The Life to Live

The Present

She was impossibly cold.

The chill in her room wasn’t merely from the temperature of the room, or the empty spot next to her on the bed; it was from the feeling something drastic had happened, affecting her for the rest of her life. Never mind she’d lost her virginity last night, or the man who found it wasn’t in the bed with her anymore. It was something far worse.

She’d become a traitor.

Well, perhaps “traitor” was too harsh of a word, but why did she feel this shame settling in the pit of her stomach, digesting and traveling throughout the rest of her body in her veins? A burning sensation consumed her, as if the blood itself was rebelling because she’d contaminated herself by lying with this man, this white man her family told her to leave alone.

She shuddered.

“Jada?”

He was leaning against the doorway, towel haphazardly tied low on his hips, black hair still damp, water dripping from its curled ends. His head rested on the arm he was leaning against, staring at her with slumberous eyes. If he’d been in any other setting, one would consider him drowsy, but she knew better. He was very alert, and all his attention was on her, filing her in a compartment in his brain because he couldn’t live his life in chaos. She pulled the sheet around her bare torso tighter, as if to shield herself from his eyes and whatever category he’d designated for her. However, it was too late for that; he’d broken down whatever defenses she’d had long before last night.

“Aaron.”

It was a flat sound, a plateau of a name whose owner meant far more to her than he should.

Jada never would’ve imagined this when they met three years ago as tutors at a community center in Roxbury. They had been colleagues at first, and treated each other with the typical polite detachment of co-workers, only asking superficial questions and responding with superficial answers. The age difference had had much to do with it—she being a freshman in college while he a semester away from starting at the business school—but there was something more salient keeping them at a distance, and, if she were honest, it was more because of her than of him.

Jada didn’t do well with anomalies.

The genuine warmth with which this white man had greeted her that first day had surprised Jada. The firm handshake, so unlike the half-hearted grasps she’d received from others like him, disoriented her to the point she’d limit contact with him. It forced him to initiate the conversation that usually, seconds later, would end with his awkward chuckle, a small smile, and a wave. What Jada didn’t realize was each small, brief, impersonal conversation paved the way to greater intimacy, to friendship. It was as if she was a block of stone and Aaron was the sculptor, his conversations a chisel to chip away the unnecessary hardness and reveal the woman who was Jada Channing. Jada wasn’t quiet sure when the sculpture had been completed; perhaps it wasn’t yet, but she knew she felt far more exposed now than she had at any other point in her life.

And that fact had nothing to do with their current nudity.

Jada watched him approach, his towel falling away in mid-stride, and detached herself from the situation to appreciate his body. Slightly muscular, yet strong, her preferred body type. He was well defined and hard, but his body had yielded to hers so well last night, and she shivered again at the memory.

Gentle was the first word she’d think of whenever she remembered last night. His gentleness alone made her want to cry--soft touches of his hands and lips; soft caresses of his breath and voice along her skin; soft embraces that left her too weak to leave. There was even a soft declaration of love she’d all but convinced herself she’d imagined, and Jada didn’t have the courage to ask him now to confirm it. She was so sure that now, since the heat and passion of the moment was gone, the answer would change.

Jada couldn’t take the retraction.

A retraction would mean her family was right, her community was right, that a white man like him could never fully understand or love a black woman like her. This was the one time she needed her upbringing to be wrong, to know what she did last night could not be a mistake, that the feelings she’d been nursing for almost two years could blossom and grow into something that would survive long after both had taken their last breaths.

The bed dipped upon his arrival, and he crawled next to her, sliding a damp, pale arm around her dry, darker waist. The black, wet hairs on his arm tickled her skin and her body quivered from the contact. He moved her curly tresses from her neck and replaced them with his lips, causing Jada to sigh and give him more access.

“Good morning, love.”

