Black, White, Foreign or Local, Love is sacred
Rachel stared at the mirror and a reflection she did not recognize glared back.
She smirked at it and turned away to light the last of the candles.
There were seven of them, each for every year spent in the joy that knew no bounds.
Each for every scent they both loved.
For every year cocooned in a world, she helped create. A dream come true. A near-perfect world.
She had gone into the deli that afternoon to seek refuge from a snowstorm.
Chicago was doing what it was best at, being windy and chilling. The birds had started to fly south. And those who could afford it had started preparations to seek refuge in the sunny climes of the tropics.
She knew the weather forecast predicted a storm, but dreaded spending another hour at the hospital.
It was not a Nor'easter but an arctic blast all the same.
It was early December and the chimes of early Christmas shopping had barely started. The arrival of winter was yet to be official.
It had been a busy night shift and she was anxious to get home.
So she did what she was well known for; took a chance, hoping to get to her front door before it was too dangerous to be outside.
The storm barreled down, and she found herself, left in the lurch managing only to reach the delicatessen where Andrija worked by a whisker.
The deli was two blocks away from her apartment. On an earlier visit had bought baked goods. One time, Andrija suggested the Cokolada torta. Gave her a piece to try and she had simply fallen in love with the dessert.
Each time she dropped by, he suggested something new and her palate was adventurous, so she indulged in it. Only the stars knew, her palate would become adventurous for other things.
One day it was the makovnjaca, another day, the paprenjak from solta, the tufahije, and samobor kremsnita. Desserts that were a mouthful to pronounce but left her wanting more.
That day, on the day of the snowstorm, the store had been empty. The rest of the staff had gone home early and Andrija was closing up.
As Rachel walked in, the doorbell announced her presence. Andrija looked up from behind the counter.
And smiled "hello, how are you? " in a Croatian accent rolling his r.
She grinned, always delighted at the impact of the South Slavic language on his English.
"I am good thanks" her own accent was obvious to everyone but her.
Having lived in the United States since she was twelve, Rachel was of the notion, that she had mastered the language.
Andrija on the other hand had only been in the United States for two years. Having been granted refugee status because of the Kosovo war.
Yugoslavia had become a very dangerous place and he had lost his family in the war. The infighting between the Serbs, Croats, and Bosniaks. It was all so confusing. "Are you not all the same? she asked innocently?
He told her about a part of European history she was not so knowledgeable about.
After being marooned with him for eighteen hours, he asked her out for coffee. Somewhere away from the deli.
Rachel was not sure if was it a date or chivalry because they had spent almost eighteen hours together.
She had hesitated. Her first thought was of a white boy who did not speak English. Then she wondered if he had ever seen any black people before coming to America.
The relationship between White and Black was too complex. And she was not sure, she wanted to wade into it. Her mother had an unwritten rule "Don't bring a white boy home".
Her mother was not a bigot, She was just old-fashioned. She said, it just made common sense. Relationship with your own people was easier. Well going by her sour relationship with her father the math did not add up.
Her parents were both West African immigrants, who had settled in the South Caribbean Island of Tobago, where she had been born before they moved again emigrating to the United States.
She did not know what to expect, the white American boys who asked her out could at least speak near-perfect English so language was no barrier.
That seemed like ages ago, for the heart won the battle. For you know, the heart wants what it wants, and the heart often gets what it wants.
The soothing sound of Nina Simone on her iPod dragged her out of her reverie. I put a spell on you 'cause you're mine, Nina cooed as Rachel sank deeper into the bubble-filled bath tube, hoping to drown her stress and sorrow.
She was born Ruhuoma, a name she struggled with because it made her stand out at school in the Caribbean.
Although some of the other children carried ethnic names, hers in combo with her surname "Enyindah made her a taunting minefield.
In another world, her name would have been perfect but in the new world, it was a chip on her shoulder. She had to constantly repeat herself before anyone got it.
Her mother tried everything to make her comfortable with the name to no avail. So when they moved to New York, she started telling everyone her name was Rachel, maintaining the initial "R"
It made her feel more at ease and so her mum let her keep the name. She would have done the same with her surname but her parents would have none of it.
She felt better as it made the transition to a new school, culture, and environment easier.
When she met Andrija, his ethnic name meant they had something in common. They were both immigrants. Although she was now in her twenties and had overcome insecurities about her name.
Their relationship got off on a very rocky start, but his sense of humor soon won her over after she had turned down that first coffee date.
he found humor in everything, his situation, having to drop out of college because of the war, and losing his parents and two sisters.
Coming to America with barely $50 to his name. It was all like some adventure into the unknown.
The deli was owned by his uncle, and he hoped to work for a couple more years, then return to college and get his degree.
By Christmas the next year, she was ready to invite him home. They had driven the twelve hours to Brooklyn, New York
Her parents knew she was bringing home a friend but did not know the details.
