What the Heart Wants Read online

  Yet I’m compelled to expel the crooked truth, like a dead tooth, rotting away from the root, in need of being extracted and justice officially upheld.

  But I failed.

  When she left, there were three long blonde hairs on my pillow.

  They were the trinity—Isis, Osiris, and Horus, too.

  A chorus in rhapsody, they are now strings on my heart’s instrument.

  She sings like she was birthed from a horn and torn from a piano’s womb.

  Her damn heart birthed me, but will be my tomb.

  Her expensive perfume lingered in my room.

  It’s a spell, can’t you tell? But please don’t wake me up too soon.

  Does she have the powers to make me rise from the dead?

  Is she a witch and I’m just a heartbroken, lovesick son of a bitch…that’s been misled in my own head?

  No, not that one, the little one, not the one on my shoulders.

  But when I look at her, I say, “Fuck it, let’s do this shit. We’ve only got one life to live, and we’re getting older.”

  There’s so much to lose and so much to gain

  Like when I grabbed her for the third time and heard her scream my name

  I devoured her sweetness in the rain, ensuring that she came…and came…and came…

  This morning, she woke me from snoring.

  A gentle nudge…I didn’t budge.

  My eyes fluttered when I looked up and saw a blue-eyed angel mounted on top of me.

  Going up and down, around and around, an astounding fantasy.

  For my entire heart and soul to see.

  I gripped her around her waist, heat and sweat flushed my face as I made love…No. I fucked this woman with all that was in me.

  Eyes wide shut, dreaming of eternity.

  See, “making love” sounds so cliché and fake,

  But it saves me from having to explain and try to force others to relate.

  This is my story, my fate.

  They can’t understand it even if they tried.

  Most wouldn’t be able to cope.

  Wouldn’t matter if I beat their asses with the truth or wrote it on pink paper as a love note.

  Here’s just the way it is:

  I’m in love with a White woman who used to cross the street if she saw me or my kind coming.

  Now, as soon as I pick up the phone, she comes uh runnin’…

  Ain’t that somethin’?

  A changed heart is one you can never part from while others choose to remain blind, deaf and dumb.

  Numb.

  If I expect her to grow, I must grow, too.

  How can I question myself, when I have the answers and know exactly what to do?

  This woman is a mystery yet I can figure her out with the greatest of ease.

  But just when I solve one of her puzzles, here comes trouble, and I’m back on my knees.

  Praying to God in hopes of seeing the forest for the trees.

  I’ve never met someone so afraid and yet so brave

  I’ve never seen someone so masterful, yet still a slave.

  I’ve never watched someone move so sexy and at the same time, be so skittish and reserved.

  I’ve never seen someone sway so slow, then in an instant, be nothing but a fiery blur.

  She’s not Brooke. She’s Emily.

  Though, without Brooke, who would she really be?

  Cameron straightened his navy-blue blazer, stood to his feet, and lit a cigar. His phone pinged twice. He looked down at the text message and smiled. It was Emily confirming he could come over the next day for dinner and discussion.

  He couldn’t imagine anywhere else he’d rather be.

  *

  Emily stood in the hospital lobby area with a bouquet of flowers and a long list of regrets. Her self-loathing practically seeped from her pores as flashes of the horrid memories consumed her.

  I told her she was lazy. I cursed at her. I said, “You people,” and made a jab about a “third baby daddy.” I hate myself for this. I’m going through with it this time, though. Time to face the music, and I better learn the lyrics, quick.

  Her nerves started to dwindle. She hated to admit it, but she was scared out of her damn mind.

  She hadn’t been on that floor in the hospital since she’d had her surgery. That had happened so long ago, it seemed surreal to stand there now, taking in the sights, scents, and sounds. After a prolonged hesitation and a battle of wills, her heart thumping a mile a minute, she approached the visitors counter.

  “Hi, uh, my name is Emily Windsor. I called earlier this morning and the day before that, and the day before that, too. Anyway, I was told that a Mrs. Sapphire Daniels, a nurse, was working her shift here right now.”

