Taboo Descendants and the Multi-Dimensional War

When Rahim knocked on the front door, I had one hand clutching my mascara wand and a second holding my eye open. It took concentration for me to apply the finishing touch to my nighttime look. The sound startled me so severely that I almost stuck the applicator wand in my eye.

I quickly returned the eye probe to its sheath and ran towards the front door calling, “Just a minute—” just loud enough for Rahim to hear me.

I did not want to wake JJ, who slept soundly in his room. I doubted that my mother would sleep at all that night. I imagined her listening at her room door.

Upon reaching the door, I slowed my pace and caught my breath. I took one last look at myself in the full-length mirror in the foyer and pondered over my ensemble. I had decided to go with a conservative yet sensual black dress, a safe choice. It accentuated my curves without making me look desperate for attention.

I wore my curly hair down, or rather out. It grew outward as much as it grew downward. I gazed the loose tendrils spiraling this way and that and smiled. I loved my natural hair advocate, even in a society dominated by Caucasian men and their widely accepted opinions on beauty.

I inhaled deeply, grabbed my shawl from the coat hanger, and pulled the door open. I had a date with a breathtaking man who found me attractive. For tonight, that fact alone mattered.

There in front of me, like an Arabian knight, stood a dapper Rahim. His entire person seemed to glow and his eyes sparkled. I smiled up at him sheepishly. He returned the gesture ever so seductively, making me swallowed noisily.

Don’t you dare think about kissing him!

“So—” I said nervously.

“You look radiantly beautiful, Kaya,” he said sincerely.

“Thanks. You look quite debonair yourself.”

He wore creased khakis with a navy blue guayabera, a traditional Cuban dress shirt. He looked Miami suave.

“Shall we go?”

“Um—yes,” I answered happily.

He pivoted smoothly and proceeded to descend the few stairs that led up to the porch from the lawn.

The night air was cool, fresh, and crisp as if it had just rained. The grass appeared wet and puddles had collected in the street. Weather in Florida was not notorious for its longevity or consistency.

At the bottom of the stairs, Rahim turned and held his hand out to me palm up. I did not notice this at first due to the fact that I concentrated my attention on not tripping on the wet porch in my rarely worn heels.

When I looked up and saw him standing there waiting, I nearly slipped on the damp stairs anyway. I grabbed his outstretched hand with unintentional force and regained my balance. I looked up at him to see if I had caused him any pain, but he did not seem to notice my clumsiness at all.

I slowly let go of his hand. He proceeded to the car with a soft smile on his face. I did not pride myself in becoming a damsel in distress. I knew myself to be an independent working woman and single mother, fearless, brave, and resilient.

“Thanks,” I said almost reluctantly.

“You are most welcome,” he replied.

We walked the length of the yard on the stone walkway to the street where an all-black Ford GT sat with dark tinted windows and black rims. JJ and I had seen a special on television about the Ford GT a couple of weeks ago, they called it an American classic will style and class.

I walked behind the car to the passenger side, admiring the sleek and stylish exterior of the vehicle. Rahim, who had walked in front of the car, grabbed the handle of the passenger side door and opened it just as I reached out to do the same. He held the door for me with one hand and waved me inside with the other.

“I’m not completely inept you know,” I teased in a light tone, though somewhat serious.

“I am sincerely aware of that fact, Kaya. Your strength does not excuse me from being a gentleman.” He gave a little bow as he motioned again for me to enter the car.

“Sure,” I said sarcastically, grinning from ear to ear.

As if any guy is that nice all the time.

“We have arrived,” Rahim announced cheerfully.

I looked at him, wearing a genuinely surprised expression. There, behind his perfectly proportioned head stood the Globe Café.

“Well, that was fast.”

“The pleasant things in life never seem to last long enough.”

“True.” I thought about his comment and tried not to over-analyze it.

“One moment,” he told me before exiting the car. He walked in front of the dimming headlights and around to passenger side door. As he opened it, he held out his hand for me to take.

Smiling and slightly embarrassed at his seemingly medieval etiquette, I took his hand for the second time tonight and stepped out of the car. This time, when my hand relaxed in order to sever the physical contact, his hand did not follow suit. Our eyes found each other and a chill ran up my spine.

