Red, Like Blood Wine

my first completed short story

The cool night air teases my nape as it blows through my onyx dreadlocks. My tan complexion hides how cold I really am, but I have to remain strong; not for myself, for her. Maya, not quite dressed for the occasion, clenches my left hand with her right, as we embark on another big adventure; together. Unable to hide her chilliness, her pastel skin, still, manages to glow, even with the slight hue of blue and behind her cloak of auburn hair. The water below us sang a song that only Maya and I could hear. Maya…Naida…it hummed. 

 

            “Alright Maya,” began the gynecologist as she entered the room, “are you ready to know if it’s gonna be a boy or a girl?” Maya shifted from left to right on the observation bed as the paper rustled beneath her.

            “The truth is Dr. Pittman, that as long as he or she is healthy, I’m happy,” Maya replied; emotionless.

            “Always so politically correct, huh Maya?”

            “I try Dr. Pittman, I try.” Finally, she smiles.

I stood adjacent to Maya as she is prepped by the doctor for her ultrasound. Maya flinches, constantly, as the cool gel is placed on her stomach. The sound waves bounce around in her stomach and the light swooshing indicates our child’s heartbeat.

            “Ok ladies, that wonderful sound is your baby’s heart.”

            My eyes widen and a tear creeps into the corner of my eye. A warm breeze slides into the cold room and soothes the atmosphere. Nothing else matters. The uncomfortable hospital visit, one of many due to Maya’s illness, becomes strangely pleasant as I witness our baby once again. I place my hand on Maya’s shoulder and she deeply exhales; calmed. Our baby moves constantly as the doctor slides the transducer across Maya’s swollen stomach in an attempt to determine the baby’s sex.

            “Wow, we have a feisty one here,” she joked. “But, I would safely say that you’re having a baby boy.” Dr. Pittman prints the black and white images and wipes the conductive gel off Maya’s stomach.

            “Well Maya, you’re on schedule and everything should continue as planned. You’re now in your twentieth week so you may start to see some distinct changes, especially because you are having a boy. The peak in testosterone could cause acne, and you may endure a peak in the swelling of your feet, but that is normal. But if anything seems strange or you have any questions you know I’m always available. As I have said in our prior visits you need to watch your blood pressure. It’s still too high Maya. Stay away from all forms of stress. If you continue on this path, I’ll be forced to put you on bed rest. I know that isn’t what you want and that is not what I want either. But my main concern is your health and your baby’s health. You know that your condition is very fragile Maya.”

            “Dr. Pittman, I’m not stressed.” Maya retorted.

            “Maya, whether you think your stressed or not your blood pressure says different. Too much pressure on the fetus can have detrimental effects. If you don’t get your blood pressure to a safe range we may have to consider cesarean section or an induction of labor, but even then there is a risk I’m not one for water births but that may be an option for lowering the pressure, but that isn’t the only option” began the doctor. Before Dr. Pittman could finish Maya was heading toward the door.

            “Dr. Pittman, no disrespect, but I don’t want a water birth. I will have my baby like any normal person.”

            “Maya, I didn’t say that was your only option. Unless you get those blood pressure levels down, you could do great harm not only to yourself, but to your son. I’m just trying to help. I’ve watched you grow from a timid young lady into an expectant mother, and I just want what is best for your health.”

            “Thanks, but no thanks.” Maya snapped and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.  My eyes lower and I search the ground for the right words. Embarrassment fills the room as the air seems to slip out. The tension chokes me as I finally look at Dr. Pittman. She knows my apologetic glance only too well.  She nods, assuring me that she understands and I run out of the hospital room, to the elevator, in an attempt to catch Maya.

            By the time I catch up to Maya she is outside of the hospital fidgeting on the sidewalk, making the passing patients obviously nervous. She paces, back and forth, fists clenched tightly She seems to calm as she sits on the sidewalk and the blood drips from between her nail and her palm. She deeply inhales, and then exhales, and the cycle begins. Her breaths, shorter and shorter, she begins to hyperventilate. I help her to raise her arms, instructing her to breathe. Eyes closed, her breaths…shorter…shorter, the blood rips through the sleeves of her white blouse toward her heart.

“Breathe baby. C’mon breathe.” She ignores me, as she always does, and her body stiffens. I want to yell for help, but need no extra attention to us. The hospital door is only a couple feet away. I can make it.

