Stories

Beneath Ceilings

Part I: Nijah

The warmth of his morning breath has always made me uncomfortable.

   “This is why I never want to stay over,”

I thought as I attempted to Houdini myself from under his arm. I gently sat up and glanced over at my phone, it’s 5:42 in the morning and sneaking out before the sun has been an unwelcomed pattern of mine. I hear him begin to untangle himself from under the sheets as I pretend not to notice.

   “You don’t always have to do this,”

He speaks. His voice faint, but direct enough for me to have to acknowledge. He was a nice enough guy, you know, the kind your mother prays for. Good job, kind spirit, and ambitious, the type to ask about your day, and actually listen. He was a gentleman, just not my gentleman. I leaned in to give him a reassuring kiss, because words at this point seemed like navigating through a minefield of uncharted emotions. But he accepts my silence, and I his patience. He reaches for his shirt as he grunts and groans like a middle-aged man; it makes me smile. He’s always been on the sillier side, and he was a charming shift in my life, maybe that’s why I’ve entertained this space for so long.

   “Aiight…. C’mon, I’ll walk you to your car,”

He says as he begins to pull his shirt over his head.

   Wait, I say placing my hand on his chest, interrupting his routine.

   “You don’t have to”

But before I could finish my sentence, he pulls me over and softly kisses me on my forehead, then nose, then lips. He brushes away a few locs from my face, as he lightly caresses my cheeks. I collapse into his hand, and he looks at me, softly, as if for the last time. I say no more.

He rolls out of bed and my eyes follow his silhouette to the bathroom in the corner of the room. He lightly pushes the door closed behind him, creating a thin pathway of light, from him to I. I quietly watch, as he splashes his face with water and takes a gaze at himself in the mirror. I dare not try to read his mind, but the thought provokes me. Why are humans so obsessed with the minds of others? Why do we tether ourselves to foreign emotions, just to carry them as our own burden? Society has a way of making you feel like you missed out on something you never wanted in the first place. As I sit, I wonder, is this where I am in life? Chasing the desires of others?

   “Babe!” As he abruptly calls out from the bathroom doorway, my thoughts scatter like dust in the wind.

   “I’m sorry, what where you saying?

He stands in silence for a moment, deciding on which response would best fit the situation. I can tell he’s concerned about me, a custom of his I’ve grown to tolerate. Still, I stay quiet, seated on the corner of his bed, waiting for him to speak his truth, because I have not yet found mine. But instead, his face softens as he extends his arm in my direction and lets out a forgiving sigh. I tease him with a playful smirk which grants him entrance into my domain, hoping he accepts my invitation. Though It’s hard not to wonder if he ever keeps track of the absence of sound. I’ve had to learn multiple languages over time, often without words. Communicating through touch when speech becomes too difficult.

   “Come here," He calmly says with his arm still extended, confidently knowing I’ve never needed much encouragement when it came to his embrace. I allow myself to crumble into his chest as he fastens me with his arms. I can feel the warmth of his body blanket me like a shield of protection. He tenderly tugs at my chin, slightly tilting my head to see what may be hiding behind my eyes. But I’m always careful not to reveal too much, because my truths will inevitably become his burdens. An unwanted gift from the people you cherish most.

   “What do you need from me,” he softly whispers.

   “To exist,” I replied.

It was the only answer I had to give, but I knew he was worth more, and so did he. He throws on his beanie and reaches for my jacket hanging off an antique clothing rack that should’ve been thrown out ages ago. He's always been sentimental like that, holding on to things much longer then intended; Like me. He then drapes me with my jacket, and hands me my bag of clothes that was sitting above an empty drawer he cleaned out for me last month.

   “No pressure. If it feels right, it’s yours,”

he once said with a trace of optimism lingering in his voice. But my feet drag with anticipation of revealing all elements of myself. Fear of being misunderstood outside of our understanding. He grabs his keys in one hand, and I firmly grab the other. While resting my head on his shoulder I think about how time seems to move slower here. Or is it anywhere we’re together? I ponder for a second, temporarily occupying two worlds. Deciding on which scenario I’ll mentally escape to. He proceeds to open the front door; the cool morning air subtly seep in and rolls across my face. The leaves on his front porch rides the breeze, twisting and twirling with pieces of the earth. We step out into the uncertainty of the day, guided by the streetlights as we casually stroll through the faintly placed fog. Distant sounds of life circulate between us, breaking the silence gifted from the night before. So, we follow shortly after, quietly whispering at the mundane as we move through time.