Her father had almost suffered a heart attack when he met Andrija.
Initially, he thought, he was her brother Nnamdi's friend from school, and then, she precociously introduced Andrija. And the smile froze on his lips
His reaction was unexpected, she always knew where her mother stood when it came to "Inter-racial" relationships. Heck! her mother even had reservations about her getting involved with Caribbean boys. And she was born in Tobago.
She had warned Andrija it was going to be uncomfortable but he insisted he could survive it.
Her mother was now the one fussing over Andrija offering second helpings and asking him how he liked it in America, apparently enjoying her father's discomfiture.
Each time she dropped by, he suggested something new and her palate was adventurous, so she indulged in it. Only the stars knew, her palate would become adventurous for other things.
One day it was the makovnjaca, another day, the paprenjak from solta, the tufahije, and samobor kremsnita. Desserts that were a mouthful to pronounce but left her wanting more.
That day, on the day of the snowstorm, the store had been empty. The rest of the staff had gone home early and Andrija was closing up.
As Rachel walked in, the doorbell announced her presence. Andrija looked up from behind the counter.
And smiled "hello, how are you? " in a Croatian accent rolling his r.
She grinned, always delighted at the impact of the South Slavic language on his English.
"I am good thanks" her own accent was obvious to everyone but her.
Having lived in the United States since she was twelve, Rachel was of the notion, that she had mastered the language.
Andrija on the other hand had only been in the United States for two years. Having been granted refugee status because of the Kosovo war.
Yugoslavia had become a very dangerous place and he had lost his family in the war. The infighting between the Serbs, Croats, and Bosniaks. It was all so confusing. "Are you not all the same? she asked innocently?
He told her about a part of European history she was not so knowledgeable about.
After being marooned with him for eighteen hours, he asked her out for coffee. Somewhere away from the deli.
Rachel was not sure if was it a date or chivalry because they had spent almost eighteen hours together.
She had hesitated. Her first thought was of a white boy who did not speak English. Then she wondered if he had ever seen any black people before coming to America.
The relationship between White and Black was too complex. And she was not sure, she wanted to wade into it. Her mother had an unwritten rule "Don't bring a white boy home".
Her mother was not a bigot, She was just old-fashioned. She said, it just made common sense. Relationship with your own people was easier. Well going by her sour relationship with her father the math did not add up.
Her parents were both West African immigrants, who had settled in the South Caribbean Island of Tobago, where she had been born before they moved again emigrating to the United States.
She did not know what to expect, the white American boys who asked her out could at least speak near-perfect English so language was no barrier.
That seemed like ages ago, for the heart won the battle. For you know, the heart wants what it wants, and the heart often gets what it wants.
The soothing sound of Nina Simone on her iPod dragged her out of her reverie. I put a spell on you 'cause you're mine, Nina cooed as Rachel sank deeper into the bubble-filled bath tube, hoping to drown her stress and sorrow.
Rachel smiled, a sad smile as she remembered the mildly shy European, she had met seven years ago and how their life had become entangled.
She was born Ruhuoma, a name she struggled with because it made her stand out at school in the Caribbean.
Although some of the other children carried ethnic names, hers in combo with her surname "Enyindah made her a taunting minefield.
In another world, her name would have been perfect but in the new world, it was a chip on her shoulder. She had to constantly repeat herself before anyone got it.
Her mother tried everything to make her comfortable with the name to no avail. So when they moved to New York, she started telling everyone her name was Rachel, maintaining the initial "R"
It made her feel more at ease and so her mum let her keep the name. She would have done the same with her surname but her parents would have none of it.
She felt better as it made the transition to a new school, culture, and environment easier.
When she met Andrija, his ethnic name meant they had something in common. They were both immigrants. Although she was now in her twenties and had overcome insecurities about her name.
Their relationship got off on a very rocky start, but his sense of humor soon won her over after she had turned down that first coffee date.
he found humor in everything, his situation, having to drop out of college because of the war, and losing his parents and two sisters.
Coming to America with barely $50 to his name. It was all like some adventure into the unknown.
The deli was owned by his uncle, and he hoped to work for a couple more years, then return to college and get his degree.
By Christmas the next year, she was ready to invite him home. They had driven the twelve hours to Brooklyn, New York
Her parents knew she was bringing home a friend but did not know the details.
Her father had almost suffered a heart attack when he met Andrija.
Initially, he thought, he was her brother Nnamdi's friend from school, and then, she precociously introduced Andrija. And the smile froze on his lips
His reaction was unexpected, she always knew where her mother stood when it came to "Inter-racial" relationships. Heck! her mother even had reservations about her getting involved with Caribbean boys. And she was born in Tobago.
She had warned Andrija it was going to be uncomfortable but he insisted he could survive it.
Her mother was now the one fussing over Andrija offering second helpings and asking him how he liked it in America, apparently enjoying her father's discomfiture.
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