            “Excuse me, my wife is having an anxiety attack, can you all have someone come out and get her?” Her eyes pierce me as she makes the code call over the intercom. For that second she loses all professionalism and judgment slithers its way in. She looks me over, up and down, and a frown crawls unto her face. She stares at me, hard, though only for a second, like an insignificant slug, ready with her carton of salt; disgusted. But as she stares at me, for that one second, I turn my back to her and walk toward the exit and wait for the whispers. Three…two…one; right on schedule.

            Before I make it back to Maya, she is rushed passed me on a stretcher with the emergency medical technicians speaking their medical lingo. I reach into my pocket and grab me cell phone. Speed dial 2…Maya. Speed Dial 3…Dr. Knight. I take a brief moment to regroup and call Maya’s therapist.

            “Good morning, Dr. Knight, she had another attack. I need you to tell me what to do.”

            “Well Naida have you all been using the methods I recommended.” He asked.

            “Yes, Dr. Knight. No more baths or unnecessary talk about Louis. But that isn’t working. I need something else. Her aquaphobia is getting worse, and it keeps triggering the anxiety attacks. This is the third one this month.”

            “Well, we can always try to put her on a lower dose of the meds if it’s getting that bad.”

            “Dr. Knight, you know as well as I do that her body can’t handle those meds while she’s pregnant! That’s why she stopped taking them, remember.”

            “I still have her scheduled for next week, so by then I should have something for you.”

            “Thank you.” I hung up the phone before he could utter another word and rushed back to the circulation desk. The receptionist just handed me a small sheet of paper with the number 201 on it. I assumed it was Maya’s room number. She continued to stare, yet never saying anything, as if her words were too good to be wasted on me.

            When I finally arrive in the room, there are three nurses trying to help Maya relax. The staff signals for me to come close to Maya in an attempt to soothe her. I look into her cobalt eyes and I see emptiness. She looks past me, not at me, and it makes me step back, and allow the nurses to continue to try and calm Maya down. They all speak calmly and in low tones, almost to a whisper. But to no avail, Maya was somewhere else. Finally, one of the nurses called in the anesthesiologist who came in with a syringe of valium.

            “Doctor, are you sure about using the valium to sedate her?” One of the nurses questioned.

            “I know because she’s pregnant, it’s risky, but it’s been over half an hour and she won’t calm down. Just keep an eye on her after she’s had the dose.”

            Immediately after the sedative is inserted, Maya’s body begins to unclench. I don’t like the idea of such a strong sedative being used, but the doctor was right. Maya refused to relax. I often wonder where she ventures when her body goes into panic mode. Her eyes showed no pain but looked empty. After and hour, the doctors felt that it was safe for Maya to go home. As usual, they lectured me about the risks of her anxiety attacks and the effects that they could have on her pregnancy, and recommended that she was put back on her anti-depressants; heard it all before.

 

            I slowly eased into our paved driveway, trying to be as careful as possible. Maya’s head bobbled from side to side confirming that she was still slightly sedated. It was barley noon, but her drowsiness was obvious. I parked the sedan and slowly eased Maya from the passenger seat. Her dead weight was unbearable, as I lifted her seemingly small frame, and there was a small crack in the driveway. I had been trying to get in contact with the pavers to have them fix it, but I could never catch them. It would be my luck that my stiletto heel would fit snuggly in the cracked cement. I fought against gravity to keep my balance. Maya’s one hundred thirty pound frame felt more like two hundred fifty pounds tumbling down on me. My knees begin to buckle and I slow my speed. I place all my weight on my feet as a stomp one foot at a time.  I manage to keep my balance and make it to the front door. The struggle continues as I fight to force the door key into the hole. After about two or three minutes I gain access. I continue to stomp to keep balance and the hardwood floors echo. I throw my keys toward the foyer table and miss horribly. The keys slide across the floor, but I ignore them too concerned with not dropping Maya. The foyer feels like the green mile from the front door to the bedroom. Finally, I make it to the bedroom and I lay Maya to rest.

            As the brazen sun begins to set, it’s orange and red glaze peek through our linen drapes. I sit in the solarium and allow the sun to speak to me. I slide the clip from my dreadlocks and they cascade unto my lonely shoulders. Maya creeps up behind me so silently, I assume to surprise me, but the hairs on my neck rise as she gets closer. But I startle her; touching her hand before she even has the chance to let it rest on my shoulder.

            “How are you honey?” I question. I already know that she will give me a generic answer; something to keep me from worrying about her. But I can’t help it. I worry.

            “I’m fine Naida. You would think that I would have out grown these silly attacks by now.” I take Maya’s right hand and guide her around my chair and gesture for her to sit on my lap.

