Authors: L. Divine
The Meltdown (26 page)
When I make it back to Nigel’s house, Nickey Shantae’s wide awake and her mother’s passed out on the couch. The menfolk are still upstairs. I guess it’s just her and me. I could use a nap, too. I can’t believe this time tomorrow I’ll be stepping out in style for the cotillion. I’m not sure if I can stand being in the ball with all of the heffas I have to deal with, but I’m glad after tomorrow it’ll all finally be over. My only commitment outside of work is cheer practice and the last month of summer school. Other than that, my time is mine and I can’t wait for freedom to ring loud and clear. Then maybe I can enjoy the rest of my summer in peace.
A Midsummer’s Nightmare
But at best a dream is just a fantasy /
When I touch his hand he’ll disappear.
—
R
ANDY
C
RAWFORD WITH
J
OE
S
AMPLE
M
otion. The fast pace of my bare feet takes me off guard. It’s a hot night, but darkness is darkness and I’m not exactly comfortable walking on the ground with no protection. The green foliage is thick, and the jungle ahead looks even more dense than the bush hitting me in the face as I move along the path. Someone’s clearing the way for me to only God knows where. I want to stop from exhaustion and fear, but something tells me to keep going.
“Watch your step,” the voice says through the trees. I clear the brush, the smell of salt water tickling my nose. She’s already at the shore draped in a white cloth: Only her green eyes are visible through the narrow slits in her veil.
“Maman?” I ask, uncertain of the woman’s identity. Caution is necessary because I’ve been tricked many times before.
“Oui, ma petite,” my great-grandmother answers in one of her native tongues. She reaches her hands toward me, and I move in her direction. I wish I spoke French fluently, but even in my dreams that’s not the case.
“Where are we?” It looks like a deserted island somewhere in the Caribbean I’ve seen on the Travel Channel, but this ocean feels more familiar.
“Jayd, are you feeling okay?” Maman asks, feeling my forehead with the back of her hand. “It’s the night of your wedding and now you want to have a meltdown. We’re home, girl.” My wedding? Oh, Lord, not again. The last time I dreamed about getting married, it was a shotgun wedding to Rah. “Let’s get started. We don’t have all night.”
I carry the remaining bags to the blanket Maman’s laid out on the white sand. I follow suit, emptying each of the bags’ contents out and taking note. Our spirit tools haven’t changed much since Maman’s time.
“The spirit book,” I say, holding the ancient text in my hands. This is the first time it’s appeared in one of my dreams.
“We’re going to need it tonight more than ever.” Maman looks pleased with my affinity for the leather-bound book.
I flip through the pages, not expecting the last page to be up-to-date, but it is. This ritual is happening in the present day—highly unusual for a dream with Maman in it.
“You know it’s your job as the youngest in the lineage to protect the book, Jayd,” Maman says, taking the text and setting it down on the blanket beside my foot. She directs me to sit down, and I’m glad to rest. It feels like we’ve been walking all night.
“Yes, ma’am, I do. And I’ll do my best to take care of it,” I say, massaging my wounded toes. The cut is healing, but I still remember the pain.
“I know you will. It’s a huge responsibility, taking on your dreams the way they were born to function.” Maman takes several of the ingredients and places them in a cast-iron cauldron to cook over the bonfire burning nearby. “We are walking shrines to the ancestors and orishas, Jayd. We don’t exist solely for our own purpose. Sometimes you’re the only book people will read.”
“Don’t we have the right to choose our own paths?” I had
this same conversation with Mama, and I have a feeling Maman’s in full agreement with her daughter on this subject.
“Of course you do, as long as you acknowledge that a part of your destiny is living for those who came before you,” Maman says, reiterating Mama’s lesson. “The only way to make sure you don’t go crazy is to fully submit to your powers, and that starts with becoming a bride.”
Maman pours extra-large containers of molasses, honey, and brown sugar into the heavy pot, the fire rising with each addition.
“Who do I have to marry?” I ask, watching Maman work.
“It’s not as important who you marry as much as that he has all of the qualities you ask for.”
My mom said something similar to me after my last meeting with Keenan. Being specific is very important when petitioning the universe.
