my sweet, loving friend, you will have joy. Be hopeful. Treasure your children. Close your eyes without that pitted worry in your stomach and when you sleep, remember that your children are safely dreaming in their beds.

I’ll never leave you, ever. I heard on the radio this morning that Jesus said something on the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew chapter 6 I think) “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.” Your season of pain is over, honey. It’s okay to be happy about that. Look around you. Does it look different? New? Can you walk at a pleasant stride with no fears or worry? You were meant to be free, love. 

Live now. Live for yourself, for God, for your children. Live in the gratitude that God has brought an ocean of peace to your life. Waves wash over you, the salty taste of wild rhythm bringing life to your taste buds. Swim through it, wade in it, live in this water you love. Let yourself be swept away and baptized with these waves of peace. Wear the ocean, wear the gratitude and the safety and the protection of something so final like jewels on your neck. Your children will watch you swimming and follow your lead, strong and carefree, their wet curls crowning them.

I am

I am a smile

I am the energy that makes you want to dance to the radio when you wash the dishes alone in the kitchen

I am singing from the shower

I am complex and wounded, I am a chipped china cup

I am exquisite and mysterious

I am an unwrapped present

I am a set of open watercolors, drying messily

I am the soothing steam rushing upward from a warm hot chocolate held in grateful hands

I am the hug you needed

I am the old piano, affectionately called “albatross,” whose ivory has been worn away by past players’ hands

I am the humming of a mother nursing her child

I am bubbles in your champagne, bringing laughter to the surface of your heart like the bubbles rising

I am the soft, sultry glimpse of lingerie, a flash of silky sexiness passing by the doorway of your dream

I am silent and stoic, poised and tracing the lines of my neck with a sole finger while writing alone in a cafe

I am your girlfriend bringing coffee to you at work and dishing all the juicy gossip while simultaneously complimenting your jewelry and new hairstyle.

I am your sister and your friend.

I am the daughter who hugs you every time and never leaves without saying “I love you.”

I am an unsolicited dish cooked for you, with love and delivered with no fuss.

I am a love song, unplayed . . .

Anonymous

It was spring. It was the time of year when a bit of desperate snow clung to hard earth but buds on trees remained resilient and the smell of new life was in the thawing air. My students clapped their hands each time they spied a robin and gaggles of children toting luggage style backpacks walked home gleefully after school, noisy as the approaching Canadian geese migrating back from the South.

 

Jaylynn was more in love than ever and so was I. Only things had changed.

 

Her anonymous buyer turned out to be a French millionaire. He was actually half-French, half-Italian. After her date with Dominick Mancini, we googled him only to find half a dozen financial articles about his prowess in the European tourism industry. He hadn’t told her about his celebrity status in Paris or his work. They spoke of their childhoods, hers on 8mile in a Detroit neighborhood, his as young boy growing up in a small Italian town and working on his father’s property.

 

“I can’t believe it, Em,” she told me recently, “he’s so down to earth, unlike anyone I have ever dated. I mean, don’t get me wrong, girl, we definitely travel in style. Even in the limo,  he opens doors, though the driver is ready to.  Every date, he brings me a single flower, wrapped with a paintbrush. They are always different. I must have hundreds of new brushes.”

 

“Hey, I ain’t mad at you girl.” I laugh, peeling the plastic back on the individually-wrapped chicken I am getting ready to cook. I shift the phone to my other shoulder as I wash my hands.

 

“And now that we’ve been dating for 3 months, I finally asked him something I had been curious about. I said, ‘Why did you want to purchase a collection that is centrally about another man?’ He was so calm and explained that when he spoke with the gallery about the theme of the show, dedication, he asked a lot of questions and quickly realized that this was a love lost.”

 

“What? He was checking for you before he even ever saw you?”

 

“I guess. Anyway, we were at a candlelit dinner and he moved his chair over next to mine and took me by the hand. He looked directly in my eyes and Em, I am not making this up. He said to me, ‘Jaylynn, I would buy up all of your lost loves if it means I might have a chance of finding love with you.’”

 

I pulled the phone out and looked at it like it did something wrong.

 

“Em? Are you there?”

“Yeah girl. I am here. But where are you? It sounds like you, my friend, are in a freaking fairy tale.”