            “Well baby, I spoke to Dr. Knight and made an appointment for us next week Wednesday.” Her pleasant demeanor left. She squints her eyes at me in disgust.

            “Naida,” she began, as she stood up, “how many times must we go through this?”

            “Maya…”

            “No! Don’t ‘Maya’ me. Naida, I told you I don’t like going to this psychiatrist. I’m not f*****g crazy! I can and will control these anxiety attacks.” She ends the conversation, and storms into the bedroom. Of course I follow.

            “Maya, baby, he said that you won’t have to go back on the meds, even after the baby.” I lied, hoping that it would make the situation better.

            “Can we talk about something else, please?” I take a seat next to Maya on the bed.

            “Sure Maya. What do you want to talk about?”

            “Well, I have come up with a name for our son.”

            “Ok, what have you come up with?” Curiosity was killing me.

            “Louis. I want to name him Louis.” My mind instantly froze. Maya looked to me for a reaction, but I couldn’t muster one.

            “Maya,” I began, “are you sure? I mean, we don’t need anything to trigger your attacks. Naming our son after your father is risky.”

            “My decision is final Naida. This is my chance to have apart of him back in my life.” She was offended.

            “Maya, I understand but do you think you can handle that? Your aquaphobia seems to get worse by the day and you know Dr. Knight said that your father is a major trigger of the attacks.”

            “I don’t care what Dr. Knight says. I’m an adult and I can make my own choices. My decision is final Naida.” She showed no sign of compromise even being an option. I knew then more than ever that we needed to see Dr. Knight.

 

                                    .                                   .                                   .

 

            Bright and early Wednesday morning, I dressed for our appointment with Dr. Albert Knight. Maya grasped the commode for dear life as she let out her inhibitions of motherhood. She mustered what energy was left in her to continue dressing. As we exit our Victorian home, the San Francisco sun glazed our skin. Maya’s pale complexion managed to glow and I remember why I love her so. We enter our car and drive down Diamond Street, onto Market Street and enter the luminous commercial district of the Castro. The rainbow flags fly in the breeze in all their splendor. As we merge towards route 101, unto the Golden Gate Bridge, Maya tenses up. I hold her left hand with my right and our fingers intertwine. She slowly calms as we ride across the bridge and enter Marin County.

            We arrive at Dr. Knight’s office at approximately ten fifteen. We took the elevator to the fourth floor, checked in with the receptionist and sat in the waiting room while Dr. Knight finished with his ten o’clock.  The large, wood accent furniture, the thousand dollar paintings were indicative of an accomplished man. At approximately ten twenty five, Dr. Knight came into the waiting area and invited us into his office.

            “Good, morning ladies.” He began, signaling us to have a seat. Dr. Knight came highly recommended in the gay community. Although he was heterosexual, he was extremely liberal; never judgmental, and people respected that, thus feeling comfortable in his care.

            “Maya, I have decided that, due to your fragile situation, hypnosis would be the best option for us to implement.” Unaffected by Dr. Knight, Maya seemed to zone out as he continued to talk to her. She acted zombie like as she reclined unto the chaise and Dr. Knight began the hypnotic process.

            “Maya, I want you to relax. Think of a calm, cool, breeze. You’re flying.” Maya slowly closed her eyes, and surprisingly, calmed.

“You will respond to the sound of my voice and my voice only. Do you here me Maya?” With her eyes closed she slurred her words, but managed to answer affirmatively.

“Ok Maya how are you and your mother?”

“We’re ok. I mean we don’t talk everyday, but we’re ok.”

“Ok, what about your father?” Dr. Knight had struck a sharp cord. Maya’s whole demeanor changed. I didn’t understand the purpose of his questions, but continued to listen.

“He’s dead, and I’m not. That’s all there is to it.” She answered abruptly.

“Ok, Maya. Would you like to talk about that?”

“No!” Maya, even in the hypnotic trance, remained combative.

“Ok then. Tell me about your last memory of your father.” Maya’s face softens, and she begins.

“Oh that’s easy. Daddy bought a sailboat. It was white with a blue and red sail. He called it his all American boat. I loved that boat. He even named it after me.”

“Did your dad ever let you go with him on the boat?”

“Nope. But after I nagged him for about a month he finally let me.”

“Tell me about that first day on the boat.” I was confused but I trusted Dr. Knight.

“It was a Saturday. It was kinda cloudy out but he promised to take me and I wouldn’t let him out of it. We drove out to the bay and I ran to the boat; hopped right in!”

