Something She Can Feel (32 page)

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Authors: Grace Octavia

BOOK: Something She Can Feel
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PART THREE
See
Chapter Twenty-four
M
y senses just wouldn't connect. They were scattered everywhere around me, trying to process every sensation and what the impression meant in my mind, but it was all just happening too fast for the rationale of my mind and body to keep up with the passion of my heart and soul. In there, in my heart and soul, was fluttering and bursting and amazement and all I could do was try not to let the sensations overwhelm me.
Naima was wrong. It wasn't too late to call Dame. I knew this because I'd been listening to his voice on the phone for a while now as it led me to the airport and terminal where I could find him. And while I was just as excited to hear him speaking to me, sounding as if maybe his heart and soul were fluttering and bursting, too, this sound was nothing more than a rattling reminder of what I needed, what I wanted to see, to feel, to smell, to even taste. It was like a hungry person smelling food. Until I had the thing within me, the aroma was nothing but a reminder of what was to come.
I ran from my parked car into the terminal with the phone held loosely to my ear.
Inside of the terminal, there was ringing and talking, some laughing and chatter. The sweet smell of cinnamon buns from a bakery window in a corner of the circular waiting area wafted out to me. I could see people walking, holding hands, hugging, and saying hello and good-bye. I rushed from these circles, around and underneath to find my own, listening to Dame's instructions along the way.
“I'm right over by the big palm trees in the middle of the waiting area,” he said. “I'm looking around for you. Are you over here yet?” I didn't answer. I just kept looking and soon my eyes found the now familiar smiles of teenage girls. I followed their faces, one by one, along a line where they stood with their arms outstretched, holding cameras and rolled-up pieces of paper with pens clutched in the center. At the front of this jumbled line was Benji, big and menacing, meeting worthy adversaries in these young girls as he struggled to keep them at bay. I craned my neck a bit so I could see where their eyes were batting, yet Benji's protection also guarded my view.
“You see me?” Dame asked.
“No,” I said.
“Wait.” I heard scrambling and what sounded like steps. “I'm getting up on a chair, so you can see me.”
The line of girls shifted back, and high up behind Benji rose Dame. His back was to me.
“Do you see me?”
“Yes!” I dropped the phone and rushed past Benji and the girls, who'd become more excited by Dame's leap on the chair, and now other people were standing up and looking on.
“Well, where? Where are you?” Dame looked around and then, just as I arrived at the foot of the brown leather seat where he was standing, he looked down and saw me. Throwing away all caution, I followed the racing of my heart and jumped up on the chair next to him.
Without saying anything, we embraced and the world inside the airport lobby went into a panoramic slow spin around us. Nothing else mattered. All I could feel was my heart finally resting against his and his strong arms holding me close. Oddly, it was the most familiar feeling I'd ever known. And while the embrace was just fast enough for the starry-eyed girls to take only one or two pictures, it filled my spirit so much that it felt like forever. Through the corner of my eye, I saw a police officer running toward us.
“Why are you in Georgia?” Dame asked, looking at me.
“I'm going to have to ask you two to get down from there!” the police officer barked, now standing at the foot of the chair next to Benji and the girls, who were cooing and calling out for Dame.
“I left. Evan found out about everything and I left.”
“To come—”
“To you,” I said, finishing Dame's statement, and quickly, his eyes flashed from being endeared to distant. “I know you're probably still mad at me,” I tried, “and I'm sorry for what happened. You don't have to forgive me, but I had to see you ... to let you know that—”
“Sir, ma'am,” the officer called, but neither Dame nor I looked at him.
“Give them a second,” I heard Benji say.
“To let me know what?” Dame asked me, his eyes still far away.
“That I—” I looked down at the girls and the officer, who were standing there as quietly as Dame now, waiting for my answer. “I ...” And I didn't know quite what to say ... what to add ... how to express what I was feeling all inside of myself, and with each second the massive room seemed to grow more quiet with expectation. “I ... shit.” My eyes wide open, I wrapped my hands around the back of Dame's head, pulled his face down to mine, and pushed his lips apart with my own, delivering a passionate and impetuous kiss that I led without reservation or care of what was going on or who was looking. I held my breath and pulled Dame's into mine again, working his tongue so aggressively that I felt his body go limp. The sparks exploding between us were rivaled only by the flickers of cameras around the lobby.
“Damn,” I heard one of the girls say, and then there was the sound of cheering. When I finally let go of Dame—and it was I who had to let go—I looked down to see that the police officer and two others behind him were clapping and nodding along with everyone else. Behind them were men holding bigger cameras than the ones I saw before and the men looked less like travelers and more like paparazzi in their sweat suits and sneakers.
“You know this is going to be all over the news tomorrow,” Dame whispered under the noise as we continued to hold each other.
“Yes,” I said,
After Dame and I finally decided to get off the chairs after risking our lives messing with airport security, we were escorted to a private waiting area on the second floor of the lobby. Pushing through the crowd and past the photographers, I'd lost an earring and learned very quickly that the paparazzi's flashing cameras are much closer than they appear on
Entertainment Tonight
.
Dame and I sat in a pair of seats before a huge one-way window that showed the floor of the lobby and I told him all about the
People
magazine picture and what happened with Evan. He kept apologizing for not telling me the pictures people took of him could end up anywhere and that he never intended to harm my marriage. But for me, the picture, while untimely and hurtful, represented the truth and I was old enough to know that at some point, the truth would have to expose itself. Just right then, I was happy it had. I couldn't worry about tomorrow.
“Dame, we have to get to the gate; the flight's about to start boarding shortly,” Emily said, coming toward us with her BlackBerry in her hand. She'd been standing next to Benji at the door.
“Shit,” Dame said.
“Where are you going?” I asked him, suddenly reminded that we were in an airport.
“Ghana,” Emily said before clicking on the phone to take a call.
“Ghana?” I repeated.
“Yeah,” Dame said. “I'm doing some studio work out there with a label. And I kind of needed a real break before I go on tour.”
“For how long?” I felt my heart cracking into bits like Dame and I had been together for years and he was suddenly leaving me.
“A month.”
“A month? You're going away for a whole month?”
“Yeah ... Well, I requested more time and I'm working through some things with the label,” Dame said. “Hey, you can”—he looked at Emily and then back at me—“you can come with me.”
“Come?” I asked. “But I don't... . I can't go to Ghana.”
“Why not? You can come with me.” Dame's eyes started dancing like we were being served a fat bowl of ice cream.
“I don't have a ticket,” I complained, and he frowned.
“I can buy out the entire cabin if I want,” Dame said.
“Well, I don't know anything about Ghana. I was just driving here to see you. I don't even have my things.”
“Emily, I need you to get another ticket. Journey's coming to Ghana with us,” Dame said and Emily looked at him like he was crazy.
“Really?” she asked, clicking the phone off.
“Wait,” I jumped in. “I can't just go.”
“Yes, you can.”
“No,” Emily said. “She needs a visa and her shots to even get into the country.”
“You handle the visa,” Dame said. “Just call the ambassador in D.C. He owes me a favor after that benefit we did last summer.”
“Ooookay,” Emily answered, clearly weighing Dame's order in her head. “Well, I'm sure I can get him on the phone.... But we might have to wait and get a later flight.”
“I don't care,” Dame said, looking at me.
“And then we can handle the shots at the layover in Amsterdam.” Emily produced a pad and started writing this down.
“Shots?” I asked.
“You have to get a few shots to get into the country . . . yellow fever ... all this stuff. Wait, what am I talking about—” She slapped herself on the forehead.
“What?” Dame and I asked.
“The shots and the visa won't matter if you don't have your passport—not nowadays. There's no way around that. They can't even rush it.”
“Oh.” Dame sighed, and we all traded looks. She was right. There was no way around the passport thing. I sighed and felt an itch at my hip.
“Wait!”
“What?” Emily and Dame looked at me.
“My passport!” I pulled my purse off my shoulder and pried it open.
“Yes... . Yes! Your passport,” Dame said so loudly that Benji turned to us.
“I keep it in my purse. I have it. I have it!” The way I said this, it sounded as if the passport carried all of the winnings of a lotto ticket. But then, it was priceless. It had gone unused and without reason within my purse for months and now, suddenly my ridiculous New Year's resolution made perfect sense.
“You keep your passport in your purse?” Emily asked as I pulled it out.
“It's a long story,” I said. “I figured I'd need it one day for something real special.”
 
