Easier Said Than Done (16 page)

Damon pulled out a chair and sat down, dropping his book bag to the floor. “Yeah, Mon.

I'm actually in my third year of med school. I've been in D.C. almost seven years.”

“Seven years?” I squirted some ketchup on my plate, dabbed a French fry in it, then popped it in my mouth. “Why haven't I seen you? Did you know I went to school here?”

“My grandfather died over the summer and while I was home, I went to check for you and your grandmother told me you were attending school here.”

“Sorry to hear about your grandfather.” I murmured, the French fry becoming like lead in my mouth.

“Just a part of the life cycle. It was to be expected.”

“I guess I'm just surprised that in four years I haven't seen you around.”

“I don't have much time to socialize.” Damon leaned forward and picked a French fry off my plate. He doused it with ketchup, then stuck it in his mouth. “I work two jobs. I'm trying to complete my four years of medical school in three. It doesn't leave much time to hang out. The studying alone takes up most of my evenings. And since I won't be staying to do my residency here, I'll have to put in additional hours at the hospital before I graduate.”

I narrowed my eyes when he reached for another fry. “Help yourself.”

He grinned an apology, wiping his hands on a napkin. “I'll do my residency back home in Kingston. My grandmother is old and I need to be there to take care of her. Howard and The University of the West Indies have worked it out so I can finish here and do my residency there.”

“Wow, that's great! I'm sure your grandmother will love having you so close.” I took in Damon's gear. “I see you find time to play soccer.”

“When I can. I was on the team when I first got here, but it got to be too much. Now I only work out with the team every once in a while. Gotta stay in shape.” He slapped his flat tummy and it sounded six-pack hard. “You must be in your last year, right? What're you studying?”

I finished the rest of my Pepsi and actually used a napkin to wipe my mouth. “Uh, yeah. I'm studying Broadcast Journalism.”

“I can see you on TV reporting the five o'clock news.”

“Nah, not me. I'd much rather be behind the scenes calling the shots. I'm doing some work right now for the campus television and radio station.”

Damon laughed. “I remember that. Even at six, you was a bossy little thing.”

The statement brought back blurry scenes of the past. It sobered both of us and stopped me from making a sarcastic comeback. I flipped my wrist over and looked at my slim gold Timex. Only ten minutes to make it to my Media Law class, all the way on the opposite side of the campus. “I really have to go or I'm gonna be late.”

Damon snatched a napkin off the tray of a passing student. He scribbled down his contact information in large, loopy scrawl. “That's my home phone number and cell. There's no excuse not to give me a call. We'll catch up and talk about old times. I may even feed you. Do you still put away the food like you used too?” He flashed a toothy grin.

I stuffed the crumpled up napkin in the front pocket of my Levi's, hooked my backpack over my shoulder, and gave Damon the once over as I ran a tube of cherry gloss over my lips. “ Have a good day, Damon.”

“Call me.”

“Sure,” I responded with a nonchalant wave of my hand. I didn't have to turn around to know that Damon was watching me.

“Kingston,” he said again, “Call me.” I glanced back and his hopeful eyes once again held mine hostage, the left side of his mouth tilted upward in a goofy grin and I was hooked. I nodded before dashing up the stairs two at a time and heading outside into the courtyard. Students leaned casually against trees studying or talking. The wind was light, the sun hidden by stubborn clouds. I turned the corner and found Keela, as I knew I would, leaning against the red brick wall.

“Told you he was cute,” she said.

“I'm going to call him.”

She smiled in response and we strode across the yard in the direction of the Journalism school. “Why didn't you ask about his sister? What was her name? Roxanne?”

“Joanne.”

“Yeah, why didn't you ask about her?”

A leaf floated down gently from overhead and I stopped. I followed its graceful dance with my eyes before looking at Keela. “She died,” I said. “She drowned when she was six.” I resumed my trek to class. I started to say more, but Keela was no longer by my side.

* * *

By the time I turned around, looked up, and took a breath, it was December and half of my stuff had been moved to Damon's two-story flat on the northeast side of D.C. My toothbrush resided next to his, strands of my hair could be found on his pillow, and I used the bathroom with the door open without a second thought. My extra VCR was plugged into Damon's small television so I could work on television projects while he wasn't there. He didn't have to be home, I just liked being in his space. We hadn't put a label on our relationship, but we didn't need one. “We” just worked.