We approach our destination, and as he begins to open my car door, with the extension of his other arm, he pulls me in for one last hug goodbye.

   “Same time next week?”

“Of course,” I say as I gift him a kiss on the cheek, and a smile I wasn’t sure was meant for him. I watch as he walks back to the curbside, then back into the darkness in which we came. I sit for a moment and allow my mind to aimlessly roam about like a curious child. I captured the sun’s arrival in my rear view, and she indicates it’s time to go. So, I let my window down, encouraging the breeze to dance with my hair, and began adjusting the volume on the stereo, while I listen to the stories told by Kendrick.

~~~~~~~~~

Part II: Bishop

She doesn’t usually like to be held until after she falls asleep, she’s always been difficult like that. I often watch as she’ll restlessly extend her arms, frantically gripping and pulling at the sheets, in search of a presence she only seems to subconsciously desire. Its apparent she needs from me more then I need from her, and yet, I find myself routinely watching her poor attempts at sneaking out whenever she finds herself regretting the night before, and tonight was no different.

                “You don’t always have to do this.”

I say having to acknowledge the fact I’ve been quietly watching her. She seems irritable, which is common for her at this hour. but even so, she’ll typically avoid expression in attempt to save my ego. She wasn’t always like this, so unaware of her importance. She used to be so full of life and cared more for others then I personally felt was worth the hassle. But I guess that was the point, she was a better person than I was. Always worried for the souls of strangers, while leaving hers unattended. And I guess that’s why I’ve hung around, trying to protect what she no longer had the strength to protect on her own. She leaned in to offer a kiss in exchange for unbroken silence, I accept and begin to examine as she falls into herself, recycling aged thoughts in hopes of a better outcome. I reach over to grab my shirt hanging off the side of the bed, reviling my phone that went missing somewhere between the 3rd and 4th blunt we smoked the night before. She always has been a heavy smoker; I think it makes her feel weightless. Something about her troubles not being able to reach her beyond the clouds or some shit like that. Honestly, she just be talking sometimes, but her company has always been preferred. I flip my phone over to check the time, its 10 past 6 with two missed calls and a good morning text from a girl I causally see from time to time.

I close my phone without giving it another thought and sat it down on the nightstand between an ashtray and a picture of us at the city fair, I let collect dust.

“Aiight…. C’mon, I’ll walk you to your car,” I tell her as I begin to throw on my shirt.

“Wait” she says suddenly, “you don’t have to”

her voice, faint but unmistakable. She’s always hated her voice in the morning, I’ve never understood why. Her insecurities have always hidden her from what I wish she could see. A part of me used to think that’s why she kept me around, to make up for the lack of acceptance she had for herself. But as time went on, her reasonings became less of my concern, and to be honest, this is enough for me. I reach for her instinctively and embrace her. I can feel her body melt, as if to dissolve in my arms. She looks up at me, I say nothing. And still, she understands what I need from her, and complies. I leave her where she sits, and head into the bathroom leaving the door slightly cracked behind me. I cut on the bathroom sink and allow my hands to gradually fill up with warm water before carelessly splashing it all over my face. I grab the towel and briefly notice her reflection in the mirror, she always seems so disconnected now, though I try not to worry myself about it. Her demons are no longer tethered to mine, and I can’t be her savior anymore. Though I understand her being here is a part of a process for her and I’m okay with that. I hear her alarm go off, which means its 6:30 now. I call out to her, with no reply. I wait for a few seconds for the alarm to stop, only for it to continue. Curious, I step out into the doorway of the bathroom. Her phone sat to the left of me hooked to my charger, so I reached over to cut it off only to discover her lost in her mind again.

“BABE!”

I called out to her. She suddenly looks in my direction, a bit startled.

“I’m sorry, what where you saying?”

I used to want to know what kept her from the world, why she often seemed so imprisoned by her ruminations. But instead, I extend my arms out reminding her that I stopped passing judgment a long time ago.

                “Come here”

I say to her greeted with a playful smile as she prances over to me. I’ve always appreciated her playful side, because these days it seems all she has energy for is imitating a functional person. But again, I stopped judging a long time ago.

“What do you need from me?”

I whisper to her.

                “To exist”

She replies genuinely, with all she was able to at that moment, so I don’t pry. I grab my beanie and her jacket off this random clothing rack she’s always hated. she’s been hassling me to throw it out for ages, but personally, I think it’s because the women who sold it to me was cute. I like to tease her about it from time to time, I think it still gets under her skin, but she’ll never admit to it. I picked up her bag she likes to strategically place above a drawer I cleaned out for her about a month ago, thought it may make her feel more comfortable here. But she never uses it, rather mostly occupied by loose change and condoms now. I reached for my keys, and she firmly grabbed my other hand, which is typical for her. I notice her hands were always so much colder than mine, something as a man, I naturally embraced. We head out quietly, hand in hand, only speaking when impelled to do so. As we approach her car, we began to say our goodbyes.

