Saints And Sinners

New York City

It is a cold Sunday morning. The last Sunday, before the start of the lent season.
Winter is still here but the groundhog has predicted an early Spring. Although, mother nature has plans of her own. 

On another continent, across the Atlantic, the family is having Sunday lunch.

 A spread of white rice, Jollof rice, fried peppered goat meat, chicken tomato stew, fried sweet plantains, steamed spinach, bananas, and moi-moi (steamed bean cakes). 
The house is filled with family, cousins, and friends. Everyone is back from Sunday Mass. And everyone is eating, drinking, and talking at the same time. Sometimes, it is a contest whose voice is loudest.

Thousands of miles further Northwest, she is all alone, lying on the couch and catching up on her favorite shows.
On television is the political thriller  Scandal. Her escapism is interrupted by a ringing phone. Pause. Inertia. Hesistation. She stands to answer the phone but changes her mind mid-way. And allows it to go to voice mail.

She was a call screener, she never used to be. But over the years, life happened.  Her lifestyle changed. She cherished her privacy. Two shallow furrows appeared on her forehead, and the worry line between her eyebrows deepened. Anxiety threatened her peace.  She adjusts the volume of the television hoping to compensate for the intrusion of the telephone a minute ago.
Refilled the glass with wine, and chided herself at the same time. She ought not to be drinking before noon. Drunks don't make partners except perhaps in a John Grisham novel.

It was a ritual. The red wine and popcorn.  A popular habit she was now indulging too frequently. Popcorn was not really her favorite thing and she often wondered about the origin of the custom of eating popcorn while watching a movie.

Alero stretched all of her 5 11" body and rotated her neck to smoothen out the stress, creases, and wrinkles brought on by hours of sitting behind a desk.  Stood up and this time completed the journey and threw the half-eaten popcorn into the trash basket. then sashayed to the refrigerator and fetched some olives.

Rituals. it is funny how they start. Even stranger is how difficult they become to break. She remembered the ritual of attending transfiguration Sunday Mass. It marked the last Sunday before Lent.  Going to church on Wednesday to mark the start of Lent. Kneeling at the altar as the priest; Reverend father Njemanze smeared her forehead with ash. A ritual she has gladly abandoned and does not miss. 

She could no longer stomach organized religion. They were like corporations, even worst, because they paid no taxes. She had merely humored her mother, who made a fuss about everything religion. Almost everything she had done before now, was to please her mother.

A commercial came on and she sucked her teeth in annoyance. Reminding herself to adjust the settings on her DVR. She picked up the phone and listened to the recorded message. Heard the voice again. She did not believe the stranger. 
 Damn! her mother, always trying to fix her up, like she could not find love on her own. This was the fifth time the same voice had left a message. 
And she had never returned the call. You would think he would take the hint.

Her mother sometimes gave out her phone number to her friends' sons, sons of her women's church group, and sons of family friends who she thought would be a good match. Alero had warned her against it countless times.
And she failed to tell the difference between her cell phone and her home number.
Alero smiled to herself, mildly irritated.

She had a boyfriend and was happy, but her mother thought otherwise. And her mother always believed she knew what was best for her.
She saw Ted every fortnight, though he would have preferred every weekend or more often. But she was happy with the arrangement. She had a key to his apartment and he had hers.
She just did not want to be attached to his hips. And had always thought men loved that type of relationship, but the men that cupid strews on her path were different.
She often seems to attract the clingy ones.

As a lawyer working in one of the corporate legal assembly lines. You know, the types that are the legal equivalent of garment factories in Bangladesh except with the six-figure salary. 
The types with two hundred associates, all ran the crazy rat race to make partners, before age 35. Their heads were filled with big dreams from law school. But very few made the dream of the big league a reality. 

Alero loved her work did not mind the crazy hours and knew the race to make a partner for her was going to be different from everyone else. Even in a cosmopolitan city like New York. Her being different was obvious.
The hurdles were stacked up higher on her path, especially in the American corporate world. She had managed to acquire the American accent which is mandatory to fit into the system and climb the corporate ladder.  But her African names stuck out like a sore thumb. She was however an eternal optimist.

Barack Obama became President even with his African name. so she was not discouraged. But her love life suffered. She hoped to make a partner in five years. A tall dream. having already spent seven years at this firm. But she was happy to dream. 
If she was lucky, she would still have a viable egg left.  if not, nothing is lost. 
She had never been one for family life but her mother thought otherwise. She constantly reminded Alero that she did not know what was good for her.

The phone rang again, she picked it up this time and muttered a greeting.
"Hi Alero, finally caught you at home" came the excited voice from the other end.
"Hello to you, and you are..." She pretended she did not recognize the voice.
"Misan! I have left countless messages on your phone", Your mother gave me your number when I saw her at home last month. And I promised to check in on you, She worries about you"

Everybody saw her mother when they visited her homeland. She was beginning to think her mother staged the meetings.
"I apologize on my mother's behalf for the trouble, but I am fine"
"I will accept the apology, if you agree to meet me for coffee, maybe a drink or dinner."
A beeping sound signaling an incoming call saved her.
"Let me call you back Misan. I have an incoming long-distance call " she lied
"Okay, will be waiting" he sounded disappointed

It was Ted on the other line
"Hey, babe." 
"Hi, You."
"Very romantic, it's me, the love of your life" he joked. Liza laughed. Ted made her laugh without much effort. He had a sense of humor that was endearing
"Hi, Hon, that sound more romantic to you?
"Not quite, but from you, I will take it, I have got two court-side tickets to the Knicks game next ....."
"I am in." She accepted a little too eager interrupting before he could finish. 

