Our First Love (15 page)

“Whose picture are you looking around for?” Karen playfully asked. “My boyfriend's?”

“I'm not looking for anything,” I answered. “But since you brought him up, point him out.”

“There is no boyfriend,” she said. “Now, it's your turn. Are you married? I don't see a ring on your finger, but nowadays that doesn't mean a thing. And I'm being straight up when I say this. Usually, only married men are as persistent as you are. Single brothers don't waste time pursuing. If a woman isn't ready to throw herself all
over him the second he smiles at her, then they brush her off like nothing and move on.”

I turned and looked directly at her. “If I told you I've been waiting for this moment since the first time I saw you seven months ago, would it be okay for me to be a little bit persistent?”

From the expression on her face, she didn't know what to think of my candor. Truthfully, I was a little surprised when I heard that spring from my mouth. It came out of nowhere. But since it was out there, I asked, “Is it okay?”

“Well, if you feel like that, then go ahead and be as persistent as you want to be.”

I nodded, smiling as I looked at my watch. “Nine minutes and fifty-seven seconds. Fifty-eight. Nine. Time for you to get back to work.”

“I'm still eating.”

“Sorry,” I quipped. “Brunch is over. All I asked for was ten minutes.” I started toward the door. “I'll call tomorrow morning about lunch.”

“Do that.”

“Count on it.” I opened the door.

“Bye,” she said.

I turned to Karen, who was still sitting in the window sill. “What are you doing? You have a report to finish, so get back to work. I don't want you blaming me for getting you sidetracked.”

Karen stood. “I'm up.”

“We'll talk tomorrow,” I said and closed the door.

I called the following morning and we had lunch at Olean's, a popular cafe near campus that's famous for its Southern fried chicken and down-home cooking.

I called the next day and we spent an hour after work sitting in her office talking about Barney Aman and politics. I expected her to ask what led Barney to commit suicide but she didn't.

She called the next morning and asked what my plans were for the weekend. I told her I didn't have any. So, we went on our first unofficial date that weekend. We attended the FAMU Essential Players matinee performance of
Calming the Man.
A couple of times during the play, I glanced over at Karen and noticed her staring at me, probing for something inside me. Each time, she smiled flirtatiously and looked away.

You can't keep her a secret much longer. Caleb already suspects something after all the lies he's caught you in recently. And that lie about the report was a major blunder.

Okay! I'll tell him about Karen. He should understand.

You're right. He should. But will he?

Why wouldn't he?

Why ask a question that you already know the answer to?

Damn. This wasn't fair, I told myself.

It's not. But let's stand in Caleb's shoes for a minute, both of them. We've been standing in the right one for years. Now let's try on the other one. Is it on yet? Okay. Now, feel what he'll feel if he finds out about Karen.

He's scared.

Scared?

Terrified…

Of what?

He doesn't know what kind of life he will have if I…if I…

…if I start my new life with Karen.

What am I going to do?

Let her go.

I can't. I can't and I won't.

Then get ready. And please stop holding your mouth like that when you're lying. Believe me, it's a dead giveaway.

If nothing else, I'd always been punctual. But now, since I'd been seeing Karen, I couldn't keep track of time. This morning, I walked Karen to her office and then I had to run like a cheetah to get to my first-period class on time. I imagined the heuristic look on Caleb's face when I rushed into the lecture hall four minutes late. So far, he hadn't mentioned it, but it's on the tip of his tongue.

Karen asked me to go to a birthday dinner party for Angela Townsend, a professor in the marketing department. I was in my bedroom getting dressed when Caleb opened the door and asked, “Where are you getting ready to go?”

“To a reception for a visiting distinguished scholar.”

“I don't recall you mentioning anything about a reception?” Caleb eyed me suspiciously as I looked in the mirror and straightened my shirt collar. “And I don't remember reading about this distinguished scholar. Who is he or she?”

“He's an award-winning journalist,” I answered and put on my black blazer.

“Does he have a name?”

I walked past Caleb, who was standing in the doorway.

“Let me help you remember,” Caleb offered as he followed me into the living room. “Is his first name John? How about Russell? Timothy?”

“Listen, Caleb…”

“No, you listen. What's up with all the lying? And I don't want to hear nothing about another project or report at work. I can't believe I fell for that bullshit the first time.”

I grabbed the car keys off the table and marched toward the door. With my hand on the door, I hesitated for a moment before shouting, “I'm leaving!”

“Then leave, liar!” Caleb yelled back. “You think I give a damn?”

I turned the doorknob.

“Haul ass!” Caleb screamed. “Bye!” He stood so close behind me that I could feel the anger and hatred spewing out of him. Lava gushed from his mouth. “You're still here!”

I snatched the door open and let the world inside.

Fear chased the rage out of Caleb's eyes. He gasped. Realizing the gravity of the situation, he began to sink…to drown. His fingers clawed for the surface…for air…for me.

I walked out and slammed the door behind me. I heard Caleb fall on the floor, but I kept walking.

As I drove to Karen's house, I tried not to think about my fight with Caleb by listening to the radio and belting out songs I didn't know. She was dressed and ready to go when I arrived. Seeing her calmed my spirits. Angela and her husband, Tom, a circuit court judge, lived in Northwood Plantation. The Townsends' two-story, colonial-style log house on the shore of Lake Baldwin was a few blocks from Barney Aman's house.

I put on my best face at the dinner party, but Karen saw through it. After dinner and several rounds of evading questions from Angela, Tom, and the other twelve guests about Barney's well-publicized call to me before he killed himself, Karen asked me to walk outside with her. She reached for my hand as soon as we stepped on the deck overlooking the small lake behind the house.

“I thought you needed rescuing,” she said.

“I really didn't mind.”