                “Same time next week?” I ask already knowing the answer.

                “of course,” she replies accompanied with a kiss and a smile I knew wasn’t meant for me. I wait from the curbside until she is safely inside her car, she blows me a kiss and waves for confirmation, as she continues to play the rest of the song she pulled up listing to.

She so corny, I mumbled chuckling to myself as we both waved to one another while heading our separate ways.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Beneath Ceilings:

Summer of ‘48

“I fell asleep in my makeup again last night,” I said out loud with no interest in a response, but still, he heard me and almost simultaneously appeared behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. As he began pulling me in closer, I allowed my head to fall back onto his shoulder. We swayed back and forth, giggling and examining ourselves in the bathroom mirror while both regretting our poor life decisions made the night prior.  

“you're still beautiful to me”, I felt his voice vibrating inside of me, an ability of his I’ve often cherished. He started to tenderly kiss me, then suddenly without warning, aggressively rubbed his mustache across my neck. It made me shriek, and my body flinched with goosebumps. I affectionately tugged and pushed away at him pretending as if I wanted it all to end. Truth is, I never really did, but staying beyond my limits had always been a fear of mine. And wasting people's time was something I never felt I had the luxury of doing. My body went limp out of playful exhaustion and I could feel his arms tighten around me. I think he liked it when that happened, because it was the only time I allowed myself to be vulnerable around him without guilt. If he had it his way, my story would’ve been much different. One that would have most likely portrayed him as the savior. And though in distress, I was no damsel. He unexpectedly collapsed from the weight of my lifeless body and tried his best to prevent us from falling to the ground. But of course, we did anyways, tumbling over each other and laughing all the way down. There we both laid, adjusting ourselves while we gasped for air as if to recover from an 8-foot fall. He then took a breath, noticeably one that seemed a bit too heavy for the current situation and let out a deep sigh. Though concerning, I knew what thoughts consumed his mind whenever laughter was no longer present. I watched as he slowly pulled himself up and leaned his back against the bathtub which prompted me to reluctantly follow suit. As we sat in silence, steam from the shower began to blanket the atmosphere and revealed old hidden messages we’d write to one another on the shower doors. lost in thought, as if to be swept away in a sea of boundless tragedies, his mind was often the source of his despair. A curse of his I was all too familiar with.  

“Hey.” I leaned in to gently nudge him. 

“Talk to me.” I spoke softly into his ear as I rested my chin on his arm, looking up into his eyes watching as he quietly suffered.  

He’s never been the talkative type, but then again, with me, he’s never had to be. He communicated the best through silence, and over time, with much practice and patience, I was able to read him like a cryptic book. A beautiful language in which only I took the time to understand and one I noticed he had been using a lot more lately.  

He let out another deep sigh, but this time he wrapped his arm around my neck, kissing me on the top of my head in an attempt to dilute the burden he convinced himself he’d been to me. He slightly dropped his head low enough for me to kiss him on his forehead. Although unexpected, he smirked, like a parent would do for a child who was trying to comfort them.  

“How much time do we have left?” I asked already knowing the answer.  

“Not long now.” he responded as he picked himself up off the ground and offered his hands. I placed mine in his and allowed him to guide me upward followed by another tender kiss to my forehead.   

He began to undress and briefly checked the temperature of the water.  

“You coming?” he asked after noticing me pleasantly watching from afar.  

“No, no. you go ahead. I wanna make you breakfast one last time.” I said as my eyes started to swell with tears. He turned to me and placed his hands on my cheeks, holding my head up high, wiping away any escaped tears I tried so hard to keep from him.  

“It won’t be the last time; I will make it back to you.” I wanted to believe every word he spoke at that moment, but his eyes held the truth, and we both knew it was the end. 

“Well, you better make it back Mr. Carter,” I said playfully, 

“Who else is going to eat up all my horrible cooking!?” We both laughed to distract ourselves from reality. 

“Go on now, hop in before you use up enough hot water to last a week.” I said practically shoving him into the shower. 

“Your uniform is ironed and laying across the bed. Breakfast will be ready in 20 minutes, so don’t you be late!” I snarkily said, placing my hand on the bathroom doorknob as I backed out. 

“Yes ma’am!” I heard him call out as the door closed behind me. Standing there, I immediately threw my hands over my mouth to prevent what felt like an internal eruption. The last thing I wanted to do was make him feel responsible for something he had no control over, but I couldn’t move. My legs felt like I was standing on sticks, and instantly crumbled beneath me.  