She loved the game of basketball. Ted often teased her, about perhaps being more in love with the 10 very tall sweating hunks running to and fro the court than the game itself.
She had responded by saying what girl wouldn't.
"And I love you too" he laughed. Spend the weekend at my place. She knew that was coming. 

Ted had badgered her to move in with him this past year. 
Since she confided, she was not ready for marriage.
And he had promised he would not propose again after she had turned down twice.
"What are you doing? he inquired
"Watching Scandal on DVR"
"May I join the party?  
"After it, is a marathon of Sex and the City" she tried to discourage him.
"I don't mind."
"Since when did you get all sappy."
"Since I do not see you as often as I would like."

Silence filled the distance between them. She had not been fair to him and sometimes wondered why he stayed around. She was too independent, and opinionated, loved work, and enjoyed her own company.
"Is that a yes? he asked hopefully. She loved Ted but was afraid of a long-term commitment especially the "Till death do us part" type
"Yes."
"I love you too." was Ted's favorite phrase, reminding her she did not say it often to him.
Ted was the most undemanding man she knew, and that is why she loved him. And he was also a master at eating Southern cuisine.
"I love you too" she cooed. 

The doorbell chimed, she could not imagine who was at her door. Maybe a neighbor.
Looking through the peephole, she was surprised at the man standing there.
Ted was standing on her doorstep smiling sheepishly. He had a key. but had not used it.
She flung the door open before she would say anything. 

He took her in his arms and kissed her, held her tight, and would not let go. 
She did not see her, but Alero felt a pair of disapproving eyes burning scars into her head from across the hall.
And before Ted would let go, she heard the annoying high-pitched voice.
"Hello Ted" Mrs. Winterbottom greeted
"Hi there  Elsa, How are you doing today? Mrs. Winterbottom grinned from ear to ear like she had found a long-lost friend.
 Ted had a way with her, he could charm the birds out of any tree. And this old bird drooled each time.
"Hi, Lero" Winterbottom greeted. An afterthought, Alero observed. She knew it like only a woman would.   Mrs. Winterbottom did not approve of her relationship with Ted.
 She saw see it in her eyes.  The way she looked at her when they ran into each other in the hallway or elevator. 

And she always seem to know when Ted came over. Alero had hinted to Ted that perhaps Mrs. Winterbottom was a bigot. 

Ted had laughed it off reassuring her Winterbottom was harmless, maybe a tad old-fashioned. Besides they did not need her approval. He was right, she did not need Elsa's approval or her mother's. Heck! she did not need anyone to tell her whom she can love or not love.

They waved at Mrs. Winterbottom, who clearly would like to continue the conversation with Ted. Alero closed the door a little too quickly, and Ted raised his eyebrows, smiling broadly.

"The lady is in a hurry to have me," he joked

"Yes, that's exactly right," she agreed. Pulled him closer and planted his face with small feather kisses

"Sometimes, with you, I never know what is going to happen."

Alero smiled and teased him more, nibbling gently at the right earlobe.

"You see, that is why I am so in love with you, you are full of surprises, who would think an encounter with an old neighbor is  guaranteed aphrodisiac

"Keep talking..and you will spend the night on the couch," Alero warned

Ted pretended he was zipping his lips and throwing away the keys.

And relaxed to enjoy what she had to offer.

She led him to her bedroom, Scandal, Sex, and the City marathon made nice on television.

Out of the two hundred associates at the firm, only four were  Blacks, four were Hispanics, and three were Asians. Of the Four Blacks, she was the only female. And she was a foreign-born American. That she got to be an associate at Wolowitz, Ogilvy, and Paterson was close to a miracle. Although  She had been top of her class at Harvard Law School. Being able to clerk at one of the top Law firms in Manhattan was very competitive. And had always been her dream.
Making a partner was going to be an uphill task but she was prepared to try.




He was out of breath and they were inching closer,  He had seen them before and each time he saw them, they taunted him. He stopped for a moment to take in the needed oxygen. The three black teenagers were hot in pursuit, jeering and making faces at him. Then he felt himself being shaken at the shoulders.
"You have to leave now." It was not a friendly voice. And the accompanying force that shook him, was even less friendly.  He fought to chase away the remaining shadows of sleep. Squinting as she pulled back the window curtains.

