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As she lies there on your chest, sleeping, silent as a mouse, you go over in your mind all

that ever went wrong between you and the other women in your life. Moms. Now the one thing

you can’t forget about her is that smell. Somewhere between vanilla and laundry detergent. For

as long as you can remember. Rides in the hoopty coming home from school, your college

graduation, her funeral. There was that smell. And you remember that smell the night she came

home pissy drunk and passed out on the couch. You remember. You were six. And you came

in and saw her there with her uniform still on, top unbuttoned exposing her black lace bra.

Her hair disheveled, eyes blackened. You remember looking at her and thinking why couldn’t

I have been someone else’s child? She stretched out her hand to you. It must’ve been a good five

minutes before you walked over to her. You seriously considered, in your mind, leaving her sick

ass there. Maybe she’d fall asleep. Maybe she would die. If you left her there. You still, to this

day, wonder what might have happened. But you didn’t leave. Because as long as you stood

there, her hand was still stretched out to you. Still needing you. So you walked over to her and

knelt down beside her. You held her hand and stroked her hair as she leaned over and upchucked

in the bucket you had already set beside the couch for her. You remember turning her around on

her back and looking at her. Over the smell of regurgitated bean burritos and vodka, you could

still smell vanilla and laundry detergent. So you leaned over, kissed her on the forehead. You

went to the closet, pulled out her favorite blanket, and brought it back to her. She lay there

clutching it like it was her last breath. And you turned out the light, went back to your room

without a word, and fell asleep.

And then you remember, the very next morning when you walked into the kitchen. She

was up, walking around as if nothing had ever happened. Smiling and singing “Betcha By Golly

Wow”. On the table was a cup, bowl and plate of hot food where you usually sat. Sausage,

scrambled eggs, and toast buttered on both sides the way you like it. A glass of chocolate milk,

and a bowl of cereal with orange juice instead of milk because you always ate Cheerios with

orange juice instead of milk because you liked the way it tasted. You sat down, not wanting to

smile but you couldn’t help it. She knew and smiled back. She came over and hugged you tight,

thanking you for coming into her life and then thanking the Goddess for giving her the one thing

(or person, rather) she knew she would never regret. The one thing she would leave behind

someday and everyone would say, “Well Birdie did something right. She had a beautiful,

intelligent son who she can always be proud of”. You were Moms’ hero. She wasn’t strong

enough to be yours. Not yet. You would hate her again a couple of times. But in the end, she

would always be there. For every accomplishment, every dream you pursued, she would be

there. With no money. No degree. Just love. A bowl of Cherrios and orange juice waiting. And

open arms that smelled of vanilla and laundry detergent.

II
She begins to whine a little in her sleep, and you stroke her back to soothe her. You think

of Elle and how if it were her instead of Colleen, you probably would have had a son. She

always wanted a boy. You remember that day in gym class when you were playing ball with

Rashad and Daniel. Elle was sitting on the bleachers reading that book for Ms. Cagliari’s english

class when the ball went flying over and damn near hit her in the head. She looked up. The three

of you stood there frozen because you were all too pussy to walk over and get it. Rashad finally

decided to be the brave one. “My bad, Elle,” he yelled. “Can we get that back?” She put her

book down and stood up. Looked at each one of you. First Rashad. Then Daniel. Then you. She

grabbed the ball, hopped down, and walked over to where you were playing. Daniel’s punk ass
backed up a little, thinking she was coming to hit one of you. She walked straight up to you and

you laughed because you realized she was at least 4 or 5 inches shorter than you and from

freshman year until now you had always been somewhat afraid of her. “What’s so funny?” she

asked. “Nothing.” She began to walk around you in circles bouncing the ball. And for some

reason, at this precise moment you began to imagine what it would be like to see her naked. She

stood in front of you again, still bouncing the ball, and looked over at Rashad and Daniel. “I’ll

tell you what. If Kale can get this ball out of my hands, you can have it back.” Daniel’s mouth

dropped in surprise. Rashad looked at her quizzically. “Nah, let me” he said, walking towards

her. “No.” She backed up and then looked at you. “I want you.”Your thoughts exactly. But you

were mad at first. You thought that she thought because you were Trini, that all you knew how to

do was play soccer or cricket or some shit. And the Trini in you told you to snatch that damn ball
out of her hand and then dunk on her. You thought it would be that easy. But you spent the rest

of the gym period trying to get it from her. And she kept catching you with that damn crossover.