That was certainly a matter of opinion, but Jada responded in kind, not wanting him to know her inner turmoil. The “adverbial questions” of last night, which had been suspended due to overwhelming feelings and long-pent up desires, seeped into her consciousness and she drew up her cover to hide from them. What would happen now? When would they see each other again, since he was leaving for New York that night and probably wouldn’t be back until his graduation in the spring? Where would last night lead them today, or even two months from now? How would they continue this relationship—as friends, as lovers, or, God forbid, as strangers? Why should it even matter?

It mattered because Jada felt like she had turned her back on everything for this man, compromised her very self because she loved him. She wasn’t the kind to hop into bed with anyone; she was taught sex was about giving something so personal and sacred about oneself that one had to be explicitly sure and confident about its receiver, regardless if one was a virgin or not. The fact Jada chose Aaron McKensie had consequences that reverberated well beyond themselves.

But Aaron would never know that.

“You’re so quiet, baby,” he whispered against her skin as his mouth traveled along her jaw line to her chin. “Why are you so quiet?”

“Thinkin’,” she said on a sigh, pursing her lips as he kissed them lightly.

“Oh? About me, I hope.”

“A mind reader, you are.”

He laughed and kissed her again, this time cupping her cheek to increase the pressure of it. Heavy thoughts moved away like the rings of a ripple, disappearing into the far corners of her mind only to be revealed later.

They made love again, communicating only by touches and breathy moans by both. She ran her hands through his silky hair, so different from her own kinky, curly strands, and kissed lips that were fuller than those typical of his kind. Jada stared into eyes so green they’d make an emerald jealous, and fully gave herself over to this man, loved herself some Aaron McKensie, that she was sure she loved enough for the both of them.

As they lay there, sheened with sweat and panting after they were done, Jada’s thoughts were only on the man who held her in his arms. He was staring at her as she looked at the ceiling, his thumb rubbing the skin underneath her right breast, dropping tiny kisses along her neck, collarbone, and shoulders.

There was no logical reason for Aaron to be lying next to her; he was a man whose life was full of Europe and boarding schools and private jets and penthouses. The first time Jada had been on a plane was when her high school choir went on an all-expenses paid trip to New York to sing at Carnegie Hall. Jada had never even visited Canada, let alone overseas, but Aaron had promised to take her to Italy to dine at Ricci's—his mother’s family’s flagship restaurant. There was a Ricci’s in New York City, but Aaron assured her the flagship restaurant in Florence was where the best Italian on the planet was.

Admittedly, Jada had been intimidated when she learned his mother was a Ricci from the Ricci’s Pasta products she’d see in the grocery stores, the products that were too expensive for her grocery budget. Of course, Jada didn’t glean this information until well into their friendship, but the shock was still the same. Jada was even more surprised when she realized his father was Alexander McKensie of McKensie Lowman Accounting. Granted that name meant little in her small Georgia town, but at college, especially during recruiting season, McKensie Lowman Accounting was everywhere—on fliers, on mailing lists, on the lips of many a senior who needed job security upon graduation. To know she worked with and befriended the heir-apparent to the company had made Jada wary of him for a couple of days, until he admitted to her that he’d rather be a teacher than the CEO of a Fortune 500 company.

Jada never pressed as to why he didn’t just become a teacher, but she knew the answer: family. Family meant everything to Aaron, just as it did to her, and both had a hard time divorcing familial wants with personal ones. This was part of the reason why Jada was faced with such a dilemma. Her grandmother wanted her to find a good black man, an educated black man, a black man. Aaron McKensie, half Irish and half Italian, certainly didn’t meet the third requirement, but two out of three wasn’t bad.

Was it?

Cool fingers touched her cheek, applying pressure so her head would turn. Those green eyes, the very first feature she noticed about him aside from his color, were clear and bright as he stared at her. “Still thinking about me?”

“Maybe.”

He shifted so he could kiss her temple. “I’m thinking about you.”

“Really.”

“Yes. I’m thinking about how much I’m going to miss you . . .”