“You know that I conjured up your great-grandfather. I wasn’t clear enough about what I wanted and ended up with a damned fool,” Maman says, sniffing the thick brew as she continues stirring. “Add more vinegar. We don’t want him to be too sweet.” Maman brings the large wooden spoon to her lips to taste the concoction.
“What do you mean conjured?” I ask, obediently tasting the steaming liquid. It’s bitter all right: too bitter if you ask me.
“I mean I made my man just like I’m making yours. And this time we’re going to get it right.” Maman finishes stirring, satisfied with her work. She takes a dipping spoon from one of the bags, fills it with the potion, and hands it to me to drink. “Three spoonfuls and be very precise with your desires as you swallow each serving. This is your life mate we’re summoning. The devil’s literally in the details.”
I take the first spoonful, wincing at the hot, bitter brew
going down my throat and immediately feel different. I take two more as directed, feeling my head lighten as I surrender to the vision.
“Jayd, let go.”
I lie down on the sheet and let the dream take over my mind, seeing my image of a perfect man come forth. This bright ball of light must be my soul mate, but it has no shape or form: I thought I was more specific than that.
“It’s the spirit that matters most, not the actual physical appearance.” Maman’s eyes begin to glow as she kneels by my side, her focus on our creation. “He’s yours,” Maman says, blowing the spirit my way. I open my arms, welcoming the male energy within my reach. Before my man is able to fully manifest, a female form emerges from the ocean, interrupting our nuptials.
“You!” Maman cries. “You won’t ruin another one of my girls. I won’t let you.”
Esmeralda flies out of the water, morphing into a crow as she touches down on the sand.
“Who’s going to stop me?” Esmeralda squawks, her long, black wings fully spanned. “The little girl you’re trying to pass off as a bride? I could have her for lunch if I wanted.”
“She’s not alone,” Maman says, also shifting her form to a ball of light. “Jayd is all of us combined in one: your worst nightmare.”
My spouse-to-be disappears into the dark sky, and Esmer-alda looks pleased.
“Your potions are weak! You and your precious descendants are worthless, Marie,” Esmeralda says, her feathers rustling in the sea breeze.
Maman’s energy circles my head three times before landing on top. She enters my skull, cutting me as she takes over my consciousness.
“Ahhh!” I scream, holding on to the top of my head. I could’ve sworn there was some blood shed, but my fingers are dry. Luckily I didn’t wake anyone up with my loud mouth. Nickey’s sound asleep in the same spot on the futon I placed her last night, and the rest of my friends are passed out in various positions around Nigel’s room. My dreams have grown in intensity. I should’ve brought Dr. Whitmore’s herbs with me last night, but I didn’t know I wouldn’t return home to take my nightly dose.
The sun’s up and I doubt if I can go back to sleep. I need something cold to drink to shake off that nightmare. I step over my sleeping friends and carefully open Nigel’s bedroom door. I don’t want to disturb anyone with my early morning thirst. When I make it downstairs, I see Mrs. Esop in the kitchen fully dressed. From her outfit, I can tell she’s just getting in from playing tennis.
“Oh, Jayd, good. You’re here early. I knew you’d eventually get excited about the ball this evening,” Mrs. Esop says, not realizing I never left her house from yesterday afternoon. Do I always look this undone to her? “We need to get you fitted again for your gown. Sometimes the cleaners can unknowingly shrink a dress. If that’s the case, you’ll have to fast all day long from both solids and liquids.” This chick is tripping if she thinks I’m going all day without eating to fit into a damn gown no matter how gorgeous it is. I’d rather wear something else than starve myself for anyone.
I step into the bathroom off the kitchen near the laundry room and change into the cleaned white silk dress, thankful it fits even if it is a bit tighter than it was yesterday. I think it was the fried chicken, red beans and rice, and biscuits I threw down for dinner last night, not to mention the pizza I had as an appetizer. I don’t regret a single bite, but I can’t say the same thing for Nigel’s mom, who looks at the snug fit, unpleased.
“Make sure you eat nothing, Jayd. Not a thing. And I’ll have the maid make you some tea that should help relieve some of that bloating around your stomach.” Did she just insult me? If she wasn’t my homeboy’s mama, I might have to have some words with her no matter how old she is. “Now, get some rest. We’re going to rehearse in an hour. By then the makeup artist and hairstylist should be here. Perhaps I should call the seamstress, too. Maybe she can let the gown out a bit.”