 

We both laughed for a few seconds.

 

“Oh honey, I am so happy for you. You absolutely deserve to be loved like this. And if he messes it up, I’ll kick his ass! Ok, I’m playing, you know he probably has security.”

 

“Uh, he does, girl. But I love you for saying it.”

 

My mind wandered back to the sad position of the man who showed up to his own show, the funeral of his own love affair, who helped me sit down and wore a jade ring. I felt sympathy for him, as I did sometimes.

 

“So Jay, how’s your texting drama?” (It was a phrase we often used for the level and intensity of communication that streamed through text messaging from ex-boyfriends)

 

“Oh that.”

“Yeah, that! What’s up with that? Does he know?”

Within the past year, Jay had gotten serious and exclusive with a man she cared for desperately and he had flipped out, trying to sabotage her dates and telling her that he was now ready to leave his girlfriend for her, if only she would stop dating her boyfriend.

 

“Well, yes, he knows I am less available. I mean, I will always be a friend but now he sees I am so much more distant. It’s not that I am avoiding him but Dom has my free time now so I literally don’t want to make plans with another human being. . . . except you girl.”

 

“yeah, yeah, I get it. Making love to a European millionaire trumps girls nights. I’m sure he will get the picture eventually. I mean, being out and about with Jacques, you might even run into him.”

 

“Em, I did! He saw us at a small club. He was there with his fiancé and I walked in with Dominick. We acknowledged each other but we didn’t make introductions or anything. Dom and I went ahead to VIP and chilled. Then I went to the bathroom and he followed me. When I came out of the stall, he was right outside the door. He rushed me back in, kissing me and picking me up.”

 

“Holy adult film!”

 

“Yeah but it wasn’t sexy. I really feel like I have something with Dominick. He is not just some blind date. It made me feel cheap and I told him no way. I pushed him and stormed out. Em, maybe 6 months ago, that would have sent me over the moon. I would have remembered it in detail every time I laid down. But I realized, I am so OVER him. Dominick has shown me a reflection of myself in every way and he is a companion, a friend, a lover-“

 

“Whoa,” I interject. “Are we going there again?”

 

“No, girl, I am just saying that Dom loves me and he shows me by making space in his life for me. Ever since I rejected you-know-who in that bathroom and left him there, he has been randomly showing up at the gym or the gallery, trying to get me to ‘talk’ about it. I feel like a broken record but I just keep telling him it is over and I am with someone else. I don’t even want to like, waste my time explaining the part about being done. I just want to focus on work, and me, my girls, and keep bringing positive energy to my life.”

 ”Holla! And don’t forget the energy you know you bringin to that fine-ass Italian!”

“Yeah, can’t leave that out. But you know I got your back, you are my girl for life.”

“I am so proud of you Jay. You will always have love for him but you are choosing yourself now and it is just icing on the cake that Jacques can give you a lifestyle you deserve. Because the best part about Jacques is the way he loves you.”

 

“I know. What’s been up with you, girl? How’s it going in your lovelife?”

“I cannot talk to you about that right now, babygirl. I got chicken in the oven and I am working on this macaroni and cheese.  You know my baby’s on his way. Let me hollar at you later, k?”

 

“Ok, Miss Patti LaBelle! Bye girl.”

 

“Bye,” I giggle and hang up the phone. With the stereo remote, I play the paused playlist and light some candles. Table’s set, wine aired out, I think everything’s ready. Just then my phone buzzes. With a half a mind it’s Jay again, I check the text.

 

“On my way, babe,” it reads.

 

It’s him. My man is almost here. 

It was him

He turned and saw me at the door, smiled warmly and raised his head in a slight nod, as if to say, ‘sup. I walked toward him and opened my arms to a friendly embrace. We were both foreigners here, and I could tell from his sigh that he was relieved by my presence. We were always connected by Jay; neither of us knew the other well but we knew that we both loved Jay and that always endeared me to him. 

“Where’s Jay?” I asked, still scanning the crowd.

“Hell if I know,” he laughed. “I haven’t seen her but then again, I have been so focused on these pieces.”

“I know what you mean. I’ve seen a few in progress at the studio but being surrounded by her art all at once; it’s like she’s here. It’s a little crazy.”