“Then what happened”

“We rode out into the bay; just the two of us. He told me how the Golden Gate was over seven hundred feet tall, and that it was thirty five million dollars to build. I was so amazed. My dad was an architect, so he always loved the Golden Gate. He used to call it the greatest architectural design in the U.S. He loved the bright red rails; everything about it. And I loved it because he did.” Maya paused. The tears began to flow down her face and I hinted to Dr. Knight to stop, but he ignored me.

“Continue Maya.”

“Well it got really cloudy outside and it started to rain. By the time we got back to the dock, it was pouring. Daddy told me to stand to the side while he tied up the boat. But I had to help. The winds started to pick up, and somehow I managed to slip on the dock and I fell into the water. I remember hearing a loud thump and feeling the boat rock above the water as daddy jumped in to get me. But I panicked. I panicked! I wasn’t a small child. I was about one thirty when I was nine.” Maya’s words became choppy as she attempted to fight the tears.

“I don’t remember much after that. I remember being out of the water. It was so cold. But I didn’t see daddy. I called for him; screamed! But he didn’t answer. The water was so dark…I couldn’t see. I called out for someone to help, but no one came.”

“How did that make you feel Maya?” asked Dr. Knight.

“Horrible. I killed my best friend. I died a little more inside every time my mom talked about him. She used to look at me and say how much he loved me. But I killed him. I killed my daddy.”

“I understand your pain Maya. But Naida has informed me that you want to name your unborn son after your father. With all the pain and guilt that you feel, why would you want to do that?” It was the only time in the session that Maya stopped crying. She answered Dr. Knight dryly.

“Since I took his life, it’s only right that I give it back.” The look on Dr. Knight’s face demonstrated pure fear. He proceeded to bring Maya from under hypnosis.

“Ok, Maya, when I count to three, you will wake up. You will remember this conversation, but you will be calm.”

“Ok.” She replied.

“One…two…three.” Slowly Maya became aware of her surroundings. She felt the tears on her face and instantly became agitated. She realized what had happened and she stormed out of the office. Dr. Knight stands up and tries to stop her. I walk out behind her and try to catch up. By the time I make it outside, Maya is already in the car. I get in and try to talk to her.

“Maya, are you ok?”

“How could you Naida? How could you expose me like that?” Guilt stricken, I didn’t know how to answer.

“Maya, I did it for us. I did it for our family, for your health and the health of our baby. You know that these attacks aren’t good for you or the baby, neither are the sedatives that they always have to shoot you up with.”

“Take me home.” She said dryly.

“Maya?”

“I said take me home. Are your dreads twisted too tightly? Take me home Naida.”

I turned the ignition, and drove home. The silence in the car disturbs me. I’m left perplexed, judging myself for my actions. I knew the guilt that she felt toward her father was killing her, but I had no right to expose her. But I did it for her. Is it not justified when backed by devotion?

            Once we arrived home, Maya opened the passenger door before I even completely stop the car. She slammed the car door and burst through the front door of our home heading toward the bedroom. Of course I followed.

            “Maya!” I scream after her, but she ignored me, slamming the door in my face. I try the knob, but it’s locked.

            “Maya; let me in Maya. Baby I’m only trying to help.” She doesn’t respond. I can hear her rummaging through things in the room; slamming cabinet doors, opening and closing drawers with sincere force. I continue to knock. I eventually decide to leave her alone and allow her to vent. I walk into the solarium and lounge in my favorite chaise. I hear the sobs coming from our bedroom, and I feel a sense of sadness overwhelm me. She continues to cry. Five…Ten…Fifteen minutes pass and the sobs continue. Almost instantly, the sobs turn to screams. Gut wrenching screams. I jump up from the chaise and sprint to the bedroom.

            “MAYA!!” I scream towards the door. No answer; screams continue.

            “Maya!!! Baby! Answer me!” I try the door again. No answer; screams continue. My mind switches to survival mode and I run to the kitchen and get a hammer. I bang against the door, attempting to open it, while screaming her name. No answer; screams continue. I throw my weight against the door. Once: the hinges loosen. Twice: the lock slackens. Third time: the lock disconnects, access granted. My eyes search frantically, but she is no where in sight. I run toward the bathroom to find Maya. Before I reach the restroom, I see her- sitting in the corner; frozen. My eyes fill with tears, but I keep them from flowing.

            “Maya, baby…” Her body compressed, hands misshapen, clenching a picture of her and her father on the dock. The last day of his life.