The transition from our first meeting to “now” had happened so smoothly and subtly that there no longer seemed to be a time when Damon and I weren't together.

And together was exactly the way a blustery Sunday morning in mid-December found us, snuggled tightly under two quilts and one blanket because Damon was trying to save a little on the heating bill. The frost was etching patterns on the windows and icicles hung from the windowsills, growing longer with each melted drop. I fitted my chest even more securely against Damon's back. He had been tense all weekend and was resistant to my usually successful attempts to relax him. I ran my foot down the length of his calf and worked my fingers more firmly into the bunched up muscles in his biceps. Being naked on a Sunday morning felt as natural as the sun rising in the east. The only worry was whether to make waffles or omelets for breakfast. I knew Damon's answer would be, “Why not make both?” Of course, he wouldn't be
the one to dig the gunk out of the little squares in the waffle machine and scrape burnt egg edges from his cast iron skillet. Not that I minded. I got a kick out of taking care of my man.

The only arena that I had yet to tackle was the sexual one. Damon and I had yet to make love even though we had spent numerous steamy nights perfecting the foreplay stage—kissing, licking, sucking, nibbling, and rubbing until Damon would roll over with a moan that said “put up or shut up.” Until now, I had taken the second option, not because I didn't desire to be intimate with Damon. I did, fearing sometimes that the yearning would consume me. Maneuvering around my invisible chastity belt had been frustrating, but Damon stayed understanding, often joking that he would rather make love to his books before standing in the shower under a cold spray of water.

But I was a virgin and had a desire to wait until I was married. My mother often said, “ Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?” Not that I put any stock in that. I just wanted my first and last time to be with the man I planned on sharing my life with.

So I wasn't discouraged when I moved seductively against him and nothing happened.

Damon was about to enter his last semester of medical school. He was so worn out, his five o'clock shadow creeping up on eight o'clock and dark rings constantly circled his eyes. At three o'clock this morning, I could still hear him turning pages and clicking the mouse of his computer as he worked on the study guide for his board exams. Knowing I only had him for a few more months made my stomach clench and my mouth go dry. The thought of a long distance
relationship scared me; with Damon as far away as Jamaica, it seemed damn near impossible.

Damon wouldn't even entertain such negative thoughts. He said that if we were meant to be, then we would be. Easier said than done. I'd rather have a plan of action than sit back, kick my feet up, and enjoy the ride.

As if Damon read my thoughts, he sighed and rolled over facing me. He kissed my furrowed brow and pressed his nose against mine. “Frowning will give you wrinkles and make you look like an old woman before your time.”

My forehead bunched together even more. “That's what I tell you when you're hunched over one of them damn books.”

Shaking his head and laughing, he said, “You make me happy.”

I smiled and kissed him on the tip of his nose, then teased the corner of his mouth with my tongue.

“Kingston.” He cupped my face in both of his hands. “We need to talk.”

A churning began deep in my stomach. I tried to pull away, but Damon held me in place. An argument was brewing and space is what I needed. This is one area where Damon and I stood in direct opposition. His belief was the closer we were, the faster we'd be able to solve our issues.

“Baby, hear me out.”

I tried not to pout. My listening skills were an area that I'd promised Damon I'd work on.

I'd be so anxious to show him that I understood that he never got to finish what he had to say.

And that frustrated him.

“My aunt from Hope Bay called Friday.”

Relief eased through me. His news was nothing major. “I know. You told me that already. ”

He sighed at my interruption and smoothed a thumb over my right eyebrow, before rubbing the frown that had returned. I bit the soft part in the inside of my mouth to prevent any further outbursts.

“Well, it's not good news. My grandmother has taken a turn for the worst.”

“Oh, honey, why didn't you tell me?” I scooted closer and planted a kiss on the corner of his mouth. “What do you need me to do?”

He took my hands in his before bringing my hands closer to his face and nuzzling my knuckles. “I needed to work it out in my mind. Figure out what I needed to do.”

“And?” Once again the insides of my stomach churned.