A sharp pulse sent her heart into her throat before falling into her stomach, right next to the shame. She didn’t respond to him, shifting on her back to look at the ceiling again. For some reason the words rang hollow, and Jada didn’t know how much of that was true or her projecting what she’d been taught. Missing a person was so . . . unpredictable. Who knew how long that feeling would last, or how strong it would be? What would be done about it? Jada had no doubt he’d miss her immediately, maybe even weeks after today, but what about months? Years? Deep inside, Jada felt this separation was going to last a while, maybe even for the rest of their lives. She wasn’t too thrilled by that reality, but she accepted it as the way things were. She almost wished he wouldn't miss her; Aaron missing her gave her hope.

Aaron moved from her shoulder to rest his head on her chest. Immediately her hand went to his hair, loving how it felt sliding through her fingers. Aaron twirled her hair around his own finger and sighed, pressing a kiss to the space above her heart before closing his eyes and falling asleep.
It’s yours, Jada thought, her fingers tracing his hairline behind his ear. Everything about her belonged to him, and she gave it to him freely. Her grandmother would be so disappointed if she found out, and Jada didn’t even want to think about her cousin Zeke. Jada thought they’d probably be more mad at her willingness to give herself to someone she knew wouldn’t keep her instead of the fact that “someone” was white, but then again, Aaron’s color wouldn’t help matters. Jada had heard the stories of White Man A taking advantage of Black Girl B, read the textbooks of how white men did whatever they wanted to their black female slaves, saw the movies of black female degradation at the hands of their white employers, neighbors, whatever. She even had her own share of stupid callous comments shouted at her in the hallways in middle and high school, and had glared at the silly white boys who thought they owned the world and all that was in it was at their disposal.
Yet even with all that knowledge and experience, Jada entered this new phase of the relationship with Aaron because, in the end, all that mattered was how he made her feel. She never felt degraded or used or any of the other things she was supposed to feel at the hands of a white man. She felt loved, cherished, adored, and despite the fact he never said those things to her, his actions spoke volumes.

As it was, the first time she knew he cared about her was when he gave her a ride back to campus from the community center. It had been pouring when it was time for her to leave, and though he was due to catch an air shuttle to New York in the next hour, he went out of his way to drop her off at school. He even went so far as to loan her his umbrella so she wouldn’t get wet on the trek between his car and her dorm. Obviously, he didn’t have to do that; more importantly, he didn’t have to do it for someone who had treated him as coolly as she did, but Aaron was just one big, generous heart who either didn’t see color or didn’t care about it as much. And with all her desires and hopes about just wanting to be treated as “Jada” instead of “a black girl”, the minute it happened she didn’t know what to do with herself. It was as if a veil had been lifted, and the images were so clear she couldn’t process them in her mind, couldn’t recognize them without that small tint of darkness in which she’d been born.

The beautiful part about it, however, was Aaron didn’t know exactly how profound his act of kindness was in her eyes. What he considered nice and mannerly and part of his upbringing was life altering for her, because he, unconsciously, included her as someone important enough to deserve his best behavior. That was huge, because so often the white people in her little town treated her and those like her as afterthoughts, a part of the populace to be tolerated because it was the law rather than because it was the right thing to do. This was not to say white people were mean; on the contrary, they were nice and full of that famous Southern hospitality, but it was nothing more than lip service—on both sides. Aaron put action behind his words, authenticity, and it compelled her to do the same with him.

It was the least she could do.

The arm behind her waist tightened and the finger in her hair tugged at it, drawing her attention to Aaron. “Yes?”

“Why are you so far away?”

She looked pointedly at his arm, which he’d dropped on her stomach and laughed a little. “How much closer do I have to be?”

His hand slid from the plane of her stomach to her heart, keeping his hand there for a few beats until it traveled up her chest and neck to the back of her head, raising her and kissing her lips intensely.