  “Yeah, Sapphire is here.” The short, wide woman behind the counter eyed the large bouquet from over her thick-framed black glasses, then tossed another glance at her.

  “Okay, great. If she’s not too busy at the moment, I’d like to hand deliver these flowers to her.” Emily mustered a silly, nervous grin, certain she looked like a damn fool.

  Without another word, the woman at the front picked up the phone and paged the nurse.

  “You can have a seat if you want.” She pointed to some chairs in the distance, one of which she’d been hiding on in the corner moments prior.

  “Thank you. I’ll just stand though.”

  The lady kept plugging away at the big desktop computer in front of her. Less than five minutes later, the tall, thin Black woman approached, her hair in the braids she recalled, but this time, her scrunchie was blue, not pink. The nurse walked in measured steps down the hall, her yellow Croc shoes softly tapping on the glossy white floor. When her gaze settled on Emily, she paused, then continued her trek toward her. Once she was five or so feet away, her lips twisted and her complexion deepened. She crossed her arms over her chest.

  “You?! Oh, hell naw!” The woman laughed, spun around, and waved her arm in the air.

  “I know, well, I don’t have to ask. You obviously remember me.”

  “Everyone remembers you,” the lady snapped, eyes narrowed.

  “Bet you didn’t expect to see me again.” Emily smiled ever so slightly, feeling like an idiot.

  “Nah, I hoped to never see you again. You are, by far, in the top three of worst patients I have ever had, and I told people while you were here to never send me to you again, even if I was the last damn nurse in this hospital, the last nurse in New York or the entire free world, or I was quitting. And I meant that. Every damn word of it. You’re lucky I have a sense of professionalism because let me tell you something.” The woman pointed an accusing finger at her. “If we’d been out in the street and you said that same mess to me, I would’ve smacked the shit outta you. Now, what could you possibly want?”

  “I actually came up here to—”

  “To tell me about how I’m probably on welfare and defrauding the system? Or maybe you want to discuss with me how you think I got a bunch of scholarships because I’m Black, a free ride in school so I can work this obviously posh, high-payin’ job I have?” The nurse rolled her eyes, her tone harsh, unyielding and deserving. The sarcasm was dripping off her words like sweat on a sinner in church.

  “Everything you’ve said I deserve and then some.” Emily braced herself, taking a moment to gather her wits. “I came up here to apologize. I can’t blame how I spoke to you on anything or anyone but myself. It wasn’t the medication. It wasn’t my pain or the surgery. It was me and I own it.”

  The woman grunted and regarded her with suspicion.

  “I’ve had some time to think, to reflect.” Emily looked down at the floor, the flowers drooping in her grip. “And I don’t expect your forgiveness. Forgiveness is expensive, or at least it should be. I came here just to tell you that you’re an excellent nurse, and you had a horrible patient. Me. I hate to have been responsible for leaving that sort of imprint, for creating such a horrible memory in your mind.” She closed
her eyes and took a deep breath, her palms growing sweaty. “I have affected you, so much so, you are still quite angry about our last encounter, as is to be expected. These…these are for you.” She offered her the flowers. Sapphire scowled at them, then wrapped her hand carefully over the ribbon around the stems and took them.

  “I know you probably want to throw them at me.”

  “I thought about it.”

  Emily smiled, feeling impossibly worse, but she was determined to push through.

  “I have been through a harrowing experience, and it has forever altered my life, Sapphire. For the better. To say I see the error of my ways is an understatement. I am the error, and admitting my wrongs and trying to make them right is the new way. I just—” She shrugged. “I just hope there is some way that I can make it up to you. I can’t even explain to you how embarrassed I am! How, for three days in a row, I tried to come up here, but chickened out. I’m on an internal tour, and I’ve been having deeply intimate concerts of self-examination, and I couldn’t shake you loose. You left me changed, too.”