“And I'm gonna have to go home, Kingston.” He traced my cheek with the back of his hand, as if the action could soften the blow.

“Well, of course you do. You need to check on your grandmother. I'll look for flights. I may be able to find a really cheap one.” The producer in me needed to do something and I immediately kicked into action, swinging my long legs out of the bed, wrapping myself in a sheet, and looking for my cell phone. “When do you want to leave and when do you want to return?”

“No, Kingston, you don't understand.” The urgency in his voice made me stop, phone in midair to my ear.

I turned and sunk back on the edge of the bed, now flipping through the Yellow Pages looking for the section on airlines. “What don't I understand?”

“Stop moving!” His eyes briefly flashed anger and his hands clenched. “Honey, this is going to be more than a visit. I'm going back to Jamaica for good.”

“For good? As in forever?” I asked, as if phrasing it differently would help my brain digest what the words would mean for us and our relationship. I wasn't ready for forever. There were still so many things that I wanted to do with him, things for us to experience together.

“I'm not disappearing off the face of the earth, Kingston,” Damon said, wrapping his arms around me.

“Yes, but it won't be the same.” I protested, leaning into him. “When are you leaving?” I managed to squeak the words past the lump in my throat.

“In three days,” he said, and my eyes began to water. “The doctors are not giving my grandmother much longer than a week. She hasn't been the same since my grandfather died; and my aunt says that she's been asking for me, so I need to get there as soon as possible. Three days will give me time to finish my exams and take care of other business. I'll hire someone to box my stuff up and ship it. I've already booked my flight. I leave Thursday morning.”

“You did all of this without talking to me?” I pulled the sheet tighter around me and wrapped my arms around myself, trying to shut off the pain.

“I knew you'd be upset and I wanted to get as much out of the way before I told you.”

“Never mind that,” I said, plastering a smile on my face. “I'll go with you. I can afford to take a week or so off and I'm sure my professors will be flexible since it's an emergency. I want to be there for you, Damon.”

His face softened briefly, then the hardness returned. “I thought about that and I don't think it's a good idea. I need this time with my grandmother. Alone.”

I wanted to argue the fact that my own grandmother lived right up the street from his and that visiting with her would keep me occupied, but his stone face told me that his mind was made
up and nothing short of a memo from God could convince him to change it. So instead of belaboring the point, I began to clean, straighten and sort. Anything to keep from looking into his eyes that were mirroring the sadness in my own.

“Three days,” I repeated and nodded as if I totally understood, but inside I was screaming against the unfairness of it all. He needed me, but he wouldn't open up and let me in. And I didn't know how to make him. Still in too much shock to cry and with us both consumed in our own thoughts, I slowly got dressed and for the first time in more than four months, I went home and slept in my own bed.

* * *

The next few days passed like a splash of grease in a hot cast iron pan—you knew it happened, but it was so quick you had to check to make sure. We were consumed with Damon's impending departure. I tried to be helpful without getting in the way and refused to shed tears in front of him lest it be interpreted as a female's underhanded attempt at a guilt trip. Not that he would have noticed. Damon remained focused; making sure everything was in order. Bank accounts were closed, newspaper delivery stopped, the message on his voice-mail changed, and an ad was placed in the paper to lease his two-flat until a broker could arrange to have it sold.

Damon was leaving for the rest of his life.

I packed his clothes and shopped for the hard-to-come-by supplies that he would need in Jamaica. I bought a ton of cards and wrote quirky little sayings in them, funny memories, and the things I loved most about him before stashing them in different suitcases and boxes so he would discover them as he unpacked. I cooked all of his favorite meals and took three rolls of pictures of myself and of us together. I massaged his temples after two long nights of studying and kissed him twice on the forehead for good luck before sending him off to take his exams. I had a bath waiting for him each evening and rubbed him down with scented oils to ease the pressure that was steadily building in his muscles. For me, I took a blue oxford shirt before he could take it to the cleaners, a pillowcase that still carried his scent, one of his favorite pens, and a bottle of Red Stripe beer to store in my refrigerator. I was looking for anything that would surround me with his spirit. As meticulous as Damon was about his possessions, he never said a word.