He nodded. I spied a fresh tattoo on his neck just barely peeking out of his charcoal gray ribbed turtleneck collar. He wore a sport coat and jeans, a jade ring on his right ring finger. Against skin the color reminiscent of the rich earth tones Jay used in a nearby oil painting, it gleamed and I couldn’t take my eyes off of it. All of a sudden, I felt transcended. The calm lighting, the jade, Jay’s heart out on display in various visions, and the music of Sade was seeping through my spirit all at once. 

“I need to sit down.” I announced suddenly. As I said it, I realized it was true. I felt light-headed and I hadn’t eaten that day. 

He took me by the elbow to a nearby old wooden church pew. “Are you ok?” He seemed genuinely concerned. 

“Yeah. I just got dizzy all of a sudden, thanks.”

“Oh hold up,” he stopped a caterer and took a small plate of bruschetta, then two more, handing each one to me. “Eat something.”

“Thanks. I think that’s where I went wrong,” I joked. Tasting the food, I felt better. The atmosphere is mystifying, I thought, sitting with the man who’s image was represented on the four walls around me in one way or another.

“Champagne for my two favorite people?” Jaylynn was standing before us, a twinkle in those bright blue eyes, holding two champagne flutes out for each of us.

“JAY!” I almost upset an appetizer plate as I hurried to stand up and give my girl some love.

“Whoa, take your time there, Dizzy,” he teased. We all laughed.

“Uh oh, my gorgeous but clumsy friend forgot to eat again, huh?” Jay put a hand on her hip and eyed me scoldingly. She knew me all too well. 

“I’m straight,” I protested. “Babygirl, I now know why you’ve been MIA. You better be hustling some cash for these pieces. They are amazing.” She smiled. “No, Jay, I mean really, it’s kind of magical. You better be careful or someone may just buy this whole collection.”

Jaylynn put her hands together and pursed her lips, gearing up to make an important statement. “Em, someone DID.” We all exchanged looks of shock. 

“Who?” he and I asked it at the same time.

“An annonymous buyer. I haven’t met him yet but his rep says he is cordially inviting me for a drink tomorrow.”

“Are you going? You have to go. You have to see who this guy is. Oooh Jay take me with you, I want to sit in the corner and spy!!” She threw her head back and laughed. “I don’t know yet honey. I’m still so grateful that my pieces have all sold, it is really surreal.”

He raised his glass. “A toast then. To your creative genius.”

We toasted and sipped the champagne. “So where’s the afterparty?” He asked her, eyeing her whole body as he said it. She was stunning to take in, she wore a red pencil skirt and a black cashmere sweater that fit loosely around her shoulders, defining her hourglass figure where it tapered at her waist. 

“Oh don’t worry, you are definitely invited. I’m so glad you could make it tonight, with your busy schedule, sir.” Her flirtatious tone made me think maybe I should find an excuse to remove myself. Three’s a crowd, I thought. “Hey girl, are you going to be here for a sec? Ima run to the bathroom right quick.”

“Yep.” 

As I headed to the lady’s room, I looked over my shoulder at them. They were chatting and laughing, him with his arm around her, touching the small of her back, she had her hand on his shoulder. They looked good together, I thought. And they looked like friends. Fitting. I was happy for Jay tonight. She finally had everything she wanted.

Dedication: A Collection of Pieces by Jaylynn Frost

That’s what the sign said. I got there late, true to form, touching up my makeup while driving. Walking slowly through the ice-crusted parking lot, it occurred to me how far away I had to park from the venue’s door. Good lookin out, Jay, I thought to myself. On your hustle girl, I ain’t mad atcha! 

Entering Jay’s professional world was always entertaining and bewildering. From exotic art dealers to industry friends of Jay to gay art collectors, the guests at her shows eyed each other as much as the art. That’s why I knew I couldn’t just come from work. I had to change completely; from a long sweater and leggings to stiletto pumps and a satin shirt dress. It was an eggplant color, of decent length but it clung to my every curve. I felt up to par with these people in this outfit, instead of the messy elementary teacher I left school as. 

Heavy wooden double doors gave way to a whirlwind of caterers, the soft clink of champagne glasses. People mingled and spoke closely, touching elbows and motioning to the pieces enveloping the room. I scanned the room frantically for Jay, or even someone I knew remotely. She was nowhere to be found. A large group of clearly wealthy men and women in charmed conversation began moving toward the bar. As they cleared out, a familiar face turned my way. 

