Something She Can Feel (41 page)
Read Something She Can Feel Online
Authors: Grace Octavia
“You're killing me.”
“When I come back, I'll have an album written and be ready to record,” I said.
Kweku stood there for a second and looked into my eyes.
“Okay,” he finally said. “Okay.”
“Okay?” Even I couldn't believe he'd said okay.
“Okay,” he confirmed. “Now go on to lunch and retain a lawyer. Can you do that, diva?”
“I can do that.” I was sure my smile could be seen throughout the building.
“And don't get lost,” he said, walking out of the room in front of me.
“Don't worry, Kweku. I'll be taking Ms. Cash to lunch,” Dame said, who I discovered was standing right outside the door.
“Hmm ...” Kweku wagged a naughty finger at Dame and turned to me. “Call me later?” We exchanged nods, and he walked off to a group of people who were waiting for him down the hallway.
“How do you know I want to have lunch with you?” I asked Dame.
“Two words.”
“What?”
“Dreamland BBQ.”
“Dreamland? We're going to Tuscaloosa for lunch?” I asked as we started walking toward the elevators.
“No! They have it up here now,” Dame said. “A chain. Commerce. Capitalism. Dreamland is taking over.”
“Is it as good?”
“Hell, no. You know the best barbecue is in Tuscaloosa. But it'll have to do.”
“I guess it will,” I said.
Dame pushed the button for the elevator, and we just stood there quietly. He hadn't lost his tan and his skin looked so impeccably black, an onyx sculpture could be made of him. He was still a beautiful man. And I knew right then that we'd be friends forever.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I'm fine.” I smiled and made myself a promise I wouldn't look at his arms during lunch. But I knew I would. “It's just nice to see you wearing something other than a white T-shirt for a change.”
“Oh, you like the new look?” he asked, chuckling. “It's my grown-man-trying-to-stay-out-of-jail swagger.”
“Let's hope it works,” I said, chuckling now, too.
An empty elevator arrived and we both walked inside. I reached inside my purse and pulled out my cell phone.
“You need to make a call?” he asked nosily.
“I need to call my mama and tell her what happened today,” I said.
“Call your mama? I thought you were on your Ms. Independent thing.”
“I may be independent, but I'm not stupid.”
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If you enjoyed the
Something She Can Feel,
don't miss
Should Have Known Better
Something She Can Feel,
don't miss
Should Have Known Better
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Available in November 2011 at your local bookstore
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Here's an excerpt from
Should Have Known Better
...
Should Have Known Better
...
Fire
I
never really believed in God. Not a god. Not “Thee God” that you probably believe in. I know that must sound peculiar coming from a preacher's daughter. But, you know, I just never had a reason to honestly think someone or something other than myself would show up to save me when the whole universe was crashing in and burning me to bits. And that's what God isâwhat we really say he isâa savior. Some big hand to hold you together when you're a pile of hot ash. And I'd been there before. My son has autism. Mild autism. When he was three years old, he stopped saying, “Mama.” Just stopped one day and then a man with a gray beard in a white jacket told me that he had a disease I could hardly pronounce. There was no cure. There was no cause. They couldn't say where it came from. “It came from me,” I cried and sobbed in the bathtub with my hands resting over my vagina. The water was boiling all around me, and turning to lava, scorching me alive. I didn't think any God would come then. And no God came. I got myself out of that fire. I fought to save my son. I was the only one there.
never really believed in God. Not a god. Not “Thee God” that you probably believe in. I know that must sound peculiar coming from a preacher's daughter. But, you know, I just never had a reason to honestly think someone or something other than myself would show up to save me when the whole universe was crashing in and burning me to bits. And that's what God isâwhat we really say he isâa savior. Some big hand to hold you together when you're a pile of hot ash. And I'd been there before. My son has autism. Mild autism. When he was three years old, he stopped saying, “Mama.” Just stopped one day and then a man with a gray beard in a white jacket told me that he had a disease I could hardly pronounce. There was no cure. There was no cause. They couldn't say where it came from. “It came from me,” I cried and sobbed in the bathtub with my hands resting over my vagina. The water was boiling all around me, and turning to lava, scorching me alive. I didn't think any God would come then. And no God came. I got myself out of that fire. I fought to save my son. I was the only one there.
That wasn't the God the good Reverend Herbert George II talked about on the pulpit every Sunday at First Salvation Church of God in Southwest, Atlanta. No. Sitting there in the first row beside my mother in one of her lavender suits with sparkly lilac rhinestones around the collar, I listened as my father talked about a god who saved and fixed and came “just in the nick of time!” That “on time” God. Right?
I always knew it was a lie. It couldn't be true.
Nothing my daddy ever said was true.
The good Reverend Herbert George II killed my mother everyday. But “Thou shall not kill”? God should've put something more direct in that chapter of his good book. Like don't kick your wife so hard in the stomach that she can't have anymore babies.
There was no God.
I didn't expect it. I didn't see.
But that's just all what I believed thenâhow I understood things before I'd been on the earth for 33 years and ended up locked in a bathroom, once again, blaming myself for losing everything I loved.
I was so angry, the fire within me was burning up the world crashing in.
I was about to kill somebody.
Either myself. Or my husband. Or my best friend. Or maybe all of us.
And not figuratively. Seriously. The gun was on the floor I was running out of the energy to save myself.
I cried. I felt like no one would ever hear me, but I cried out for the name I'd heard my mother scream so many times. My God. The heat in me boiled out of my mouth so fast that I lurched forward to my knees.
“God,” I cried. “God, help me!”
DAFINA BOOKS are published by
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119 West 40th Street
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Copyright © 2009 by Grace Octavia
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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
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If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
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ISBN: 978-0-7582-7384-0
ISBN-10: 0-7582-4564-6
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