My Soul Cries Out (9 page)

T
he stewardess escorted me to first class. After I got settled, she came back to ask if I wanted anything. I was almost tempted to opt for the mimosa she offered, just to take the edge off, but got plain orange juice instead. The bouncy Caribbean music playing overhead and the lilt to her Jamaican accent already made me feel far from home. As the plane took off, tears of relief slid down my face. It felt good to be getting away from my life. I had to stop crying, though. I should be salt depleted by now.

I couldn't wait to see Alaysia. I had so many great memories of friendship with her.

 

 

We met our freshman year at Howard University. When I arrived at my room in the freshman quad, she was already there, unpacking her stuff. I brought the standard dorm fare—bed-in-a-bag, trunk full of junk, clothes, and, of course, my Boyz II Men poster. Alaysia was doing some serious decorating. She had an African mud cloth bedspread, several African statues and masks, framed art, and matching mud cloth curtains.

“I hope you don't mind. I took a few liberties in decorating.” She held out her hand. “I'm Alaysia, like Malaysia without the ‘M'.”

“I'm Monica.” I looked around the room. “Wow, this looks great. You make my half of the room look bad. I think my baby blue comforter set is gonna clash miserably with your African print. I'll have to see if I can find something in black.”

“Not a problem.” She went to her closet and pulled out a matching African mud cloth comforter set. “I was hoping you wouldn't mind. If we have to live in the dorm, we might as well live in style.”

I went from staring at the room to staring at her. She was beyond gorgeous. I couldn't tell what she was—black mixed with Latino or white or something. She had to be at least five inches taller than my five feet five frame, and had perfectly smooth, peachy cream skin. Her salon perfect hair was straight and long—kind of a russet brown color. Her body was perfectly proportioned, with all the right curves in all the right places.

Great. Fat girl gets to be roommates with supermodel.

“What do you think of this for your side of the room?” She held up what I later appreciated to be a Romare Bearden print.

“Yeah, it's nice. You sure you don't mind?”

“It'd be too cluttered if I hang another picture on my side.”

Alaysia moved the pictures, masks, and statues as if she had to get them just right. “Where are you from?”

“Baltimore. Born and raised. What about you?”

“A little bit of everywhere.” She looked around for somewhere to place a black and white photo of a beautiful woman who had to be her mother. They had the same face, only her mother was much darker. “My mom was originally from New York, but wanted to be a singer, so she moved to Paris, like Josephine Baker and Nina Simone. She met my dad there. He's from Morocco.”

No wonder I couldn't tell what her nationality was. Morocco. Wasn't it in Africa somewhere?

“I lived back and forth between New York, Paris, and Morocco all my life.”

I was glad my parents dropped me off in the hall with my stuff and left like I begged them to. I'd hate for them to be going on and on and babying me in front of this worldly girl.

She kept explaining like I had asked for her life story. “My dad was going to college in Toulouse—it's in the South of France—but came up to Paris to ‘play' on the weekends. He heard my mom singing in a nightclub and instantly fell in love. They got married when he finished school, and I came along soon after. We lived in Paris for a while, but my mom died when I was twelve.”

“Sorry. That must have been terrible.”

“It was. She drank herself to death. Her career never took off, and she got real depressed. My dad was never the same. He would stare at me with this sad, ghostly look in his eyes and call me by my mother's name. He brought me home to his family in Morocco, but I was . . . well, black, so that didn't work. He finally shipped me off to my mom's parents in Brooklyn and I lived with them for a while. My grandparents were so cool. They were activists during the Civil Rights Movement. They'd never admit it, but I think they were involved with the Black Panthers.”

Alaysia continued organizing the décor while spilling her history. “We were a happy family until my grandmother had a massive stroke. My grandfather couldn't take care of both of us, so when I was fifteen, I got sent off to this all-girls' Christian boarding school run by a bunch of religious fanatics.”

I was ashamed as I told my bland story about growing up with both my parents in the same house, with the same set of friends, going to the same church, doing the same things. The only interesting thing was the number of times my parents had split up and gotten back together. Even though she was open about her life, I wasn't about to tell that.

“I guess my life has been pretty boring.”

“Boring is not always a bad thing.” She brushed her fingers against her mother 's picture and stared out the window.

By the time we finished decorating and running our mouths all day, our fifteen-by-fifteen box looked like something out of
Essence
magazine.

Alaysia lived like a queen. I had never seen so many clothes in my life. She filled her whole closet, half of mine, and borrowed an extra standing closet from dorm storage. Every week, she went to a spa to get her “beauty treatments.” We couldn't have a car at our dorm, so Alaysia kept her Spider parked at a garage downtown.