            “Oh God, not again.” She screamed. I kneeled by her, attempting to remove the picture from her death grasp. My knee, soaked. The blood pooled around us. Our son, the last day of his life.

            “Maya, baby its ok.” I hold my tears to be strong for her, I have to be. I pick her up, place her in the bed, her body still clenched; frozen. Another attack.

 

           

            I watched her in that hospital bed and I swear I could see the depression deepening in her by the minute. Every minute I blame myself. I shouldn’t have exposed her. I failed her. I failed our son. I’m in such a daze I don’t even hear the physician enter the room. She rambles on and on about the cause of the miscarriage. Only some words break through my trance. The panic attacks she babbles, the doses of valium. My mind tells me to slap her. Overnight for observation, to make sure the cervix isn’t damaged. None of this information soothes me or reassures me that anything will be ok. Isn’t that apart of what doctors are supposed to do? I guess my doctor was a ‘c’ student.

 

            The last three weeks have been the worst. Maya drags herself around the house and plasters her eyes and brain to the television for twenty-three hours of the day. With the remaining hour she takes catnaps: two. She won’t eat; her already frail body is wasting away. Her cheekbones that once defined her face now overtake it. Her eyes have sunken behind the luggage that surrounds them. Her ribs protrude now, and they stare at me, laughing, blaming. Her once vibrant hair, like her presence, has become lackluster. I hate to leave her home in the days, but I have to work to maintain the lifestyle we have both come to expect. The lifestyle that we should be judged on; the way we splurge and are materialistic, not the way we love. Dr. Knight assures me that she will be back to normal in no time. I want to believe him, but he doesn’t see her daily the way I do. He can’t imagine watching your love waste away and have no control. But I remain optimistic for Maya.

            It had been a long day at work, but I was looking forward to seeing Maya. I walked into my home and it was soothing. The smell of parmesan chicken crept from the kitchen and the infamous Ms. Holiday serenading me, letting me know that she would be seeing me. A smile danced across my face. I walked into the living room and placed my briefcase on the coffee table. Full of elation, I dance my little two-step into the kitchen to peek at dinner. The spaghetti was a bit soupy but Maya was never good at watching pots. I turned the flames down, trying to save the remainder of the dish. I walked out of the kitchen towards the bedroom. The dining table was immaculately dressed for two. She used the Tiffany champagne glasses, Versace flatware and the cashmere placemats, all wedding gifts. The house was spotless; contrary to how it had been for the past weeks.

            “Maya, baby, I knew this day would come.” I began as I entered the bedroom. I heard the water trickling in the bathroom, indicative of her showering, so I continued.

            “Baby, the house looks great. And playing Billie Holiday! You know I love Ms. Holiday.” I unbuckled my belt and unbuttoned my shirt as I step out of my shoes moving throughout the room.

            “Baby, Dr. Knight said you needed to get up and get around. Go to your favorite spots, start living life again, and I’m so happy to see that you have, on your own. I’m so proud of you baby! Hey, baby, let me tell you what happened today at the office with Johnson. You know that toupee he always wears?” Invigorated, I walked toward the bathroom door and grasp the doorknob, only to feel a damp squish of the carpet underneath my feet. My energy instantly leaves, and the joke about Johnson seems inappropriate.

            “Maya, please baby. Don’t do this to me.” I whispered. I placed my forehead on the cold door, for I knew the inevitable, realizing that I had the entire conversation alone. I opened the bathroom door and there she was. The red bathroom linens made the floor bleed. The shower trickled into the overflowing bathtub; her vessel. There sat a glass of red wine, bordering the tub, under her lifeless arm. I held her limp hand, hoping for even a flinch that would give me hope. Her slender fingers, now pinged with blue answered all my questions. Her body still slightly warm spoke volumes. She waited for me. I sit next to her and the cold water stabs my skin. I pick up the lonely glass, in hopes that we can sooth each other’s inconsistencies. I sipped the warm wine, the state strong yet not overpowering. It was a good year. I slid the cell phone from my pocket and dialed Dr. Knight.

            “Hello?” I sat silent for a moment, and then decided to reply.

            “Yes, Dr. Knight, Naida Watson here. I’d like to make an appointment for myself with you for sometime this week.”

            “Is something wrong Naida?”

            “No, just the usual. As a matter of fact, give me Maya’s appointment.”

            “Naida how is Maya?”

            How is Maya? I asked myself.

            “She’s made great progression. She’s finally where she wants to be.”