“Of course you didn't.” She moved in closer. “Thanks for coming with me.”

“I'm glad you invited me,” I replied. “I'm having a nice time.”

“Really?”

I let go of her hand and walked to the edge of the deck. “I'm sorry.” I felt the need to explain my solemn mood. “I've got a lot on my mind right now.” I turned and looked at her. She was staring at the lake. “Listen, Karen.”

“Sshhh.” She placed a finger to my lips. “Not now. Later, when you're ready.” She reached for my hand and I placed my hand in hers. “It's getting cold out here,” she said and slid into my arms.

Caleb wasn't speaking to me and I didn't blame him. First, I lied to him about the report. And then, I didn't know what came over me the other night. Caleb was in bed when I came home from the dinner party, and he didn't come out of his bedroom the entire weekend…at least not while I was around. I finally saw him Monday when I pulled in the driveway after work. He was sitting by the window until he saw me. He stayed in his bedroom the rest of the night. For two weeks, I only saw him from a distance, at the window when I came home.

Caleb was sitting by the window staring outside when I pulled in the driveway and turned the car off. I didn't get out the car. I sat there and stared back at him. I wanted to see what he would do if I didn't get out. He didn't flinch; neither did I. Our standoff, which lasted twenty-six minutes, ended when I gave up. I opened
the door and got out of the car. Caleb stood and walked away from the window. As I unlocked the front door, I heard Caleb's bedroom door slam shut.

I was in a terrible place and I didn't see any way out of it.

Caleb put the red envelope on the nightstand beside my bed to make sure I saw it. I ripped the envelope and the Valentine's Day card inside it into shreds, then walked in the hallway and threw the shreds at Caleb's bedroom door. “Damn you, too!” I yelled.

Karen couldn't hold it in any longer. She said she had to tell me.

“What I'm feeling or what I think I'm feeling is kind of new to me,” she said. I felt her arms tighten around me as we slow danced to “Miracles,” an early-eighties ballad by teen sensation Stacy Lattisaw. “I mean, I've only known you five, maybe six, weeks, and that's not long enough for me to feel like this.”

“How do you feel?”

“I'd rather not say.”

We were one of a handful of couples on the dance floor. Karen, a graduate of FAMU, brought me as her guest to the alumni chapter's annual Valentine's Day Ball.

“Tell me,” I whispered in Karen's ear. “I want to know.” I looked into her eyes and told her, “I'm listening.”

“Kiss me, Nigel.”

“Not until you tell me how you feel.”

“Kiss me. Please.”

I had a choice—continue dreaming, or live my dream. I could listen to the nervous chatter inside my head.

Don't! If you do, you'll never be able to let her go!

Or, I could pull her close and kiss her like I'd done in my restful-night dreams.

“I'm sorry,” Karen apologized. “I shouldn't have put you on the spot like that.” The disappointment showed in her eyes. Her grip loosened and she took a slight step away from me. “Like I said, we've only known each other a few weeks.”

I missed her the moment she stepped away which was proof that I could not go back to a life without her. So I chose to live. She was spellbound by my enamored gaze as I lured her back into my arms. When our lips touched, an impassioned hunger consumed her…and me. The second chorus of Anita Ward's infectious disco hit, “Ring My Bell,” had the floor gyrating when we finally realized we should be doing the Tilt, the Josie, or the Camel Walk like everyone else instead of bumpin' and grindin' like pubescent teens.

She led me up the stairs into her bedroom, then she took her time undressing me. I stood in front of her naked…harder, longer, and thicker than I had ever been. She guided my right hand toward the snap closure on the back of her strapless gown. The snap, equipped with a motion sensor, gave before I touched it. The zipper raced down her back and the gown slithered to the floor. She turned around, filled one of my hands with her warm breast. She took my other hand and piloted it inside her black lace panties. Her tongue tasted my lips before she kissed me. Her fingers tiptoed down my chest, past my navel down into my Calvins, teasingly stroking me until I throbbed. My fingers fueled a raging furnace that singed her to the core. She succumbed and fell backward on the bed. Her legs moved through the air like javelins. Her toes stabbed at the ceiling. I slid her panties up her legs and off. She wrapped her legs around my waist and steered me down on top of
and in between. She invited me inside, and I fervently accepted the invitation. I felt her…all of her.

Time didn't stop. After we caught our breath and went at it again, time continued to ignore us. Even during our spontaneous romp in the shower, time pressed on, which was fine with me. I didn't want time to stop because I wanted to live every second of this dream.

CHAPTER 16
CALEB

T
oday was the first day of the spring semester. Nigel could come home and talk non-stop for days and never describe our classes as vividly as I saw them on TV. Now, I could be with Nigel inside SJC lecture hall, which only vaguely resembled the auditorium that I imagined. Now, I could put student faces with names when I was grading assignments and exams. I could really be there with Nigel. Be there and co-write our story. Finally, I knew what it felt like to step outside these walls…to run a marathon.

These walls, once deemed impregnable, became pervious today, and it was hard to tell where 207 Circle Drive ended and the shoreline of the world outside these walls began. It's probably my mind playing tricks on me, but I feel a nosy wind tickling my face while sand—so white and fine it resembles sugar—erect castles between my toes.

I hadn't seen Mr. and Mrs. Retired Walker since last summer, but between classes this morning, I saw Mrs. Retired Walker on the Myers Park hiking trails. I tried not to think about what seeing her without him meant. None of the hikers and joggers noticed the forlorn look on her face as they jolted by, and no one stopped to help when the excessive weight of loneliness became too heavy for her to shoulder. She completed less than a quarter of the mile-long trail before she gave up and turned around. However, she
appeared content and her stride was much lighter as she followed her laden footprints back to the starting point.