She shamefacedly admitted to me, “Daddy never got over abandoning me. Spending massive amounts of money on me is the only cure for his guilt. I couldn't possibly deny him that.”

After she spent the first year in the dorm, Alaysia said she was satisfied she had done the college thing, and convinced her father she needed a condo on 16th Street. I wasn't looking forward to losing her as a roommate.

Alaysia was insulted when I made arrangements to live in an upperclassmen dorm. “You're moving in with me. Why do you think I got a two-bedroom?”

After that first year, I had learned not to argue with Alaysia when she wanted to do something nice for me. Money meant absolutely nothing to her, so while free housing in a fabulous condo seemed like more than I could accept, to her, it was no big deal. My parents insisted on paying Alaysia, even when I explained it wasn't necessary. Alaysia saved the money and we used it for spending binges at the mall.

Alaysia taught me how to take care of myself. She convinced me to stop wearing frumpy clothes and get the latest fashions at Lane Bryant. She persuaded me that facials, manicures and pedicures were an essential part of every woman's beauty regimen.

She also exposed me to her worst habits. I got drunk for the first time on Boone's Farm Strawberry Hill while we smoked Virginia Slims cigarettes. I tried marijuana, and we giggled all night and ate almost everything in the kitchen. All this took place in the privacy of our own home. Alaysia's mother had taught her a lady was never drunk in public.

We were an odd pair. I was initially fascinated with Alaysia's beauty and worldliness. She had traveled the world on what she called yearly “guilt trips” with her father. She had been all over Europe, Africa, and even Japan. As I got to know her better, I came to appreciate her spirit. Nothing scared her, and she was open and honest about everything, never afraid to speak her mind.

I think she liked my stability. She loved to go home with me on weekends and pretend we had grown up as sisters sharing my room.

Sometimes, Alaysia got real sad. She would cry for days about nothing. Those were the times she scared me with her drinking. Then she would swear off alcohol and collect all the liquor in the condo and throw it away, only to restock months later when one of her spells hit her again. Sometimes, she would say she was destined to die early like her mother, only there wouldn't be a child left behind to miss her.

I never thought there would be a time when we wouldn't be friends. We said we'd live in the same city and our husbands would have to be best friends, and we would raise our kids together and take trips together every year. Now, I had no idea where she lived. Mom told me she left D.C. before Kevin and I got married.

I looked forward to catching up with her and laughing. Alaysia always made me laugh. Not just a chuckle, but a roll-on-the-floor, grabbing-my-side, squeezing-my-legs-together-so-I-wouldn't-pee-on-myself kind of laugh. Maybe I'd even get drunk and smoke some pot. I just wanted to have a good time. I wanted to forget.

God would have to forgive me when I got back.

W
hen I came out of the airport in Jamaica, it was bright and warm—drastically different from D.C.'s January cold. The tropical sun felt like God kissing me and telling me everything would be all right. I scanned the crowd until I heard my name.

“Monnie!” I turned to see Alaysia waving a big straw hat from a Jeep. “Over here!” She jumped out of the Jeep and made her way toward me.

She wore a white, cropped T-shirt and a pale blue sarong. I was used to seeing her in breast-hugging tops, tight jeans, and three-inch heels. Instead of her usual perfectly made-up face, she was going au natural, with only pearly lip-gloss and eyeliner. Her hair fell in long, natural spirally curls.

“Laysia, look at you!”

“Monnie, you look great!”

“Stop lying, wench.” I grinned. Alaysia had always tried to convince me I was pretty.

She gave me a big hug. I was so happy to see her, so relieved to be away from everything, and so glad to be in Jamaica that I started crying. Guess I wasn't out of salt after all.

“Thank you, Alaysia. I missed you so much.” The words got choked in my throat. “I'm sorry about everything. I should have—”

She flicked her hand. “Girl, forget about it. Best friends are forever, no matter what. I missed you, too. Don't worry about a thing. We're gonna have the best time.”

We hugged for a minute and just like that, everything was okay—like nothing ever happened and it hadn't been three years since we'd talked to or seen each other.

“Girl, wait 'til you see this place.” She ushered me to the Jeep and we took off. She told me the trip from Montego Bay to Negril would take about an hour, so I figured we had time to do some catching up.

“Where are you now? Mommy said you left D.C. two years ago.” I rolled my window all the way down so I could get the full effect of the wind whipping through my hair.

“Atlanta.” Alaysia grinned. “One black Mecca to another.”

“You always talked about moving there. You like it?”

