Woman

Epilogue

Dear Diary

December 25

On December 19, I held him; held him like a mother held her child because, now, I was his mother. Now I was the only parent, biological or not, he knew. And as he cried into my chest, I realized, now my heart held his tears as well.

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"Noel," I knocked on his door, "baby open the door." I knew he was aching, physically aching. I could feel it too. My heart would get knotted and I couldn't breathe. But they'd said 'Don't worry', and I tried not to. But Noel had gotten it hard. He barely spoke anymore. I didn't even give him wrong.

He opened the door, body moving, mind asleep. I knew he hadn't been sleeping lately. At nights I would lean against his door and hear him crying, hear him cursing God. And I didn't know how to help, so it hurt me.

He rubbed his eyes as he walked back to his bed and plopped down on it, putting one hand under his head and the other on his chest, staring at the ceiling. I sat next to him, rubbing my hands through his curls as we idled in silence.

And then, I look down at his face; he's weeping. Even though I'm dressed formally, I scrunch up next to him and I put my hands around his torso and I kiss his head and I cry with him.

"Why," he asks, words muffled by tears, "why would He take them? If God loved me, then he would know that I loved them and He wouldn't have done that?"

But, I have no answer for his question. Sometimes, things can't be explained. Though the truth of it was, it was explainable. Seria and Kaeden had spent their time trying to treat a disease that had no part in their death. They say Kaeden had reached a breaking point, that he had blamed Seria for them contracting AIDS. So when he got a hold of gun, he held the barrel to her first, then he held it to himself. But I had no heart to tell him the truth. So instead of answering, I hold him.

When he's sleep, I ease out of his bead and pull the sheets over him. I don't turn off the lights because I know he's tired of darkness. So am I. I shut the door and leave a kiss there, in case he needs it.

Momma's in the kitchen, drinking her life away. Whiskey, after Scotch, after Hennessy. Actually, anything she can get her hands on. Ever since Daddy left, she's been trying to follow right after him. I just leave her. One time I tried to take the bottle from her and she held a knife to me. I can't help people that don't want to be helped. It's impossible.

I leave the house, no one knows where I'm going, except, Ahmari. Ahmari. I rub my stomach lovingly as I drive. I bet he's beautiful. He's one of the few people I talk to nowadays. And I like it that way.

I straighten out my dress when I park and get out the car. It's a tight red dress and it accentuates my curves and my baby bump. But, what I like most about it is the color. The color resembles, me and who I am now; bright red for my triumphs.

As I walk into the restaurant, I spot him. I remember when he told me "baby girl, you are the most beauty I've seen in a while" and now I can finally say, I believe him. I even remember when he asked me who made me feel insecure about myself. I know the answer to that now; the person that made me feel insecure was myself. I am the only person that can bring or take my happiness and I allowed people to influence it.

He smiles at me as I walk over to the table and like the gentleman he was raised to be, stands to pull the chair out for me. I sit, while he makes his way back to his seat. He watches me with loving eyes and a smile that lets me know that there has to be more people like him in this world. 'I love him,' I think as I admire his every feature, 'I love him enough to live for him'.

"Hey. What are you thinking about?" His voice is smooth yet, hoarse as if he was made to recite poetry. And if I had the chance I'd lay on his chest all night as he reads to me.

"Nothing much." I give him a half-smile, because I'm still to frightened to let him know that he even makes my soul smile. "Just that I think I love you enough to live for you."

His brows crease while he watches me as if he's trying to figure out the meaning of my statement. The waiter comes over, interrupting his thoughts and we order our drinks. He turns back to me as the waiter leaves. "But isn't the phrase that you love someone so much you'd die for them?"

I chuckle softly, briefly looking down. "Dying for someone to allow them to live is special and I get that. But I think that if someone truly loves you, they let you live. And if you truly loved them, after they've died, you carry on their legacy; you let the world know who they were even after they can no longer say. Make sense?" I tilt my head slightly, waiting for his answer.

"It makes sense," he touches my hands and caresses them. "It makes so much sense."

We laugh and we talk and we smile. I feel so comfortable with him. I think when you love someone and they show their love to you too, you never get butterflies. You feel comfortable with them because you know that they accept you and everything, whether it be good or not, that you have to offer.

Then he says what I've been dreading. "You ready?"

I shake my head. "No. But I suppose it must be done."

"You're right." And he stands, comes over to me and kisses me on the cheek, he's never kissed me anywhere but my cheek. "Tell me how it went. I love you Adira."

"I love you too," I whisper as I watch him exit the restaurant. And as soon as he leaves, he, enters.

Reluctantly, I push my hands up and wave, catching his attention. Face hard and silent, I observe the way he moves over to the table. He pulls his coat off and drapes it over the back of the chair. A waitress comes over and takes his order. When she leaves, he turns to me.

"Why so quiet?" And he smiles but I don't see anything in it. "No hug, nothing?"

My feet get up before my mind can say no and he stands also. We embrace each other, coldly. There's nothing here. I have second thoughts about this, just like I did on our wedding day. A tear slips down my cheek as he pulls me closer. I want to go but my body doesn't let me; my mind and body, do not correspond.

I ask myself, 'Why do I keep running back into rough water? Is it because I'm used to it and I'm scared of the unknown?' I feel as if God is trying to save me from drowning by telling me to let go and I never listen. So here I am, seventy feet under and nearly breathless. Breathless; choking on my own stupidity. Stupid because I know better.

I wonder if two months of seeing people with jobs like mine can actually fix something that's broken. There's no need to wonder though, I know the truth. I know that you may put something back together again but it will never work the same.

I believe that love dies. And the love between Emmanuel and I has been lynched, decapitated and buried in lava. But I'm trying to play Jesus and resurrect something, that has no business being alive again. And this, this has been dead for years.

Another tear slips down my face as he whispers that he loves me into my ear.

I full on cry as I whisper back the same lie.

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*sings* This is the end. Close your eyes and count to ten. *stops singing*

Thank you guys for reading this story and being able to share this with me. It has humbled and encouraged me at the same time.

If there are any questions, feel free to ask in the comments.

Copyright JohannaNiesha ©2014