Forgiveness That Brought Me Love

Joyce Nickerson, what has gotten into you?             At the age of twenty-nine, she still wondered how she was able to pull it off. Her five feet, four inch medium frame was thrown across her olive colored couch. Chocolate brown legs tangled around her throw pillows, and her cordless phone loosely dangled from her ear as she shamelessly flirted with her close friend of seven years.             “Clint, all these years I thought I was saving myself for you,” she said as she ran her hand through her hair.             “Yeah, right.” Clint laughed, not picking up on Joyce’s breathless giggle.             For the few years she has known Clint, she had always been able to control her fantasies about him. She met him one night during her graduate year at the University of Miami in the school library. Nervously sitting at a table trying to figure out how she was going to complete her thesis within the next eight months, a pair of auburn arms came into view, and she prayed whoever it was would not interrupt. When have my prayers ever been answered, she’d thought to herself.             “Do you mind if I sit here with you? Looks like all the other tables are occupied.”             She looked up to tell the baritone voice young man that this one was too, when a pair of hazel eyes and pearly white teeth, with a gap in between, came into view.  He stood close to six feet tall, his T-shirt clung to his perfectly shaped torso, and his bald-shaved head glistened in the light as if he just ran a marathon. She remembered telling herself, ‘If God was black, this is what He would look like… the epitome of perfection’.              Her original rejection quickly melted away, and all she could do was smile and nod her head. Ever since that day, she had the biggest crush on Clint McCord, but wouldn’t dare let him know that. She even went as far as encouraging him to date her childhood friend, I’neta. For seven years, she hadn’t revealed how she truly felt; excluding that one crazy night… the night she was desperately trying to forget.             She switched the phone from one ear to the other, ignoring the nervous flutter in her stomach. “Clint, I seriously do not need a man to make or keep me happy, nor am I interested in being set up.”             “Being in a good relationship can make you happy.” Clint said, sounding more and more impatient. “It's been a minute since you... you know."             "I am not having this conversation with you," she said.              "With all these eligible men running around Miami, there’s no reason for you to be single,” he responded.             “First of all, none of those eligible men are looking to settle down. And secondly, I'm not interested in any of them.” The real person I want is you.              She exhaled loudly and wondered how she ever let her feelings grow so deep for Clint. Not once did he ever showed he was interested in her. He was always hinting that a Christian man needed to be with a Christian woman. That, in itself, disqualified her from pursuing any relationship with him. Of course she attended church— she just hadn’t been in eleven years. Clint is an ol’ saved-sanctified-filled with the Holy Ghost-fire baptized type of Christian. That was the kind of woman he needed. That was the type of woman she was not. He needed someone outspoken and fearless, someone who can take charge. Joyce considered herself to be restrained, apprehensive, and fragile.             She did remember that one crazy night though. That night that changed her entire life, and could have changed their friendship. She ended up at Clint’s place, crying and drooling all over his shirt, and not once did he complain. He held her until she fell asleep, comforting her with his words.              Right before drifting to sleep, she heard him whisper, “it’ll be alright. You need someone that’s going to love you with a genuine love”. She should have known he was talking about God. Why did I make a fool out of myself? The one time she tried to step up and take action, it backfired on her. Remembering his reaction after she tried to kiss him brought that feeling of shame and rejection back. She tried shaking the memories from her head.             Clint’s baritone voice interrupted her thoughts. “I honestly think you would like Edmund. He's a great guy, has his own place, and makes decent money. Meeting someone doesn't mean you have to marry him.”             She knew Clint wouldn't drop the subject until she changed her mind. “I'll give it some thought. Right now I have to get ready to head out. I'll talk to you later.”             “I’ll let this go for now. See you tomorrow for lunch.”             “Goodbye, Clint.”             She hung up with him and started to do what she did best when her thoughts were running rampant— clean. She loaded the dishes from last night’s dinner into the dish washer, wiped every appliance in her kitchen, and scrubbed both of her bathroom showers. On her way to a mess of a bedroom, her phone rang and it took her a minute to find it under a pile of clothes.             