“It's Southern—a little slower, which is fine with me. Black folks are doing their thing, and there's a nice cultural scene. It's cool.”

“What made you move?”

Alaysia shrugged. “Just needed to get away and start over. Somewhere fresh and new.”

I could definitely understand that. “How did Mommy find you?”

“We've kept in touch. I send a card at Christmas and Easter every year, and she calls every once in a while to make sure I'm okay.”

Good ol' Mommy. I couldn't blame her. She loved Alaysia. I couldn't blame Alaysia, either. She needed a mother figure in her life.

Alaysia turned to look at me. “Aren't you gonna ask me what I do?”

“Do?” I wrinkled my eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, I'm insulted.”

“You mean work? You work?” My eyes widened. She couldn't be serious. Alaysia had never worked and, as far as I knew, never planned to. In college, she only took classes that interested her. It was never about needing a degree for a career.

She puffed out her chest. “I'll have you know I'm the successful owner of my own business, Synergeez.”

“Synergeez?”

“It's a health business designed to bring people to an optimal state of well being by addressing their emotional, mental, spiritual, nutritional, and physical needs.” She said it like she was doing a commercial. “I recently got certified as a massage therapist and yoga instructor. I'm also a certified personal trainer.”

“That explains the Angela Bassett arms.”

Alaysia flexed a bicep. “I contract myself out to this huge gym and also do one-on-one sessions at people's houses. I'm also doing some self-study on herbs, homeopathy, and spiritual healing. I'm thinking about becoming a naturopath.”

“Naturopath?” I gripped my door handle. The roads were curvy and bumpy, and Alaysia didn't seem the least bit interested in slowing down.

“A doctor of holistic medicine.”

“They actually have a degree for that?”

“Yeah, it looks pretty cool. You should look into it. Are you still planning on doing the nurse practitioner thing?”

“I don't know, Laysia.”

“What? That's all you used to talk about.”

“I don't know about the health thing anymore. It's gotten so routine and empty. Same thing, different day. Doesn't seem like we're really helping anybody. I don't know.” Back in college, I had always talked about becoming a nurse practitioner. Kevin had been encouraging me to go back to school since we got married. I'd had the applications for two years, but for some reason, I never filled them out. I enjoyed nursing, but it wasn't as fulfilling as I thought it would be.

“You may want to consider something in natural health. You Western trained people only pass out poison. You should check out alternative medicine.”

“I don't know what I want to do.”

Alaysia rubbed my arm. “Maybe being here and getting a chance to clear your head will give you some time to think about it.”

Figuring out my next career move was not the foremost thing on my mind. We were silent for a minute, so I figured it was my time for catching up. “I don't know what all Mommy told you, but the true story is worse than I could've imagined.”

“Shhhh, don't worry about it right now. That's D.C. We're in Jamaica. Relax yourself and let the tropical air get the city smog out of your system.” She did a good imitation of a Jamaican accent. “Sit back, mon, take some deep breaths, and enjoy the sights.”

She drove on tiny, winding roads through a lot of little townships. We stopped at a roadside food stand to enjoy some Roti and ginger beer. I watched Alaysia handle the advances of the lusty-eyed Jamaican men with ease. Several women approached us with jewelry to sell. I bought a few shells some children came to sell us.

We got back on the road and talked non-stop the rest of the way to Negril. It was as if we hadn't been apart for three years. We finally pulled up at a large, ranch-style house lined with exotic flowers giving off a thick, tropical aroma.

Alaysia hopped out of the Jeep and motioned for me to follow. “Leave your bags, girl. Donovan will get them.” The large placard on the front of the house read: SASHA'S ON THE BEACH.

The room was not what I expected. The Jacuzzi, double vanity, extravagant décor, mini-bar, and other trappings that usually went along with an Alaysia vacation were missing. Two twin-size bamboo beds, a simple rack to hang our clothes on, and a hand woven floor rug gave the room a rustic feel. I gasped at the huge open windows that framed a perfect view of the ocean.

The sight of the beautiful, white sand and the clearest blue water stole my breath. Down the beach a short walk, water crashed off huge rocks with an upward spray that looked like God hand-painted it.

“This is beautiful, Laysia. It's so serene and natural.”

“I figured it would be good for what ails you. Getting close to nature, feeling God, all that good stuff.”

I raised my eyebrows. Alaysia mentioning God? Alaysia only ever acknowledged God to ask why I was so into Him.

As soon as I hung up the few clothes I brought, a young woman brought in a tray with two glasses. “Fresh tamarind juice? If you'd like to change into your robes, your masseuse will here in a few moments.”

