Mr. and Mrs. Swing

Chapter 12: What's Done in the Dark, Comes to the Light

January 16, 1993

Harlem, NYC

It was a beautiful yet cold Saturday morning and I desired to do nothing more than lay around the house and relax. Last weekend, my Auntie Loretta and cousin Diana came to New York to help me find a wedding planner and look at venues. It was so good to have them around, even if it was for a couple of days. Devante pulled out all the stops while there were here: fancy restaurants, shopping on fifth avenue, a tour of Uptown, and his favorite studio in New Jersey. When they came they already liked him, and when they left I think they were sadder to leave Donald than me.

I looked down at my ring finger, still in shock and disbelief. Donald said he was going to marry me and here we were. As I stared at the ring, something in my spirit felt off. For years, I tried to block out memories of my parent's marriage. Focusing on school, debate, sports, anything to get my mind off the pain that I experienced in my formative years. I always told Bethany, when we would have our heart to hearts late at night on the bench outside our dorm, that I would never get married. I would never subject myself to the isolation and cruelty that is marriage. She would always hug me and say, "Never say never Drew, never say never". Now, as I look at this ring on my finger, I thought about my mother. Tanya Williams-LaCroix. A woman I barely knew, a sister who was taken, a daughter who rebelled against her baptist roots and married the town pimp.

I remember as a child, my mom would wake up every Saturday morning, singing, letting the music move her as she cleaned the house. That was the only time my momma and daddy didn't fight when she was singing. The only compliment I could ever remember my daddy uttering about my momma was "She has the most beautiful voice I've ever heard". I decided to get up and head to my second bedroom, which I used as a storage room, and find my old record player.

The record player actually wasn't mine, it was my momma's. One of the few things grandad let me take from the old shack we lived in before we moved down to the farm, right after momma's funeral. He also let me take all of momma's records, most of them were Aretha Franklin, Ray Charles, Stevie Wonder, and Etta James records. I remember my momma playing "You Make Me Feel Like a Natural Woman" by Aretha Franklin whenever she was in the good mood, grabbing the broom and using it as a mic while she sang around the house.

"Momma, sing us a song. Please!", I asked my momma as stirred the batter for a cake she was making.

"What you do you want momma to sing baby girl?", she asked offering me the cake spoon to lick after she was feeling.

My daddy walked into the kitchen, wrapping his arms around my momma. I could feel her heart fluttering through her chest, a red pigment jumping to her cheeks. A rare sighting of affection from my dad meant more than any beating he could ever give her.

"Sing something that's on your heart Tanya", Daddy whispered in her ear.

Momma turned around and stared daddy in the eyes, her eyes full of love and admiration. Even at eight years old, I knew their love was deep. Tragic. Painful. Misaligned.

My momma started singing softly, still staring at my father.

When my soul was in the lost and found

You came along to claim it

I didn't know just what was wrong with me

'Til your kiss helped me name it

Now I'm no longer doubtful, of what I'm living for

And if I make you happy I don't need to do more

Then her voice picked up more and more....

'Cause you make me feel

You make me feel