 
As expected, it took Emily more than an hour to get to Dame's contact at the Ghanaian embassy in Washington, but the fact that it was even an option proved how powerful celebrity could be. My father had a certain amount of power in the South and certainly in Alabama, but Dame's connections were reaching over oceans and the fact that people seemed to want to help was both exhilarating and exciting. The ambassador himself demanded to chat with Dame and I was sure it was supposed to be official business, but when Emily handed Dame the phone he just laughed, exchanged a few words, and in minutes, Emily announced that he would handle it.
“Just when I think you're amazing, you do something else to impress me,” I said to Dame after listening to him chattering with the ambassador as if they'd gone to Princeton together.
“Well, that's a big surprise.”
“Why?”
“I never knew I impressed you at all.”
 
 
After we missed the initial flight and changed airlines, Dame and I walked through security, huddled together under Benji and Emily's jackets as photographers and fans who no doubt got word that Dame was in the airport followed along. I was being pushed and pulled and questioned. There was so much going on, but nothing mattered more than who I was with.
I held Dame's arm tight and didn't let go until we were on the plane and up in the air. And even then, we started to hold on to each other, staring straight into each other's soul with so much desire, the flight seemed like a short hop over a puddle on a pogo stick. Yes, it was funny—time, between two people who had found each other, melted like butter in a hot skillet. First we were laughing and then smiling and before I knew it, we'd passed through Amsterdam and were on our way to Africa.

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