I turned to Alaysia. “Masseuse?”

“Yeah, girl. We have daily massages, yoga in the morning, tai chi in the evening, and sunrise meditation.”

This was different. I was used to Alaysia the party animal. I studied her new look and figured this was yet another “Alaysia transformation.” Alaysia had reinvented herself so many times, I could hardly count the different facets of her I lived with in college.

A tall woman with jet-black skin, wearing a flowing white dress sauntered in. In a thick Jamaican accent, she said, “I'll be setting up the table in the gazebo overlooking the beach. Meet you out there in a few, dear?”

I nodded. A massage on the beach? Life was starting to look up.

Must have been the combination of the cool breeze across my body, the sound of the waves crashing against the reef, and the strong, but gentle hands kneading my muscles. I was crying again. This time it was different. More of a release. Like she was massaging out the misery and releasing it to the water, where the rhythmic tide carried it further and further away. I was being washed. Baptized into peace.

When she finished, she gave me a last rub on the shoulder and whispered, “Stay here as long as you like. Let the water speak to you. Your soul needs it.”

Rest overtook me. I think it was the first time I really slept in weeks. When I opened my eyes again, it was dusky.

Alaysia sat on a beach chaise beside the massage table. “She's alive.”

I smiled. “How long have I been 'sleep?”

“What difference does it make? You needed the rest.”

“Guess so.” I sat up and let my eyes adjust to the light. I let out a sigh. “Oh my God, I feel relaxed. I don't think I can move.”

“Good. That was the point.”

We sat there in silence, watching the sun set over the horizon.

“Hungry? Dinner won't be for another hour.” Alaysia stretched out like a big cat.

“I can wait.” I thought for a minute. “Tell me this isn't one of those places where all they have is health food.”

The guilty smile on Alaysia's face told all. “Yeah, I sorta forgot to mention this place is vegetarian. I told Sasha you weren't a veggie, so she's gonna see if she can get Donovan to bring fresh fish from the market every day. That's the only animal flesh you get.”

“Don't tell me you're a vegetarian.”

“For two years now.”

“What's that all about?”

“It's all about being healthy.”

I sat down on the beach chaise beside hers. We stared out at the water for a while and allowed the waves to hypnotize us. I felt like I could go back to sleep again. A gorgeous, brown man, whose rippling chest muscles justified his lack of a shirt, walked by and smiled.

I looked over at Alaysia. “Uh-oh, hottie alert. I'm 'bout to get left.”

In college, I hated to go to parties with Alaysia. We'd be sitting at a table, and all of a sudden she'd say “hottie alert!” Invariably, some guy had walked in who was finer than fine. Alaysia would go introduce herself, and I'd be left alone—for the next hour if he was “just okay,” or for the rest of the evening if he was “all that.” I'd sit at the table feeling self-conscious and fat, hardly ever being asked to dance.

Alaysia looked over the top of her sunglasses at the “hottie” I was referring to, and pushed them back up on her nose. “Go for it, girl.”

“Chile, I ain't trying to get my groove back. He's all yours.”

She didn't budge.

“You're gonna let him get away?”

“I've grown since you last saw me. I no longer feel the need to make up for my father's abandonment in every man I see. I'm celibate now.”

I clutched my chest. “Celibate? Alaysia Zaid celibate? The world is coming to an end.”

“No, girl, it's just beginning. I've finally learned to love myself.”

“Yeah, we'll see how long this lasts.”

“Two years, three months so far.”

I wrinkled my eyebrows. “Okay, this is too much. I remember the time you gave up pork. Then there was the time you wore only black for three months, mourning the death of the innocence of America's children. Then there was boycotting tuna to save the dolphins, and then sleeping in the park to champion the cause of the homeless. But no meat and no men? Even for you, that's kinda drastic. Come clean, Laysia.”

Alaysia took off her sunglasses. “Girl, I got tired. Tired of the partying, drinking, smoking, man after man after man. It might have seemed like I was having fun all the time, but my life wasn't about anything.” She looked out over the water. “When you make bad choice after bad choice, eventually you have to take a look at yourself. Most of my bad choices just messed up my life. When I made a bad choice that affected someone else's life, I knew I needed to make a change.”

“What happened?” I had never seen Alaysia so serious before. She seemed to be wrestling with whether she wanted to tell me.

“We're best friends, right, Monnie?”

I gestured toward the water and the resort. “I think we've established that.”

“So you'll love me no matter what I've done?”

“Laysia, I think I've seen you at your worst.” I thought of all the times I had seen her drunk, high, sleeping with three different men in one week. What could she possibly tell me that would shock me?