  “You must have to stay here again soon and want to make sure I don’t mess with your food or something.”

  “No, no! I have no scheduled surgeries or anything like that. I’m here because I owe you an apology, woman to woman, face-to-face. I’ve been a class A bitch to many, but some instances stand out more than most. You were one of them. I unleashed my own insecurities and demons out on you. I am in the wrong, not you. It was one of the worst experiences I ever initiated. I am…I am deeply ashamed.”

  Tears streamed down her face and she wiped them off. The nurse visibly swallowed, and her scowl slowly dissipated. Silence reigned for a moment, then, at last, the nurse brought the flowers to her nose. She smiled.

  “These are nice. Thank you for bringing them.”

  “You’re welcome. It’s the least I could do.”

  “I…uh, I accept your apology. You asked what you could do to make it up.” She nodded. “What you can do for me, Emily, is to educate yourself.”

  “I am trying, and I will continue.”

  “You do that, and you make sure you do the same to others like you, ’cause let me tell you something, Black people in this country are sick and tired of the shit they get from people like you.” Her eyes grew dark and steely. “Every time a White person like you says things like you did to me, it needs to be nipped in the bud. It won’t just change when Black people like me call you out on it. I could’ve cussed you out that day and it wouldn’t have made a damn bit of difference. It’s going to take other White people, just like you, to call your peers out on this mess. When you hear racist jokes at the office, say something. Quit letting it fly. It’s not funny. You’re just as guilty by not saying anything about it.

  “When your best friend makes a stupid statement about Chinese people havin’ slanted eyes, or Ethiopians starving and bein’ pirates, say something. It holds more weight when it comes from a person they trust and looks like them. Your views still hold more water with your own people, and that’s just a fact.”

  “I understand what you’re saying. That’s good advice. I promise I will do that from now on. I was the problem. I want to now be part of the solution.”

  The woman shrugged and sized her up, as if trying to figure her out.

  “Look, what’s done is done. I don’t know what caused you to come up here like this. I have no idea if you’re sincere or not because I don’t actually know you, lady. What I do know is that your views of me never defined me, but they sure as hell defined you. I know I’m a good nurse and didn’t need you or anyone else to tell me that. If I only saw myself through the lens of racist White people such as yourself, I woulda slit my damn wrist long ago!” Emily’s heart panged. It was a dull ache, causing cracks to her fortress. “Every day I wake up reminded that I’m Black, like it’s a bad thing.

  “My skin is too dark. My hair too nappy. I have the European standard of beauty shoved down my throat on a daily basis. This is my existence. You’re considered better than me from birth, period. Not shit I can do about it. On top of that, I am a woman and unlike your stereotypes about people like me, I don’t have a bunch of babies and baby daddies. I’m married and have one child.” She thrust one finger in the air. “I teach her to treat people how she’d want to be treated. Golden rule. I work my ass off, sometimes double shifts. I’ve never gotten welfare in my life and I worked three crappy jobs to pay back my college loans so don’t you ever, for as long as you live, twist your lips to speak on some shit you don’t understand and know nothin’ about to a total stranger. You don’t know me. I work with facts and action ’cause words don’t mean shit. Talk is cheap. Now, thank you for the flowers and thank you for the apology, too.” She sniffed the bouquet one more time.

  “You’re welcome.” Emily could barely look her in the eye, but this had needed to happen. It was the only way to break through. Not to Sapphire, but to herself. “I wanted to get you flowers that were nice. The color, the quality, it all meant a lot to me when selecting them. I wanted them to be the kind I would expect from someone who’d acted in the manner I had. It was the least I could do.”

  “The florist cuts the thorns, but the thorns are the best part. They’re real. We all got thorns. Pretending we don’t is crazy. The thorns remind us that we hurt others sometimes, even the beautiful amongst us, even when we don’t mean to. Just by coming close to the flower, you get pricked and you bleed. My blood is red like yours. I hope you realize that now.”

  Emily no longer bothered to wipe away her tears, but simply gave a nod of understanding.