It was him.

Benihana’s

“Jay, why are we addicted to Benihana’s?” I ask her. She makes a goofy face and throws her hands up in the air, chopsticks still between her fingers. 

“They put something in the food!!!” Jay’s voice is insistent and silly, her optimism is always evident in her sing-song way of talking. 

“K, I have soooo much to tell you!!” I caution her, even though we both say that to each other every single time we get together. Sometimes I wonder how it is that so much can happen to two friends independent of one another when they spend most of their free time together. Usually it revolves around boys. “Me too!” Jay says, clapping her hands with glee anticipating my stories.

I start, “Girl, I deleted Mr. Rose out my phone. He is so grimy, all he’s doing is hanging around waiting for . . . you know what I’m talking about girl.” She nods knowingly, while dipping a California roll in soy sauce. “Grimy,” she echos. “And the worst part is he thinks he’s all that. Puh-lease!” Our laughter is light and melodic; it travels easily through the empty sushi bar.

Jaylynn gets it. I continue, “Yeah, that’s basically it. I am so sick of these arrogant guys. What women actually fall for their bullshit?” 

“Well somebody did, obviously, girl or they wouldn’t be trying to run bad game like that in the first place.”  My phone buzzes against my hip. “Hold up, girl, I’m getting a text. . . . oh no he didn’t.” I show Jay the phone, flashing the screen like a police badge. “Oh that’s your little cop boyfriend, isn’t it? Didn’t he trip like a week ago cuz you didn’t call him?”

I nod, smiling in shock. The text said, “I just might have to cya tonight.” 

“WTF.” We both just shake our heads. Jay can’t hold back her sarcasm. “Wow, Em you should really get on that. Sounds like he’s on the fence, better hit him up quick before he moves on. He’s a keeper.” I laugh, despite myself. “One more number to delete,” I proclaim, dramatically pressing the buttons.

“So what did you want to talk about girl? What’s been up for you?”

Jaylynn sighed, her head tilting back as she closed her eyes to the ceiling. “I saw him for a drink the other night.” 

“Are you ok?” I reach out to rub her knee, concerned for the condition of my friend’s heart.

“Yeah, girl, I’m straight. I don’t mind being a friend to him. I mean, it’s not like I want to be with someone who didn’t choose me in that way. It’s just, I’m starting to feel like he needs me. And that’s BAD, because he needs to need her. How do I pull out of this? Despite everything, I do love him and I don’t want to hurt him but I think I need to distance myself.”

“Jay, do you think you can do that?” 

“I really do. I feel like I’ve gained good memories, not to mention good material from this relationship. It’s important that I know there is no way we could, you know- again. I have to move forward with my life and not get sucked back in. Because of the fact that I do love him, if I keep spending time with him, that could easily happen.” 

“What are you going to do?”

“Just chill, put more time in between communication and actively date people just for the sake of being busy and expanding my time to other men. And if he wants to see me, I’m going to have to be busy for a while. That means you might have to be an excuse.”

“Girls nights! HOLLA!” I exclaim, giddy with one more reason to go out with my best friend.

We sit in silence for a while, sipping on freshly-poured green tea and both of us reflecting on Jay’s dilemma. 

I gasp suddenly with an idea. “Oooh, you should change his name in your phone.” Besides deleting, this was one of my better strategies for not communicating with men I knew were bad for me. “Like the time I changed DJ’s number to ‘I like to lie.’ I never answered his calls after that.” We both crack up laughing. A confused waitress stands nearby, unsure if she should approach with the check. “I FORGOT about that,” Jay manages in between laughter. “Damn girl, we should write a book.”

Holla!

My girl and I are dripping sweat on the wood gym floor, taking turns between lunges and push-ups off of a ledge on the wall. We don’t speak, just exchange exhausted glances and breathlessly trade equipment. This is our warm up. Yeah, we see y’all looking from your position on the court. You and your boys posted up, acting like you’re shooting around, shaking your heads knowing you can’t talk shit  until we are gone. We know you are checking for us but we don’t care for 2 reasons. 1-We are actually there to work out. Our purpose is ourselves. Now we realize that’s a newsflash for you since in the little fantasy land of your mind, we are there to entertain you. 2- We don’t talk to guys from the gym. Why? Did you read the first reason?? Duh!

