My Dream Girl
Part Two
We are somewhere in the south of France. None manicured, wild grass with brown weeds stretches for as far as the eye can see, creating a field instead of a yard. The chateau that hovers above us is withered by time. But somehow it’s more regal than raggedy, more ancient than old, revealing a timeless beauty. The sky is a perfect soft blue interspersed with white clouds that looks as soft and fluffy as Egyptian cotton. The weather is warm with a slight breeze. The sun isn’t visible but light is.
As I listen to the chirping sounds that’s omnipresent. I wonder to myself why crickets use their wings to create a symphony of sound instead of taking flight. Whatever the reason maybe, the chirps give our picnic more of a natural and magical feel. For a while we don’t talk. We take in the moment.
A summer floral dress adorns Roses body. Her hair is down and her sandals are off to the side. I’m wearing a blue v neck, blue khaki shorts, and a pair of white Nikes that are next to Rosa scandals. I look at her appreciating her presence. Appreciating our time together, appreciating the opportunity to get to know her without no disturbances.
We enjoy the wine and the cheese. Both of which are grown locally. I would like to try out the local watermelon, I think to myself and laugh. Raw cheese have never been my thing. When I has incarcerated the white guys I used to cook with never used to melt the block cheese, only shred then sprinkle it on top. The brothers used to always melt the block cheese without exception. I don’t know why but I noticed things like that.
“What are you looking at?” She inquires.
“Since the first day I saw you I’ve been trying to figure out if it’s your personality, your physicality, or your smile that attracts me to you.” I respond.
“Maybe it’s neither. You could be attracted to me because you are lonely. Because you are dreaming, because in your dreams no other women are around to grab your attention. If given more options, I would just be an average woman. Your opinion of me wouldn’t be so esteemed.” She says.
I didn’t feel the need to respond. Obviously she doubted her own worth, by doubting my attraction to her. Or was she telling the truth?
“Is that right? Well Mrs. Fraud, time reveals all. And one thing I do have is time. So we’ll see.”
“Do we have time for a back rub?” She ask.
And lay on her stomach before I could answer.
I position myself on the side of her. Gently pull down her dress straps and start rubbing her neck and shoulder area. She closes her eyes. I tell her I do full body rubs too. She laughs and says no thank you.
She ask me do I have any children. I tell her no. She tells me she has two boys and share with me small anecdotes about them. I could sense the joy, happiness, and abiding love in her voice.
I wondered but didn’t ask about her children’s father. She had a ring on, so most likely the father was also her husband. I didn’t want to know about her husband. I didn’t want to get caught up in a moral conflict, neither did I need to know her as a wife if she wasn’t my wife. I just figured if she’s here with me, then he’s not doing something right.
I went on to tell her that I was a middle child with two big sisters, one little sister and one little brother. I didn’t let her know that I watched my dad die when I was nine and that my little brother committed suicide while I was incarcerated. Instead I told her that I was raised by my mom who is the best and when my mom was working a lot my sisters picked up the slack. I shared with her how my sisters used to beat up or intimidate the neighborhood bullies who used to try to punk me. I went on to tell her that one of my sisters was a fashionista, the older was interested in real estate, and my little sister was one of my favorite poets, a nomad, a free spirit who travelled a lot and who was currently in London attending college. I didn’t offer no info on my little brother. Rose didn’t inquire as if she was comfortable with me sharing on my terms. I find it difficult to speak about my little brother in past tense. Or to speak about him with people who aren’t my mom or my sisters.
Silence falls over us. A peaceful, comfortable silence.
I continue to rub on Rosa noticing the blond little hairs on hair neck.
“Joe what are your passions in life?” Rose interrupts the silence.
“I’m passionate about rubbing on you.” I respond.
She playfully nudges me with her elbow. “For real silly,” she says.
“When I was incarceration I fell in love with reading. Reading gave me a love for language while at the same time providing me answers to a lot of my questions that I had?”
“What type of questions?” She asks.
“Like why was I in prison when I should have been in school? Why was incarceration so tied into the lives of Black men, and why was Black people so defensive towards each other and the world? I also had religious questions. Which religion was real, which was fake, which was best for me? And of course, if God was real where was he in our world? I had questions about racism and why white people acted so viciously throughout history up until the present day. I couldn’t accept the fact that the white guards who ruled over me lied, fostered frustration and agitation amongst the brothers, and whose mentality was just as deceptive, negative, and ruthless as a criminal yet they were entrusted with the responsibility to protect society from us, protect us from each other, and also prepare us for release. When I got locked up I had no world view or comprehensive understanding of how humans and human institutions functioned. Reading gave me insight into myself and the world we live in.”
“That’s interesting.” She says. Before continuing, “For me reading is a leisure activity that doesn’t give me insight into my life, but just provides entertainment. I prefer novels over autobiographies and memoirs. I’m not that deep of a person Joe. My philosophy in life is simple, treat others how I would like to be treated.”
“What are you passionate about Rose?” I inquire.
“Reading is one of my passions. Being a mother, of course. And I don’t know beyond that. I like canning vegetables and fruits. But those may be hobbys. I think, I’m passionate about just living my best life without letting the bullshit affect me too much. Like don’t matter what I’m going through in my personal life I have the ability to left up others from any background. I didn’t have to read multiple books. Connecting with people from different walks of life comes natural to me. And I just try to use that connection to make somebody’s day better.”
As she talks I’m reminded of why I was initially attracted to her. It was her personality (and maybe that ass too). Her positive energy had a boomerang affect on me.
“I don’t know if you are a panacea, or a placebo. But your personality is very positive and warm.” I comment.
“Maybe I’m neither. Maybe I’m a chimera who you give too much power too. You should never outsource your happiness Joe.”
She says.
We are now cuddled up. I’m staring into the now night sky on my back. Her head is sideways on my left chest looking up at me. My arm is underneath her body coming up by her waist. My hand gentle caress her upper thigh.
“We shouldn’t outsource our happiness to things I agree. But people can be a major source of our happiness. People are a major source to anybody’s happiness. We all want to be loved and want to love others. Sometimes people fail us, sometimes we fail others. We live. We learn. We grow. The only time when it’s unhealthy to outsource our happiness is when we are not happy with ourselves and than it’s more about validation. Looking for validation instead of enjoying a genuine connection that inspires and introduces more light to our lives is dangerous.” I respond.
But maybe she had a point. Maybe my happiness should extend from the inside out, instead of outside in.
I didn’t share this with her. She comments, “ I still believe outsourcing your happiness whither to a thing or a person is dangerous. Happiness is a state of being, not the state of being with somebody.”
“That’s true for a saint, a Buddhist, a holy person. But for the average human being our happiness is tied into both things which provides comfort and convenience and people who we bond and share our lives with.” I comment.
“Is this happiness?” She inquires.
“Every moment with you is happiness. When I’m in your presence I feel a joy, an ease, an optimism. Sometimes these feelings travels with me after we go our separate ways. Sometimes they vanish. In any case during the day when thoughts of you enters my mind my mood changes. A smile crosses my face, a picture of beauty crosses my mind, and hope sets in. Hope that I will see you soon. You see the crescent moon?” I point to the sky.
She looks in the direction of my index finger.
“For me the night sky represents my darkest, most dreary nights and your smile is the crescent moon providing guidance, light, comfort.”
Rose grab my hand and give it a gentle squeeze.
“Aren’t you quite the poet?” She says.
“Aren’t you quite the muse?” I respond.
Silence overcomes us as we continue to lay on our backs listening to the crickets, looking into the star studded night sky. In a field, under a chateau, somewhere in the south of France.