Our passionate gaze persisted and we drew together like magnets. My heart pounded forcefully as we drew closer and closer together. I could feel heat emanating from him like a fiery hearth. The warmth comforted me in the chilly winter air. I drew myself in towards him, feeling all the more consoled by the lack of space between us. I wanted to feel his lips pressed firmly against mine. I wanted to taste his kiss for the first time. I wanted to—

“It’s about time you two showed up!” said a familiar female voice.

Rahim looked at me for one second longer before he tore his gaze away and addressed his sister.

“If I am not mistaken, Iris Dear, it is only 9:24 p.m. We are not late as of yet.”

I turned away from Rahim but did not have the courage to look at Iris directly. Instead, I focused on a cluster people standing idly by the entrance of a fast food restaurant across the street.

“Yes, but you would have been, if I had not been looking for you,” she said tartly, though her tone had an air of sweetness.

“I assure you, Dear, we would not have missed your performance for the world. Where is your date?” The word ‘date’ definitely carried an air of sarcasm.

“He’s not my date and he’s inside already. Go on and get seated. He’s reserved a table for us.”

We followed her instructions like obedient sheep.

I leaned towards Rahim and said, “I didn’t know she was giving a performance tonight.”

“Yes,” he answered, “She has some built up tension that she desperately needs to release. Spoken word is therapeutic for her. When she gets on stage, she releases everything. The effect is quite grand.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Iris has a way of conveying her emotions in such a fashion that those around her cannot help but feel the same. In a similar method, she is uniquely receptive of the feelings of others.”

As he spoke, he paid for our tickets by waving his credit card across the payment pad. A muscular bouncer with a short afro watched over us dispassionately.

“I figured as much,” I mumbled softly as I recalled my initial encounter with his sister.

“What was that? I didn’t hear you.”

“Oh, nothing—just thinking aloud.”

We walked into the general seating area. Small candles served as the only source of light in the dimly lit room. They had been placed in the center of each table. The atmosphere in the cafe felt electrified with ambiance.

“Look over there Kaya, towards the stage, the man sitting there alone is Jules. Let me introduce you to him.” The negative undertone I had heard earlier presented itself again coupled by a less-than-positive vibe. I had definitely caught it that time when he said the guy’s name.

I followed his gaze to the nearly empty table near the stage. There, with a physique that could stop rush-hour traffic, sat a very striking man with rich, dark skin and a bald head. He watched the stage with unwavering concentration though his face and body looked relaxed.

Even as we reached the table, he did not seem to notice us. He continued to gaze front and center. I found him both beautiful and valiant. His mystic and splendor peaked at his symmetrical cranium and lustrous scalp. As a neurologist, I tended to spend more time than most people observing people’s heads.

Rahim and I pulled our chairs back from the table. The scraping sound broke Jules’ train of thought and he looked up at us for the first time.

“Rahim, you made it,” he stated in a deep, mellow voice. “And you brought your new friend.”

I felt goosebumps tickle the surface of my arm. I liked the way he sounded. He would make a great late-night radio host on a rhythm and blues station. He sounded confident and wise without seeming arrogant.

“Jules,” began Rahim, “This is Doctor Kaya Jerito, the woman I spoke to you about two evenings past.”

“Ah, Kaya,” Jules breathed. My name rolled off of his tongue like summer rain off a palmetto needle.

Rahim returned his attention to me and continued his introduction, “Kaya, this is Jules.”

I tore my eyes away from Rahim’s and looked at the man named Jules. His brown eyes were unblinking and familiar. I felt as exposed as the unoccupied stage he had stared at previously. This man seemed to know me on a level I did not understand. I felt I knew him before tonight, but I could not remember where or how.

“It’s nice to meet you, Jules.”

I stuck out my hand across the narrow table to shake his as is socially acceptable. He stood up and leaned across the table, taking my hand in his. His palm was warm like warm embers. I felt a spark in my chest as butterflies fill my insides. I stiffened.

He looked at me with fresh eyes as if the last minute had not happened at all. He smiled widely. Still holding my hand, he turned my palm towards the floor, bent down, and kissed the top of my hand softly. A jolt of electricity shot up my arm. The top of my hand burned gently where his lips had touched my skin.

