Voodoo Ice
"Where'd I get my name?"
She paused for a moment and continued to chew on the long piece of grass she'd plucked from the sandy dune. Her eyes were fixed on the lights of a large sailboat that silently drifted across the dark, distant horizon.
"My father; I was named after my father. He was a sailor from Jamaica who'd sail into Boston on occasion and when he did, he'd look my mother up. He'd hang around just long enough to screw her and beat her and then he'd head back to the sea. At the time I was born she was in love with him, I suppose, so she named me after him. Ha, love sure is blind isn't it? Anyway, the beatings didn't start until later, when his drug problem got worse, at least that's what she told me. She told me he was a drug runner who, in the beginning, never used, only carried to make some extra dough. Then he became a user and that's when his mean side surfaced. I don't know; I don't remember."
"Damn, I'm so sorry to hear that Jado, well, I mean it's still a cool name," I said.
"Yea, it is a pretty cool name," and she smiled that captivating smile that made my knees tremble and my heart flutter; perfect, large chiclet-white teeth peeking from behind luscious, thick, soft, dark lips.
"Honey, I have never seen a woman more beautiful than you," I whispered as I looked at her, stunned by her magnificence. Slowly I reached my hand toward her face and stroked her smooth, light brown skin. Softer than a ripe peach she was.
Her large, warm, horse-like dark eyes and long eyelashes smiled at me as she tenderly took my hand and gently kissed the tips of my fingers. Everything about her was soft.
Life was perfect at this moment, nestled in a sand dune with my new lover, overlooking the moon-reflected waters on a warm spring Caribbean night.
"Thank you, I'm glad you like what you see," her response.
"Do I ever. You have got to be the sexiest woman on the planet. What ever did I do to deserve the pleasure of meeting and loving you?"
"Oh, I guess you just got lucky," she tossed back.
I played with her long, thin fingers, wrapping them in my own.
"So did you ever get to meet your dad?" I asked.
"Nah, the last time my mom saw him I was 5; I don't remember him at all. But I've seen pictures of him; he was a big, good looking man. I can see why my mom fell for him."
"It seems you inherited his good looks them," I smiled.
"Perhaps. It's difficult to say exactly what a child inherits from a parent." She grinned devilishly.
"You are so intriguing Jado, there's so much about you that I can't wait to discover. I mean, although it's only been a month, I feel as if I've known you a lifetime and yet, there are still so many things about you that I find mysterious," I said while continuing to massage her hand.
She tossed her head back and laughed.
"No need for mysteries. Just ask; what is it that you want to know?"
"Well, for example, why are you so intense in your studies? You hardly ever relax; I mean you don't even drink once in awhile? Why the intensity? Why a double major in law and business?"
She became quiet, pensive and stared up at the clouds for a few moments before speaking.
"I feel as if I got a late start and there's so much I want to do. I am going to start a foundation. For women. Women who need a fresh start. Women who are in abusive relationships and need to get out of them. Women who have children but no partner or spouse and need help. I want to give them a new beginning. Shelter them in a safe place where their abusers can't find them. Provide day care for their children while they learn a new skill or get an education so they can get a better job. Help them by paying a deposit and a few months rent to get them out of their old environment and into a new one. I want to help. I want to make a difference. And I want to know all the legal and business aspects myself to make sure there are no fuck ups. I will do this. It is my life's goal."
She looked at me.
"Does that make sense?"
Her intensity stunned me.
"Why yes, of course. That's incredible. What a beautiful vision." I was near speechless, suddenly feeling embarrassed that my focuses in life so far were silly and inconsequential.
"I saw what my mother went through trying to raise my brothers and I on waitress tips. She was stuck, trapped. No one to help her. It's a tough life for so many women. I've been blessed with a good brain and I want to help. I know I can make a difference."
"Oh honey, you are so special, I've never met anyone with such a kind, gentle, loving heart as yours. You are an angel," I said as feelings flushed over me nearly bringing me to tears.
She smiled, leaned close and kissed me. My body responded and I pulled her tighter to me. I wanted her now. I needed to make love to her at that moment.
She chuckled as she softly pulled away.
"Not now baby, I have a little work to do first."
"Work? Now? At 10pm on a Saturday night?"
"Yes, work. How do you think I can afford school and to send a few dollars each week to my mother and grandmother to make sure they have food on their table back in Boston?"
"Now, now, don't pout," she continued while holding me tightly against her breast, "it won't take long, in fact, if you'd like, you can come with me."
"What exactly do you do?" I'd never heard her talk about her job and couldn't imagine where she'd find time to work with all the time she put into classes and studying.
"Let's just say I deal with supply and demand. There's a demand out there for my product and I supply it."
I couldn't help but return her smile.
"See?" I said, "I told you that you were a mystery."
