I took a pen and turned the pages to the very end of my confessions, finding the first blank one after that. I simply had to add one more entry; this one the best memory of all.
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Brenda - February 2004
As usual, I was so angry, I told Mike I wasn't going a few times already, all the while continuing to dry my hair, apply make up, trying to choose an outfit to wear. Each Christmas party, Thanksgiving dinner, Fourth of July barbecue and all the rest of festive days, every birthday, anniversary, baby shower and wedding reception that we have attended together as a married couple had been preceded by an inevitable tension, arguments and shouting matches. One or both of us deciding that we were not going, stomping around the house, throwing clothes and car keys against the wall, angry enough to be able to smack one another, although it never quite got to that point.
This was to be a Valentine's Day party at Mike's friend's place, whom I never even met. One of their buddies from teenage years was flying in from New York and they were to meet for the first time in twenty years and "kick it". I listened to endless stories of their escapades and how they were like brothers. I was sick of it already.
Besides, I had a sneaking suspicion that the only reason I was invited along was because Jahan was bringing his wife and I was probably to be a distraction for her, so that she wouldn't be in danger of dying from boredom listening to their stories, undoubtedly minor occurrences blown out of proportion.
Even walking out the door, we argued. He didn't like what I was wearing, there were comments about make up, he wanted me to put on glasses so that I could drive... By the time we agreed on a cab and were standing in front of his friend's front door, we've been through a huge battle and were not speaking to each other.
The minute we entered the crowded apartment, I was hit by the realization of how Mike had felt when he attended Christmas parties at my job. He was never too eager to go, but did as a married couple does on the occasions like that. Whenever we arrived at the place of festivities I could literally count to ten and before I was through, he would hiss at me: "So, I'm a token nigger again".
Of course that was not true. None of those parties were exclusively for people of one race, but I just happened to work in predominantly white office and though that did not bother him on other occasions, the insecurities must have set in when faced with a crowd that we were joining. By the time we were leaving however, he was pleasantly drunk and buddy-buddy with most of the people who attended.
As we walked into the apartment, I noticed that I was the only white woman there. I looked around carefully and with a sinking feeling realized I was the only white person. I knew a couple of guys, Mike's friends, who never went beyond a nod and a grin to me, and I seriously doubted that by the time we left I would be any better of.
I turned around to poke my husband with the same comment he annoyed me with each time he found himself in the situation that I was in now, of course, appropriately calling myself "cracker", and found him embracing his friends in a most annoying display of male bonding.
After polite introductions, I grabbed a drink and sat in a corner, looking out of the window, admiring the breathtaking view of Chicago skyline and trying to make myself as invisible as I could.
To Mike's credit, I have to admit he passed by me a few times, lovingly caressing my hair or giving me a hug and asking if I was okay, suggesting I should mingle.
"No, I'm fine here." I said with a smile as sweet as I could make it. I knew I was going to hear about it later on our way home, not wanting to socialize with his friends. "It's beautiful here." I said and wishfully looked out the window again.
"Yeah, it is." Mike replied. "Brenda and Jahan will be here soon." He added and was gone.
I didn't really look forward to meeting even more new people. I have become weary of funny looks directed towards us when we turned up in public together. Our families did not make it any easier on us and despite our marriage having lasted for seven years I always suspected that they were expecting us to break up any day now. Twenty-first century and a big city did nothing for the small-mindedness and we both tried our best to ignore it, but sometimes it was just too insulting.
A couple of hours later, my jaw started hurting from yawning, as I felt I was too tired to concentrate on anything but staying awake. I drank more than usual and satisfyingly noticed that I had managed to empty most of the Bailey's bottle by myself.
Every few minutes the doorbell rang and more people that I didn't know came, stuffing the already overcrowded apartment even more. I got a few nods from men and women who walked past me, some pausing in front of the window that I had been standing by, looking out and admiring the view.
A roar of yelling jerked me out of my thoughts in which I had escaped to keep myself amused and I realized that the long awaited friend had finally arrived. I couldn't be bothered to join in the festivities of his arrival, continuously staring out the window, wishing I were anywhere but here.
I felt Mike's hand on my shoulder and was turned around against my will, still managing to smile and put on a façade of interest. Jahan was a handsome, tall guy with carefully maintained dreads, reaching to his mid back. He wore designer clothes and if I was to meet him on the street, I would probably do a double take.
This time however, my eyes were only for a woman standing next to him. Her height was the first that I had noticed, having gotten used to the fact that most women were shorter than me. She was an attractive brunette with lively, hazel eyes and nice, sporty body. Dressed in plain jeans and denim shirt, she certainly didn't match her husband or most of the people in the room, who were all dressed as if going to a Christmas party, including me.
I shook Jahan's hand but my eyes remained on the woman. She smiled at me and offered her own, carefully manicured hand in greeting. "I'm Brenda." She said simply and I stuttered my name as if it wasn't my own.
She had straight, shoulder length hair with a reddish glow. She was not a beauty, but I cannot recall seeing a more interesting person than her in a long time. She looked at our husbands, who were now hugging and tapping each other on their backs, laughing and throwing loving insults at one another, talking about whose dreads looked more genuine and whose belly was bigger.
Brenda rolled her eyes and grabbed me under the arm. "Come, let's go and find a drink. I've had a hard evening already." She said and I smiled, she must have read my mind.
We sat on the couch, admiring the view and chitchatting, which to my great amazement seemed to come easily, even though this was the first time we have met. I kept looking at her face, finding it more and more fascinating. Her lips were full and her eyes big and round. She had a habit of tucking her hair behind her ears, showing off small ears, bejeweled with delicate, antique looking jade earrings. I liked everything about her, even the way she scratched her head when confronted with a question that needed a careful thought before answering.
We discovered mutual love for books, she works for a New York publishing house, which I did some translations for, and she suggested that we have probably met before, just don't remember each other.
"No," I said, shaking my head. "I would have remembered you. You're not the kind of person one forgets easily."
She looked at me, her face serious, her eyes smiling. I cursed myself quietly for being so indiscreet. Before I got married, I fooled around with a couple of women, nothing serious, but I still thought about them sometimes. Brenda would certainly be a kind of a woman I would want to mess around with. Providing neither of us was married. I knew Mike wouldn't stand for it, and although I didn't know Jahan, I suspected he was the same.