Then again, we ain’t mad atcha for looking. We know we are fabulous. HOLLA!

We take our show on the road and head upstairs. Our circuits cover all muscle groups and we keep the pace up. Decline bar chest presses, deadlifts, flys, shoulder presses, rows, etc, no matter the exercise, my girl and I are pulling dumbbells, barbells, resistance training equipment, we’ll pull it all out. Don’t even think about taking over our station either cause we might look cute but we’re quick to let you know. HOLLA!

Two hours later, after a killer two miles to top off a very aerobic weight-lifting sequence, we have a coffee and play with Mamie’s kids, letting them listen to Beyonce and sing along on my ipod. Swapping stories over the requests and precious interjections of a one-year old and three-year old, we laugh together over our funny anecdotes. I literally cannot think of a better way to spend Saturday. HOLLA!

I miss him sometimes

I don’t miss the marriage. My days are so light and free, I often wonder how I was able to carry the burden of anxiety the way I did. I see him once and a while and it’s ok. Or at times I receive communication from him and he’s just so damn NICE. Weird, I wonder if he is really like that now. But then again there is just so much water under the bridge, it drowns out the sound of a smile.

A Date with Myself

I’ve taken to dating myself. Due to the fact that single people of all possible orientations may raise an eyebrow at this declaration, let me clarify. I just spent the most amazing two hours plus sweating off the stress and bakery-style cupcake I ate at work. After some deep stretching and closed-eye yoga, lost in Neyo’s “Stop this World,” I headed down to the locker room, hair completely sweated out and falling in sticky pieces along my neck and temples. It occurs to me that my swimsuit, shower products and a full change of clothes are in my workout bag. 10 minutes later, I am exhaling and curling my toes into a full stretch in the dry sauna. Ipod in my ears, music isolates me from those around me and I am left in the full revelry of the smooth beats, my reflective thoughts and my solitude. I’ve always enjoyed being alone in public. Probably a lost child of Manhattan, I remember I used to walk many places alone and thrilled taking in sights while living in Mexico.

Here at the gym, the feeling is more calm. The sheer thought that at this point in my life, I am able to enjoy slow soothing moments like this brings me nothing but gratitude for the second chance I have. I am not remotely lonely, I reflect as the heat presses on my barely clothed body. It’s as ironic as the dry heat, intense and forceful, warming my skin to unimaginable degrees and my lungs even, yet it is relaxing. The singer in my ear says “suffocate,” yet I breathe deep and slow, air passing warmly over my swollen lips. I have no clue who my company in the sauna is; my eyes are closed.

I shower and dress, in no rush whatsoever. In the cafe, I order my favorite salad, even though I am broke. Anything for me, I think, recalling so many times when my ability to spend money was under constant scrutiny. Damn, dating myself is fabulous. I think it will be a long term relationship, though possibly not exclusive . . .

Black Cherry Ice Cream

Meanwhile, across town, Black Notes’ lead singer is just getting home from rehearsal. Greeting him at the door is his English bulldog Trace. He calls out “hello?” No use. Shoulda known, he thinks. Her car is never there. “Come on Trace, let’s get this leash on.” They head out into the bitter cold night. The air is crystal clear; besides his own breath, all there is to see are the stars, He searches for Orion, his favorite consellation. Hell it’s the only one I know, he kids himself. Many thoughts weigh on his mind, many more than the three stars of Orion’s belt. Dannah’s mom is blowing up his phone about her “attitude.” A daddy’s girl, Dannah could do no harm in his eyes. Even when she was little, she was always his little princess. A tiny thing with beaded braids and pink dresses, she practically lived in the crook of her daddy’s arm until the age of four, when her parents split. Now, Dannah’s mother played games in her favorite playground; Friend of the Court. He liked to think of it as “Friend of YBM (yo baby mama).” In the company of his boys, that joke got a lot of laughs but it was no laughing matter back in reality. At times, however, his ex genuinely reached out for his help with Dannah. She was a stunning 17 now, tall, entitled and had her dad’s wild spirit and sense of humor. Driving her mama crazy too, he smiled to himself. In all fairness, she did need a talking-to this time. She had gotten caught skipping school and smoking. A pitted feeling knotted his stomach just to think of having to sit Dannah down. It hurt him to know he had not been there like he wanted to be for his little princess. Confronting her actions also meant confronting his own actions.