"Mysteries were made to be solved," she said, "I'll be right back; I have to change."
We drove up to one of the island's many big nightclubs that were erected to entertain the flourishing tourist industry. Flashing bright colored lights whirled from both inside and out of the building. A large, bright neon sign scrolled "The Atlantis" around a huge spinning globe on top of the roof of this college-kid-on-spring-break magnet. Groups of clean cut twenty-somethings, many younger, with red-fresh sun burns mingled around outside, talking, drinking, smoking. Each week their names and faces changed, yet somehow they seemed the same.
"We're going in there? In a het-college-kid-nightclub?"
"Well not exactly, we don't have to go in. In fact you don't have to go anywhere. Just wait right here," her grin never stopped.
"and I'll be right back."
I watched as she walked away from the car and toward one of the groups of kids, awed by her majestic splendor. Her large athletic frame moved with the grace of a lioness. She had changed into a black t-shirt with cut-off sleeves, a black leather vest, and worn, black jeans. With that outfit and her dreadlocks she easily could pass as a thug. I chuckled at the thought.
As she approached the group of young men they slowly stopped laughing and joking and turned their attention to her. Soon, they had formed a circle around her. She was showing them something that they evidently found to be quite interesting.
Moments later she left that group and walked down the sidewalk toward another cluster of adult-wannabes. Again, they began to listen to her and were very attentive to whatever it was she had to say or was showing them. As she walked away from the group she stuffed something into her pocket, turned, winked at me, then headed toward another small assembly; three college age boys and a girl.
Curiosity now gripped me and refused to let go. Although I felt guilty for what I was thinking, I had to satisfy my inquisitiveness; I slipped out of the car and following her.
By the time she noticed I was behind her, she'd already begun her patter, talking in a thick Jamaican accent.
"No no, here we don't smoke the weed no mo' man. Here we do 'Voodoo Ice'. You nevah hear of Voodoo? Yes, well my daddy was a Shaman from Jamaica and he taught me the ancient secret recipe that Shamans have used to turn people into zombies for centuries. What we do now is crystallize it and attach the tiny molecules to a patch. See?"
She pulled out a piece of black crepe paper and very carefully unwrapped a small flesh colored patch, "Wear this and the Voodoo Ice is absorbed through da skin. It gives you a high much better than smokin' dem stinky ol' bones. And the good thing is dat no one ever knows you're doing it, da drug dogs cannot sniff this out. It's the latest and greatest for the pleasure-seeker. Put one of these on and in about an hour, you are a walking zombie, flying high inside your own head. You will see and hear things dat you ain't nevah seen or hear'd befo'."
The young men looked at each other then, deciding it was worth a try, began pulling their wallets out. Jado took the money and began distributed patches.
Disgusted with what I had seen, I turned and quickly returned to the car. She followed close behind.
As soon as she sat in the driver's seat and turned the key in the ignition, I exploded.
"I can't believe you sell drugs Jado! I am shocked, stunned, I'm, I'm speechless. I would've never guessed in a million years. Do you know how quick they'd throw your ass in jail for dealing drugs?! Are you a user too? How can you risk your dreams, your future like that? I thought you were smarter than that. I guess you did inherit more than your looks from your father. My God, I can't believe I let myself fall in love with a drug dealer. How stupid I feel. How foolish to think you were a woman I could fall in love with and spend the rest of my life"
She interrupted me.
"Don't be so quick to judge," she snapped. "Like I said, it's supply and demand. Don't blame me if they're stupid enough to buy that crap. I am going to finish school and I am going to start that foundation and I am going to do whatever it takes to accomplish that. And no, I do not use."
Her dark eyes glared.
I sat back, pressed against the seat and became quiet, too many thoughts whirled through my head.
When we were almost back to her apartment, she pulled into the parking lot of a small drugstore.
"I need to pick up a few things, want to come in?"
"No."
Gently she reached for my hand, "Please, come in with me."
I pulled my hand away from her, opened the door and stepped out into the humid, summer night air, slamming the door behind me.
Once inside, she quickly went about picking up the items she needed and placing them into the little red carry basket.
Toothpaste, cat food, bottled water, eggs. Then she walked down the paper isle and picked up a package of black crepe paper. My stomach cringed at the sight of it and I thought I might get sick.
"Let's go," I demanded.
"One more thing," she said and walked toward the isle that of small household items. She stopped in front of the area of shoe repair and polish items, foot insoles and pads.
"I need some more 'Voodoo Ice'," she smiled and winked at me as she grabbed a couple packages of beige colored "No Slip" pads that are used to stick under a new pair of shoes so they don't slip. She placed them in her basket and asked, "Think they'll throw my ass in jail for selling No-Slip' pads?"