If that was how close Aaron wanted to be, then he had nothing to fear. He was already in her heart, unpacked and lounging in the Lazy Boy with a Budweiser in his hand and a TV remote in the other. Of course, the Aaron currently kissing her probably didn’t know what a Lazy Boy was, let alone sat in one, but he was comfortable and cozy in her heart all the same.

He broke the kiss with last little pecks before resting his forehead against hers. His warm breath tickled her nose, and she brushed it against his chin. “Don’t you have a plane to catch, Mr. McKensie?”

“Don’t you?”

She did, but she wasn’t eager to leave her room, much less the bed, to go a town far too small for her now. She’d grown in the last three and a half years, much of it thanks to Aaron.

He climbed on top of her, kissing her again, and she made herself ready for him. He was warm and hard against her inner thigh, so when he made no move to enter, she became confused.

“What’re you doin’?”

Clearly, he wasn’t worried about his flight either, by the snail-like speed his hand traveled along her body, or the un-hurried nature of his kisses. That was all he did—touch and kiss–never going further than that, seemingly not needing to go further. Jada was glad; it exhibited his control as well as the fact there wasn’t just sex; real affection existed above the carnal, and the realization eased her worries a little.

“Stay here,” he whispered against her neck, placing one final kiss to it before leaving the bed. Jada grinned as she watched him go down the hall.

When he returned, his manhood bobbing against his thigh, Jada averted her eyes, suddenly fascinated by the plain white of her sheets. There was really no reason to be shy now of all times, having felt it and inside of her more than once, but there was something very personal about that part of the body; something intimate. A butt was different, she reasoned, because everyone had one, so that was fair game. That . . . “defining factor” . . . not so much.

Nevertheless, she was surprised when he kneeled by her side and squeezed her knee, forcing her to look at him.

“May I?” he asked, holding up a damp cloth for emphasis.

“May you do what?”

“Trust me?”

Jada nodded, and allowed him to draw the sheet away from her body. Goosebumps broke out along her skin, though she didn’t know if it was because of the cool air hitting it or Aaron’s eyes. His hand went to the juncture of her thighs and she instinctively covered herself, squeezing her legs tightly. Without the haze of arousal, Jada could not expose herself so freely to him, but his whispered reassurance and a squeeze of his hand on hers relaxed her just enough so he could complete whatever he set out to do.

A red spot greeted her when Aaron spread her legs, and her stomach clenched. She knew there would be blood; she just didn’t expect that much of it, as it was stained in a noticeable spot on her sheets and dried on her thighs. There was also other excretions mixed with the blood, and she felt embarrassed. Aaron kissed the back of her hand, saying this, except for the blood, happened all the time, and was another element of lovemaking—pleasurable but messy. She laughed and so did he, but her laughter turned into a gasp at the first touch of the warm, damp cloth against her inner thigh. He worked in silence and she let him, stunned by the care he put into the act of cleansing her. She felt as if she were being baptized, cleansed of a sin that didn’t really exist, yet was made real, visceral by her family and community.

When Aaron was done, he folded the cloth and kissed her hip, then kissed her stomach and rested his head against it. Jada played with his hair again, feeling the time tick away with every heartbeat.

“What time is your flight?” he asked her, lips brushing against her navel.

“Six o’clock.”

“Taking the shuttle to DC right?”

“Yes, then goin’ to Atlanta.”

“Good . . . gives us a few more hours together . . .”

Jada looked at the clock and sighed. So what it was a little after noon, and his flight had been for eight o’clock last night? Granted the snowstorm from last night had grounded flights anyway, but Aaron would’ve long been in the air had he not been with her, eating a home-cooked meal they made as a send off dinner to celebrate their friendship and his successful completion of his final semester at the business school. The dinner had been impromptu, and at Aaron’s insistence, even as Jada reminded him of his impending flight. It had begun innocently enough, even had a gift exchange.