            “Well that’s good to here. I’ll see you then.” I flip the phone close. I continue to sip my wine, until I finish it. I never looked into Maya’s face to find out the whether or not she died with eyes wide open, attempting to convince myself that she was unaware of her actions, but I knew better. I get up and walk out of the bedroom into the hallway to call the authorities. I let them know the situation and then I sit in the solarium and lounge in my favorite chaise. I remain optimistic, for Maya.

 

 

 

                                    .                                   .                                   .

           

            “Naida, this is not healthy,” begins Dr. Knight.

            “What’s not healthy?”

            “Don’t be sarcastic Naida. You can’t hold in your feelings.”

            “I’m not holding in my feelings Dr. Knight.”

            “Naida, it’s been three months since Maya’s suicide. We’ve met over five times and you have yet to grieve. You have to grieve Naida.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say Dr. Knight.”

“All I want you to do is let go.”

“But what if I can’t?” Dr. Knight inhales

“Ok, Naida, let’s start from the beginning.” I didn’t know what beginning he was referring to, but I’m sure Dr. Knight wouldn’t hesitate to clarify my confusion.

“When was the first time you met Maya?”

“It was the summer of ninety five and I was barley eighteen, but I was finally content in my sexuality. Finally over the phase of proving to myself that I wasn’t a lesbian, I was ready to explore my options. I was walking through the commercial district in the Castro, over on Market, and these piercing sapphire eyes caught me. I had never been attracted to a white woman before, but yet I still gravitated towards her.”

            “Continue.”

“Her hair was pink then. She was hard into punk rock, but her softness never revealed such.” I remembered that day. Her holey stockings remained dainty, and her shredded mini skirt, subtle. She was an angel, and always a lady.

 “I walked up to her, scared, which was unlike me, and thought of my most catchy pick up line.” I giggled. “She totally ignored me, and I was crushed. With my pride crushed I just walked away. I saw her again when I was purchasing a book of photography by Christian Coigny, which happened to be her favorite photographer, and she was holding the same book. She was little nicer after that. I guess she figured I had a little depth. We sat on the patio of the bookstore’s cafe and spent the remainder of the day together, talking about the arts and life, my life mostly.”

“With that first image of her, even though it was one that you were not used to, tell me about your relationship.”

“It wasn’t until December of ninety six that she even allowed me to kiss her. We weren’t officially dating, but her presence brought me constant joy, so titles were never an issue. We were both in college. I was at Pepperdine and she studied at UC.  We tried to spend as much time together as possible, but the distance hindered that at times. I thought about her constantly during the week, always anticipating our visits on Saturdays. I’ll never forget that night I spent in her dorm, which for her was sheer taboo.”

“Ok, tell me about that day.”

“As an art student Maya always joked that she would ‘capture me’ in one of her photos. It was a joke that she and I shared constantly. I was sitting on her bed and she reached above my head to get her camera. The dyke in me only cared about breasts in my face.” I chuckle as I reminisce.

“She began taking random shots. I could really care less about the pictures. The predator in me was upset. Sex for me was a game; a challenge and I couldn’t get her and trust me I tried.”

“With your failed attempt for conquest, what made you continue to see her?” His questions tickled me, for I really had no definite answers.

“Truth be told, I only went back to prove myself. About a week later, we were in her room again, alone of course, and she had developed the prints. There was one shot in particular that had me in awe.”

“Why?”

“It was a profile shot where I was sitting on her bed, knees to chest, with my arms hugging my legs. I looked alone, and afraid, like a child. It was like a mirror image. For my whole life people have always seen me how I train them to. But, for the first time, I felt that someone saw through my façade and really saw me; alone and afraid. I was instantly connected to her, but not on a sexual level. I ran my fingers through her hair and laid her on the twin sized bed.”

I remember that day as clearly as when it happened, while I venture back with Dr. Knight. I kissed her lips, pecked them lightly, so she wouldn’t be afraid. I slowly unbuttoned her blouse and her innocent breasts peeked through. Maya always wore a bra; she wanted me, as much as I wanted her. I removed her tattered skirt slowly and revealed a woman. Our lips touched and we connected.

“You were a classic womanizer. With that said, why Maya? I mean you could have had any woman you wanted. Why wasn’t she just another conquest?”

“I had my share of women. My dorm was a melting pot of women: the French exchange student next door, the Brazilian bombshell down the hall, my ghetto Miami princess, and my upstate New York snob, she’s where I got my taste from; all lesbians. And then there was Maya; Timid, naïve, and straight. I could have had anyone, but I wanted the only person that had ever seen me for who I was, and it helped that I was the only person that had ever touched her, male or female.”