~~~ 

“Ima miss your cookin’” he said as he eagerly scooped up the last bite of his grits and eggs. He was such a simple man, never wanted for more than necessary. I remember the first time he tasted my grits, “SUGAR!?” he roared with such disgust! I didn’t realize a human was capable of making such faces. It always comforted me to think about how far we’ve came since that first bowl of grits, and the thought of losing him was just too painful at the time. I watched from across the table as he cleaned himself off with a napkin and took a quick sip of his morning coffee. Just then, a car horn blew from outside of the house. We looked up at each other but said nothing. Instead, he put his hands out on the table and reached for me. I placed my hands in his and tried my hardest to memorize every callus, every scar, every crease. I closed my eyes briefly, wishing that time would stop so I could live in this moment with him forever. A second horn blared with a bit of impatience this time. He stood up and our hands separated, but it felt more like my soul was being ripped from my body. He grabbed his bag that was packed the night before and swung it around his shoulder, while opening the front door and signaling in the direction of the seemingly annoyed taxi driver. Turning back to look at me once more, he quickly swooped me off my feet in his last attempt to distract us from the inevitable. 

“Please don’t forget me Ada Mae” he whispered in my ear, gripping me tighter than ever before. I hung around his neck knowing that once I let go, I would never be able to touch him again.  

“I will never forget you, Micah Carter.” I softly whispered back. 

  ~~~

“I'm sorry Ms. Mae, what was that?” She always seemed so distant around this time of year, though I never knew why.  

“Oh! Nijah sweetie, you're back to visit an old woman again. You must forgive me; I didn’t hear you come in.”  

She adjusted herself in her rocking chair and subtly puts her hand over an old picture she had sitting in her lap that I've never seen before. I reached down to give her a hug and apologized for my abrupt intrusion.  

“Nonsense” she responds, waving me in the direction of her couch.  

“Where is Bishop?” I noticed her looking over my shoulder, expecting to see her grandson walk through the door at any moment.  

She continued, “I thought he was coming with you this time.”  

I knew the question was coming, but I still didn’t have an answer for her, so instead, I said nothing at all.   

“It’s okay child. I understand your silence, more than you realize.” she said almost hauntingly.   

Though, I wasn’t sure how she possibly could, because at that time, I had been so unsure about my own reality that the possibility of understanding felt like journeys away. But it became evident that she was speaking from personal experiences. I began to set up some bingo cards I found downstairs in the lobby on my way up to her room. I heard her chuckle a bit to herself quietly as she turned to stare out of the window once more.  

“Would you like to hear a story, Nijah?” she asked in such a mysterious tone. I looked up to see her eyes still tethered to the memory her mind often projected in the evening sky. 

I put down the rest of the cards on the table and sat back on the couch as if a child waiting on a bedtime story. She looks down at the photo again before reaching over to hand it to me. It was an old picture of her standing next to a guy I've never seen in any of her photo albums. I turned it over and it read, 

“Micah and Ada, Summer of ‘48”.  

I placed it back down on the coffee table in front of us and responded with such curiosity, 

“I would love to hear a story, Ms. Mae.”