After about 10 minutes, Rashad and Daniel had already walked off to play with someone else.

And before you knew it the bell rang. You were worn out. Sweating and breathing hard. She

smiled at you. Walked over to the bleachers to grab her book, with the ball still in her hand. She

came back over to you, threw the ball in the air for you to catch it. “Time’s up,” she said and

walked off. And you couldn’t help but wonder if she could make you break a sweat like that in

the bedroom too.

That’s when it started. She had Ms. Cagliari’s class during 7th period. Right before you.

And she would wait for you. You would walk back to your house, come in, strip naked and she

would wear you out. A feeling you never felt before. Not even came close to feeling. She would

ride you until you thought you would pass out or die from the pleasure shooting up and down

your body. You were fascinated by how sexually free she was. She was a freak. A natural freak

on the low. And you would never have known that such an erotic, sensual human being was

living in that gorgeous body. You remember laying down next to her after having sex and

laughing to yourself. “What’s so funny?” she asked. “And all this time I thought you were a

lesbian.” You turned over on your shoulders to face her. “Close,” she said, still lying on her

back, eyes closed. “I’m bi, Kale.”You looked at her and couldn’t believe how she could keep

surprising you with something new every day. Just intrigued by how comfortable she was, not

just with you, but with herself. She didn’t give a damn whether you like it or not. She was who

she was. You did like it, though. And you grew hard just thinking of her with another girl.

Climbing on top of her, like she did to you. And you watching on the sidelines, enjoying her

enjoying another woman. She rolled over on her side and saw you growing. She smiled and

reached down to touch you. “Make it jump,” she whispered in your ear. You smiled and did it

twice.

It was only supposed to be a casual thing between the two of you. But things change.

There was that week you guys had off from school. Mid winter break or something. And she

didn’t call at all. You figured she might have went away and since you guys weren’t serious...

well...she didn’t have to tell you that she was leaving. Okay, you thought. No problem, you

would see her at school. Then it was time for you to come back and you didn’t see her come out

of english class. She wasn’t there waiting for you when you came out either. You rushed home.

Walking down the hill fast to hurry up and catch the bus. You came in, didn’t even say hi to

moms. You called her house and no one picked up. So you called her cell phone. And finally

she answered. “Hey what’s up?” she said, knowing it was you. She had been sick all that time.

Problems with her stomach. And you remembered a few times before, in bed, she would

complain about it hurting. You collapsed on the bed, relieved. She couldn’t come see you for a

while. But you talked everyday on the phone until you saw each other again. And that did you in.

She liked jazz music and the Colorado Rockies. She didn’t eat pork or beef and she loved horses.

You told her you were a hip hop man yourself and you didn’t care for baseball but you would

take her to a game someday. You wouldn’t give up pork but you might be able to give up beef

and you didn’t know how but you would to learn to ride a horse if she...well...the woman you’re

with loved them that much. She cared about things that mattered and was excited for you when

you told her you wanted to go to NYU. And sometimes you got the feeling she could imagine

your future as clearly as you could. You met the one person in the world, besides moms, who

wanted it for you as badly as you did. And you fell in love.

You proposed to her at graduation with your grandmother’s ring. It was an old lacy

looking ring and the diamond was missing. You replaced it with an amethyst because her

favorite color was purple. She loved it. You went up to the justice of the peace on Union

Turnpike with your mom and her brother and got married. You moved into a tiny basement

apartment in Saint Albans. She cooked every night. On Thursdays, she made pork chops for you

even though the smell made her sick. And you rubbed her belly when it hurt.