“Oh, ma’am. I can’t let anyone touch my head,” I say, unconsciously feeling my wavy locks. After that crazy dream, I’m surprised I’m as cognizant as I am. I took my cornrows out yesterday and planned on doing my hair this morning, but that didn’t happen. I can still get it done if I get home soon and shake this feeling.
“That’s nonsense, Jayd,” Mrs. Esop says, dismissing my very serious objection with the wave of her diamond-studded hand. Can a sistah get one of those rings? “I told you there would be none of that hoodoo mess in this house. This is the house of the Lord, and my hairdresser is an upstanding woman and a longtime friend.” Still not feeling me, she takes the dress and begins to walk out of the room, but I can’t let her win this one. I know my limits, and they begin and end with me not removing my bracelets or allowing anyone else to touch my hair.
“It’s not hoodoo, it’s voodoo,” I say, following Mrs. Esop, who halts her trek to hear me out, mostly amazed that I’m further contesting the issue. Any other sistah would be thrilled with a free makeover, but I’m not just another girl. I’m a priestess in training, and I have to hold my ground on this issue. “And I do my own hair—no exceptions.”
“Yes, Jayd. I’m aware of what you and the women in your family practice. And I’m also aware of your little hair business. Cute, but not proper for this event. Please trust me and
let this go. We don’t have time to argue about this today, young lady.” Mrs. Esop’s used to having her way, but not this time.
“You’re right: There’s no argument. I’m good at what I do, and I’m doing my own hair.”
Mrs. Esop stops drinking her orange juice and looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“You ungrateful little girl!” Mrs. Esop yells. “You will get your hair and makeup done by the stylist I hired—end of discussion.”
Damn, she can get live when she wants to. Nigel comes downstairs, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Mickey also emerges with Nickey on her hip, really setting Mrs. Esop off.
“What the hell is she doing here? I told you about them spending the night in my house, Nigel,” Mrs. Esop says. She doesn’t need any more reasons to go off, but she’s got two more right in front of her. My head’s still throbbing from the cut in my dream, and I need to calm down.
“Your house? Last time I checked, everything was in Dad’s name,” Nigel says, obviously still feeling high from the session last night to make that comment to his mother. He and Mickey look like they just crawled out of a hole filled with alcohol and ashtrays. Yuck. Chance and Rah are still upstairs knocked out. But if Mrs. Esop’s yelling gets any louder, they’ll be up like the rest of us in no time.
“This is an absolute nightmare!” Mrs. Esop shouts, tossing a kitchen towel at her son. “How dare you speak to me like that? This is what I’m talking about, little girl,” she says, pointing at Mickey. “You are a horrible, manipulative influence on my son. Nigel, mark my words, this tramp will be your ruin.”
“What have I told you about talking to Mickey like that, Mom?” Nigel says.
Rah and Chance, now awake, stop in the middle of the staircase, not wanting to get too close to the action in case something heavier gets tossed, and I don’t blame them. I need to get out of this dress before we have a repeat of yesterday’s tragic events.
“We don’t have time for this, Nigel,” Mrs. Esop says. “Jayd, go change. Nigel, take a shower and fix yourself up. We have to be at the hotel by noon for the final dress rehearsal.”
“Forget the ball,” Nigel says, taking Nickey from her mother and walking out of the kitchen. “I’m going over to Rah’s. Come on, Mickey.”
Mrs. Esop’s jaw drops and I take a step back; she’s about to blow.
“Nigel, if you walk out that door with that baby, don’t you even think about coming back.”
I know her threat is empty, but Nigel’s weighing all of his options and chooses the one unexpected.
“Fine,” Nigel says, his hot head unwavering.
Mama says we should never make decisions when our emotions are on high, and Nigel’s definitely off the radar with his this morning.
“You can’t do this to me!” Mrs. Esop screams after her only son, who’s already upstairs. “Nigel!”
It’s no use attempting to reason with him once he gets like this. I look around the nice home, thinking about how perfect the Esopses’ life appears from the outside. But their entire house of cards has fallen with their baby boy stepping out on his own.