“So did you all become a couple at that point?”

 “No, she actually became like a ghost after that. She was ashamed that her sexuality had been questioned. Her Jewish roots wouldn’t allow her to understand what she was feeling. I called her everyday but she never answered. I went to her dorm and she conveniently was never there. After she moved from the dorm, I basically gave up. It was kinda stalker-ish, but I managed to catch up to her the day of her graduation in the spring of ninety- nine. One of my “lady friend’s” family members was graduating from UC and I used my hope for seeing Maya as a justification to attend. It had been about two and a half years since I had seen her or heard her voice. I had girlfriends in-between that time, four or five, but none of them saw me. They all saw what I wanted them to see, but Maya, she saw me.”

“So what did you do?”

“I waited until the ceremony was over and I greeted her and her family. She had some guy with her but I wasn’t concerned with him. Her mother lynched me with her eyes, but I ignored her. I pulled her to the side and professed my feelings for her. Of course she shot me down and I was crushed. I gave her a card, which, she didn’t know, had my home address in it. I went to my apartment and I waited: days, weeks, months, almost a year, she never contacted me. But there she was the day of my graduation.”

“When she showed up to your graduation, were you upset? How did you feel?”

“Surprisingly, I was just happy to see her. She hugged me, congratulated me and apologized for running out. She told me the dude at her graduation was some guy she had been dating for about a year but she never stopped thinking about me. I didn’t need an explanation, her presence was enough.”

“Let’s skip ahead to two thousand two. By this time you all had been officially a couple for a little over two years. Where was your relationship at that point?” I thought for a moment and then replied.

“O’two was a long year. That was when she finally told me about her father. That was also the first time that I witness one of her panic attacks.”

“With all the baggage that you were now exposed to with Maya, what went through your mind?”

“Nothing really. That just became a subject that we never spoke about.”

“Ok, let’s venture to February seventeenth-”I cut off Dr. Knight and finish his sentence.

“Two thousand and four. Our wedding day.”

“Describe that day.”

“It was a warm day on the beach. I waited at the shore with my family and friends all in attendance. When I saw Maya walk down that aisle, I felt like the luckiest woman alive. She wore a linen dress that hugged her petite frame and her freshly pedicured feet combined with the sand was sheer art. Her hair, recently dyed auburn sizzled as the sunset played as a backdrop. She was beautiful. My Maya.”

“We’ve talked about your life with Maya, but what about your life before Maya?”

“What life before Maya? My life began the day that I was graced by the vision of that confused Jewish girl sitting outside of the bookstore in the Castro.”

“What do you remember most about Maya?”

“I remember our skydiving adventures, our sexual escapades, our thousand dollar shopping sprees. I remember her beautiful voice, her piercing blue eyes; so breathtaking that they were sometimes scary. I remember that day in her dorm, the day she saw through me.”

“Naida, your love for Maya is both obvious and justifiable, but, does the love for yourself not hold merit? How do you think she would feel if she knew you were dwelling on her image?”

 I sat there, across from Dr. Knight as I had numerous times prior. He couldn’t understand my feelings. I have to remain optimistic, for Maya. I left Dr. Knight’s office, feeling more sunken in myself than ever. I drive home, playing Ms. Holiday, still promising me that she’ll being seeing me. I enter the house and head straight to the kitchen. I place a pot of water on the stove and set it to boil. I add the spaghetti and prepare the chicken breast. I walk out into the dining room and set the table. I get the Tiffany champagne glasses, Versace flatware, and cashmere placemats, all wedding gifts. I continue preparing my feast; thin spaghetti and parmesan chicken. I serve the meal for two and allow it to accentuate the table, and at best it is a work of art. Back to the kitchen, I grab the bottle of red wine; what a good year it was, and a single wine goblet. I walk towards the bedroom, past the dining room where the sweet smell of my love lingers in the meal and I go to bed.

            The company calls me on a daily basis. I’m surprised I still have a job. My new growth is about as long as my locks. White, yellow and red papers dress my foyer table. It seemed as if my life had become one big final notice. Not much has a purpose in my life these days. Life seemed meager and meaningless. Somehow I manage to stay alive without her. ‘Til death do us part, rang clear in my ears. One way or another I still manage to prepare for my meeting with Dr. Knight.

            “Hello, Naida.” Dr. Knight, always so professional.