Taking a deep breath she flopped herself on her bed. “Hello.”             “Hey, you! You sound out of breath. What were you doing?” I’neta asked.              “Only you would call someone you haven’t spoken to in weeks and demand answers. Where have you been?” Joyce asked.             “Girl, it’s a long story. How about I tell you over lunch? Say… three-ish?”             “Lunch would be nice. I need to get out of this house.” Joyce rolled over unto her stomach and allowed her legs to dangle at the foot of her bed. “You won’t believe how tired I am.”             Laughing out loud, I’neta said, “Tired? From what I’ve heard, you haven’t been doing anything but sitting in your house for the last couple of weeks.”             “And how would you know that?”             “Your secretary, Ms. Ruby. You know she worries about you like a mother hen. And from the little she’s told me today, you’re supposed to be resting, not out of breath. What were you doing? Am I interrupting anything? Do you have… company?”             “Woman, please! If I had anyone here taking my breath away, I truly would not be answering this phone. I was cleaning.”             “Cleaning? On a Friday morning? Hmm. You must have a lot on your mind. Yeah, let’s do lunch. How does Monty’s sound?”             “Sounds good to me.” Joyce said. “Maybe we can do a little shopping downtown at the boutiques. Now that spring is here, they’ll have a few winter items on sale.”             “You know I love any excuse to shop, but I can’t today. I have a counseling session with a client of mine later,” I’neta replied.             “OK. I’m almost done cleaning. I’ll see you in a bit. Love ya.”             “Ditto.”             She hung up and placed the phone back on the receiver. That I’neta, she thought to herself.             When she met I’neta Villanucci, they rubbed each other the wrong way. Every day in first grade they would find something to bicker and fight about in class, at recess, during lunch time, whenever they were near each other. It was not until I'neta punched a boy for tripping Joyce at recess that they became friends; and they've been inseparable ever since.             An hour later, Joyce had showered, pulled on a pair of black jeans and slipped on an old university T-shirt. She stared at herself in the mirror, then shrugged. She didn't have the energy to care about how she was looking. By the time she pulled up to the restaurant, I’neta was making her way to the entrance. She looked her friend over and wondered how they ever became friends.             I’neta owned a pair of long legs, that seemed to go forever. The blue calf-length skirt she wore did her legs much justice and her curves no room to breathe. The white blouse, buttoned half way up, showed off just enough cleavage to be modest. Joyce never understood why I’neta still chose to wear six inch heels, as she gazed down at the blue pumps I’neta sported. She thought to herself, as she always did when she sees her best friend, How and why did God put us together? We’re so different. She’s gorgeous and I’m… well… I’m just me.             I’neta wasn’t the all-American type of beauty, but her dazzling features drew in looks. Her Trinidadian and Italian heritage contributed to her high cheekbones, lengthy hair that flowed down her back, and smooth almond color skin. She had a slight dimple that showed on her left cheek when she laughed. Where Joyce thought she was restrained, apprehensive, and fragile, I'neta was assertive, outspoken, and fearless. Her ‘get-it-all-or-lose-it-all’ attitude was what Joyce admired most about her dear friend. What else can a man ask for?             Joyce finally found a parking space, and took her time getting to the entrance where I'neta waited for her.              “Hey, Gorgeous,” I'neta said, giving her a warm hug. She stepped back to eye Joyce up and down. “What is wrong with you?”             Joyce looked down at herself. “What?”             “What?! T-shirt and jeans? You’ve never stepped out looking like that. We have to talk.”             I'neta grabbed her hand and pulled her inside the restaurant. After a brief chat with the host, they were escorted to a table with a window view overlooking the bay. She knew she was about to hear a mouthful about what she was wearing, but she could care less. I’neta was the one who worried about how others saw her, but she also knew Joyce was unbothered by it.             A waiter came over to take their orders and couldn’t take his eyes off I’neta’s cleavage. He poured them a glass of water all without giving Joyce a glance. She rolled her eyes and folded her own napkin on her lap before he could do it for her.             I’neta gave him a flirtatious smile, then rolled her eyes when he turned away. Turning to give Joyce her full attention, “Men are ridiculous. Well… how long are we going to sit here before you tell me what’s been going on with you, Joyce?”             “I don’t know where to start,” Joyce said, staring into her glass.             “What do you mean you don’t know where to start? And why do I have to find out from your secretary that you’ve been out for two weeks?”             Feeling just a little annoyed, Joyce took a sip of her water to swallow the frustration building up. “I’ve tried calling you a couple of times, I’neta. Once, some dude answered and said you couldn’t come to the phone,” Joyce said, giving her a suspicious look.             I’neta blushed and looked away. “Oh, well… I’ll explain that later.”             “That or him?” asked Joyce, knowing the twinkle in her friend’s eyes meant this man was more than a friend.             “Both,” I’neta murmured. Clearing her throat, she quickly changed the topic. “Now, tell me what’s been going on with you.”             Joyce sighed loudly, knowing what her friend was doing. “Two weeks ago, I got into a car accident.”             “A car accident! Oh my God, J. Are you alright?” She looked closely at Joyce’s face for any scars that may have appeared within the last few seconds.             “I’m sitting here, aren’t I? It wasn’t that serious on my end. Just a few cuts and bruises on my arms and chest, but the other driver,” she looked away, “she didn’t make it. Technically, it wasn’t my fault, but I still felt like there was something I could have done while we waited for the ambulance. All I did was held her hand. I couldn’t even pray, given the fact that I haven’t spoken to God in years.”             Her voice caught as she replayed that night in her mind. She took a deep breath to steady herself. “She fell asleep behind the wheel and ended up swerving to my lane. At the hospital, I had the chance to meet her husband… a pastor.” She took another sip of water, avoiding I’neta’s eyes. “He sat beside me the entire time. Consoling me and telling me that it wasn’t my fault. All of a sudden we were talking about God…”             “And?” I’neta asked, her entire body tense.              Joyce knew I'neta was going to flip about what she was going to say next, but she couldn’t help what happened. She couldn’t help the feeling of hope he gave her.             Joyce shook her head. “I don’t know. Lately… I’ve been thinking about my life and… it feels like something is missing.” She finally looked I’neta in the eyes, “You know what I mean?”             “No. Don’t get tied up in that religious mess, Joyce. Take it from me. You know what I’ve been through.” I'neta’s face turned sour. Joyce could tell she was fighting off the old ugly memories.             “I do… but, I can’t help but think—”             “It’s a waste of time. Those people are frauds. Only out to take advantage of you.” I’neta took a sip of her water, realizing she was raising her voice. She exhaled and placed her cup down. “They only want to use you, Joyce. Take it from someone who knows personally.”             So much bitterness was laced in her words, Joyce's heart broke for her.             “Not all of them are like that. Look at Clint,” Joyce argued.             “Devil in disguise. Just give him a while…”             “Clint has never done anything to make you think he wasn’t sincere about his faith,” Joyce said, defending her friend.             “That’s because I didn’t give him the time to. A few more months with me would have revealed how he truly is.”             “You don’t believe that as much as I do." She shrug the comment away, knowing I'neta was just trying to get a rise out of her. "Well… the pastor invited me to his church, and I’ve considered going.” She took another sip of her water and stared at her napkin before saying, “Actually, I’ve already visited once, and I really enjoyed it.”             I’neta stared at her in disbelief. “Why, Joyce? What is it that you want from a life like that? I’ve tried it…” She shook her head, unable to finish her sentence.             “Can you really tell me that you feel more fulfill now, I’neta? Do you not feel there’s something missing,” she pointed towards her own chest, “in here?”             “The only thing I have in my heart is bitterness towards those people for what they put me through.” I'neta quickly spat out. “Love? No. Forgiveness? Yeah, right. Bitterness? Always. Why love those that profess to have The One who created love but show no signs of it?”             Those were questions Joyce couldn’t answer, so she opted not to. “Enough of that. Tell me about this guy who's answering your phone.” She had to quickly change the subject before their lunch became as sour as their moods were becoming.             It took I'neta a minute to calm herself down, but she finally did. When she finally got herself together, her eyes got that twinkle again.             “Well,” I’neta blushed, “I met him a few months ago—”             “A few months ago?! And I’m now finding out?” She rolled her eyes and feigned a hurt expression.             “I didn’t want to say anything until I knew this one was heading somewhere. After the breakup with Timothy, I felt like I was jumping from man to man, and well,” she briefly looked at Joyce before looking away. “I didn’t want you thinking the same.”             