The Greatest Secret
Tracy opened the door, entered into the warmth of the apartment, then shut it behind her and, leaning back against it, finally out of the wind and freezing sleet, she closed her eyes and sighed. The drive home had been beastly. Scattered accidents, cars sliding, steel-crunching off the road and into each other. She breathed a sigh of relief to finally be home; finally, safe at home. Peeling off her overcoat, she carefully hung it up then neatly took off her boots and lined them on the mat along the wall. Stepping over a discarded backpack and a pair of scattered boots, socks, gloves and a hat, she stepped onto the rug, whispering a sharp "dammit!" as cold wet water penetrated her socks. Bending down, she picked up the pair of wet black gloves and red hat that dripped slushy water and had left a round, dark wet spot on the carpet.
She growled as her blood pressure rose.
After peeling off her soggy socks, she stomped around the corner and into the brightly lit artist's studio. Large canvas's lay in disarray around the room, some complete, some half-done and some blank. The room was cluttered: nude statues, a bowl of fruit, various paint palettes, dirty, used artist's cloths and colorfully stained jackets.
A dark haired woman with a red bandanna around her head and a smudge of white paint across her cheek sat upon a stool staring intensely at the canvas before her. When she heard Tracy enter, she turned and smiled.
"Hi honey! Come here, I want you to see what I've" was the cheerful greeting that Tracy interrupted.
"Can't you at least make sure not to leave your wet clothes on the carpet?! There's a wet spot there now." Tracy held up the wet socks. Exhibit A.
Marcia looked at her and froze.
"Oh sweetie, heck. I'm sorry. I didn't I mean, I didn't ummm I'm sorry." Her voice trailed off.
"Sorry? Yea, sorry again Marsh." Tracy's voice, full of sarcasm sliced the air.
"How many times do we have to go over this? Why do you insist on leaving things on the floor and lying around? Can't you at least pick up after yourself? What am I? Your personal maid?"
Marcia put her paintbrush down and stared at the floor.
"No baby, I just didn't think, I dunno, I just wasn't thinking I guess. I'm sorry."
The canvas in front of her was full of painted wintered trees pregnant with snow yet misplaced fresh, multi-colored fruit hung from the limbs. It was an odd sight. Tracy figured it must be symbolic of something but as usual, wasn't sure of what. Nor at this moment, did she care. Right now her blood pressure was high and her patience air-thin.
"Marcia," she vented, "I'm tired of discussing this with you. When I come home from a long, tough day at work the last thing I want to do is to pick up after you! Can't you at least put your things where they belong? If you think I'm going to put up with living with a pigpen person for much longer, then you better think again."
The pressure had built in her neck; her heart pounded loud and strong. She felt her eyebrows bearing down and center but was helpless to control it. Soon she'd have a headache.
"I don't get it. Why do you have to be so messy? Don't you care?" She continued the barrage.
"Relax Tracy, I said I was sorry!" Marcia defended. "Jesus, what crawled up your butt and died? I mean it's not like I did it on purpose." She swiveled on her stool and stared out the window toward the trees that were silently being blanketed by snow.
Tracy looked at her and was about to continue the lecture when she felt a soft tap on her shoulder.
She turned and there a woman stood, just inches from her. A woman who looked remarkably like Whoopie Goldberg.
Tracy immediately thought three things. First, she thought that she's been watching too much TV lately. Second, she thought that she had had too much too drink. Third, she thought that she'd not had a drink in five years.
"Ahhhh..." was all that she was able to mumble, her mouth making slow "O's" like a goldfish.
The woman smiled, a warm loving smile.
"Relax honey."
"Relax?" Tracy repeated. "And who, might I ask, are you?"
The woman's smile broadened as she explained, "I'm an angel."
Tracy turned and looked at Marcia who continued to stare out the window, apparently oblivious to what was going on.
"An angel?" Tracy repeated.
"That's right, an angel."
"And you are here because"
"I am here because you need me to be."
"Like Hell I do," Tracy thought.
The angel leaned back upon one of the tables.
"Yes, you do," she whispered.
"Oh shit," Tracy thought, "she can read my thoughts."
The woman smiled and nodded.
"Yes, I can."
"Listen honey, just trust me, you need me, right here and right now, just trust me. You need to learn the greatest secret."
Tracy blinked hard. Looked around the room. Still the woman remained.
"And that would be?"
"Look at her," the woman pointed to Marcia, "what do you see?"
Tracy turned her head and looked at her lover. Marcia continued to stare out toward the trees.
"I see Marcia."
"No, what do you really see."
"I see Marcia, my partner."
"No, no Ok, let's try this. What are you feeling right now?
Tracy thought for a moment.
"I'm well, confused."
The woman laughed, "You'll get over that. What else?"
"I'm feeling frustrated and angry at her. She's so messy. I can't stand it anymore."
"Ok," said the woman. Her smile never faltered, it warmly hugged her face.