At that same moment, a woman in a bohemian sundress walked out onto the stage and the room grew quiet.

I quickly withdrew my tingling hand and took my seat. I tried to give the woman my full attention. Jules returned to his seat once again and faced the performer’s stage.

Rahim, who sat right next to me, seemed to be emanating heat. Jealous heat. Clearly livid, he sat and stewed. I could feel it, but he did not utter a single word. I tried to look unaffected as if sensuous Frenchmen kissed my hands on a regular basis.

The woman welcomed everyone and thanked them for coming to the Globe Café’s weekly open mic event. Though I could hear the woman’s voice continuing to talk, I did not listen to a word she said. My mind was spinning with confusion. The last thing I needed in my life was a Casanova.

“I would try and make you feel more comfortable by saying that he grows on you,” whispered Rahim, startling me, “but I see you have figured him out for yourself.” He smiled at me softly.

Embarrassed, I returned the smile and fully redirected my attention to the stage.

The woman in the sundress was making her exit. The center of the stage was occupied solely by a black stool and a microphone stand engulfed in a circle of cool, blue-white light.

An elegant Iris walked sinuously into the spotlight. She wore a long, fluid cerulean blue dress that trailed behind her like an evening shadow. Her sapphire eyes sparkled mysteriously, only intensifying her innate beauty. Somehow, the calm that preceded the introduction was dwarfed by the silence that prefaced Iris’s performance. Everyone seemed awestruck.

“This piece is called ‘Almost Love’,” Iris spoke delicately into the microphone as she began.

“I’m sending my thoughts above, for you ‘Almost Love,’ strapped to the leg of a dove—swift and full of grace, the beat of its wings keeps pace, withholding pain it makes haste,”

As she said these words, my heart began to flutter anxiously. She continued,

“To take my words to His ears, the One who cures irrational fears, and dries unyielding tears—they won’t be in vain, with each drop I feel less pain; when I weep, I say your name—and lift you up, for when He erupts, the blessings flow and fill my cup—pouring from me and onto you, you’ll feel what I do; when I cry, you’ll cry, too.”

Tears welled up in my eyes as her words stroked at my heartstrings. She paused briefly as if feeling my pain and continued,

“My heart may not heal, for though it was brief, it was real. You’d know how I’d feel—though worlds and lifetimes away, when I spoke, you’d know what to say, each and every day—I’d feel you near. I’d close my eyes and you’d appear, as if you were really here—I’d hear your voice, and not by choice I’d respond, my mouth moist—With the thought of your kiss. The one I dreamt of but in reality missed.”

I knew the pain she spoke of in her poem. I had felt it every day after T-Rick left me. My tears flowed in earnest.

“So I must insist—that you leave, because in close proximity to you it’s difficult to breath, and I cannot conceive—Life without air, and though my heart is mine it’s not mine to share, so I ask Him to take care—of what was almost mine, one so sweet and so divine, whose memory I keep in order to remind—myself that I can find happiness, there is someone whose heart I could caress, my love they would possess.”

Fingers began to snap following the fading of her voice. Sobs and sniffles could be heard across entire establishment.

Personally, I was a mess.

I felt like I had just watched every sappy movie ever made and read my old diary while eating a pint of chocolate ice cream.

Luckily for me, I always carried a travel-sized package of tissue paper in my purse. I filled the wad of formally dry tissues in my hand with a mixture of tears and snot. Needless to say, I felt so mortified.

I chanced a glance around me and saw to my relief that men and women alike dabbed their eyes and blew their noses on whatever they could make available to them.

A table full of guys near the exit had each grabbed a corner of the white table cloth and they wiped their faces with it.

The muscle-bound bouncer, who had previously seemed quite intimidating, weeped softly into his elbow. I watched his shoulders move up and down in small tremor-like motions.

The lady in the bohemian sundress must have regretted her decision to allow Iris on stage first because she was herself wailing uncontrollably, off stage.

The only people that seemed to be completely unaffected were Rahim, Jules and Iris, herself. I convinced myself that they had built some sort of immunity to Kaya’s sorrowful artistry.

