Garden of Love

Daddy and Barbara left for their A.A. meeting early on Saturday morning. My date with Kent was several hours away, but anticipation made sleep impossible. So as soon as I heard their footsteps disappear behind the front door, I threw back the sheets and turned on the radio loud, filling the house with urban rhythms to which I danced and slid over the floors in fuzzy red slippers. Passing the thermostat in the hall, I turned off the air conditioner, opening the living room window instead. The early morning breeze danced inside, taking the sheers for a partner; sweeping them away from the window then drawing them back again. What a beautiful day for the park!

Singing along with the upbeat tune, I danced into the kitchen, twirling from the cabinet to the counter to pop bread into the toaster. Waiting for it to toast, I leaned with my elbows on the countertop. It seemed Kent flowed through the notes of every song: the whites of his eyes glistening when he smiled and crinkling when he stood on the playground in the sun, his scent like just-washed laundry, the softness of his lips yesterday when we first kissed…

The toast popped up—charred. Someone must’ve adjusted the setting too high. Oh, well. I was too excited to eat anyway. Scuffing to the trash, I dumped it in, deciding to rummage through my closet for the perfect outfit instead. In the hall, with my body angled in the direction of the bedroom but feet planted on the hardwood, the radio’s upbeat music faded into a woman’s soulful swoon of devotion to her “everything.” It was the song that always made me think of—

Through the open window, I heard the familiar rumble of the mail truck outside, its brakes screeching as it halted in front of the house. Rushing to peer through the sheers I watched the mailman slide envelopes inside the box then sighed wondering if one of them could be from Dante.

In my bedroom, behind the closed door, I shut off the haunting music. But inside my head, while I debated outfits, she continued to sing the refrain. Replacing a violet sundress on its hangar, I grabbed my bathrobe and wrapped it around myself, tying it at the waist. Plodding down the stairs, my fingers had just touched the doorknob when the phone rang. What if it was Kent?

Racing back up the stairs two at a time, I answered it breathless.

“Girl, let me find out! Why you so outta breath?”

Relieved to hear Danielle’s voice and not Kent’s I answered, “’Cause I ran for the phone.”

“What’s going on?”

I hesitated before replying: “Nothing. Just trying to figure out what to wear.”

“That’s right. You and Superman have a hot date!” she squealed. “Well, Lois, please don’t wear none of that foolishness you wear to work. Or that ponytail.” She smacked her lips. “You should’ve gone to the hairdresser with me. Oh, well it’s too late now. Just wear something sexy so he don’t notice. And please put on some make-up!”

I rolled my eyes as Danielle went into her spiel to educate me on everything from how many coats of mascara to apply to smiling the innocent-but-not-too-innocent smile. Most of her words went in one ear and out the other, but we talked and giggled for over an hour, thoughts of Dante exiled and the mail forgotten. Her last words to me were much like her first: “wear something sexy.” So before showering, I pulled out a muted green tank top and little matching green and brown plaid shorts. Slipping on the outfit while my skin was still damp, I sprayed perfume all over, saturating even my hair left loose with the scent of jasmine and vanilla. Over my eyelids I brushed green shadow flecked with gold and glossed my lips to a pinky-brown sheen.

The doorbell rang at exactly noon. “I’ll get it!” I called, but by the time I rounded the corner, Daddy–just home from the meeting—was already opening the door.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Weaver. I’m here to pick Tori up.” Kent shook my father’s hand.

I hurried down the stairs. “See you later,” I said, interrupting the interrogation I knew Daddy’d opened his mouth to start.

“You be back at a decent hour!” he called as I breezed by.

Kent opened the passenger door of his T-top, two-seater. Getting in the driver’s side, he smiled at me before starting the engine, taking his time to pull away from the house and Daddy’s prying gaze. He cruised through the neighborhood, slowing to allow a little boy to fetch his ball from the street. The boy waved and Kent threw him a nod before picking up speed to the main road.

Peek-a-booing through my peripherals, I admired the extension of his left arm in a cut-off tee as he leaned back in the worn seat; his right hand shifting gears from third all the way up to fifth to pass a dawdling vehicle and take the hammer lane on the Beltway. Maybe he knew I watched because his grip on the steering wheel tightened, flexing the muscle in his triceps. The veins weaving their way from forearm to hand bulged beneath taut, dusky skin. I turned my eyes to the passenger window.

