Cheers, Sis

This is going to be my first date since…

I walk to my closet. I want to wear a dress- something cute and flirty. I try on my favorite yellow sundress. It has a little peekaboo hole near my cleavage. The sweetheart neckline is my favorite part. The dress cinches my waist and then flares out and stops just above my knees. My mind drifts to my last date. I had arrived fashionably late- I’m always late. He was already there by the time arrived. He had a warm smile and opened his arms to hug me. I felt I could stand there forever in his arms. I can still remember the scent of his cologne lingers- a heady mix of tobacco, pepper, bergamot tempered with the scent of fabric softener on his soft white polo. It made me laugh, sneeze and sigh. He smelled like home. He felt like home. We stayed in that restaurant for four hours before walking hand-in-hand to the city parking lot. We talked on the phone as we drove back to our homes. I thought in that moment; I had found HIM! I found my home…

Wait a damn minute! What’s wrong with the zipper on this dress?!?! Why won’t it close? I let the straps fall from my shoulders and let the dress fall to the floor. I kick it out of the way and search for another.

It’s 4:45.

I eye a navy blue slinky dress AKA “Da Headsnapper…” She makes heads turns. She keeps everything in the right places. My boobs are up to my neck, my waist is small and my butt is perky. Who needs surgery when you have a dress like this! She is my lucky dress. I wore her to my engagement party. That man that felt like home- well he wanted to make me the queen of his palace. He proposed at a surprise party in the city. We walked along the cobblestone streets to get to my favorite restaurant downtown.

You can always spot someone famous there. One time, a very hot and famous man told me I looked beautiful and offered to buy my friends and me drinks! Yah yah people see famous people all the time, right, but he came to me. I didn’t have to follow; there were no selfies; he was drawn to me- a not-so-famous girl in a Headsnapper dress. I could dream when I went there; I could pretend to be whoever I wanted to be in that bar. Marnie from Paris or Trish from Jersey or Sirene from Haiti. I acted with the actors as they ordered glass after glass of Merlot. I spun my stories and then passed them off as truth. I ordered Merlot whenever I came here; Merlot was everything I wanted to be- the little black bird adored and wanted by all.

I let him into my little secret bar on those cobblestone streets. My secret became his but instead of acting, he watched and he listened as I put on my act. He said nothing but he would kiss me passionately afterwards. He had this way about him; he made it so easy to drop my walls for him. The way he kissed me always left me wanting more. My blood pulsed as his rough hands as they explored my hips, my backside and my breasts and whispered my ears. I couldn’t get enough of him. I know people say that all the time; I wanted to breathe his air and soak his presence. I am intoxicated by you, Ab-

My frekum dress let herself go. Why didn’t I notice this before? Is that a hole??? What happened to you, sis? I look at myself in this tattered dress and my eye critically darts to all of the pockets of fat that are spilling out from the numerous holes in my dress. I sighed; more of my jiggly parts tried to jiggle out of the holes and I could have sworn I heard something rip. I take off the dress, with some effort, and throw it on the floor.

It’s 5pm.

Maybe I need a pair of pants instead of a dress? I throw on these cute high waisted pants with a cropped sweater. I look like one of those cool girls I always see online. The cute fresh faced women with a million followers; the sexy older women with two million followers; the ones who have the best outfits for every and any occasion. They can take a plaid headscarf, a faux fur vest and fisnet stockings and turn it into a Instagram statement piece! They are always so put together. I could scroll through their short videos all day and hate-like all of their content. He always loved when I dressed “cool.” When I gave “dope chick” vibes, I felt that he stood taller. He was proud- even after eight years of marriage. He was proud until-

This won’t work. This. Won’t. Work.

What time is it? It’s 5:30 pm.

I feel my face getting warm; my nose starts to burn and I rush to take them off.

I stand there-completely undressed annoyed and cold staring at my options-each item perfectly arranged by color, by type, by season- something for every occasion and season. What season is this?

It’s 5:45pm

Why is it taking this long? My mom would ask. Is there something wrong? “Maybe you should see a...you know…specialist” his mom would say. We had been trying for five years. We met with specialists. There were tests. There were needles. There was no baby. There were more tests and more needles and still no baby. There was less laughter now. Those rough hands now felt like sandpaper. There was a coolness in his smile now. He was tired. I was tired. He told me I felt like work. Sex felt like work. Where was my home? Why do I feel alone in the place I called home. He would push me away after sex- maybe during sex? I stopped looking at him. The women at his parents’ church would stare at me when I walked in the room and a holy magnifying glass was held over MY head…

“We’re praying for you sister…”

“Why don’t you read the story of Hannah…”

“Are you praying enough…”

“Maybe if you did this…”

“You’re almost 40; you’ve going to lose your youth.”

“Give him a baby before he leaves you..”

I hate them. I hate them and their big hats and their old wives’ tales. I hate them as they hold their grandchildren and talk incessantly about them while my parents and my in-laws and my husband politely nod. I thought I did everything right. I had a great career. I was a straight A student. I was beautiful. I had a great career, but the one thing I thought I was entitled to have- I failed. I failed at having a baby and I hated him. I hated my husband. I hated hearing his footsteps as he walked in the room now. I hated answering his parents’ calls. I hated me. I hated the body that betrayed me; each needle felt like a small knife in my back. I failed; my world, my home were incomplete.

It’s 5:55 and I’m sitting in a sea of clothes strewn all over the room.

I turn to the mirror again- still cold and naked. There is no one here to kiss my tears. No one but me. I stare in the mirror. My breasts aren’t the same. My hips are wider. My hair has fallen out. I want to cry. I want to shout. I kinda want to vomit. I want to take a nap.

Ugh, I need some ginger ale. I run to the kitchen and grab a can before returning to the closet.

Upon returning, I accidentally look to the other side of the closet. Where his stuff used to be…over a month ago, I came home from work and they were gone. His clothes were gone. His scent lingering in the air in the space he once occupied and called home. At first I thought we were robbed, but when I walked into the bedroom, I found his ring. He was gone. It’s been six weeks since he left. His parents called me to pray. My friends called to offer well-meaning but superfluous advice. My parents said, “just come home, baby.”

It’s 6pm and I’m late.

I run to the living room. I managed to clean my apartment ahead of time. The curtains were drawn and the candles were lit. I had my favorite bottle of Merlot on the dining room table. I poured a glass and stopped to smell my little black bird. She smelled like plums and cherries; she smelled like cocoa and vanilla. I could taste it without raising the glass to my lips. I swirl the dark red fluid around in the glass and watched the wine’s tears cling to the clea surface of the glass. “I can taste you…” I whisper to my little black bird. I look up over towards a floor length mirror I moved to the table earlier. I stared at myself on the couch; I can hear mamman’s voice chiding…” a girl should never go out and eat alone! What would people think? What a sad thing to do.”

I felt a peace wash over me; every pudgy part of me as I stared into my own eyes and smiled at my own smile. The woman in the mirror said “Hello Serah, you look beautiful tonight…” I was still naked but no longer cold. “How did we get here?” I asked her. “it’s been a while, but we have all the time in the world to figure it out, she said” I looked down at the table and then over to the mirror again, “I missed you;” my voice cracked and I wrapped my arms around myself as tears started to fall from my eyes. “I was always here” she said. “But I ran away from you,” I said “At least I tried to…” “You found your way back” she said. There was silence. I looked at the glass and then I looked at them… there must be five or six of them now; they were scattered around the table near the now warm can of ginger ale.

Positive.

Positive.

Positive.

Positive.

Positive.

Cheers, sis.