            “Hello, Dr. Knight, this seems to be a bit unorthodox; even for you. Having a session in a café, what will they say?”

            “It’s been over four months since our last session and I was surprised when you called me. I saw no reason for the conventional office meeting. But anyway, how are you Naida?”

            “As optimistic as I always am, Dr. Knight.” I conjure a smile, hoping that he will be impressed.

            “Call me Albert, Naida. No need for the formalities. I’m not only your therapist, I’m your friend. This goes against every code I’ve ever taken, but you’re a friend Naida. I need to know that you will be ok.”

            “I’m fine Dr. Knight. Maya and I are fine.” I saw the flame flare in his eyes. He seemed instantly disturbed.

            “Naida, you must let go. Maya has been dead for almost eight months. C’mon Naida, you either get over it or you don’t. You’re a beautiful woman. Intelligent, successful, there are women who would die to be with you. You and I both know this. Become the self aware woman from college; the sexual goddess who found a challenge in women. Help me help you Naida. Let go.”

            “Your right, Dr. Knight.” I reply as I stand.

            “Naida, I’m not trying to be offensive, I’m only trying to help. Just because you let go doesn’t mean that you forget her.”

            “I know Dr. Knight. No harm done. Have a wonderful evening.” I smile and hug him, so that he knows there aren’t any hard feelings. I leave the café and venture home. Get over it or don’t, it rings in my ears, like the Notre Dame bell. My mind wanders somewhere it’s never been. I sometimes wonder where Maya’s mind went when she had her anxiety attacks. Twirling in an abyss of loneliness, my mind floats past cloud nine into the vast expanse where no clouds are seen. This area, dry and dark, yet so illuminant and familiar is called by one name; reality. I comedown and realize that I’m in my home. Get over it or don’t cover my walls, windows, and mirrors. Lipstick, eyeliner, permanent marker were my tools. Dr. Knight was right. Barefoot I walk outside; down Diamond Street onto Market. Different Light Book Store, off Castro, she loved that place; it was the first place I had ever laid eyes on her. Castro Theater, classic drag shows; we spent many Saturday nights there.  I continue to walk, slow and monotonous. Why rush? These days all I have is time. I walk unto the illustrious Golden Gate Bridge, the toll booth employees look at me confused. I’ve gotten used to the constant stares, so I try to ignore them. It’s quite windy up here. It’s said that this is one of the greatest walking trails but I beg to differ, it’s a long and tedious walk. After about half a mile, I gaze over the rails of the bridge, and connect with the bay. I grasp the rail with a passionate grip and find myself closer to life than I had ever been. Within ten minutes the Golden Gate becomes ablaze with the flashing of siren lights against it’s already fire red steel posts. The cool night air teases my nape as it blows through my onyx dreadlocks. My tan complexion hides how cold I really am, but I have to remain strong; not for myself, for her. Maya, not quite dressed for the occasion, clenches my left hand with her right, as we embark on another big adventure; together. That long white linen dress looked pretty damn good considering its seven-month hiatus underground. Unable to hide her chilliness, her pastel skin still manages to glow, even with the slight hue of blue and behind the cloak of auburn hair. She illuminates, as beautiful as the day I first saw her, and again she was my beacon of light. The water below us sang a song that only Maya and I could hear. She smiled at me, letting me know that we were still one. The random incoherent conversation behind me narrowed down to one familiar voice.

            “Naida! Naida, please don’t do this. You’re not alone.” I carefully grip one of the rails on the bridge and turn to face Dr. Knight and the bystanders. The crowd instantly quiets and allows you to hear the ocean hum beneath us.  The lights from the news cameras blind sight me. He reaches his hands out to help me over and I extend my own. The tension around me builds; I feel instantly pressured. Once again they will judge me.

            “Naida, please don’t do this.” The tears, the first tears, flow down my face. I can’t do this. I have to get over it. I move forward to go join Dr. Knight on the bridge. But she startles me; touching my shoulder, for the first time without me feeling her. I look at Maya and breathe in her presence; comforted, she waited for me.

            “I’m sorry Albert, I’m sorry, I don’t.” For the first time in months, I smile, genuinely, and I let go. I fall backwards into the night toward in my bed of water, where aquaphobia no longer lives. Maya kisses my lips, forever, and there in the San Francisco Bay I once again connect to my love and her history. I know they will judge us. Not for the way we splurged and were materialistic. Not for the way that we were successful and never lived by their blind stereotypical preconceived notions. Not even for who we were, but for how we loved.