Constance hated nights like these, when everything
seemed to float along like the passing of time, never ceasing. To her, they
always seemed sad, and blue was the only color she'd wear. And it seemed nights
were always like this Chicago. But then it got to a point where her feeling
of blue nights crept into the dawning of blue days. So Constance only wore blue
now.
She stood in front of her living room window and
noticed the low hanging clouds, the kind that covered everything they were around
and created a haze similar to a dream. Or smoke. Like the way this neighborhood
way west of the river had declined over the years from a place of majestic three-storied
rows to intermittent blocks of good and bad and devastated, or young boys with
baggy pants who hung on the corner making deals with the devil, like a girl
blossoming into womanhood who threw away its promise and descended into a syringe
filled daze. This night reminded Constance of a time when she had fought to
see through her life.
She opened the window just a little. There was
something redemptive about the way she breathed in the mist of the night. The
wind created an omnipotent feeling with the sensation of the slow breeze sliding
across her hand, giving her strength to withstand the chill in the air. It was
anxious, almost seductive. She reveled in the atmosphere and wished she could
stay here and continue to have the wind caress her.
The feeling of empowerment and seduction left
Constance quickly as she turned and looked at the rest of her house. Back
into the land of blue. Sometimes she got sick of looking at the blue loveseat
that sat right in the middle of the living room and the blue Laz-E-Boy that
sat in the corner. They made the room seem so dark, but that's what she'd wanted,
to be able to come home and not see her shadow on the wall, to be able to talk
to Charles without answering to the interrogation of his reflection that bounced
off it.
The walls. They had become her salvation. Dark
African prints, abstract drawings, grotesque miniature statues of evil demons.
They were all around her. Her guests thought they were frightening, and most
decided to spend their visit in the kitchen. Those that chose to brave the depressing
atmosphere always commented on the way it made her living room seem like a horror
movie. Close. What Constance always thought. But those prints and drawings comforted
her. She liked to be able to look at something that was less together than she
and uglier on the outside than she was inside.
The sound of jingling keys interrupted Constance's
daydreaming and brought her back to the present. Let me perk up. She didn't
want Charles to have any more reason to worry about her.
He came into the house smiling as always. He walked
past the blue loveseat and opened his arms to embrace Constance. He hugged her
tight, tight enough to get a sense of her mood before he asked her.
"So how's the weather tonight?" That was the code
they had come up with about six months ago after he'd first asked Constance
to marry him, and she'd told him no. When she was ready for the commitment,
she would give a good report, but until then, she'd say "blue all over." He
asked hoping that maybe her answer would be different this time.
"Blue all over," Constance said through a sigh.
She knew that wasn't the answer he was looking for, but she wasn't ready for
marriage, nor did she want to feel pressured. "I'm sorry Charles.
I'm just not ready yet."
"Well, when are you going to be ready?" Charles
asked, getting tired of being rejected by the one woman he cared about. He let
his arms slide down her back, and then he walked away from her and went into
the kitchen. He sat down at the oak table and just stared, off into space, anywhere
but back into the living room where Constance was still standing.
For Charles, the kitchen was the place in the
house where he felt most comfortable. It was the only room Constance would let
him do anything with. He'd decorated it with bright floral wallpaper that was
perfectly lined, a glass curio cabinet with authentic oriental dishes, and a
linoleum floor with a pattern very similar to the wallpaper. The kitchen served
as a contrast to the rest of the house because it was the only room without
the color blue. That's the way he liked it. He knew he could go in there, and
the brightness of the atmosphere would put him at ease. That's why he'd spent
six months and $2,000 trying to get it just the way he liked, and the result
had been worth waiting for. The thought of his kitchen cheered him a little.
Patience.
Constance came into the kitchen and stood
behind Charles, her savior in so many ways. Three years ago, when she'd first
met him that at the restaurant he owned, she was on the verge of relapse, but
his immediate affection for her had been and still is her strength. She didn't
know where she'd be without him, but she couldn't fully commit to love. Not
this time.
"I just can't Charles. You don't know how it feels."
"Well, tell me then."
"What are you afraid of?" Charles asked for the
first time. He couldn't help but avoid her face and survey his kitchen. The
window was open and the breeze was a song that reminded Charles of all the things
he loved about Constance.
"You just need to let go," Charles told her, frustrated.
It was time she let her past go, or at least brought it out in the open.
"It's not that easy."
"Why isn't it?"
"You don't understand. You weren't the one that
got involved with someone you thought you'd be with forever only to have him
destroy you," she said all in one breath, startling herself. It was funny that
she'd never put into words her experience with Derrick. Never.
"What happened to you that was so bad?" He hoped she would
tell him the truth. The truth he already knew but was too afraid to say. There'd
been rumors when he'd first met her. People would see them at a restaurant or
at the movies, and as soon as she would go to the restroom, they'd approach
him. "I can't believe you're with her," they'd say, each one in disbelief and
disgust. "Don't you know what she used to do? Don't you know who she used to
be with?"