  “You changing your behavior and telling other White folks like you to get their shit together is the best thing you can do, the best apology you can offer me. Funny that people bring flowers to folks dying in hospitals. All it does is remind them their time is almost up.” The nurse laughed mirthlessly. “These flowers will rot and die soon. They’ll be worthless. The flowers are wilting as we stand here. Their lives would’ve been in vain if we don’t remember how pretty they looked, how good they smelled, and the thorns they had, too. So yeah, they’re beautiful but dying. Just like you were, huh? But you being an example and a teacher to your own is what can make you live forever.”

  And then, Sapphire Daniels turned and walked away.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The White Elephant in the Room

  Several weeks later

  The relic of a stove had a silver, dented teakettle on the left front eye. The oven was off, the teapot cold and empty.

  Damn. They’ve had that stove since I was ten, I think. They don’t make that shit like they used to.

  Cameron looked around the kitchen, then watched his father pop big, green, juicy grapes into his mouth, one at a time, smacking his lips loudly.

  “Always get the grapes with the seeds, Dad. The seedless ones have been genetically engineered. Fruit is supposed to have seeds.” Pops smiled, but he could see in his eyes he didn’t give a shit about his views or beliefs. “They say it can happen naturally—it’s called parthenocarpy—but that’s rare. It happens in a science lab,” Cameron added for good measure, just in case he was wrong and Dad’s lazy expression was due to tiredness, not a lack of interest.

  Cameron tapped his fingertips along the kitchen counter, standing with his ankles crossed. The spacious Brooklyn brownstone was pretty quiet since Mama had gone to the store to pick up a few things. The two didn’t say much, but that was nothing new.

  The old-fashioned kitchen smelled of a billion seasonings Mama insisted on having, all jammed in an open glass cabinet. Cameron’s father tossed the rest of the grapes in the refrigerator then took a swig from a beer bottle. Tall, dark, and lanky, his hair full of short silver and black kinky curls that were in need of cutting, Dad was nonetheless looking well put together and in great health.

  “How’d that meeting go that you told me about?”

  “Good. Real good.”

  “That’s good that you d
id that, you know, let ’em have their conference there after they heard you speaking about needing to come there,” his father stated before polishing off his drink and casting the empty bottle in the trash.

  “I can’t tell people to extend the olive branch and then when they try to, and I have resources to help them do it, tell them no, turn them away.”

  “I agree wholeheartedly.”

  “They wanted to at least discuss what was happening out here, you know? Our people are dyin’, Pops, over some B.S. Something has to change. If I can’t be part of the change,” he said, pointing to himself, “then I may as well shut up. Talk is cheap. Some people just like to hear the sound of their own voice. They stand up behind pulpits or lead rallies but when it’s time to put some backbone and money where their mouth is, they’re nowhere to be found. That’s one of my biggest pet peeves.” His father nodded. “That’s like people sayin’, ‘Get a job,’ but those same people don’t offer any suggestions on how to do it. They don’t show someone how to write a resume, they don’t give recommendations for transportation to even get to the interviews should they get a call, they don’t assist or help obtain these people’s G.E.D. or any higher education.

  “They don’t suggest or offer computer classes for training, shit like that. You can’t expect someone to reach their goals if nobody out here will help them, or at the very least, provide a way for them to get from A to B. Besides,” he said with a shrug, “we all had some help, somewhere along the way. None of us got this far without some sort of assistance.”

  “Lotta folks would’ve been scared to have those guys around them. Not you though.” His father smiled proudly at him as he leaned back against the counter next to him. Cameron looked into his father’s eyes and saw bits of himself in them. He looked like both of his parents, a perfect blend.

  “Look, at the end of the day, we attach fear to things, people, and places that don’t always deserve it, and the stuff we should be afraid of, we just walk in on, blindly. I’m guilty of that myself.” Cameron scratched the side of his head.

  “What’s gotten into you?” Dad smirked.