My 3D Lovers

Chapter 3

Rose was out of the community center, with her arms crossed, attempting to shelter herself more than the wind. Within, there was buzzing and laughing, which caused her heart to beat. Something in her mind desired her to retreat; and her mind possessed another silent force which demanded that she should enter.

She took a breath.

Then another.

And stepped through the door.

The room had a slight smell of disinfectant and fresh flowers. There were plastic chairs in a circle and approximately a dozen females were sitting in them, of varying ages, of various stories, but having haunted eyes, tight smiles, and tired courage.

Efe had seen her and was waving. "Rose! Come sit by me."

The lesson was already going on. It was the story of betrayal, rebuilding, and finding herself of a woman named Gloria, a tall, soft-spoken woman who was telling her story. Rose sat and listened with her hands clashing in her.

As the circle approached her, her head shook. "I’m just here to listen."

No one pressured her.

During that initial time, she made no utterance, but she went away with something she had not brought with her in many years: lightness.

She returned the next week. And the week after that.

She began to write to herself in a journal Efe gave her, scribbled thoughts, bits of songs, poetry such as she could never imagine she could write. One word was as though a breath, a fragment of her coming back.

Her father saw the change. She was humming when cleaning up and laughing when cooking. He never questioned and could only nod in agreement when she prepared a pounded yam as dinner one day.

Haven’t eaten this in years, he said in between bites. Your mother made it when she was a happy woman.

Rose smiled. "Maybe that’s why I made it."

She started taking walks in the evening and observing sunsets in the hills near her home. One day she came with her journal and wrote lyrics once more. Years of silence had shut its door on her voice.

One day a call was made to her.

It was Jeffery.

His voice had not been heard by her in six years.

"Rose… I heard what happened. I’m sorry. I did not want to be too quick to contact. I only wanted to know whether you are okay or not.

Her breath caught. She had not even thought of him in weeks, perhaps, months. It was like listening to an old but smiling photograph of a lost beloved when hearing his voice.

Well, I am better now, I said, and that is that. "Thank you."

"Can we meet?" he asked. "Just to talk."

She hesitated.

"Not for anything serious. I do but wish to know how you are doing, friend.

"Okay," she said softly. "Just as friends."

She hung up shaking, not with fear, but with a sensation she had not had in years, which was anticipation.

Perhaps I needed to breathe and not just to breathe.

Perhaps it was time to start living again.

And perhaps, perhaps, this time she might be able to sing her own song, not a supporting part, but the solo.

Clear. Strong. Unapologetic.

The café was not big; it was hidden in a very silent street corner. Its low lighting effect and old furniture provided a sort of tranquility that Rose had not felt she was in need of. She came ten minutes early and was twitching around her bracelet. Her heart beat was a secret that would be found out.

Then he walked in.

Jeffery hadn’t changed much. Five years had not changed his leanness, and he had kind eyes, which always sought something to give meaning to silence. His shirt and jeans were plain, modest and clean, just as he always was. Yet there was a new restfulness in his locomotion which made one think he had encountered something substantial to himself during the years.

He smiled with hesitation that I said," Hey.

“Hi.”

They hugged briefly. Awkward. Familiar. Electric.

They ordered coffee. Rose instead took chamomile tea. Jeffery recollected that she had never been fond of coffee.

I did not think you would ever desire to see me again, he said.

I had time, she said, and stirred with her tea. “To heal. To remember who I was."

Jeffery nodded. “I didn’t blame you for leaving. You were frightened, and what love could not give you. I always understood.”

His grace stunned her.

I did think a lot of you, she said. “Even when I didn’t want to.”

He chuckled gently. “I figured. I pictured you also in the late shifts I was having, when I could last long enough to open my own little bookshop. It’s not much, but it’s mine.”

Rose looked up sharply. “You own a bookstore now?”

Jeffery grinned sheepishly. “Yeah. Secondhand books. Poetry, mostly. Some records too. It’s nothing big. But it is my dream and I have labored at it.

Pride had flooded through her, as never before in years, not her own, but that of one who never ceased to believe in her.

They discussed, talked long, long, about music, about Anthony, about dreams deferred. Jeffery did not inquire about the details about Andrew, but his eyes watered at the mention of the bruises. He didn’t press. He simply listened.

Once, he went over to the table and touched her hand.

You know, Rose, you are stronger than you think. You always have been.”

The crying did not become a painful tear but came out of relief.

At the time the sun was setting, they went out together. The skyboards were painted in old lullaby colors.

“Can I walk you home?” he asked.

She smiled. “I’d like that.”

They were walking together without talking, the silent type.

He was turned about to her when she came to her gate. “Jeffery... thank you.”

“For what?”

“For still being the same. To remind me of what I was once.

He touched her cheek gently. You are not who you were, Rose. You’re more.”

And with that, he abandoned her standing there, smiling for the first time in a long, long time.