Charles never answered because he was too embarrassed
to say he did. He knew Giles, and Giles had often talked about Constance. He
felt that part of her life was in the past and he didn't care about that anymore,
but he refused to let his guard completely down. When he'd pick her up from
her house, he'd run his hands down her arms to make sure there were no marks,
and then he'd look deeply into her eyes to make see if they looked the way Giles'
had. When she was in the bathroom, he'd quickly look through her apartment for
any traces of it. Constance always thought Charles was such a romantic.
"Drugs," she said, almost afraid that even the
mention of the word would send her back into a craving, even though had five
months in rehab had been her cure. "I used to shoot up heroin…when I was in
college…with my old boyfriend, Derrick." I can't believe I just told him
that.
"Constance, we've been together for three
years. I asked you to marry me. You didn't think I needed to know something
like that?" Damn, Constance.
"I know. I'm sorry Charles," she said with
the tears starting to stream down her face. She looked down at the floor. "It's
alright Connie. I already knew," he said lifting her chin so he could look directly
into her eyes.
"How-how did you know?"
"Giles is my cousin."
The look of embarrassment and anger was apparent
on her face. "Why didn't you ever say anything? That would have made it easier
on me."
"Would you really have responded?"
"No," she said, finally seeming to lift her mood.
"Tell me about it."
"What is there to tell," Constance said. "He got
me to do drugs, and I got strung out. End of story."
"No, that's not what I want to know. What
made you get started? Tell me about the first time?"
"I don't want to talk about it. I can't." Constance
sighed deeply because she didn't want to be talking about this. You don't
realize how hard this is for me. Going through that in college almost destroyed
me.
"If you tell me, we can get past this. I know
we can. I love you."
I still don't know if I should tell him. What
if he leaves?
"Constance, say something. I just want to
know what happened. I'm still gonna be here for you."
There was a long pause.
"We'd been together for a while and things were
great, but then he started to get distracted. I thought he was cheating on me.
So one night when we were in my room I just so frustrated and confused that
I immediately started accusing him."
* * *
"You've been lying to me, Derrick," she said
to him as she sat all the way up in the bed. And now she was standing over him.
"What is it, Derrick? Some other woman tying up all your energy. Is that why
you have excuse after excuse over why you can't half get here?"
"Constance-"
"Is that why you always broke though you supposedly
working so much overtime? Is that why you can never call me and you are always
throwing some other woman's name in my face?"
"No Const-"
"What is wrong with you Derrick? Is it me? "If
you tell me it's me, I'll change because I know we can work this out."
"Constance, Constance, please Constance, you've
got it wrong."
"Well, you better put it right, then. If I've
got it wrong, then you need to set it straight. Derrick, all I want is to be
with you."
" I want to be with you too."
"Then why are you treating me like this. I do
everything I can for you, what more do you want from me?"
"Nothing."
"Who is she Derrick?" Constance said in desperation.
"There's nobody."
"There is. Just tell me. I won't be mad. Whatever
it is, I'll fix it." I'll do anything to make it right.
He swung his legs over and sat on the side of
the bed and hung his head in his hands. He patted the space next to him, asking
her, needing her to come and sit beside him as he thought about what he should
do. But he knew what he wanted to do right now. More than anything, he wanted
to get to the contents of the skinny wax-paper Baggie in the lining of his navy
jacket. His insides were jumping uncontrollably now at the thought. He looked
at her and begged her to please come next to him. If he could have her warmth
against him right now maybe he'd have a chance at talking his insides into being
still, maybe he wouldn't convulse like he was getting ready to do. "Please,
Connie, please," he begged.
He hoped she would come and comfort him, to ease
his craving, to ease the stress he'd been going through. He had been lying to
her. He'd been fired from his job three weeks ago and was on the verge of getting
kicked out of school. Rumors were rampant about him. Everyone knew what was
going on but Constance.
She just stood there. She was cold now, too, as the outside air was winning
over the warmer gusts pushing up from the heater. She went to the window and
slammed it shut, calling herself a fool as she did. "Why didn't I see it? Why
didn't I see it?" She mumbled her words and struggled to understand the jumbled
messages coming from Derrick. Something about Giles this and Giles that and
Giles said it would help clear my mind and it was so good that first time.
"So good!" Constance seethed out. "You mean to
come up in my room and tell me all about some other woman and how she is so
good!" Constance was almost screaming now. "What?"
"It was so good."
"What?"
"The only thing in my life that's better than
you," he said
"Derrick, tell me what," she yelled. "Tell me
what you're talking about."
So he told her what he'd been doing, how it started
when his uncle had died and how Giles said it would make him relax and take
his mind off everything. And after that night, it had turned into a once a month
habit. Then it'd been twice a month and now it was almost an everyday ritual
that he was paying Giles to help him carry out. He told Constance how he wanted
to stop, and every time he swore would be his last, but there was always a next
time. And now he was begging Constance, "Please help me. Please."