Jada had given him a very nice ballpoint pen, complete with his name engraved in gold on the side. She’d told him she hoped he’d think of her whenever he signed important documents, especially if he decided to start an internship program at McKensie Lowman for inner city youth like they’d discussed over the years. He could use the pen to sign the acceptance letters for the program as a reminder of their time together at the community center.

Aaron, meanwhile, gave her a photo album, also to remind her of the center. On the cover was a picture of her and Aaron at the center’s Christmas party last year. He was holding mistletoe above their heads and pressing a comical kiss to her cheek, making her scrunch up her face in mock disgust.

He’d surprised her with that particular gesture, and only in hindsight did she realize the gesture meant they’d reached a level of intimacy that didn’t make the kiss odd.

There were other pictures in the album as well—specifically one of her staring out of a window, eyes squinted slightly and arms hugging her middle, a slight smile on her face. Aaron had told her that was his favorite, because she seemed so serene and open.

Jada was far from that now, in the dying hours of their time together.

Aaron pressed another kiss to her stomach, then lifted his head and met her eyes. Jada saw what she needed to see there, and gave him a small smile in response.

“Want me to give you a ride to the airport?”

“I’ll never understand why you’re not driving down to New York. You have a car!”

“I’ll get it later.”

“But the garage charges—”

“I can handle it.”

She shook her head. Of course he could; he was Aaron McKensie! He stood and took her hands to make her do the same, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her forehead for a long time. Aaron would do this even before they became intimate, and for him to do it now brought their relationship full circle: they met as friends, and they would separate as friends. It didn’t matter both were still nude; there was nothing sexual about the embrace, and Jada put herself fully into it, drawing comfort from his heartbeat under her ear.

“Walk me out?” he asked softly.

“Yeah.”

They changed, she into a robe and he in the clothes he wore yesterday, and they went to the door, neither touching the other.

“I’ll be back at three,” he said, standing just outside of her door. She tightened the already tight ties of her robe and nodded, staring at her slippers.

“Hey.” Fingers tipped up her chin, and lips quickly touched hers. “See you.”

“Bye.”

Alone. The chill came back tenfold, and she went in the shower to rid herself of it. Before she even picked up her shower poof she just stood there, letting the water beat the tension out of her shoulders, the dread out of her body, the chill out of her soul. It worked briefly, taking her mind to that place of relief and pleasure as the hot water gave her a full-body massage. She shivered when she washed her hair, her face, her neck, her breasts, her stomach her crotch, her legs—his favorite places. She knew this because he’d told her so, and she wondered why they were. They were all darker, softer, probably bigger than what he was used to seeing, yet he’d behaved almost in a similar manner as she, as if it were the first time he’d ever been intimate with someone. Perhaps it was different with a woman of color, but as soon as the thought appeared, she quickly dismissed it. The last thing Jada wanted to do was pass off the experience as an experiment, something to catalogue in the back of his mind until he was with his buddies and would pull out the file that said: Jada, 20, African-American, not as wild as black women were supposed to be, may need further testing. She didn’t consider him a Petri dish and hoped he extended her the same courtesy.

But as she remembered his caresses, the almost reverential way he’d treated her last night and this morning, Jada knew, deep down, her fears were unfounded. Jada honestly didn’t think he’d work with her, befriend her, become best friends with her all for one night of loving. There was an easier way to do it, and beyond that, far more willing girls than she who would’ve gladly taken him to bed. Last night was just something that happened, something so right and perfect for that one moment in time, as if the planets were aligned for it. The transition from friends to lovers was natural, particularly because neither thought they had anything to lose. They would have a morning after and that was it, and it was enough for Jada. She’d rather have one spectacular night with the man she loved than fifty years with his runner-up. She would be all right, she reasoned; these past twenty-four hours will be enough to sustain me for the rest of her life.