“Am I driving too fast?” he shouted.

“Um, no.”

“Oh, I saw you looking at me…”

My face flushed. “No, I’m okay. I, uh…I’ve been faster than this.”

He raised an eyebrow. “With who? Your boyfriend?”

I blinked, taking a breath before answering: “No, Danielle. The girl drives like a maniac.”

We were quiet then, the roar of the road and the gusty wind making conversation difficult except inside my head. With the wind whipping through my hair, I hoped I didn’t look like a fuzzy Treasure Troll doll. I held it off my face. Kent glanced over at me again, apologizing for his late model car’s lack of air conditioning and reassuring me that I looked fine. Of course I didn’t believe him, but smiled for his sweetness as he merged off the highway, taking the exit leading toward the park.

Driving beyond the red brick and black iron gate into the National Arboretum, the only sight for miles was trees standing on tip-toes to touch the pastel blue sky and fields of freshly mown grass. Blossoms tickled my nose with their vibrant fragrance, overshadowing the perfume I wore. Never one for nature, I suddenly felt excited to get outside. Kent hurried around to open the door for me while I smoothed down my hair just before he opened it. Grasping only the tips of my fingers, he helped me out and we walked toward the main entrance. A large stone pond filled with koi of silver-orange, red, and lime welcomed us. Watching them swim within the confines, I wondered about the blackness of the water.

“They tint it to protect the pond from algae,” he explained to me. Then he shared what he’d learned about koi from the staff on previous visits; a couple of older women moving closer to listen in. One of them sprinkled a handful of food into the water and all the fish swam Pavlovian style in that direction. But we moved on through peonies growing wild and free, tiny specks of purple dotting the landscape in front of the towering Capitol Columns. Walking side by side, an orange and black butterfly crossed our path, flapping then gliding before pausing to rest on a flower.

“These remind me of the pictures of ancient Greece or something,” I remarked as we took seats on a ledge inside the columns.

“Yeah, it’s like being in a whole other world.”

I leaned my head to watch the butterfly.

Kent slid closer, his bare arm brushing against mine. “So how do I get you to open up?”

The butterfly flew beyond my scope of vision. ”What do you mean?”

“Well, we’ve known each other for a little while now and I’m the one who does all the talking. I wanna know more about you.”

“There isn’t much to know.”

“I find that hard to believe. Or do you have something to hide?” Bumping me with his shoulder he added, “My momma always told me to watch out for the quiet ones.”

I smiled. “No, I don’t have anything to hide. There’s just nothing to tell.”

“Mmmhmm.” He tickled my side. I giggled and scooted out of reach. He moved closer, tickling me again until I stood and darted out of his grasp. Catching me by the waist he asked: “So what’re you gonna do now?” and held me tight, tickling me all the while. Uncomfortable, I struggled to free myself, trying to laugh it off. Sweat dripped from his head down his brow and he released me, sopping it up with his shirt tail.

“It’s hot as a mug out here!”

I nodded, resuming my seat.

He stood, stretching his arms overhead. “Come on. I want you to see the Asian Gardens.” Then taking me by the hand, he laced his damp fingers in mine as we walked uphill along a path of plants native to China. It ended at a red gazebo. We stood to the side as a couple seemed to float down the stairs hand in hand, eyes interlocked, not even noticing us as they passed by.

Underneath the gazebo’s shade, he touched my cheek; his thumb brushed my lower lip. My stomach twisted, knotting itself into a bow of anticipation. I didn’t move or blink until he leaned in close, our lips a breath apart. Finally, I tilted my head and closed my eyes to everything around us, focusing only on the soft warmth of his lips against mine.

(Secret of a Butterfly, pp.43-49)

There’s nothing like new: new shoes, new job, new home, new love. The first time you walk in that pair of shoes, sit at that desk, position your furniture, or enjoy the sweetness of that first kiss is exhilirating. A blank slate with so much promise. So if you have something new in store, congratulations and enjoy. If not, why not dust off something old and give it a little TLC with memories of when it was new? Until next time…