But Constance didn't know what to do. She was
only a 19-year-old confused college sophomore who thought she had finally found
her place in the world and the man she would love forever. It was unfair to
ask her to save him; she wasn't his Savior. She wasn't a clergyman that he should
be confessing to. How was she supposed to deal with this thing that had taken
her love away? She couldn't fathom anything so powerful, even more so than the
love she had for him. All she could do was tell him to talk to his advisor or
call student health or go to the mental institution and then tell him to leave
her room. Should she abandon him and leave her world empty just because she
couldn't stop his cravings nor could she be a substitute? She was so unwise.
So all she had the capacity to do at that moment, as her lips turned blue because
she was so chilly even as Derrick leaked sweat all over her, and he held her
so closely until her chest was closing up and her breaths went thin and she
started to cry, was think that the only way to help him, to save him, was to
understand what he was doing, had done. He could barely hear her when she said,
"Show me, Derrick. Show me what has taken you away from me."
Afterwards, Derrick knew that he never would have
shown her had he been in his right mind, but he wasn't. So it wasn't a decision
he made with a clear head as he reached into the pocket of his navy jacket and
grabbed the contents out of his Baggie. The dull white contents, so beautiful
to him, even more beautiful than Constance.
He was skilled as he tightened the belt to the
first hole after slipping it around her arm. His insides were still quivering
but he told them that their turn was coming up soon. The droplets of his sweat
glimmered on the vein that had popped up so it was easy to see even under the
mist and fog of the sky that hung all over the room in horror as Derrick pierced
it in. All the way in. And Constance squeezed her eyes shut and made a sucking
sound as her rich blood splattered and splashed around in the needle head. She
didn't notice anything now except the pings of metal firing one after another
in her mental orgasm that went on and on or even as she nodded off into a land
of milky blue.
* * *
"From then on, I became more and more strung
out until I was so far gone that I had to go rehab. And that's how it started,"
she said letting the last words out with a breath of finality. She'd finally
told someone about her secret.
Charles looked at Constance in disbelief. The
gentle breeze had started again and was beginning to dry his tears of sympathy,
but he was still having a hard time understanding a love so naïve and strong.
What were you thinking? He was speechless. What was he supposed to say? That
he understood. That it was okay. To him it wasn't. So he said nothing.
"What are you thinking?" Constance asked.
Charles looked into her chestnut brown eyes and
thought about all the things they'd been through together. He thought about
the promise he'd made to her: "I'll always be here to take care of you." And
Charles believed in his promises. That was the one good lesson his father had
taught him. His father had abandoned him and his mother right after his sister
was born and since that day, Charles had vowed never to abandon the people he
cared about. It caused too many problems. So he did the only thing he could
do, he let go of Constance's hand and told her that everything was going to
be okay. Then he walked out. He left the kitchen and went into the bedroom they
shared.
As much as Constance wanted to, she didn't get
up and follow him. She stood up from her chair and went over to the window and
felt the misty breeze that had been flying across her all night. She pushed
the window higher so she could feel it to the full extent. She let the air wrap
around her giving a sense of empowerment. She breathed in its freshness and
was relieved and comforted. The burden around her heart was lifted, and the
wind took with it the secrets she'd just released. Finally. She closed her eyes
and lived in that moment where she felt like she was in control, where she could
make decisions about what was right for her life. And no one but her had that
power. As the wind whispered words of encouragement in her ear, she knew she
would no longer identify with that naïve college girl who let someone destroy
her innocence.
She ran these thoughts over and over in her mind
as she made her way into the master bedroom. As she walked through the hallway,
she examined the dark, abstract paintings on the wall. Maybe it's time for a
change of scenery. She stopped at the doorway and watched Charles, who was sitting
on the bed staring out into space. She searched his face for signs of disgust
but couldn't ascertain the meaning of his expression. He just looked at her.
But she felt wonderful, exhilarated. The blue fog had been lifted from around
her. She was light. She went through her closet until she found what she was
looking for, a Sears box. In it was the first step to her redemption. She took
the box out and went and placed it on the bed next to Charles. He looked down
and smiled because he recognized the box he'd given her that first time asked
her to marry him. She was still smiling, and as each second passed, her smile
got bigger.
"Charles," Constance said, "I know that wasn't
easy for you to hear, but I'm glad that I told you." She picked up the box and
placed it in her lap. She opened it and held it up for Charles to see. He smiled.
Just a bit a first, but enough for Constance to see that he still loved her,
despite her past indiscretions.
He inched in closer to her and looked at the contents of the box once more just
to make sure this was really happening. He reached out to embrace Constance.
This time she hugged him back. "I'm not going to hurt you," he said. She believed
him. He let her go and looked at her for a while, just enough to make sure she
was ready. He thought that this time she was.
"So how's the weather?" he asked, for what he
knew would be the last time
And this time, instead of frowning and reminding
him that blue was the only color that could keep her sane, she took the nightshirt
from the box, put it on over her clothes, and let the bright yellow material
answer for her.
Home| Research | Resume | Portfolio | Photos | Poetry | Links