Jada left the shower, got dressed, and packed the last remaining things for her trip home. Felicia, her roommate, had left for the winter break early, so it was Jada’s job to make sure the apartment was all shut down. Jada then sat with the lights off when she finished her inspection, appreciating the soft gray glow of outside light filtering in through the windows.

The buzzer startled her. “Yes?”

“I’m here.”

“Coming.”

Jada didn’t ask for help with her luggage; it was only a small carryon and her backpack; but when she met Aaron at the elevator, he chastised her and took both pieces of luggage from her. Jada let him do this; it felt good for someone to take care of her.

The traffic wasn’t so bad, and Donny Hathaway and Roberta Flack serenaded them as they made their way to Logan Airport. It was her mixed Donny Hathaway CD she let Aaron borrow almost a month ago, and she was surprised it was still in his CD changer.

“I wish I could spend this Christmas with you,” he said as they waited in the tollbooth line to get on airport property, Donny singing “shake a hand, shake a hand” in the background.

“You say that only because you haven’t met my family yet.”

“At graduation I will.”

Possibly, but that was assuming they would remain close in the interim. He’d gone away before, taking some time off in Italy when Ricci’s was thinking of expanding their services to London, but Aaron managed to keep in contact with her regularly. The only way he would’ve been closer was if he were sitting next to her; that was how often he’d called and e-mailed. But this separation would be different; he wouldn’t be returning next semester or any semester after that. He would be put to work—maybe in New York, maybe in Italy, maybe in London where the new Ricci’s was—but he wouldn’t be in Boston, he wouldn’t be with her.

Jada would come to terms with that eventually.

Aaron pulled up in front of their airline terminal, telling her to go inside while he found a place to park. She was glad Zeke booked her an electronic ticket so she could avoid the very long line of people waiting at the counter. She went to the kiosk, got her ticket, and went to stand in the security check line. It moved slowly, so slowly that Aaron had time to park, get his ticket from the kiosk, and meet her in the line, but at least she was closer to the front by this point.

They passed the security check on the first go, and went to their gate. Hers was all the way at the end of the terminal, his three gates earlier, but he sat with her, sat beside her, linked their fingers together as they people watched and made idle chitchat. Her head laid on his shoulder and her eyes drifted closed. His thumb caressed back of her hand, and both were content. Contentment was quiet, tactile, Aaron’s presence, and the ironic privacy of the airport terminal. Jada didn’t hear the wailing baby in the section of seats ahead of her, or the static sounds of a terminal worker paging “Anderson, Jan” to gate 16; she didn’t feel the rolling suitcase bump her foot, or the man next to her confuse her arm for an armrest, or the little kid tugging her hair from behind her. She didn’t smell the pretzels or the Chinese food or anything else.

Just Aaron.

Just Aaron caressing her hair, telling her about an annoyed passenger’s heated conversation with the counter workers, laughing as a little girl threw a fit and her just-made ice cream cone on the floor.

Just Aaron saying her flight was ready to board.

“So?”

A sigh, a deep one that expressed the frustration and sadness she shared with him. “Gotta go home, Jaybird.”

She was home. “Okay.”

They stood slowly, Aaron taking her carryon as she put her book bag on her back. They went to the line, not in a hurry to board the plane as everyone else was. A long hug; a hard hug, tears flirting with her eyes when Aaron pressed a long, hard kiss to her temple.

“Have a safe flight, okay?” he whispered into her hair.

“You, too.”

Separation, less than a half a foot, but it felt like gulf was between them. Sad green eyes stared at her, and Jada thought he very well might cry. Aaron didn’t cry. Irish-Italian men didn’t cry. Jada wanted to maintain that belief so she turned away from him and boarded the plane.

Aaron would be all right; he’d make a ton of money, start internship programs in multiple cities, marry a beautiful woman and have beautiful children. Jada would be happy for him because she loved him. Life was about beginnings and ends, and though this ending was sad, there would be an even better beginning on the horizon . . . maybe not immediately, but eventually.

But for now, Jada would cry enough for both of them.