A thousand carpenters were at work on a construction site in his head.
He tried to remember where he was or what had happened last night.  Noticed he was naked under the covers. At the same time, she was shoving his clothes in his face.
"Please leave." She spat out, looking pissed off.
Out of habit, he reached for his wallet on the bedside. Counted five hundred dollar bills. Big mistake. He heard it before he felt the searing pain across his right cheek.
"You fucking son of a bitch! who do you think I am?
The cat took his tongue and ran away with it. As he struggled to recover his vocal response.
"I am sorry." He apologizes. Not sure what he had done wrong. The force of the slap scattered the bills all over the floor.
"Take your fucking money, and leave now, before I call the Police," she thundered.

He moved, perhaps a little too quickly, trying to get up, his clothes held close to his chest. Another mistake. The quick motion, in combo with the hot slap and gravity, tussled for power. And he could not hold it down.  He puked all over her carpet. 
"I am sorry, so sorry," he stammered managing to put on his pants and pick up his shoes covered in vomit.
"Let me pay for the cleaning," he whispered, staggering towards the door, shirt, and shoes in hand while she glared at him.

"Just get out," She said for the last time. pointing to the door. 

Alex struggled into the Black Tee shirt that had Harvard University emblazoned on the chest. 
Pressing his right palm to his head, to ease the pounding, he rode the elevator down disgusted to even look down at his own feet.

Hailed a taxi and rode to his East Village apartment in mortified silence. Still trying to recall the events of last night.
At his doorstep, he searched in his pockets but could not find his keys. Perhaps they had fallen out in the mean lady's apartment. He rested his head on the door and gave it a few bangs. Called the building supervisor for the spare keys.

His head barely hit the pillow and the black teenagers returned.



Alex woke up in a sweat,  the pounding by the carpenters had subsided. He gulped down a couple of aspirin nonetheless. He had fallen off the wagon. The events of the night before slowly came alive. He had gone to the bar like he always did at this time every month.
it was his way of keeping Max's memory alive. A stupid thing to do, no doubt.
But he probably went overboard last night, because it had been a long time since he had drunken amnesia.

Since the accident that took the life of his best friend and his subsequently dropping out of college. Life had not been the same. He blamed himself for Max's death. He should never have gotten behind the wheel on that dark Friday. 
How he had managed to escape being convicted of vehicular manslaughter was beyond him. All he got was a year of community service. Now he wished he had gone to jail for his stupidity. He killed his best friend.

He spent months in therapy and seemed to be doing well but when it was time to return to school, he bailed. In the past year, all he did was drink, paint, and pick up hookers.  They always came home with him never the other way around. The details of last night and why he ended up at her place or why she refused his money were still fuzzy.

The only way to solve the puzzle was to return to the scene of the crime. Friday night, he would return to the bar. Perhaps he would run into her again. The mean lady that probably saved his life.




When she did not call him back. Misan figured she was not interested.. it had been two weeks days. He promised not to call her again.
He Google searched her. And some pictures popped up, a couple of photos of her attending a social event. In every picture, he saw her with a man, but none looked like him. Now he knew why she was not interested. She was a sell-out. She seemed to like a certain type. She was skiing the slopes and sleeping with the enemy. 

He wondered if her mother knew. He sighed and disliked her more. A few minutes later, his lover called out to him from the bedroom. And he strutted to go reveal the myth of the Black man. His dragon quickly swelled between his legs.
His lover's skin is the color of French vanilla.


Painting drives away the demons.

Alex ripped apart the half-completed painting, crumbled it in both hands, and tossed the paper in the bin. He had been holding back on having another drink. Painting kept his demons in check but it was not doing a good job today.
Sometimes he felt like ending it all. He did not deserve to live when Max was gone. He should have died instead of Max.

The faces of the Black teenagers appeared on the canvass. Taunting him as always. "C'mon white boy, show us what you got." He heaved and his eyes welled up in tears.
They only appeared in the dark, in his sleep, in dreams, his nightmares. But now they seem to be everywhere.
Maybe if he had not fallen for their taunts to drag race that night, Max would still be alive. it was nobody's fault but his for getting behind the wheel inebriated and then trying to race a couple of teenagers.
It had cost him the life of his best friend and one of the teenagers after being in a coma for two months would never walk again.
He stormed out of his apartment and headed to the bar he visited the week before.

He sat at the edge of the bar. Before he could order, the bartender laid his missing keys on the table.
"The lawyer said you forgot these."
He stumbled on his words as confusion painted a pretty picture on his face.
"What lawyer? he asked
"The lady who saved you from getting behind the wheels drunk last week"


When the lawyer saw him fiddling with his keys in the parking lot. it was clear he was drunk and in no condition to drive. She had noticed him earlier in the bar and his Harvard tee shirt reminded her of a couple she owned. 
Perhaps he was an alumna. His face looked vaguely familiar but she was not sure. She asked him if he needed help. When his answer came, she barely understood him as his speech was slurred.
"Is there someone I can call?" she asked
He did not answer but continued to fiddle with the keys trying to find the right one. Although he did not need a key to unlock the car.
"Come with me," she said and he seemed relieved to go with her.
She intended to call him a taxi but he started to snore as soon as he sat in her car. 
She had a spare bedroom and in his condition, he would not hurt a fly. So she took him up to her apartment and gave him the guest room to sleep in.

Alero completely lost it when she asked him to leave the next morning and he offered her money like she was some prostitute.