While she studied French at Columbia, you were busting your ass in chemistry. You

met Colleen in one of your classes. She was studying biology. She was shy and brilliant. And

you were able to talk about stuff with her and she would understand. She understood some things

that Elle couldn’t and you began to see the differences. Colleen wanted to go into medicine like

you, Elle hated science. Elle was bold and would only stand for an equal partnership, Colleen

was old fashioned and believed in catering to her man. Colleen was Christian and believed in

one man and one woman, Elle was agnostic and bisexual. Slowly, the things you loved about her

began to worry you. You began to have nightmares about catching her in bed with someone else.

Sometimes it was a man. Sometimes it was a woman. Sometimes it was both. The sounds she

made while you made love used to turn you on, but then they began to frustrate you and ring in

your ears until you feel asleep. Jealousy. For no reason, it grew inside of you like a weed. And

you couldn’t help yourself. Every time she said she was out with her best friend or visiting her

brother, you thought she was with Charlie, Rashad, everyone. You started to accuse her of lying

and even though she swore nothing was going on and that she loved you and only you, you

couldn’t help but believe otherwise. Maybe it wasn’t even entirely her fault. She was bisexual.

It was probably in her nature to want more than one person.

She began to get sick of it. On Thursdays, she would leave your plate of pork chops and

mashed potatoes out for you while she stayed locked in the bedroom eating her own dinner. By

the time you came home, the house was clean but she wasn’t there to greet you with a kiss and

hug. She didn’t snuggle up close to you in bed and she didn’t want to be on top anymore when

you made love. And you knew, then. She would leave.

And you didn’t fight it, either. You saw yourself slipping away and you let yourself

drown. Because even if you tried, there would be no way you could ever trust her. In fact, it

didn’t matter whether she was cheating or not. She was bi and Colleen was much safer. She was

a sure thing. If you could wife her, she would be yours entirely, no question. So you started

seeing her. First it was a few dates. Then later, you began to spend the night, sometimes longer,

with her. Elle knew. And you knew that she knew. Then you came home one night and Elle and

all of her things were gone. No note. No explanation. But you didn’t need one. You were free

and that was all that mattered. The only difference between then and now is that you truly

believed she deserved it. That she had been cheating on you the whole time and you were only

doing what was necessary to make her leave because after all, you still loved her and you

couldn’t be the one to end it. She had to be accountable for what she did. And when she asked

for a divorce, you didn’t argue. It was best for the both of you.

She still cared, though. You weren’t sure if she still loved you but she did care. Even

though she rarely called or visited. When it mattered, she was there. Graduation. At the hospital

when Moms had alcohol poisoning. Moms’ funeral. She respected what you had with Colleen

and kept her distance. But you could feel her. Always there.

Months later, you realized it had been a mistake. The few times you spoke after the

divorce, something in your heart told you that you had been wrong. But it was too late. Elle

didn’t believe in going backwards and neither did you. You were with Colleen. And even after

everything that happened at Charlie’s party, you were glad she didn’t remember what you had

said to her that night. It was better that way. The past was the past and you needed to leave it

there. Ancient history.

III

So you let it get this far. You didn’t imagine yourself here. Now, you’ve lost another

good woman in your life. How could you not love Colleen? You don’t know. But it’s over. This

time you have a little hostage. So Colleen will have to deal with you even if she doesn’t want to.

It’s pathetic. But when you have something good, you have to hold on. And you know that now.

As she lays there, like a sleeping angel on your chest, you wonder if one day you should tell her

those stories. Tell her how you didn’t appreciate the women in your life until it was too late.

Maybe. But one thing is for sure. This is one woman you have no intention of ever screwing up

with. Because she is the only person you have ever loved more than you love yourself. Laying

here, a grown man, with tears in your eyes. The power one small life has over your heart to make

you want to change. To make you realize that after you’re gone, there will be someone to say

“Well Kale did something right. He has a beautiful, bright, amazing daughter who he could

always be proud of.”