Joyce smiled. “Girl, please. You have your mistakes, as I do I, but being a romantic is not one of them.”             “Well, Mason is… something else. He’s very romantic and loving.” She sighed softly, going into a daydream. “He just seems too good to be true. Everything is perfect right now, and well… you know my luck.”             Joyce reached over to squeeze I’neta’s hand. “That was one messed up relationship. We’re allowed at least ten.”             I’neta squeezed her hand in return and smiled. “Good theory, but not true. The one thing that scares me is how aggressive he can be sometimes.”             Joyce gasped loudly. “Has he hit you?” With the look that passed across I’neta’s face, she wondered if she would tell her the truth.             She never took I’neta for the submissive, passive type when it came to a man raising his hand. She could remember a time when I’neta was sixteen and some neighborhood punk slapped her fourteen-year-old sister, Beatrice. One minute I’neta was outside talking, the next minute she had ran inside the house, grabbed her mother’s pistol, and had it aimed at the boy’s head. With tears streaming down her face, all she kept on murmuring was, No one hits my sister. It took Joyce, Beatrice, and both of their mothers to coax the gun out of her hand. Ever since that day, no guy has ever come across her front porch.             “No. Not that kind of aggressive. More like… possessive. One night while we were in bed, he told me he didn’t want me talking to any more of my male friends after a certain time of night,” I’neta shared with a nervous laugh. “I laughed and told him I left both of my parents in New Jersey.” She shrugged, “It’s things like that that gets me.” She picked up her glass of water to hide a look that crossed her face.             “How long is a few months?” Joyce asked.             “Four, maybe five months.”             “And you’re already sleeping with the guy?”             “Yeah, girl. I know, I know.” I’neta ran her hand over her face, but not quick enough to hide her blush.             “You’re using protection, right?”             The look I’neta gave Joyce would have scared her if she didn’t know her. “Of course, Joyce. After Timothy…” she smirked. “I’m not stupid, OK. I was then, but I’m not now. Give me the benefit of the doubt.”             “I would, but never would I’ve thought you’d sleep with a man within a few months of knowing him.”             “Give me a break, Joyce,” she said, slamming her water glass on the table. “I don't need you judging me."             I’neta’s anger sparked Joyce’s. All I’m trying to do is help her see, Joyce angrily thought.             You have to first be able to see before you can help anyone else see, she heard a still voice say.             “What kind of friend would I be if I told you what you wanted to hear instead of what you needed to hear? Do you want me to tell you that it’s OK to sleep around with every guy that knocks on your door? Well, it’s not.” Joyce yelled, causing patrons from surrounding tables to turn and look in their direction.             I’neta went still and just stared at her. “Did you just call me a…?”             “No, I did not. I’m making a point, I’neta. It’s not healthy or sane to be sleeping with some man you barely know. Its borderline crazy if you ask me—” Her comment was cut short by the scraping of I’neta’s chair on the wooden floor.             I’neta grabbed her purse and stood up. “Well, I didn’t ask you, and never do I remember stating your opinion mattered to me right now.” She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you. All I need right now is to be able to talk to my best friend without being judged. I hear enough of this crap from my mother, who really doesn’t have any room to tell me anything.”             Crap?! We’re trying to help her and she calls it crap? Joyce thought as she stood to grab I’neta’s hand. “Sit down, I’neta, and stop with the drama. It’s me and you know I didn’t mean any harm by it. I’m just worried about you. Ever since Timothy…” waved her hand in the air. “We’ll leave that alone. I just don’t want you getting messed up like you did before.”             “Just trust me, Joyce. We both made mistakes in the past. Look at your relationship with Noel. That didn’t work out but you’re not messin’ up with other guys because of it,” she pointed out, taking her seat.             Joyce sat down and ignored the sting from I’neta’s comment. “That’s because I’m not trying to date any guys.”             “My point exactly. That’s the difference between me and you. I’m not letting Timothy keep me from finding my true mate the way you’re allowing Noel keep you from finding yours.”             Joyce opened her mouth to comment but nothing came out. That was one thing she could honestly say about her best friend, she said whatever was on her mind. Before she could say anything else, the waiter returned with their food and the subject was dropped.