Trace was striding briskly. The man on the other end of the leash felt sudden friction on his right palm. He thought of his fiancé. He wished he could speak with her about these concerns on his mind. Dannah, his dreams for the band, his troubled past . . . She was simply uninterested. She said she didn’t want to know about his children, that she was not signing up for motherhood. If they had their own children later, she’d deal with them then.

“Come on Trace, it’s bedtime.” Gently guiding the animal back in another direction, he thought of where he had set down his phone and wondered if she had sent him something. Jay was always there for him. She’d know what to do.

“Drink.” He texts her one-word messages frequently. She’d know. “OK,” she says, “The one by your house?” “Yep,” their texts exchange with one another at lightening speed. At one time, Jay honestly thought that she was addicted to her phone. I used to threaten to call Dr. Phil on her.

Settling Trace in, he leaves his fiancé a note on the kitchen table. “Had to go into work. Love you. Sweet dreams.” He doubted she’d ever see it anyway.

 

He’d never been to her studio. Sometimes she snapped still shots of pieces she worked on, always leaving a few key ones out. It was part of her seduction to tease him. Jay did it both subconsciously and decisively. “If we are truly just friends, it shouldn’t bother anyone when guys ask me out at his shows,” she debated out loud to herself in my company.

“Of course,” I concur, smiling in an amused way. Denying the dance they dance with each other would only serve the purpose of saving face. Although, in a purely logical sense, this argument was true.

Other times she teased him unknowingly. Watching her fidget with the straw in her glass at the bar and tilt her head to the side while listening to her friend’s stories from work, seeing her exposed neck and brilliant blue eyes, even in the dim light, felt similar to the pang of realization when a good movie ends and you know the experience can no longer be savored. Soaking in the vision of her hips and shoulders snaking smoothly on the old, hardwood dance floor brought flashbacks to their lovemaking. In those moments he had to will himself to keep performing. Those moments he collected and tried to conjure in detail as he slept, willing himself to dream of her as strongly has he had to will himself not to abandon the mic, pick her up and kiss her right there on the dance floor.

Snow dusted walkways led to the door of this establishment near his home. “Salud!” said the sign on the door. It was an old, converted Spanish restaurant that now mostly served Spanish wines and Mexican beers. The tiny bistro had easily been converted to a nighttime hole-in-the-wall. He knew the owner. “What’s good, Mike?” Mike was Irish, with reddish hair and beard, and a stomach that made you think he was no stranger to good food, though good food was not served at Salud. Mike fist-pumped him while doing a 180 to serve a freshly-poured beer.

She’s always late, he thought. Crown Royal on the rocks already in hand, thaks to Mike’s memory, he leisurely tore bits from a napkin and checked his phone idly. “pulling in.” her text said. As he prepared a reply, there she was. In long gloves and 1940s-reminiscent three-quarter length coat, she presented a small paper bag on the table.

“I kinda thought you might have needed a little cheering up.” She smiled at him with that warm, genuine smile. An expectant, hungry look crossed his face. “Don’t get the wrong idea,” she checked him sharply, with an emphasis on “don’t.”

“Look inside,” Jay prompted. She was unbuttoning her ivory coat and stripping off the gloves. Every person, male and female, were unabashedly staring at this tall, gorgeous woman. She was still dressed in work clothes, which today meant a tailored suit and black pumps. Shoulder-length curls bobbed around her collar and an air of confidence was palpable around this woman.

“Black cherry ice-cream? Oh no you didn’t!” Deep laughter broke the tension the troubled man held in his muscles and he watched delightedly as she handed him a spoon. It was a pint, and exactly what he didn’t know he needed. Jay knew him like that. Mike looked over and rolled his eyes in jest.

They took turns with the ice-cream, sitting across from one another and letting the conversation flow. From the neon “salud” sign lighting, a passerby would notice two friends, deep listening to one another, taking turns chatting just as well as they took turns spooning out dessert, enjoying the comfort of the cozy corner table as snow decorated the windowpane next to it.