I wished the same had been true for me.

I stood next to Rahim as we bade good night to Iris and Jules two hours later.

We parted ways with them at the front door because the owner of the cafe, a short female with blond hair and olive-colored skin, wanted to talk to Iris about her spoken word piece. She wanted to know her secret, but Iris said she would not tell a soul.

Jules had attempted to talk to us more, but Rahim had insisted on taking me home. I felt somewhat rushed by his actions, but I wanted the date to be over. I had embarrassed myself in public and sought the solitude of my dark bedroom.

On our way back to my house, Rahim and I also discussed Iris’s performance. He explained to me, without provocation on my part, the subject of Iris’s grief. Apparently, she had deep feelings for a guy back home that she never dated due to inevitable obstacles. While on a business trip, she had planned to confess her love to him when she returned home. During the last leg of her business trip, the man, along with many others, died in a gruesome accident.

“That’s horrible!” I exclaimed. After a minute or two, I added, “She’s brave to get on stage the way she did.”

“That is Iris’s way of confronting her grief. It would not work for me.”

“How do you deal with grief then?” I asked staring at the red light we sat under.

“I tend to run from it, but sometimes I feel its better to get even.”

We reached my house ten long and silent minutes later. I waited for Rahim to get out of the car and cross in front of the headlights before I unbuckled my seatbelt and grabbed my purse.

I was not sure what he had meant about getting even, but the notion did not suit me. I felt Rahim possessed a side of him that I would not like as much as his playboy facade.

Maybe my mother’s right and I am a lousy judge in character.

As Rahim opened the door, I stepped out of the car on my own before he could offer me his hand. I did not want to hurt his feelings, but I had had my fill of romance for the night.

“May I walk you to your door?” he asked carefully.

“Sure,” I conceded warily.

“I promise I am just seeing you safety to the door. I have no intention on seducing you,” he said.

He smiled and offered me his hand. I took it, hesitating only for a second, and we proceeded to walk up the lawn towards the house.

Halfway to the door, I noticed that all the lights shown brightly inside, the living room light, the bathroom, JJ’s bedroom as well.

That’s strange.

“What’s wrong, Kaya? You look worried.”

“Something’s not right. All the lights are on.”

The more I thought about it, the more I worried I became and the quicker I walked. I nearly ran up the front porch steps, my hand still laced with Rahim’s. I released him when we reached the front door to rummage through my purse for my keys.

An eternity passed before I found them hiding in a bottom corner like usual. I shoved the small, silver key into the keyhole and pushed the door open.

The interior of the house sounded eerily silent. I started up the hallway without a word. I could feel Rahim behind me though he remained equally quiet.

Something feels out of place.

Emotions leap out at me from a hidden source, feelings of intrigue and elation.

As Rahim and I walked passed the kitchen, I looked down the hallway that lead to my bedroom. No light shone in that direction. On the contrary, the hallway that led to my mother’s and JJ’s rooms was well lit.

Am I reacting to nothing?

Just as I began to second-guess my instinct, I heard JJ scream, “Mommy, help!”

I broke into a full sprint down the hallway. As I passed my mother’s room, I saw a lifeless body sprawled across the bed from the corner of my eye.

I stopped dead in my tracks, forgetting that Rahim was directly behind me. He nearly ran me over, but I did not notice. My mother’s corpse stared blankly up at the ceiling, completely void of spirit. Her favorite novel lay face down on the floor. Its pages crumpled under its own weight.

I wanted to scream, but I could not find my voice. I backed up into the wall of the hallway unable to move.

A second scream bellowed from JJ’s room. This one, high-pitched and desperate, contained no words. It agonized me to hear him suffer.

I came to with a jolt and bolted down the hall towards the gut-wrenching sound, not knowing what I would find. My veins coursed with adrenaline, fueling me forward.

I reached his room and skidded to a halt and wrenched the door open.

Leaned over JJ’s limp body was a slender woman in an all-white, skin-tight jumpsuit. Her straight, raven-colored hair covered her face, and yet I recognized her immediately as the striking assassin from the police surveillance video—the living nightmare—the erotic murderer—the serial killer!

Call her whatever. In my eyes, she looked as good as dead.