"Listen to me," she continued, Tracy turned and looked at her.
"You have been pushing her with anger, with criticism, with your frustration. You are pushing her away from you. That woman is a beautiful spirit and you are pushing her away from you. What you need to do is to pull her to you instead."
"What do you mean, but how?" Tracy asked.
The woman had her hypnotized.
"Come here." The woman motioned for Tracy to come closer.
Tracy walked toward her and when she was inches away felt a soft warmth the likes of which she'd never felt before. It made her glow and a flush rise within her. And there was a smell. The woman emitted a sweet, gentle fragrance; Tracy wanted to breathe it deep into her soul. The woman leaned closer to her and whispered into her ear.
"Love."
Tracy paused.
"Love?"
"Yes. Love." The woman's smile grew bigger and brighter, her lips pulling back to expose two rows of toothpaste commercial, perfect, pearly white teeth.
"Instead of pushing her away, pull her closer and love is the way to do it. THAT is the greatest secret of the universe."
Tracy looked at Marcia.
"OK, now, what do you see?" the woman asked again. "Let me help. See the first time you laid eyes upon her."
Tracy looked at Marcia and suddenly it was like the first time again. She remembered the love she had felt the first time their eyes had met. Marcia's beautiful eyes, her effervescent smile, her vivacious personality. Tracy felt that familiar tingle stir inside. Suddenly it was as if it were the first time again.
The woman nodded.
"Now, see her as you did on Christmas Eve."
Tracy's mind flashed back to Christmas Eve. They were sitting in front of the fireplace, holding each other after exchanging gifts, talking about their hopes and dreams. They'd never been closer. Marcia's touch that night had been so soft, tender, warm. They'd made love and it'd been unlike any other time. It had been magical. They'd both cried at the incredible and intense beauty of it. Her eyes began to mist up. A lump started to choke the base of her throat.
"Yes," said the woman, "That's good. Now, see her as a child. Look at her."
Tracy looked and miraculously she saw Marcia as a young girl. She was probably about 8 years old and was sitting at a table painting. There was paper and paint everywhere. In the room were her three siblings; two were happily playing together on the floor with building blocks making a castle, one was off to the side practicing magic tricks on a self-made stage. There were trucks, dolls, pots, pans, boxes, blocks, crayons scattered all over the floor. A woman, apparently Marcia's mother, maternally clucked around all the children jovially laughing and encouraging them. The children giggled and laughed at and with each other. Tracy was mesmerized by the feeling of happiness and love that emulated from the scene.
"Now can you see why clutter doesn't bother her?" The woman's voice startled Tracy.
Tracy nodded.
"That's where she gets her creativity from. That's why she doesn't even notice clutter around her. She truly is oblivious to it."
Tracy thought back to her own, only-child childhood; the clinically clean home that her mother had insisted remain spotless. "Everything has a place and everything in its place," she'd chant.
"Now," the woman softly said, "look at her with love."
And suddenly Tracy saw Marcia in a way she'd never seen her before. She saw love. She felt love. She knew love. No longer could she hold back the tears, they spilled from the insides and corners of her eyes and flowed down her cheeks. She felt warm inside. Her heart felt warm. She felt as if a white, warm glow flowed from her.
"Now," the woman stood up, stopped leaning back against the table and placed her hand upon Tracy's shoulder. "Now, my dear, you know love. Now you know the greatest secret of the universe."
Tracy's eyes never left Marcia and yet she knew the woman was gone.
Marcia began to speak, "Tracy, listen, I said I was sorry, I'll pick up the damn gloves"
Tracy interrupted her and tenderly placed her hand upon one of Marcia's hands, "Shhh. Stop. Marcia, I love you."
Marcia looked at Tracy, a questioning look covered her face when she saw the tears, "I know but"
"No, no buts. Marcia, I love you." She wrapped her arms around her and pulled Marcia tightly into her.
Marcia paused and tensed, still unsure of the sudden change, but soon gave in, relaxed and returned the hug.
"Oh Trace. I'm so sorry, I really don't mean to annoy you. I love you honey."
"I know baby. I love you too, more than you'll ever know."
They stared, unblinking, into each other's eyes, Tracy spoke first.
"Listen sweetie, let's make a deal. If you promise to try to be neater because you love me and know the clutter bothers me, then I promise to try not to nag you because I love you and I know that only annoys you. How does that sound."
Marcia nodded. "I promise," she whispered.
"Honey, there's nothing we can't work out together if we just remember that we love each other." Tracy said.
"I know, you're right. I'm sorry that I forgot that Trace."
"We won't ever forget again, OK?"
Marcia nodded.
"Ok, great." Tracy smiled. "Now, what do you say we
get dressed up in our hats, boots, scarves and mittens and
go play in the snow."
"I want to make snow angels."
